Page 35 of A November to Remember

“Another Bennet. Excellent,” the apothecary grunted. “Perhaps this one will have the sense to keep the others away.”

“That depends on which others you mean, Mr Jones,” Elizabeth replied.

“The loudest of your herd.”

“I shall do my best, sir.” Elizabeth looked at the good man, one of her father’s oldest friends, and sighed with relief; her sister was in good hands.

Mr Jones checked Jane’s pulse, examined her throat, listened to the rattling in her chest, and subjected her to a brisk series of questions, which Jane answered with increasing exhaustion.

At last, he snapped his medical case shut.

“There is no immediate danger. The fever is stubborn, and her chest is affected, but not dangerously so,” he pronounced. “She requires rest, warmth, frequent liquids, and far fewer visitors than this household appears capable of generating.”

“May she return home to Longbourn? She wrote in her note that you forbade it, but she will be more comfortable among her family, will she not?”

Mr Jones peered at Elizabeth over the rim of his spectacles. “Not moving, unless your objective is to shake the fever so deeply into her bones that she never fully recovers. She stays where she is until I grant permission for her removal.”

From the depths of the pillows, Jane murmured, “Mamma will be delighted.”

“Your mother’s delight, Miss Bennet, is not recognised by the Royal College of Physicians as a valid medical treatment,” Mr Jones retorted drily.

Elizabeth turned a laugh into a highly unconvincing cough.

“Miss Elizabeth, I shall visit your father to inform him about your sister’s predicament in person. If you want me to carry a note or tell him something, I would be happy to oblige.”

“Yes, certainly. I had not thought about it. Allow me a few moments, sir,” she said with gratitude.

Elizabeth requested writing materials from Sarah, who produced a slanted lap desk, paper, and an inkwell. She then hovered near the roaring fire while Elizabeth composed her missive.

Papa,

Jane remains feverish, but Mr Jones assures me there is no peril. As I am certain he will tell you in great detail, he has strictly forbidden her removal, and I shall remain at Netherfield to act as her nurse. Please dispatch a trunk with clothes for us both, Jane’s green shawl, her hairbrush, and whatever else Hill considers necessary.

I beg you, kindly prevent Mamma from treating this development as confirmation of a wedding, a divine intervention, or both.

Lizzy

She sanded the ink and handed the folded note to the apothecary, who nodded sympathetically and left.

The yellow chamber settled into the routine of illness.

Jane slept most of the time. She woke just long enough to sip water, protested weakly that she was causing everyone an unforgivable amount of trouble, and fell back asleep before Elizabeth could formulate a reassurance. An hour later, she managed to swallow several spoonfuls of the colonel’s heavily salted concoction, praised the culinary effort with solemn conviction, and drifted away while still clutching the spoon.

Elizabeth remained anchored in the armchair beside the bed, silently counting her sister’s breaths without ever admitting to herself that she was counting.

Around two, the door opened to admit Mr Bennet. He was carrying a leather portmanteau and wearing a worried expression.

“My dear girls.” Mr Bennet deposited the portmanteau near the wardrobe. “I bring fresh clothing, stockings, hairbrushes, two shawls, a book selected by Mary for the moral improvement of an invalid’s mind, and eleven messages from your mother. I have retained none of them.”

Elizabeth stood and kissed his cheek. “How is she?”

“Triumphant.” Mr Bennet sighed. “The rain has fully vindicated every overarching principle by which she has governed her entire life.”

From the bed, Jane stirred. “Papa.”

He moved to her side instantly. His hand rested briefly against her burning forehead, and the shield of cynical amusement slipped from his face, replaced by relief.

“My dear girl,” he murmured softly. “You have managed an extravagant method of securing a longer visit. But the fault is not yours. I claim the blame fully. I should have known better than to indulge your mother’s every fanciful plan.”