Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 2

“D earest, you are still feverish, and I believe we should call Mr Jones before things turn worse.”

“I do not think so much trouble is necessary for a trifling cold.”

“Jane, you are speaking just like Mama, which terrifies me,” I try to joke, and I am rewarded with a little smile from my sweet sister.

As we are speaking, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst arrive to enquire after Jane’s health. Mr Bingley has accompanied them, and he is standing in the doorway waiting for information about Jane’s condition. The gentleman’s face reveals the deepest and most genuine concern. He speaks little, in contrast to his sisters, who take turns in expressing their worry in so many words that they become tiresome. I cannot reproach their behaviour towards Jane, but something strikes me as being insincere.

“Mr Bingley, I would kindly ask you to send for Mr Jones, the apothecary,” I dare to request, looking over Miss Bingley’s shoulder to the amiable gentleman still looming at the door. “Jane claims she is well, but her fever and cough are reasons for concern.”

“Of course, Miss Elizabeth. I suggested as much earlier, before you arrived — and so did Darcy. I shall send a servant with my carriage at once.”

I thank him with all my heart and am pleased to see Jane’s smile of gratitude and Mr Bingley’s pleasure at receiving it as well as having something useful to do. Shortly after his departure, his sisters follow, seemingly concerned to not tire ‘dear Jane’ any longer.

A while later, Mr Jones arrives, and he asks me to leave the room so he can examine the patient, which I find slightly irritating. Jane and I have grown up together, have shared a room and all our secrets, but as much as I cannot understand why my presence is not acceptable, I try to stay calm and do as asked, waiting just outside the door. In this moment of nervousness, my stomach remembers I have not eaten anything since the evening before, so I go in search of a maid to ask for tea and perhaps some biscuits. I do not want to ring for Penny, and so I move towards the staircase, expecting to meet a maid or a footman. Netherfield is a large house, and I am not acquainted with it, so I descend the stairs and look around tentatively, hoping to find someone. No footman is in sight and no maid either, so I clear my throat, to no avail. After a few minutes, I decide to be bold.

“Is anyone there?” I call, first in a low voice, then a little louder. A door opens several steps from where I stand, and I finally receive my reply, though not the one I hoped for.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

“Mr Darcy… Forgive me for disturbing you. I was looking for a maid.”

I expect him to leave, but he continues, stepping closer.

“Please allow me to direct you…” He briefly touches my arm to show me the way and walks by my side. “How is Miss Bennet feeling?”

I cannot help but look at him. His voice is pleasant and — shockingly — carries a trace of warmth that, because it is so unusual for him, induces me to believe his concern is sincere.

“Not as well as I expected. I hoped we might return home today, but I fear it will not be possible. Mr Jones is with her now.”

“Yes, Bingley told me.”

“I heard you insisted on calling for the apothecary earlier. I wish to thank you for that, sir.”

“No need to thank me. We all hope Miss Bennet will recover soon. Although I know my advice is unsolicited, I would suggest not removing your sister from Netherfield until the apothecary approves of it.”

My bewilderment is now complete. Mr Darcy’s amiability has continued for more than a minute, and there is even a little compassion added to it.

“Any advice given with genuine kindness is received with genuine gratitude, sir,” I reply. To my own surprise, I feel a smile on my lips and see him smiling back. I wonder whether I — or he — have developed a fever too, as our conversation is certainly not progressing as I would expect.

“You should find a maid in here,” he says, gesturing towards a door. “Do you need my further assistance?”

“No…thank you.”

“Then I shall return to the library. I hope for good news from Mr Jones.”

After bowing, he departs, and I turn to watch him as he walks away. Why, I cannot imagine, but it soon proves rather foolish, as he turns too and catches me staring at him. And he smiles again, which makes me doubt his suddenly changed behaviour.

He must have some interest to improve his manners so suddenly, I decide, but I do not have time to reflect much upon it. I pass my request on to the maid, then I hurry back to Jane, where Mr Jones is waiting for me.

“Miss Elizabeth, as might be supposed, Miss Bennet has caught a violent cold. She is in no immediate danger now, but she might be if we do not attend to it properly.”

“Of course. We shall do as you say.”

“I suggest she take some draughts and a mixture of herbs in a tea for several days. I shall leave everything, and instructions, with the maid attending her. She must take the draughts three times a day and the tea as often as she can, whenever she feels thirsty. The fever has already increased, and she is complaining of acute headaches, which is expected.”

“Oh…”

“When her fever rises, her forehead must be cooled with a sponge and cold water.”

“Very well, sir.”

“I shall ask Mr Bingley to send me word of how Miss Bennet feels tonight and tomorrow morning. If my presence is needed, call me immediately.”

“We shall, sir. Please tell me what we owe you for this visit, so I can inform my father.”

“Do not worry, Miss Elizabeth. Mr Bingley has taken care of everything. Your only concern should be your sister. She must stay in bed, eat at least a little soup, and drink often.”

“Of course…”

As Mr Jones is speaking, I glance at Jane. She was already flushed and, despite her forced smile, I notice she keeps closing her eyes, probably due to the headache. As soon as Mr Jones leaves, I ring for the maid and ask her to prepare the draughts and tea. I sit on the bed next to my sister and touch her hand briefly, enough to feel the high fever. Mama and Papa must be informed about the situation, and I am pondering the best course of action when I hear a knock on the door. It is Mr Bingley, looking disturbed, rubbing his hands together.

“Miss Elizabeth, I have just spoken to Mr Jones. Of course, you must stay with your sister, unless you have other previous engagements.”

“Thank you, sir. Nothing is more important than Jane.”

“I agree. Please write a note for your parents, and I shall send a servant immediately to deliver it and to bring you a trunk.”

He seems to have read my mind, and I feel the need to embrace him with gratitude. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please do not thank me. I look forward to seeing Miss Bennet’s health improve and to having the pleasure of her company.”

He looks almost as troubled as I am, so I bow my head to him in acknowledgement.

The following hours are agitated, as I examine Jane every other minute, fearful that her fever might have risen. I know it is too much; if I had a cold, I would consider my own behaviour ridiculous. But it is for Jane, so I cannot help myself.

A few hours later, a servant from Longbourn arrives with a note from Mama and a supply of clothes. Opening the trunk, my vexation with my mother returns. She has sent a couple of very elegant dresses and nightgowns for Jane, completely inappropriate for a patient fighting an illness. What on earth was in Mama’s mind? How did she imagine that Jane — lying in her bed — could impress Mr Bingley with the elegance of her garments? And nightgowns! What could she have been thinking?

Good Lord, give me patience and strength to keep my composure! Even more so as dark clouds threaten my peace of mind when I read the last lines of her note; Mama has promised to visit tomorrow, together with Lydia and Kitty. I know it will turn the situation from bad to worse.

Later in the afternoon, after two cups of the medicinal tea and a little soup, Jane has begun to improve. The fever has dropped, and she is sleeping peacefully.

I disregard the dinner bell when I hear it. But when a maid comes to convey the invitation for dinner, despite my first temptation to refuse, I reconsider. First, because my hunger is bothering me again and I assume I shall have a long and sleepless night ahead of me. Second, because I presume Mr Bingley will be expecting some news about Jane, and I owe him that much.

I ask Penny to watch Jane for me, then I put on a modest evening dress and push a few pins into my hair; it is far from perfect, but it should do for now.

I walk towards the dining room, hoping I remember its general location. I certainly remember where the library is after Mr Darcy appeared from there earlier. I hear some noise in one of the rooms and no footman in front of the door, so I open it, only to halt and catch my breath. It is a large room, dominated by a billiard table, and Mr Darcy is the sole occupant, playing by himself. In an instant, I notice his hair is in some disorder, his coat resting on a chair while he wears only a waistcoat over his shirt, his bright white neckcloth loosened.

“Miss Bennet?”

I startle as if he can read my thoughts, and I feel my cheeks burning. Perhaps I can pretend I have caught a fever from Jane.

“Mr Darcy, I deeply apologise for bothering you again… I was looking for Mr Bingley and Miss Bingley and…”

“Bingley is in the dining room. I shall accompany you there as I am going that way myself. If you will excuse me, I shall only be a moment,” he offers, putting on his coat before I have time to refuse. Besides, how can I reject his politeness when I am truly lost and cannot find anything in the house?

“Since we have the pleasure of your company, I assume Miss Bennet is a little better?” he asks. Strangely, his friendly tone is still evident.

“A little. I shall return to her immediately after dinner.”

“Your devotion is admirable. I have a sister too, and I can easily imagine your worry.”

“Thank you. I hope your sister is in good health?” I know not what else I can say in reply to his statement.

“She is. She is in London, with her companion.”

“I imagine you miss her.”

“I do,” he admits. “I look forward to seeing her soon.”

My head is spinning from the realisation that I am conversing amiably with Mr Darcy about our sisters. How is that even possible?

Fortunately, as we enter the dining room, Miss Bingley instantly demands his attention, attaching herself to his arm so tightly that she must be cutting off his blood flow, asking him his opinion about this or that, directing him not too subtly to sit next to her. Mr Darcy seems reluctant, and he looks around as if he is pondering what to do. I sit on the empty chair between Mr Bingley and Mr Hurst, and Mr Darcy finally takes the space between the sisters. I hope the dinner will not last long. I wish to eat, politely answer a few questions if addressed, and return to Jane as quickly as possible.