Page 34 of A November to Remember

The room was oppressively heated, its temperature approaching that of a blacksmith’s forge. Jane lay propped against a veritable architecture of white pillows, her usually immaculate golden hair loose and damp, and her cheeks burning with fever. Hot bricks wrapped in flannel had been stationed under the counterpane, and a silver tray on the bedside table held medicine, a glass of water, and a bowl of beef tea.

For one terrible, breath-stopping instant, Jane appeared too still. Then, her eyelids fluttered open.

“Lizzy.”

Elizabeth crossed the carpet, sank onto the edge of the mattress and stripped off her gloves. “I have arrived to inspect the consequences of Mamma’s diplomacy,” she murmured, pressing the back of her cool hand against her sister’s burning forehead.

Jane’s cracked lips curved into a weary smile. “The rain was somewhat more persuasive than she intended.”

“She intended every single drop, Jane, and you know it.”

“I know.”

Elizabeth took her sister’s hand. Jane’s fingers were hot, but they squeezed Elizabeth’s with a familiar, anchoring strength.

“You should not have come on foot,” Jane rasped.

“And you should not have ridden through a biblical tempest on a mare who regards forward momentum as a personal insult,” Elizabeth countered softly. “We may debate our respective errors once you are well enough to properly lose the argument.”

Jane’s eyelids fell shut again, though the smile lingered.

By the hearth, Sarah set down the basin, thrilled to have acquired a fresh audience for the morning’s drama.

“You never saw such a to-do as there was last night, miss,” the maid volunteered, stepping closer. “When the gentlemen came home, Mr Bingley lost his faculties, and Thomas says the lord went as white as the best tablecloth, though Cook says Thomas has no eye for linen, because the best tablecloth is ivory. Anyway, Lord Keathley jumped on the carriage to fetch Mr Jones before Miss Bingley had even finished objecting, and Mr Darcy went with him.”

Elizabeth’s hands stilled on the blanket. “Mr Darcy went with him?”

“Quiet as anything, miss.” Sarah leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “The lord’s hands were shaking, so Mr Darcy told him two men would manage better than one. Then off they went into the night.”

Mr Darcy had travelled back into the rain, not for his cousin’s safety alone, but for Jane’s. She did not know where to place this jarring piece of information, so she focused on the maid.

“And Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked.

Sarah’s face practically glowed with the memory. “Oh, he marched straight down the back stairs into the kitchens, gave us a scare. Cook dropped the soup ladle into the stockpot. He told her she had to make beef tea, not gruel, because gruel was for prisoners and poets.”

“I assume Cook objected to the invasion?”

“She fought him for three minutes.” Sarah nodded vigorously. “And then she made the broth as he commanded. He tasted it four times, then added salt and meat twice, then ate a bowl himself, just to be sure it was fit for Miss Bennet’s consumption.”

Elizabeth glanced at the silver tray. “A sacrifice worthy of the Roman Republic.”

“And Mr Bingley, when he recovered some,” Sarah continued, “had John hauling coal up the stairs; five loads, miss. He told Mrs Nicholls that Miss Bennet was to have whatever she asked for, and three more. Mrs Nicholls told him she had been managing sickrooms before he was out of leading strings, and do you know what he did, miss? He bowed to her. Bowed, right there in the passage, as if she were a duchess.”

“She would have loved that.”

“She did, miss, though she pretended she didn’t.”

Jane shifted against the pillows, lifting her fever-bright gaze. “Mr Bingley was very kind.”

“He’s been lingering outside the door four separate times this morning,” Sarah supplied. “Mrs Nicholls turned him away every single time. He even asked if it might be possible to build another fire.”

Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “In the passage?”

“In the room, miss. When Mrs Nicholls told him there was only one chimney, he seriously wondered if a second could be added by the stonemasons before luncheon.”

Jane’s colour deepened well beyond the effects of the fever.

Before Elizabeth could thoroughly tease her sister, brisk footsteps sounded in the passage. Mr Jones entered, his medical case tucked beneath one arm. He shot Elizabeth a sharp nod before walking to the bed.