Sudden Awakenings (The Other Paths Collection)

Chapter 7

Elizabeth spent the chief part of the day in Jane's room, sometimes accompanied by one of Mr. Bingley's sisters.

When Jane had fallen asleep, Elizabeth returned downstairs to find a book to read. She had begun reading Samuel Richardson’s Pamela while at home, and was pleased to find a copy in Netherfield’s library so she could continue where she left off.

Mr. Darcy was employed in writing a letter. The others were engaged in a card game.

“We would ask you to join us, but unfortunately, our game will not admit a fifth,” Mrs. Hurst said, without glancing up from her cards.

“No matter.” Elizabeth smiled, settling onto the sofa nearby. “I am content with the book I have chosen.”

“Do you prefer reading to cards, then? How singular!” Miss Bingley remarked, a laugh escaping her lips.

Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy steal a glance at her from his writing desk. She tried to focus her attention on the tale of poor Pamela’s mistreatment at the hands of her employer, but Miss Bingley would not allow her a moment’s peace.

“How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!” she exclaimed. “When I have a home of my own, it must have an excellent library. Do you read often, when you are at home, Miss Elizabeth? Do you have a good library at Longbourn? ”

“Yes, my father has a decent library. My sisters and I enjoy free access to any of the books we wish, and we supplement with regular visits to the circulating library in Meryton.” Elizabeth barely looked back to her book before Caroline continued.

“I was never fond of circular libraries, myself. I find them too common.” Turning her head towards Mr. Darcy, she said, “You have a spectacular library at Pemberley, do you not, Mr. Darcy?”

“I do,” he said curtly, not raising his eyes from his letter.

“It is perhaps one of the largest and finest libraries in the country, is it not?” Caroline pressed, oblivious to her target’s desire to be left alone.

“I would not go so far as to say that,” said he, “but it is substantial. It has been the work of many generations.”

“With such a blessing as that, I hope you take full advantage of it,” Elizabeth remarked to him.

“I do, as often as my business allows. I confess, I am not at Pemberley as often as I would wish to be.”

Caroline drolled on. “There is no finer house in the country than Pemberley! How at home I feel there! When we visited last summer, I could quite picture myself living in such a place. Charles,” she said, turning her head to her brother, “when you purchase a home, I hope you will take Pemberley for a model.”

“I would purchase Pemberley itself, if I could!” Bingley laughed.

Caroline clicked her tongue. “I am speaking of possibilities! We all know Mr. Darcy would never sell.”

“No, I would not,” he asserted.

With such conversation happening in the room, Elizabeth soon gave up on her book and went to the pianoforte by the window. She began leafing through the selection of music on the stand, looking for something familiar.

“Oh, do you play, Miss Elizabeth?” Caroline asked .

“A little, though very poorly.”

“Well, you must take advantage of this fine instrument to practice, while you are here. Do you have an instrument at home, then?”

“We do, but I seldom find the time to play on it. When my sister Mary lived at home, it was she who practiced regularly.”

“Do play something for us, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley encouraged. “Some music would do us good to cheer us up. It is too dull around here, with the rain and mud keeping us from our hunt.”

“Very well, then, if it pleases you, though I do not profess any great talent. You might well regret having asked me to play by the time I am done!” Elizabeth smiled.

She chose a Scottish air, one with a simple melody, and sang along with her playing. Her music stirred Mr. Darcy from his seat, who drew nearer to the piano so that he might listen more fully.

“That was lovely, Miss Elizabeth,” he commended when she finished. “A most enchanting performance.”

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly feeling bashful.

“High praise, from one such as you, Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley remarked. “You would know good music when you hear it, living with a virtuoso!” Turning to Elizabeth, she said, “Miss Darcy is the most accomplished young musician I have ever heard. She plays the piano–and the harp–with far more superiority than other young ladies her age. She is quite devoted to her studies, is that not so, Mr. Darcy?”

He allowed that his sister was considered by many to be an exceptional talent, and she possessed an abiding passion for her music.

“Goodness, I had no idea I was to be judged by such a high standard!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “But you need not conflate my worth to make me feel better in the face of such competition; I know I do not practice with such diligence as your sister must.”

“Your technical performance does not equal hers, it is true,” Mr. Darcy admitted, “But there was nothing wanting in your voice. You sang with an unaffectedness that was altogether quite pleasing to listen to.”

His words warmed Elizabeth’s heart.

Miss Bingley then insisted on showcasing her own talents next, and chose a demanding Italian piece. While her technical capacity far exceeded Elizabeth’s, Miss Bingley’s screeching voice was by no means pleasant to listen to, and though she received as much praise and commendation from the others as Elizabeth had, Mr. Darcy’s remarks were not so warm and sincere, though he proclaimed it to be a “difficult piece” that “required much accomplishment.”

S

Darcy would not admit it to anyone, but he was falling in love with Elizabeth Bennet faster than he ever believed possible. Her impertinence, which he had scorned the night of the assembly, was now the distinguishing feature which set her apart and made him admire her. When coupled with her tenderness of heart and her lively spirit, he found himself utterly captivated by her. Her appearance is not wanting, either , he thought to himself, recalling the way her eyes sparkled during their animated discussion during dinner.

If only he could reconcile himself to the inferiority of her family, and their greedy, grasping ways, he might bring himself to consider her as a marital prospect.

S

After dinner, the sisters and Elizabeth visited Jane again. She was awake now, but still appeared as ill and miserable as before. Her nose was red from blowing it, and her cough persisted .

“You poor dear!” Miss Bingley cooed. “I have asked Mrs. Nicholls to send up her special chicken soup, which she claims is guaranteed to improve your symptoms.”

“Would you like me to read to you for a while?” Elizabeth offered.

Jane coughed before answering. “If it is not too much trouble, I would like it if Mr. Bingley were to read to me. I find his deep voice soothing, and he possesses a talent for voices.” He had read aloud from The Coquette the first evening Jane arrived, before she fell ill.

Elizabeth found it strange that Jane would prefer Mr. Bingley’s voice over hers; ordinarily, it was she who read aloud with great spirit and performed all the voices of the characters. Suspecting Jane’s request came from her attachment to him, she conceded, though Bingley’s sisters looked displeased by it.

Miss Bingley balked at the unusual request, claiming she was unsure it was entirely proper, but Elizabeth assured her she would remain in the room and suggested that the sisters could do the same.

Only Elizabeth remained to chaperone, however; Mrs. Hurst had no interest in listening to a book, while Miss Bingley saw her chance to monopolize Mr. Darcy’s attention in the drawing room without Miss Elizabeth’s fine eyes to distract him.

While Mr. Bingley continued reading The Coquette to Jane, Elizabeth was finally able to complete the rest of Pamela .

Pamela’s story was both sad and intriguing. Pamela found herself in the uncomfortable position of serving her new master, her late lady’s son, who repeatedly made untoward advances towards her. Her persistent virtue in refusing him drove him to resort to trickery and deceit. It was a riveting tale, but Elizabeth felt angry at the injustice of Pamela’s plight as her many efforts to escape her wicked master failed. In a strange turn of events, once Pamela was finally free of her master’s grip, she realized she was in love with him and returned to marry him .

Such a thing ought never to happen in real life! I cannot fathom that Pamela should fall in love with the very man she hated.

At least Pamela’s sorrows ended in joy, however. In the story that Bingley read to Jane, the heroine Eliza sought happiness with the man that she loved, but came to grief when he betrayed her by marrying another. Her tale ended in disgrace and death, both for her and the child she bore out of wedlock.

Why must women’s happiness be tied to the men in their lives and how they are treated by them? She mused. She hoped neither she nor any of her sisters would be so misused.

S

With the approach of night, Elizabeth’s fears about her sleepwalking arose once more. Her mind returned again to the near-accident with the fireplace, and she regretted being a guest. She wished she could share a room with her sister, as she did at home. But with Jane being ill, she could not do so, nor did she wish to explain to her hosts her reasons for not sleeping in a room of her own.

Why did I consent to stay the night in a strange house? She wondered. Anything might happen here.

Despite her worries, the night passed without incident.

After checking on Jane, Elizabeth went downstairs to the breakfast parlor.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth, I trust you slept well,” Miss Bingley greeted her, absently buttering her toast.

“Thank you, I did,” Elizabeth replied, taking the empty seat beside Mr. Bingley as Mrs. Hurst vacated it. Mr. Hurst remained, eagerly stuffing his face on pastries and jam. Mr. Darcy must not be down yet, or perhaps he had already breakfasted and left, Elizabeth concluded.

“Has Miss Bennet improved?” Mr. Bingley eagerly asked.

“She seemed so, when I visited her,” Elizabeth answered. She picked up a scone from the tray in the center of the table and began spreading cream and jam on it.

“What a relief, for I do not think she slept well last night,” Miss Bingley said.

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

“I was awakened by her stirring last night, and she complained of insomnia. I assisted her by summoning a servant to procure a warm glass of milk.”

“She did not mention any sleeplessness to me. I am grateful to you for assisting her.”

Mr. Bingley requested more details about Jane’s health. Elizabeth maintained that Jane looked well compared to the previous day, but that they must wait for the apothecary’s opinion before making any conclusions.

S

Shortly after breakfast, Mr. Jones returned to check on his patient. Elizabeth thought Jane seemed improved before, but now, Jane displayed a fit of coughing every few minutes.

“I am afraid I still cannot advise her being moved,” the apothecary told them. “She is in no danger while she lies here, but if she were to go out of doors, the chill in the air…” He shuddered, the posture of a man who had seen too many premature deaths due to preventable measures.

“Yes, I quite understand you.” Elizabeth nodded .

“How many days longer do you estimate she will require?” Miss Bingley asked. Her voice was sweet and concerned, but the look on her face told Elizabeth she was eager to be rid of her houseguests.

“Not that we are in any hurry to have her leave!” Mrs. Hurst added, in an attempt to temper her sister’s rudeness.

“I cannot say with any certainty,” Mr. Jones replied. “If her cough improves, perhaps she may be well enough tomorrow; if it does not, then it may be days, perhaps even until the week’s end, before she can safely depart without fear for her lungs.”

Mr. Bingley did not seem at all displeased by the news when they told him. “Miss Bennet must stay as long as necessary! I would not risk her contracting consumption for the world! My only regret is that she is so unwell that we cannot enjoy more of her company while she is here.”

“I do hate that my presence here is troublesome,” Jane murmured.

“Nonsense!” Bingley said, gazing down at her adoringly. “It is no trouble at all.”

“I do not wish to pass my illness to anyone, but I confess, I grow tired of this bed and these four walls. Would it be a great inconvenience if I were to join you all in the drawing room for a time?” she asked. “I would, of course, sit apart from you, so as not to spread my disease.”

Bingley’s face brightened. “It would be no inconvenience to us, I am sure. But are you certain you are well enough?”

Jane’s cough, which had been so violent while the apothecary was present, had seemingly vanished for the moment. She had not coughed once in the five minutes since Mr. Bingley entered the room.

“Your presence fortifies me, Mr. Bingley. I feel I shall recover much quicker if I am among friends.”

“Then let me carry you to the drawing room,” he offered .

Jane protested that she could walk, but upon attempting to rise from the bed, her strength appeared to fail her, and Mr. Bingley caught her before she could fall.

“I’ll brook no more stubbornness from you, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley chided her playfully. “Put your arm across my shoulders, if you please.”

Jane obeyed, and he swiftly lifted her into his arms, causing a slight giggle from her.

“If Miss Bennet is so weak, perhaps she ought to remain in bed,” Miss Bingley suggested, but to no avail. Elizabeth and Bingley’s sisters followed him as he carried Jane down the staircase and deposited her into a large armchair.

“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said.

Mr. Bingley bowed. “I am your humble servant. Now tell me what else you require, and I shall fetch it at once.”

“A blanket, perhaps, and a glass of water.”

Bingley ordered the water and brought over an elegant quilted throw blanket with crocheted lace, presumably designed by one of his sisters, and draped it over her lap.

“There now. What else? Some entertainment, perhaps?”

“I am satisfied for now.”

“Are you certain? I could read you a bit of poetry, or tell some jokes. Or perhaps one of my sisters could be imposed upon to play us some music. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Caroline, to play us something?”

“I would be glad to,” Miss Bingley said, her eyes glancing towards Mr. Darcy, as he entered the room.

“Yes, I would love to hear you, Miss Bingley. Elizabeth spoke of your playing yesterday, and I was sorry to have missed it,” Jane said.

“And afterwards, we shall continue our reading of The Coquette ,” Bingley proclaimed. “Should you like that? ”

“Very much!” Jane exclaimed, a smile of contentment on her lips.

S

Elizabeth observed her sister’s condition over the course of the day. She certainly seemed well, despite her earlier fits. It was only whenever someone mentioned her illness that she began coughing or blowing her nose again. Yet it was not in Jane’s nature to feign an illness.

Perhaps it is only my imagination that perceives such things , Elizabeth concluded. I should like her to be well enough that we can return home.

Elizabeth did not wish to remain at Netherfield a minute longer than necessary.

Mr. Darcy’s presence irritated her, even more than Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst’s idle gossip and disingenuous fawning over Jane. He seemed to look for opportunities to provoke her. That morning, they had argued over whether parliamentary reform ought to include universal suffrage. Later, he had questioned her love of dramatic novels, contending that books on philosophy provided more insights into the human condition than did fictional anecdotes of wonder and woe. At dinner, he had aggravated her further by insisting that modern industrialization was more valuable than traditional craftsmanship.

Why does this man always seek to be on opposite sides of an argument with me? Does he always consider his own opinion to be superior to mine?

The warmth inspired by his praise of her musical performance was fleeting; since then, she had found nothing good in his attitude towards her that would alter her opinion of him. Everything about him spoke of a pride beyond reckoning, from his bearing, to the condescending tone of his manners.

The only thing she found agreeable was his appearance. Would that he were a congenial, friendly man, like Mr. Bingley, that would be something! It is a pity that such a fine-looking man must be of such a disagreeable nature as to render his looks unable to compensate for it.