Chapter 47
Elizabeth settled Nan back into the bed, the crisp, clean linens tucked carefully around the emaciated body. It could not be long now, and her heart was heavy. She wished she had known the old lady when she was well, but even just this last year — she had become very fond of her.
But soon, she would have to leave. Mr Price was becoming rather too regular a visitor for her peace of mind.
She drew a deep breath, and began to tidy the room of the accoutrements of having washed Nan and changed the linens.
She was sad at this part of life and death.
But it had been inevitable and she was happy that she could have been of service to this family in some small recompense for them having taken her in and accepted her.
They had provided her with a home, and in return Elizabeth had been able to ensure this lady’s last months had been lived with dignity.
Mrs Simmonds was at the doorway. “Here, let me carry these dirty linens downstairs. The washerwoman will be here very soon.”
Elizabeth pushed back the hair that had escaped her pins. “Thank you. It has been good of Mr Price to pay for her to come twice a week now.”
“It would certainly be too much for you to manage.” The woman glanced at the old lady. “I wonder that she might never come downstairs again?”
“I doubt it.” Elizabeth shook her head. “She is light enough for me to lift into and out of bed to her chair, but without a manservant to carry her down the stairs, it would not be safe.” She shrugged her shoulders slightly.
“But sometimes people can rally for a few hours. It is as if they have something to say, or about a memory they wish to leave with a loved one.”
“That is true. Now, she is safely tucked up, and you, Miss Lucy, need to come downstairs and eat a proper breakfast. You are getting thinner again.” Mrs Simmonds surveyed her.
“I think you must have been up in the night with her several times, by the look of you.” She held the bundle of washing in her arms.
“That is true,” Elizabeth laughed tiredly, and picked up the bowl of wash water to carry down to the scullery.
As she ate mindlessly, the food like ashes in her mouth, her thoughts circled within her.
She almost certainly had barely a week left here and, maybe less, in this house or even in this location.
It was getting harder to provide Nan with nourishment.
Water would dribble from her mouth, and it took endless time to spoon enough gruel in to make any difference.
No, she must be prepared to vanish into the night again. And this time, she properly understood the dangers that she was facing.
Had Mr Darcy stopped searching for her? She was sure that he would at least have begun a search.
But, surely, he would have stopped after a few months had passed?
The chances of finding her were almost non-existent, and he might think she was lying dead somewhere in a pauper’s grave.
He would never know. Again she berated herself.
Her life at Pemberley had been insupportable, but she could have left with less bitterness threaded through that awful letter. She had been angry at his attitude and behaviour, it was true, but perhaps she had been too hasty.
With her hands curled around her teacup for warmth, Elizabeth felt regret coiling within her.
She had been so certain that the apothecary had said if Mr Darcy was going to recover it would be within three months, but now, after so much thought, she began to believe he had been saying that if his recovery had begun within three months, then it was likely to ultimately resolve.
Perhaps she had been too hasty in believing that nothing would ever improve. She had been too … oh, too everything! And now it was too late. Elizabeth Bennet had far too much pride to ever admit such a thing and go back. Now she must accept the cost.
She had pored over maps at the library, and was quite decided.
She would go south. Her sewing had bought her some few extra coins, as well as a better gown, and though she was now too busy to add more to her small amount of money, she might be able to afford the stage — not from too close by, where she might be pursued, but to travel a considerable distance.
She longed to write to Papa. Surely if she told him not to mention her letter, he would be pleased to hear she was well. But she dared not give him any sort of return direction, so she could never hear how they were. But how could she explain having not done so before?
She climbed the stairs slowly to Nan’s chamber when she had finished. She had an important task to complete.
On the table was a beautiful library-bound edition of last year’s Byron publication.
Anna had loaned it to her a few weeks ago, giggling and blushing furiously.
“Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Lucy. You will enjoy it, I am sure. And Robert has chosen the dark green leather to have our books bound in. Is it not handsome?”
And Elizabeth had enjoyed it. Almost as much for the exotic places described as for the dark, brooding hero, who somehow had Mr Darcy’s features.
But she must wrap it up and return it to Anna today or tomorrow. Her friend’s brother was due to visit in a few days’ time, and Elizabeth wanted the return to be over and done before he arrived.
She sighed as she stroked the soft leather of the binding. She would not be able to bid her friend a proper farewell, and it had troubled her. But she would write a short, gentle note in lieu of goodbye, and hide it in the book. Then Anna would find it and hopefully forgive her.
Nan was asleep, and Mrs Simmonds had agreed to watch her.
Elizabeth set off, the book tucked carefully under her arm.
It was paper-wrapped and firmly tied with the same length of string that it had come in to keep it pristine.
The two-mile walk to Tealing Park would refresh her, and she would tell Anna that she might not be able to visit as often, because Nan was now so unwell.
At the house, the butler opened the door with a smile, and indicated the drawing room. “We know Mrs Hughes said not to stand on ceremony, Miss Price.”
“Thank you, Mr Ward.” Elizabeth nodded and crossed to the drawing room door. She entered briskly, and froze.
Anna had her arm wrapped around that of a man with his back to her. It looked … he looked exactly …
“Lucy!” Anna saw her. “My brother is here early! I am so glad you will meet him.” She looked again. “Why, Lucy, what is the matter?”
Anna’s brother turned. His face was gaunt, thinner. And lost every vestige of colour as she watched. “Elizabeth!”
“Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure she had actually made a sound. The book landed on her foot and she stumbled.
In an instant, his hands were on her arms, steadying her, but as soon as she regained her balance he released his grasp. She took a step back. He did not follow her, but his eyes spoke volumes.
“Elizabeth.”