Page 2 of The Secret Diary of Anne de Bourgh

So Elizabeth has seen the appalling names Mother called her in the letter to Darcy.

“Certainly now that we are married and settled in Darcy House for the remainder of the Season, we hope that you and Cousin Anne will feel well enough to come to London for some few weeks. Fitzwilliam and I should both be pleased to see you, but if you do not feel able or if Cousin Anne is not recovered from her influenza, we shall hope to see you visit Pemberley at some time in the near future.

Yours sincerely,

Elizabeth Rose Darcy.”

I should like to go to London and stay with them. Elizabeth might listen if I told her of Dr Thornely. She might even insist that Mother seek another doctor’s opinion.

But it will not be. Mother snorted that she certainly would not be rushing off to London to dance attendance on that country chit, as she calls Elizabeth.

13 March

My cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam is expected tomorrow. Regrettably tomorrow is Monday and I will no doubt be in no fit state to see him.

18 March

I wonder why it has never occurred to me to ask Richard for assistance. He is not afraid of Mother. I have seen him hold his left shoulder when he thinks no one is looking; the old wound still pains him, though he rides superbly. Would he believe me if I told him about Dr Thornely?

I was able to sit up today, though I still feel very tired and weak, and I am sitting here at the window of my sitting-room, watching him ride his magnificent stallion up to the house. He uses the horse as an escape from Mother, I think. While I have been too ill to go downstairs, I have heard her raised voice, pouring out vitriol against the Darcys and especially Elizabeth. She has told Richard that I am dying of a broken heart, I suspect. He will not come to my room to see me – he is everything proper – but I heard him tell Mother quite exasperatedly that she was being melodramatic.

20 March

Tomorrow is Monday, and I cannot face another bleeding. Dr Thornely was so angry at my behaviour when I had the influenza, I think he took too much from me last week. It was days before I could sit up, and I cannot, I cannot bear it again. Not when I know Richard will be here for only another week, and I have not even seen him yet. He is in the house; I saw him return from his ride a few minutes ago. Mother is out, and Mrs Jenkinson is asleep. I am going to struggle my way into a dress and go and beg him for help. He may laugh at me, or tell me it is all in my foolish imagination, that I must let the good doctor try to help me, but I can no longer sit back meekly and let this quack kill me slowly. Oh, Richard, please help me. Please hear me.

Rosings has never known such upheaval. Richard was most surprised to find me at his door, leaning heavily on the doorframe for support.

“Anne! Goodness me, you do look very ill. What are you doing out of bed? Surely you should be resting?” He took my arm and guided me to a chair in his sitting-room. His man took one look at me and went out. I had never seen him before, but he returned a moment later with a glass of liquor!

“Put some colour in the lady’s cheeks, Colonel,” he said gruffly, handing the glass to Richard, and Richard laughed slightly.

“Perhaps it might, Sanderson, perhaps it might. It’s brandy, Anne, do you think you would like a sip?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed, “I’ve never tasted it before.”

The two men exchanged glances, and then Richard knelt on the floor beside me and held the glass to my lips. “That surprises me, in truth; most army doctors use it as a pick-me-up. I would have thought your doctor would have had you try it.”

“He believes in nothing but letting my blood,” I said bitterly, and sipped from the glass.

“No disrespect, m’lady, but blood-letting looks like the last thing you need,” the valet – Sanderson – said bluntly. The brandy slid warm down my throat, and after an initial cough, I suddenly began to feel a little better.

“Anne, you’re as weak as a kitten,” Richard said, feeling my hands trembling against his as we held the brandy glass together. “Has the doctor really been letting your blood? You’re not fevered still, are you?”

I shook my head and took another sip of the brandy. The two men eyed me for a moment, and then Richard said gently, “Do you think you could eat something?”

“As long as it’s not gruel,” I sighed. “Mother has told the kitchen I am to have nothing else, and I am so sick of it.”

Richard looked astonished, but he tipped the brandy glass up again and I swallowed obligingly. It no longer burned going down.

“Colonel,” Sanderson said, an odd note in his voice, “a moment?”

“Yes.” Richard stood, taking the glass with him, which I regretted briefly, and withdrew across the room. I sank back into the chair, far more comfortable than any upon which I would normally be permitted to sit, lest I slouch, and listened. They spoke softly, but perhaps my one talent is my superb hearing.

“Colonel, have you looked at that lass? How old is she?”

“Miss de Bourgh was twenty just before Christmas,” Richard said slowly, looking back across the room to me. I had a most inappropriate urge to smile and wave cheerily, but my arms felt heavy and it was all I could do just then to keep my eyes open.

“Twenty! Colonel, I’d not seen her before this day, and if you’d asked me I’d have said she could be no more than twelve!” Sanderson’s voice dropped, and I strained to hear him. “I know you said she was sickly, but did you hear what she just said? Some damn quack’s been letting her blood and they’re starving her!”