Chapter Ten
Anne had not even made it to the stairs when Mrs. Jenkinson caught up with her. As she continued on her way, Anne said nothing in response to her companion’s urgent questions about her health. Anne opened the door to her room, dismissing Mrs. Jenkinson with a request to inform the others that she was merely tired. She closed the door between them.
Anne stretched out on her bed. Her head pounded. Her parched lips stuck together. Her stomach rolled. Horror filled her heart. What had she done?
If only she could get up to write a note to Elizabeth, but she had no strength to move. She wanted to sink into the mattress—no, the Earth must swallow her. She had just confronted her mother in a way that left no room for compromise. Now she would face the wrath she had seen her mother unleash against so many others. Why had she drawn the innocent Dr. Minton into her argument, making him partially culpable for her rebellion? She hoped the physician would forgive her and find a way to stay on good terms with her mother.
Anne wanted to die. She could never undo this. She had ruined everything forever. Her stomach rolled again. She managed to get to her feet and stand over her wash bowl. She tried to pick up the pitcher and pour water to wash her face, but instead her nervous stomach knotted and released into the basin what little she had eaten for supper. She stared at it, then draped her washcloth across the basin and stumbled back to her bed.
Sometime later, a gentle knock on the door roused her. She had dreaded this moment. That was not Mrs. Jenkinson’s knock.
“…Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and Lady Catherine entered, searching for her in the room lit by a single candle on the mantle. “Your fire has gone out,” her mother said with a chill in her voice. “You should have told someone.”
“It does not matter.”
Lady Catherine came across the room towards her bed but stopped next to the wash basin. She sniffed, lifted the towel, frowned, and returned the towel to its place across the top of the bowl. She came to her daughter’s bedside and seemed to debate finding a chair or sitting on the edge of the bed. She chose the latter. “My dear, I had no idea you were so ill. You should have told me.”
When did you give me a chance? Anne thought, then hated herself for it. She looked at the dark ceiling. “I am sorry.”
“Everyone has gone,” her mother continued. “To a person they wished to convey to you their hopes for a quick recovery.”
“Thank you.”
Lady Catherine sat in dull silence for several long moments, then finally spoke. “Do you really want to go?”
Anne shuddered. Had she just heard her mother say that? “Yes, I do.”
“It is a long way,” the lady warned, “and it will be a grueling trip. I would not be surprised if you are turned back before you are halfway there.”
Anne had had that very same thought. “It is possible. But I would like to try.”
Lady Catherine said with great reluctance, “But I cannot go. I have obligations here at Rosings and in London.”
“I do not.”
Her mother muttered, “Yes, that is true. But you have an obligation to me. To be here for me. To be where I know you will be safe.”
Anne wanted to make a sharp retort about how her mother could always visit her at the church after she was buried there, but she had no idea how to phrase it.
Lady Catherine said, “…Can you wait until after the holidays are over?”
Anne blinked in the somber room at her mother’s words.
“…And would you promise to do everything Dr. Minton says?”
Anne tried to sit up, but she only made it up onto one elbow. Lady Catherine seemed unsure. Anne had never seen her hesitant before. It startled her. “Yes.”
Her mother patted her hand. “I shall see what can be arranged. Get a good night’s sleep.” She stood, and as she walked to the door she said in a clear voice, “And I will send in someone with extra firewood.”
Expectations: The Transformation of Miss Anne de Bourgh (Pride and Prejudice Continued), Volume 1 Page 12