Chapter 9 Lessons from a Dream
by Louise Bigler
Hunsford, Kent
Elizabeth awoke disoriented in her bedchamber at Hunsford. Why am I here again?
How is this possible?
She heard Sir William’s laughter somewhere in the house and wondered if he had come back.
Still clumsy from sleep, she managed to knock the pitcher and the basin together.
The noise was loud, but luckily nothing chipped.
However, the noise was clearly audible in the next room; a moment later, Maria came bursting in, chatting animatedly about how wonderful dinner at Rosings had been.
It was almost as if she were talking about their first dinner at Rosings again.
As Maria teased her for being quite dull that morning, Elizabeth turned to the wardrobe. A sudden dizziness overcame her, and Elizabeth hastily sat. Her senses dulled as she became fully absorbed in memories.
There, in the closet, was her favourite gown—without a rip, without a pull, without a stain.
And it was as if that horrifying trip aboard the Smiths’ vessel had never taken place.
Could it have been a dream? It had felt so real.
Why on earth would she dream about being kidnapped with Mr Darcy of all people, and in the middle of a proposal of marriage?
Even if she did, why would she dream that he would take such care of her, show such strength, such kindness?
What of everything they had confided in each other?
Wickham’s betrayal: How could she invent such a tale?
Yet upon reviewing her conversations with Mr Wickham in Meryton, she could not shake from her thoughts the contradictions she had overlooked between his words and actions.
The many other proofs of Mr Wickham’s perfidy.
Had the dream been but a contrivance of her own imagination, meant to soften the harsh realisation that she had been an utter fool to believe Mr Wickham?
Elizabeth was unsure what was happening, but she could not quite bring herself to put on that gown.
Maria prattled on, the sound barely penetrating the fog in her brain.
Could there have been something in the meal the preceding evening?
Some exotic ingredient that might have caused such strange dreams?
Maria looked at her strangely. “Truly, you do not look well.”
A weary sigh escaped before Elizabeth could snatch it back. Knowing she was in no state to face a combination of her cousin and Sir William, Elizabeth forced herself to speak. “In truth, I did not sleep well. I would not disturb Charlotte, but perhaps you might bring me some tea and toast?”
Maria smiled brightly and stood a little straighter. “I would be happy to.”
Dust motes swirled in the sunshine streaming in through the window, the peaceful Kent countryside beyond it.
She was safe, she was with friends, and if her night terrors had cost her a night of rest, perhaps she was a little wiser.
Desiring to choose another gown, she rose from her bed.
Staying upright grew easier with each step.
By the time she finished her morning ablutions and dressed for the day, the only effects of her disturbed night were in her lingering thoughts.
She looked at herself in the glass. Yes, this cheery yellow gown would do nicely.
Elizabeth sat by the window, the sun warming her back, whilst she attempted to make sense of her dream. Before she could recollect the particulars, Charlotte entered with a tray.
“Dear Charlotte, I did not want to disturb you. You take on too much. I would have been happy with whatever Maria brought.”
Charlotte creased her brow. “My dear friend, you cannot fool me. I know you too well. You wanted to spare yourself my interrogation more than you wanted to spare me the chore of bringing you a tray.”
“I do not fear your questions—but I cannot promise you easy answers.”
Charlotte immediately fixed her full attention upon Elizabeth. The teacup rattled in its saucer as Charlotte plunked down the tray.
“Tell me, Charlotte, have you ever had a dream that lasted for days? Where every moment was so real, so vivid, you would swear it was actually happening? I tell you, Charlotte, the night terror I experienced last night has left me so muddled that I am not even sure what day it is.”
“Eliza, I can see you are profoundly affected”—Charlotte’s eyes bored into her—“Tell me what happened in your dream.”
“It was the most extraordinary circumstance. It was as if my visit here continued with your father leaving, visits to parishioners, visits to Lady Catherine, and long walks in Rosings’ grove.
It started to become unpleasant when Mr Darcy arrived along with Lady Catherine’s other nephew, a Colonel Fitzwilliam.
After a month, things became even stranger and more unbelievable.
Would you believe I dreamt Mr Wickham sent pirates to kidnap Mr Darcy for a ransom of three thousand pounds in lieu of marrying a girl Mr Wickham had ruined?
I am telling you, Charlotte, at the end of the dream, it was early May, and I was preparing for a double wedding with Jane and Bingley. ”
Charlotte blinked.
As the silence stretched, Elizabeth reached for some tea and noticed that Charlotte had supplied her with an amazing apple tart instead of the requested toast. “Yes, Cook’s scrumptious tarts will help me forget any night terror, no matter how realistic.
The Kentish cobnuts lend her tarts such a wonderful flavour. ”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Eliza, how did you learn about the cobnuts?”
“Why the first time she made them, while you were off helping Mrs Carpenter prepare for her twins’ arrival, I flattered her incessantly until she told me the secret.”
“Eliza, this is the first time she’s made them. Mrs Carpenter is not due for another month, and I have heard no talk of twins.”
With trembling hands, Elizabeth took another sip of tea and eyed the tart.
She didn’t know which would disturb her more—the tart disappointing her or tasting exactly like she remembered.
Refusing to let a tart intimidate her, she reached for the plate.
I will not let this dream unnerve me. The familiar flavour bloomed on her tongue.
She forced herself to swallow, for the flavour had turned to ash.
“Tell me, Eliza…” Charlotte shifted on the bed. “What is it, precisely, that you remember happening today?”
Elizabeth could only be completely honest with her friend and felt a desperate need for Charlotte to believe her. So much had happened in her dream.
“Before midday, Little Ned will come from the village requesting your help for Mrs Carpenter, who was in the village visiting the widow Wilson when her labours began. By the time you assemble a basket, your husband will have returned from Rosings and Mrs Carpenter will have given birth to twin boys with identical red hair. Both boys will be small, one more so than the other. There will be some concern about the little one, but by Easter all will be well. That is all I remember about the Carpenters.”
Charlotte stared at Elizabeth, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She waited, silently questioning Elizabeth’s certainty.
When Elizabeth remained composed, Charlotte rose to leave.
Restless, Elizabeth followed her friend down the stairs.
She sat in the parlour with Maria and Sir William.
Seeing the parish work basket, she started sewing for two infants.
She cajoled Maria into helping as well. She knew how much Charlotte wanted to be respected and relied upon in this community.
If her dream held any touch of prophecy, Elizabeth would turn her knowledge to aid her friend.
Should she be mistaken, some other child would surely stand in need of them.
Charlotte busied herself with household matters.
At one point, she saw what Maria and Elizabeth were doing.
She started, looked at Elizabeth, but in the end said nothing, and Elizabeth refrained from commenting that the household was now well prepared for its mistress’s absence for the day.
Sir William and Maria carried the conversation as they happily notified Charlotte of news from home.
Elizabeth’s gut clenched every time the clock chimed.
As midday approached, she turned a pleased eye to the two tiny gowns, two warm baby blankets, and a small pile of clouts.
When they heard urgent knocking on the kitchen door, Charlotte paled as her wide eyes met Elizabeth’s.
Yet when the maid informed her of little Ned’s arrival and his mission, she rose like the superior woman she was, kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, squeezed her hand in silent acknowledgement, and was on her way in less than ten minutes.
Elizabeth determined that a turn outdoors would be more beneficial than nuncheon. She walked the same path that she had walked in her dream until she came upon the peaceful glade that she had dreamt of, carpeted with flowers. There, she leant against a tree and wept.
She dried her eyes but remained against the tree, breathing in the smell of damp earth and hearing frogs and bees in the distance.
A gentle breeze rustled the tops of the trees but did not disturb the peace of the glade.
Here, with the restorative power of nature around her, she attempted to marshal her thoughts and emotions.
How was it that she had dreamt of this glade, of events yet to happen with such clarity?
What was the purpose of her night terror?
Why? And why could she think of nothing else?
A wren trilled in the underbrush, reminding her of home and interrupting the questions that spiralled in her head.