Chapter 4
Four
Elizabeth remained in her chambers until Jane came to fetch her some hours later.
The short carriage ride passed with little conversation.
Elizabeth sat with her gloved hands folded tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the rolling countryside.
Although her sister cast her several anxious glances, she asked no questions, for which Elizabeth was deeply grateful.
Arriving at the parsonage brought its own disquiet.
The sitting room was just as she remembered, tastefully arranged, with the same modest furnishings.
Yet now, it bore the unmistakable touch of Jane’s influence; a vase of daffodils brightened the mantelpiece, and on the escritoire lay a book of poetry, neatly marked with her sister’s ribbon.
Jane’s embroidery basket, so often by her side at Longbourn, now rested by the hearth, its contents familiar yet oddly foreign all at once.
In the front parlour, Charlotte and Mr Collins rose to greet them, and for one suspended moment, all seemed exactly as it should be…until her cousin moved in their direction, placing a proprietary hand at Jane’s elbow as Charlotte came to greet her.
“Eliza,” she began, “how pleased we all are to see you looking so much improved.”
Elizabeth managed a smile but had little chance to reply before Mr Collins exclaimed, “Indeed! It is a great mercy that you were spared any lasting impairment, and one which Lady Catherine attributes to the superior attention you received at the hands of Miss de Bourgh’s personal physician.”
He paused before continuing with a solemn expression, “Yet I feel I would be remiss if I did not add that the entire incident might have been avoided had you not ventured alone into the woodland. The dangers, as I have often impressed upon my dear wife, of a young lady wandering about without proper escort are not to be taken lightly. Indeed, I am certain Lady Catherine would echo my sentiments exactly.”
At this, both Jane and Charlotte shifted uncomfortably, Jane colouring and Charlotte folding her hands more tightly against her skirts.
Elizabeth looked away, swallowing the retort that leapt to her tongue. She had no desire to prolong Mr Collins’ sermon, especially at her sister’s expense.
“If you will excuse me,” she eventually choked out, “I believe I should lie down.”
“Of course, Lizzy,” Jane readily agreed. “Go up and rest. I shall bring you some tea in a moment.”
Without waiting for further remarks, Elizabeth made her way up the stairs, pausing briefly on the landing. The corridor stretched out before her, unchanged in appearance. Was she to assume she now occupied the same bedchamber as before?
For a moment she hesitated, her hand resting on the banister as she cast a cautious glance around the empty passage. At length, she moved towards the familiar door. Her fingers closed around the latch, and she pushed it open.
Sunlight spilled across the floor, illuminating the simple furnishings within.
Her trunk stood in the corner, just as she remembered, and her favourite shawl lay draped over the back of the chair beside the hearth.
She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the room with careful scrutiny.
The same gowns hung neatly in the wardrobe.
Her hairbrush and a porcelain dish of pins sat atop the washstand.
A pair of slippers, the very ones her aunt Gardiner had given her at Christmas, peeped from beneath the bed, and her rosewood writing slope stood upon the chest of drawers.
But when her eyes came to rest upon the table beside the bed, her heart gave a curious thud.
The book she had been reading—The Wild Irish Girl, purchased only weeks ago at the market in Bromley—was gone.
In its place lay a modest volume of The Vicar of Wakefield, the same edition her father kept on the shelf in his library.
Elizabeth stared at it. It was a book she had enjoyed reading but not one she remembered bringing on her journey to Hunsford.
She sank onto the edge of the bed and sat motionless. Thoughts battered at her mind, clamouring for order, but none came. Only one certainty remained: whatever this was—a dream, a delusion, or something far worse—it refused to let her go.
Elizabeth awoke sometime later to a light tapping at her chamber door.
She blinked and pushed herself upright; she must have fallen asleep atop the coverlet. The light beyond the window had softened, indicating that several hours had passed. “Come in,” she called, brushing a hand over her hair.
The door opened noiselessly, and Jane stepped inside with her usual composure. “I hope I did not wake you,” she said, crossing the room. “I came up earlier, but you were sleeping so soundly, I thought it best to leave you be.”
Elizabeth offered a faint smile. “I suppose I needed the rest more than I realized.”
Jane nodded, then added, “I wondered whether you might feel well enough to come down for tea. Everything is laid out in the parlour, and you have not eaten anything all day.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, her stomach gave a low rumble, making her aware of just how hungry she was.
“Yes, I should like that,” she replied. “Let me change my gown, and I shall be down directly.”
Jane reached out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Of course, Lizzy. Take your time. Mr Collins and Charlotte have walked to Rosings to call upon Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh, so it is just the two of us.”
And with that, she slipped from the room, leaving Elizabeth alone once more with her thoughts.
When Elizabeth descended the stairs a short while later, she found Jane already seated in the back parlour—the same one Charlotte had once favoured—the tea service arranged neatly on a low table.
A plate of biscuits, a wedge of cheese, and a dish of stewed pears sat untouched.
At Elizabeth’s entrance, Jane rose with a smile and gestured for her to sit.
“Come, the tea is still hot,” she said, lifting the pot to pour.
Elizabeth took her seat, murmuring a faint thank you as she reached for her cup. They ate in near silence at first, the sounds of silver against china and the ticking of the clock the only marks of the passage of time.
At length, Jane ventured, “How are you feeling now that you have had some rest? Have you—” She hesitated, her voice tentative. “Have you noticed any improvement in your recollections?”
Elizabeth lowered her cup, her eyes fixed on the small ripple spreading across the surface of the tea. “No,” she said quietly. “Nothing has changed. My memories are exactly as they were when I first awoke in Lady Catherine’s parlour.”
Jane nodded. “Dr Latham told us this sort of thing is not uncommon, particularly after a blow to the head as severe as yours. He said the mind sometimes needs time to recover what was lost.”
Elizabeth looked away, her lips pressed tightly together.
Jane studied her for a moment, then asked softly, “What is it, Lizzy? I can see something still troubles you.”
At that, Elizabeth’s gaze sharpened, her restraint stretched thin by frustration.
“It is not that I remember nothing, Jane! If my memory were simply incomplete—if there were gaps or shadows where certain events should be—that, I might be able to accept. But can you not see? What has happened to me is far worse.”
She set her cup down with a faint clink, her entire body stiff with tension.
“In truth, it is all still there. Not fragments or traces, but whole, distinct memories. I recall conversations we never had, days that, by all accounts, did not occur. I remember your hopes—your wish for a marriage founded on genuine affection. I remember the look in Mr Bingley’s eyes when he beheld you, and the soft radiance in your own expression.
” Her voice trembled, rising despite herself.
“And now, I wake to find you married to Mr Collins! How is such a thing possible?”
Jane visibly paled, her fingers trembling as she set down her teacup with deliberate care. An awkward stillness stretched between them, until Elizabeth finally continued, more quietly this time but no less strained.
“Forgive me. I do not mean to distress you,” she said. “But you must understand what a shock this is for me. I cannot reconcile any of it.”
Jane’s eyes dropped to her lap. “I do understand,” she said softly. “It is just that…it is difficult to face your anger all over again. When I accepted Mr Collins, it was the only time we ever quarrelled.” She looked up, her expression pained. “Do you truly not remember?”
Elizabeth shook her head, and Jane sighed.
“It is not something I like to speak of. The memory of that time brings me no pleasure. All I shall say is that you argued with great passion against the match. You believed I was sacrificing too much. It took weeks for you to relent…to accept that I would not be swayed.”
She paused, her gaze steady. “I know how difficult it was for you to understand my decision, but I was three-and-twenty, Elizabeth! It was high time I set aside my romantic notions. Mr Collins was a prudent choice. Steady. Respectable. And in marrying him, I secured Longbourn’s future and brought peace of mind to both my dear parents.
” Her voice grew firmer. “Knowing that was enough for me. It still is. If I had to choose again, I would not change a thing.”
“But what of Mr Bingley?” Elizabeth cried. “How can you say you no longer believed in love? Surely, if there was any chance of him renewing his affections—”
Jane’s brow creased in obvious confusion. “Why do you continue mentioning Mr Bingley? What has he to do with any of this?”
“He has everything to do with it! I simply cannot comprehend how you could marry one man while your feelings were engaged elsewhere.”
Jane stared back at her, her eyes round. “You refer to Mr Bingley? Mr Darcy’s friend? Why, I hardly know the gentleman. What would make you think I was in love with him?”
“Oh, come now, Jane. It was plain to anyone who saw the two of you together! From the moment you were introduced at the Meryton assembly, it was obvious you were taken with one another.”
“The Meryton assembly?” Jane repeated, visibly unsettled. “Lizzy, I did not meet Mr Bingley in Hertfordshire.”
“Of course you did! He took possession of Netherfield last autumn. We spent days there together when you were convalescing from your illness. He called at Longbourn—”
But Jane was already shaking her head, and when she spoke, her tone was careful.
“Lizzy, Mr and Mrs Gibson let Netherfield Park. Just before Michaelmas. Do you not remember how put out Mama was? She went on for weeks about the property going to a married couple rather than an eligible bachelor. She was dreadfully disappointed.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it again. “When did you meet Mr Bingley?” she eventually whispered.
“Why, the same time you did. He arrived in Kent a fortnight ago. He and his sisters were travelling to Ramsgate to look at a property to let for the summer months. Mr Darcy invited them to break their journey at Rosings Park.”
Elizabeth leapt to her feet, the words barely registering before panic overtook her. She began pacing the length of the parlour, one hand pressed to her brow, as she expressed her feelings with the utmost agitation.
“This cannot be… How is any of it possible? Are none of my memories to be believed? Am I to question every thought, every recollection? Perhaps this is all a dream. A vivid, ridiculous dream.”
She stopped short and turned abruptly to face her sister. “Jane, pinch me.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Pinch me,” Elizabeth repeated, striding over and extending her arm. “If I am dreaming, I must wake.”
“Lizzy,” Jane said slowly, “you have already suffered a terrible shock—”
“Please,” Elizabeth urged, her voice tight. “I need you to help me!”
After a moment’s hesitation, Jane reached out and gave her arm a light pinch.
“No, harder,” Elizabeth insisted.
Jane complied, just enough to leave a sharp sting.
Elizabeth flinched—and then burst into tears.
“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane cried, rising at once. “I did not mean to hurt you!”
Elizabeth shook her head, the sobs already overtaking her. “It is not that. It is just—this is all too much! What is happening to me? I feel like I am losing my sanity!”
Jane reached for her at once, murmuring soothing reassurances as she drew Elizabeth into a gentle embrace. “You are not losing anything, dearest. You have suffered a grievous injury, and you are simply overwhelmed. Anyone would be, in such circumstances.”
Gradually, Elizabeth’s sobs subsided. She wiped at her cheeks and allowed Jane to guide her back to the sofa, where they sat side by side in the hush of the parlour. Elizabeth drew a trembling breath, her mind feverishly working.
“Very well,” she finally said, turning to face her sister. “Tell me, when we were children, do you recall the day Kitty dropped Mama’s best bonnet in the duck pond?”
Jane stared back at her before giving a faint, bewildered chuckle. “Of course. And Lydia used the fire poker to get it out. She snatched it straight from the hearth and marched out with her stockings half on.”
Elizabeth gave a watery laugh.
“And the May Day fête, when I was twelve. Mary insisted on singing that horrid ballad. What was it?”
“‘The Bleeding Heart’s Farewell’,” Jane answered at once. “She sang it three times, and Mr Long’s dog howled through the second verse.”
Elizabeth nodded, her smile weak but real.
“And the winter before last, when Cook forgot to put sugar in the plum pudding? What did Papa say it tasted like?”
“Old boots soaked in brandy. And Mama insisted it was not Cook’s fault at all but the chimney sweep’s for making such a racket in the flue that she quite lost her place in the recipe.”
A fresh wave of relief passed over Elizabeth. Her hand found Jane’s and clasped it tightly.
“So, it is not everything that has been lost. My childhood, our family—those memories remain my own. It is only the more recent events that have been…altered.” She shook her head, attempting to bring order to her scattered thoughts.
“It seems to have begun in the autumn. In my recollection, Mr Bingley leased Netherfield, yet you say it was a couple named Gibson. But Jane, how can I hold such detailed memories, each as clear as the ones you have just described, and yet find these things never truly occurred?”
Jane had no answer. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a sudden commotion in the vestibule broke the stillness.
The front door slammed. Charlotte’s pleasant tones mingled with Mr Collins’s emphatic ones, and soon after came the unmistakable cadence of approaching footsteps.
Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye, and in that gesture, a mutual understanding passed between them: nothing was to be said—not yet. There would be time for questions later. For now, they simply rose to meet the interruption.