Chapter 4 #2
“Regarding Mr. Bennet, sadly I can offer you little encouragement. Despite my thorough examination, I cannot foresee how his state will progress. He has suffered a stroke. Of that, I have no doubt. Has he suffered more distress than usual lately? Did you know that he suffered from a bad heart?”
“Yes,” Mr. Gardiner said hastily. “No...I mean—we never heard him complaining about his health. But lately, some circumstances have troubled him exceedingly.”
“I assumed as much. There is little we can do at present. I would recommend some medicine, but I doubt he could take it, in his current state. My attempts to awaken him have failed. I have bled him but he remained unconscious. We will have to wait, pray and hope.”
“But…wait and pray?” Elizabeth whispered, desperate. “We must be able to do something more!”
“Stay with him, speak to him, read to him from his favourite books. Hopefully, the sound of your voice will reach him. And watch for any sign of fever. I will remain until this evening, but will not stay overnight. I imagine you have no spare rooms and I cannot help him any more in his present state. I shall return in the morning.”
“So… we cannot help him further?” Elizabeth repeated tearfully.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“But sir, have you seen similar cases? Have they improved?”
“I have seen countless cases. Some of them fully recovered, others passed away peacefully, others remained confined to their beds for many years.”
The turmoil became overwhelming and Elizabeth excused herself, rushing from the room as she wiped her tears.
The mere notion that she could lose her beloved father so unexpectedly, that she would never speak to him again, that she would never see his mischievous smile while he made sport of their acquaintances, that she would never find support and comfort in him, was unthinkable and unbearable.
She entered his chamber and tentatively approached the bed. Her father was lying against the pillows, pale, still, traces of his blood spread on the sheets.
Tears fell freely as she sat next to him, caressing his forehead. “Dear Papa...Please wake up,” she whispered, taking his hands in hers. But her voice, which had always made her father smile, received no answer, no movement, not even a sigh, and she felt she had already lost him.
Elizabeth barely noticed when the door opened and Dr. Clarke entered, together with her uncle.
“Lizzy, your aunt is asking for you. We will watch him, my dear,” Mr. Gardiner said.
Reluctantly, she released her father’s hand and stepped away, glancing from him to the doctor, then to her uncle, pleading with them for help they could not provide.
In the hall, she stopped and leaned against the wall, covering her face with her palms. What was she to do?
She felt helpless. Useless. She blamed herself for not paying more attention to Jane.
She should have noticed that her sister was seriously ill.
How could she have been so careless, so oblivious?
The two people she loved most in the world were now in the greatest danger and she was incapable of helping them.
Then she had to write to her mother—a letter she dreaded to consider.
What to say, when they knew nothing for sure?
Their mother would certainly head for London, which would only increase the distress and the din in the house.
But could she keep such a secret? Could she deny Mrs. Bennet the small comfort of sitting at her husband’s side in such trying times?
An even darker thought was cutting through Elizabeth’s temples, planting in her mind the fear of what would become of them without their father.
He had wasted his meagre savings, they would lose Longbourn, Mr. Gardiner’s failure in business would not allow him to support them very much. They had no chance, no choice, no hope.
Elizabeth did not worry for herself; she would find employment if needed.
But she was well aware that her earnings would by no means meet the needs—as modest as they might be—of her mother and four sisters.
She could beg Charlotte to convince Mr. Collins to allow them to remain at Longbourn for some time, but even so, their future looked bleak.
The only hope was that Jane’s beauty might bring her a decent marriage proposal.
However, to shelter five other women was a burden that very few men would have the means and the will to accept.
With cold shivers and a torturous headache, she remembered again that less than a month ago she had rejected a proposal that could have been their salvation.
As much as Mr. Darcy despised and disapproved of her family, his honour and pride would have never allowed the Bennets to suffer in poverty.
It was her pride that had condemned them to suffer.
Her prejudice, her hasty judgement and her own vanity which induced her to believe herself entitled to refuse such a man.
If she was to consider only her own feelings, she knew she had every reason to think ill of Mr. Darcy and to refuse his terrible proposal.
But could she—Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of an unknown country gentleman from Hertfordshire, with four sisters and no dowry—afford to consider her feelings alone and ignore the consequences of her actions for her family?
Hearing her aunt calling, Elizabeth quickly shook off her tormenting thoughts.
Her father was still with them and she would do anything in her power to keep him there.
She contemplated what sort of help she might find him and from whom.
Perhaps another medical opinion would be useful.
As diligent and kind as Dr. Clarke appeared, he had admitted there was not much he could do.
Perhaps there were other ways to help the patient more?
She did not dare apply to Darcy—that was beyond imagining.
But perhaps the colonel’s parents were acquainted with another experienced physician.
Or even Bingley and his sisters? Would they still be in town?
She would not hesitate to beg Caroline and Louisa if needed.
There was no room for pride or grudges when her father’s health was in such danger.
She would beg Mr. Darcy too, but undoubtedly she would not be allowed anywhere near him again—and surely not in his home.
“Lizzy, what are you doing here in the hall? Are you unwell?”
“No. You should not worry about me, Aunt. I must see how Jane is feeling.”
“Jane is resting—do not bother her. I took her some soup and tea. She ate and is sleeping now. Come, you must eat something too.”
“I am not hungry, Aunt. I cannot even think of food,” she replied harshly.
Mrs. Gardiner stared at her, then burst out, “Then, for Heaven’s sake, think of me! I could not bear to have you ill too. I cannot argue with you all! You are all stubborn and headstrong, and I must ask each of you twenty times before you listen! I cannot bear it!”