Chapter 12 Anne de Burgh #2
They spent the remainder of the night in this manner, and when the physician arrived in the morning, he commended their care.
“You have done well. The laudanum no longer suffices. I shall prescribe opium in pill form. You must crush it and administer it with care. It is potent. Do not inhale the powder, and wash your hands if it comes into contact with your skin.”
They watched as he crushed a pill with a pestle and mortar, then gathered the powder upon a spoon and placed it into the patient’s mouth. He said, “Miss Bennet, if she requires a second dose, crush two pills, mix the powder with a little water, and administer it with the glass rod.”
“Yes, sir.”
The opium proved more effective, but she spent more and more of her hours asleep, and when she woke, she was in terrible pain.
There was no question of Elizabeth’s returning home.
When the rector came to inquire after Mrs. Jenkinson, he also asked after Elizabeth, and was informed that she was asleep, as she had been sitting up at night with Mrs. Jenkinson.
Miss Anne requested that she remain at Rosings until her companion passed.
“We sit with her in turns, sir, and Lizzy is the only one I trust to care for Maria. Lizzy took her watch at one o’clock this morning, and I relieved her at six. I cannot manage this alone, sir.”
He agreed. “I shall arrange for my sister’s trunk to be brought over at once.”
Two weeks passed, each day much like the last, until both Elizabeth and Miss de Bourgh lost all sense of time.
One morning, as Miss Anne sat beside her, Mrs. Jenkinson breathed her last. Anne de Bourgh collapsed over the still form and wept. It was thus Elizabeth found her when she came to relieve her. Her friend had fallen asleep, curled beside the body.
“Annie, wake up. Mrs. Jenkinson is at peace now. Come, you must have a bath, and then you shall go to your bed and sleep.”
She led Miss de Bourgh to her chamber, ordered a bath and a light breakfast, and then asked, “May I have the servants prepare Mrs. Jenkinson’s body?”
Anne de Bourgh stood in the middle of the room, looking at her with hollow eyes. “Yes, it is time. She passed at seven this morning, Lizzy. What is the hour?”
Elizabeth glanced at her watch. “It is noon. Bathe, and eat a little, and then you will sleep.”
Anne de Bourgh went to do as her friend instructed while Elizabeth rang for a servant. Once she had given orders that Mrs. Jenkinson be prepared for burial, she withdrew to her own chamber. She would attempt to sleep.
Upon the small table beside her bed lay a letter from Jane and one from her father. Elizabeth broke the seal of Jane’s and settled herself by the window to read.
Lizzy,
I received a letter today from Caroline.
She writes that the entire party has already departed Netherfield and is now on the road to town without any intention of returning.
She explains that Mr. Bingley was called to London upon business which might be concluded within three or four days, though they seem persuaded that once he arrives there, he shall have little desire to leave again.
What wounds me most deeply is that he did not take leave of our family or of me. He had grown accustomed to calling daily, and now he is simply gone.
I am ashamed to confess that this has greatly injured me.
I have scarcely been able to eat for the sickness in my stomach, and my sleep is much disturbed by dreams of him riding away while remaining deaf to my cries.
I would never conduct myself so improperly in reality, but in my dreams, Lizzy, I am utterly distressed and calling out to him while he rides farther and farther from me…
Elizabeth was angry. Angry with this man she had never even met, and wishing him to the devil for having had the effrontery first to make her gentle sister fall in love with him and then to abandon her so completely. She lifted the letter again and continued reading.
Lizzy, it is not enough that I suffer from my own feelings, but oh, that my dear mother possessed greater command over herself!
She can have no notion of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections upon him.
But I shall not repine. It cannot endure forever.
He shall be forgotten, and we shall all be as we were before.
I have learned much from this. I blame myself for allowing vanity to deceive me. I fancied that his amiable attentions signified a greater admiration than he truly felt. I cannot expect a lively young man always to remain so guarded and circumspect.
Elizabeth sat for a long while with the letter lying open upon her lap. She had hoped so much for Jane. To see a second sister happily married, and to so amiable a gentleman. And now all Jane’s hopes had been crushed.
Elizabeth opened her father's letter.
Lizzy, your sister, is brought low by the ill treatment of the tenant of Netherfield.
He was everything that was amiable: wealthy, pleasing in appearance, young, and lively.
But he has a sister who leads him about by the nose.
Jane was quite taken with him, but it is better that she be removed from the pair, though he did admire her greatly.
I had thought he would make her an offer, but it has all come to naught.
Elizabeth set the letter down and reflected. How can this be? If she understood correctly, the Bingleys had been in residence for not more than a month.
She picked up the letter and read on.
I can hear you now, my girl, wondering how it can be that this young couple could have fallen so quickly in love, but it is so.
I will answer your very natural objections.
Have you never read of true love, Lizzy?
What of Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty? Did Charles Perrault invent such tales from nothing?
No, he merely set down what he observed.
There are rare instances of love at first sight.
That is what occurred between Mr. Bingley and your sister, and now she suffers for it.
Your mother does nothing to ease her distress.
Only yesterday I heard Frances declare that she will always say Bingley used her daughter ill.
She took comfort in the notion that Jane would die of a broken heart and that he would then repent.
Imagine such nonsense from a woman of one and forty.
I shall be obliged to take her to task and instruct her, lest any future son-in-law come to regret his connection to the Bennet family.
Elizabeth thought it an impossibility. Mamma can be very silly at times.
If Papa is serious in his wish to correct her, he need only teach her restraint.
She is still quite beautiful, and if her temperament were more like Jane's, quiet and gentle, everyone within her circle would think her wise and possessed of every virtue.
She returned to the letter.
My girl, now that I have written my intentions, I shall act. The next time you see your mother, you will scarcely know her for the improvement in her deportment.
Elizabeth was weeping by the time she finished her father's letter. She missed him, and she missed her dear sister, and wished with all her heart that she could be at home, in the bosom of her family, offering comfort where she could.
At last, she resolved to walk down to the parsonage, share the letter with Mary, and together grieve over their sister’s disappointment. When she arrived, Mary ordered tea, and the two withdrew to her little parlor.
“Jane has written, and she is brought very low.” Elizabeth handed her the letter.
Mary read it in silence, then, lifting her eyes to Elizabeth, quoted, “‘Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.’ Never were truer words written, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I wish we could be with Jane to support her or at least distract Mamma.”
Mary handed the letter back to Elizabeth. “She has Papa. He will help her through this.”
Elizabeth handed Mary their father's letter, and the two sisters discussed its contents and the family's troubles at length. At last, Elizabeth tucked the letter back into her reticule.
“If only Papa does as he intends and exerts himself to restrain our mother from speaking every thought that enters her mind, poor Jane will bear this better.”