Chapter 12
Elizabeth
Instead of waking up suddenly and feeling vibrantly ready for the day, eager to walk and to see her beloved, Elizabeth felt as if she was attempting to rise through a deep pool of water, attempting to reach the air, with heavy clothing weighing her down, impeding her.
Why am I so muzzy? Am I ill?
Suddenly, Elizabeth remembered informing William the night before that she might be ill. He had scooped her up and carried her upstairs. And then he read Shakespeare to her all night long, holding her hand.
Wait—that could not be real. That was clearly a dream!
She finally managed to truly wake up. Opening her eyes, she was amazed at the brightness of the sunlight pouring through the window. Typically, she woke up near dawn—and it was clearly long past that. She judged that it was half past six or even seven o’clock—so late!
Then, studying the ceiling, she wondered where she was. Oh! She was at Netherfield? Was her dream…real?
She turned her head, half expecting to see William sitting in the chair next to her bed. But instead, there sat Jane.
Elizabeth felt a pang of disappointment, and Jane must have read the emotions in her eyes, because she said, “Mr Darcy stayed up all night long, sitting beside you and, it seems, reading Shakespeare’s sonnets.
When I woke at dawn, worried about you, I came to check on you and found him still here.
I suggested that he get some sleep. He agreed, but he gave me this letter to give to you. ”
Jane held out a letter. It was not sealed, and Jane flushed a bit and said, “He did not seal it, and he asked me to read it before giving it to you, because he said he wished me to understand that I cannot just trust everyone willy-nilly. He said he was counting on me to keep you safe.”
There was a catch in Jane’s tone, and Elizabeth tried to express her care through a warm glance, but she hurried to read whatever William had written. Not just so she could keep herself safe, but also so she could help Jane feel better about…well…whatever caused her to feel upset.
Dearest Elizabeth,
Forgive me if I am seeing darkness where there is none, but I feel strongly that something is wrong with the events of last night.
I acknowledge that the unprecedented sight of you feeling ill induced a great deal of anxiety in me, but there are several things that made me worry that you were not merely tired last night, and that you are not, in fact, ill.
I worry that someone administered to you a drug—perhaps a sleeping draught—likely in your tea.
Here are the reasons for my disquietude:
When I kissed you briefly, your breath smelt different than usual. I ascertained that laudanum smells quite bitter; this was not primarily bitter, but rather smelt a bit like molasses cookies.
Your sleep was unnaturally still and deep. I did not attempt to wake you, but when some noise broke out, I noted that you did not stir.
I had the apothecary come—of course I did; I believe you know me well enough to understand that I could not rest until I had consulted an expert—and he said you were merely sleeping and would wake up well.
But he looked puzzled. I was almost certain that he had smelt something odd on your breath, too.
However, he would not tell me what he sensed or wondered.
I had been certain that Caroline Bingley would attempt to do something that would harm one or more person’s reputation, as you know.
However, I cannot imagine why she would arrange for you and Jane to have to stay at Netherfield overnight, but (assuming she made everyone’s tea) she did have the opportunity to do so.
Now for my questions:
Did Miss Bingley make your tea?
Did the tea taste as it usually does? If not, was there any identifiable flavour?
Have you ever had laudanum for pain? If so, did the feeling of sleepiness match what you experienced with laudanum?
Have you ever taken a sleeping draught before? If so, did it feel the same as last night?
Again, my apologies if I am overly worried. I suppose you should look forward to a lifetime of either tender care or anxious hovering, however you view it.
Yours always, in all ways,
William
Elizabeth was aware that, while she had read the letter, Jane had conferred with the maid who was in the room, and that the maid had hurried out the door.
Then Jane had poured a glass of water and stood patiently waiting for Elizabeth to finish reading; Elizabeth drank it off at Jane’s urging and felt mentally sharper almost immediately.
She reread the letter more carefully.
Clear memories arose, and she was relieved that her muzzy-headedness had entirely disappeared. She remembered that Miss Bingley had made the excuse that the household was out of sugar. And she remembered the distasteful honey in her tea.
…Honey that had not tasted like honey…but had she identified what it did taste like? Did it taste like molasses…better known as treacle?
Perhaps. It had been somewhat sweet and somewhat woodsy and somewhat spicy.
Thinking back, Elizabeth was not certain if the tea was distasteful, as she had thought, or if the taste was simply unexpected.
If she was taking medicine, and it tasted thus, might she have decided it was surprisingly pleasant?
“Help me dress, Jane, please,” she said. She wished to speak with William.
But at that very moment, the maid to whom Jane had spoken entered again with a tea set.
Elizabeth flinched from the thought of drinking tea here at Netherfield, and the maid said, “Don’t worry, miss; I fetched the water from the well myself, used a clean kettle and tea straight from the lockbox, and I even unwrapped a fresh loaf of sugar.
A bucket of fresh milk was delivered just as I gathered the other ingredients, and so I took some of that for the cream.
Also, the mistress is not yet awake; her lady’s maid has not gone up at all.
” She whispered one more assurance, “I asked Mary about Miss Bingley’s maid, and asked her to be discreet about the enquiry. Mary is worthy of our trust.”
“Thank you very much,” Elizabeth said to the maid. “What is your name?”
“Hanson, miss. Newman and I took turns last night attending to you and your Mr Darcy.”
“Thank you. I will inform Mr Darcy how well you took care of me this morning.”
Hanson blushed and smiled and thanked her eagerly. Elizabeth considered asking Mr Darcy to hire her; she liked how forthright the woman was.
Jane said, “Now that my sister is awake, perhaps you should go report to Mrs Nicholls for whatever other duties she has for you.”
“Yes, miss.”
When the door closed behind Hanson, Jane explained, “I understand that Mr Darcy has already consulted Mrs Nicholls regarding maintaining safety from Miss Bingley, and Hanson and Newman were two maids hand-picked by the housekeeper as trustworthy. So I asked Hanson to be discreet about it, but to make certain that everything for the tea is fresh and untouched by anyone but herself.”
As she explained this, Jane made Elizabeth’s tea. It tasted exactly as expected, and was apparently just what Elizabeth needed.
After drinking their tea, Jane opened a trunk, and Elizabeth said, “Surely that is—”
Jane smiled and finished her sentence—“a trunk from Longbourn? Yes, it surely is. Mr Darcy ordered our carriage to return last night to report your illness and to return in the morning at first light with clothes. The trunk was delivered today at six.”
The sisters made short work of dressing and then went downstairs to see if they could find William. “Do not forget, Lizzy,” Jane warned, “Mr Darcy apparently sat up all night with you, until dawn, so it is unlikely he will be already awake.”
The moment she finished saying that, however, they heard William’s voice. “Elizabeth! Good morning! I am so pleased to see you finally awake. And Miss Bennet, good morning. I owe you many thanks for watching over the Sleeping Beauty.”
Elizabeth turned and smiled at her intended, lifting one eyebrow as she asked, “Even though ’twas not au bois?”
He chuckled and kissed Elizabeth’s hand.
She saw Jane’s puzzled expression, but her intended apparently did as well, for he explained to her, “Perrault’s story of Sleeping Beauty was titled La Belle au bois dormant, and the words au bois mean ‘in the wood.’”
“Thank you,” Jane murmured. “I do not read French nearly as well as Elizabeth does.”
“You read French?” he asked. “Parlez-vous aussi francais?”
“Un peu.” Elizabeth held up a finger and thumb indicating that she only spoke a little French.
William looked so admiring, it was as if she had claimed to be fluent in twelve languages.
But as she watched, his face shuttered. He asked, “How are you feeling?”
“I woke up feeling very different than usual. I woke up slowly, struggling to completely emerge from sleep, struggling to open my eyes. But a glass full of water and a cup of tea restored me fairly well.”
“And you read my letter?”
“Yes.” It was time to turn to serious matters, and she asked if they should take a walk. “We can perhaps speak more easily….”
“I will go in to breakfast,” Jane said.
William looked ready to take her arm and exit to the gardens, but before they took a step, Mr Bingley and Mr Hurst stepped into the corridor.
Everyone greeted one another, and Mr Bingley turned to Elizabeth to ask how she was feeling.
She assured him that she felt well and thanked him for the care she had received from his household.
Mr Bingley turned to Jane. “May I escort you to the breakfast room?”
“Yes, thank you,” Jane said. “I will see you later, Lizzy.”
Before long Elizabeth and William were walking along a meandering path in a large meadow, where they could readily see that nobody was near enough to overhear.
Still, William spoke at a low volume when he asked Elizabeth for her memories leading up to the moment he had walked into the drawing room and whisked her away in his arms.
Elizabeth informed William about Miss Bingley’s untruthful claim, as she made Elizabeth’s tea, that the household had run out of sugar.
She went on to describe the odd taste of the tea.
“Unfortunately, I have never taken a sleeping draught of any kind, nor laudanum, so I cannot compare the sensations, but I assure you that what I felt is what I would expect from a soporific, not from a poison. And I agree with your assumption that I did not suddenly fall ill.”
“It seems almost certain that Miss Bingley gave you something that caused extreme sleepiness. Do you have any ideas as to why she would do so?”
“No. But I assume that her plan went awry because you remained in my room, guarding me, and since you were reading aloud, she knew not to enter. Is that your thought?”
William nodded. “Since we have no proof that anyone dosed you, let alone that Miss Bingley did the deed, I am uncertain as to what we should do. Should I tell Bingley our theory? Confront Miss Bingley? Should we pack up our sisters and leave Netherfield, with or without explanation? Should I apply to the magistrate? Or consult the apothecary?”
“Why do you suppose Mr Jones did not inform you of his concerns?”
“My thought was that he suspected me of dosing you with a sleeping draught.” William blushed quite brightly as he added, “Perhaps he decided that only your husband-to-be would wish to contrive a situation in which you would spend the night under the same roof.”
“But—” Elizabeth’s brain stuttered with the thought— “I assume you mean that Mr Jones might suspect that you would wish to…anticipate our vows? But you could not…if I was sleeping and could not waken, you would not—oh, dear, is such a thing even possible?”
Elizabeth hoped William understood her question, and he clearly did; he nodded and replied, “I believe such a thing would be possible, but I cannot imagine it being…satisfying.”
“Well, I am so sorry if he really did have that thought, William.”
“Last night I wondered if Mr Jones would ride to Longbourn to warn your father. But then we never heard from your father.”
“Well, even if Mr Jones did go there, so late in the evening, would my father have acted on his warning, given the fact that taking action would have required him to rise from his chair?”
William just shook his head. He looked thoroughly puzzled.
Elizabeth reverted to his question of what they should do about their near certainty that Miss Bingley had dosed her.
“Do you think Miss Bingley will make a second attempt tonight? What if we allowed her to think that she succeeded? I could secretly pour the drink she gives me into a jar so we can test it, and then I could pretend to be sleepy again, but this time you would pretend to go to bed in your chamber, but would secretly return and quietly await—whatever Miss Bingley meant to do.”
“I cannot be easy about allowing you to be so close to Miss Bingley when we still do not know her intentions.”
“But this is a way in which we might learn her intentions.”
“I would like to consult Richard again. I neglected to speak to you about Richard’s suggestion, when I told him of the missing ring before you arrived yesterday.
Mrs Nicholls and Hopkins both strongly believe that none of the servants, nor Georgie’s companion, are behaving as a thief would.
Nobody seems worried, nobody has disappeared, nobody suddenly has an aunt who is ill, and they simply must take time off to care for her.
And of course you and I have discussed how unlikely it is that the residents here at Netherfield would steal something, especially something so easily identifiable.
Richard wondered if our assumption that a thief would act a particular way is based on the idea that theft is committed by a person in need of funds, or at least is meant for financial gain; however, he pointed out that we now know that there is a sort of stealing madness that makes some people take without the usual rational considerations of getting caught. ”
“Oh! Yes, I see. That could make a difference in our assumptions. And you said this now because you are considering that Miss Bingley could have quite an irrational reason to give me a sleeping draught.”
“She could. Or she could have some reason we have not yet considered. At any rate, I—”
“William!” Elizabeth halted his speech before her thought was fully formed. The thought was: what had become of the beautiful jewelled comb William had given her the day before?