by Head, Gail
“I understand, my lord – I shall do my best to help her,” Elizabeth's reply was suitably contrite in her attempt to amend the poor beginning, but it mattered little to him that she had displayed a lively spirit. It would be tempered soon enough.
“As for your living arrangements, Mrs. Moore shall instruct you in the rules of the house. I expect you to conform to our routine as quickly as possible.”
“Of course. I shall certainly work toward that end.”
After a long pause, when she realized he had nothing further to say, she ventured to speak.
“Sir, might I inquire after Miss Ballard? Should I expect to meet her soon?”
As if in answer to her questions, the door opened and an attractive, auburn-haired girl of about fifteen entered the room. First casting a short, inquisitive glance at Elizabeth, she then spied Lord Grissholm and moved quickly in his direction. In an instant, Elizabeth could see how devastatingly shy she was and it was heartrending to watch as the girl approached her guardian with timidity and downcast eyes.
“My lord, you wished to see me?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, may I present my ward, Miss Rebecca Ballard. Rebecca, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“I-I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet,” Rebecca said quietly, looking back to her guardian with apprehension and some confusion.
“I have engaged Miss Bennet as your companion. Mrs. Holiby's services are no longer required.”
Rebecca's face instantly drained of any color and her voice faded to a mere whisper. “My lord, Mrs. Holiby has been with me since I can remember! I beg of you –”
“Nevertheless, she is gone. You are nearly sixteen and no longer require a governess. You will now welcome Miss Bennet to Everton.”
Elizabeth was hard pressed to hide her dismay at his pronouncement. His lordship was obviously a man accustomed to giving direction and having it obeyed without question, but she found it profoundly disturbing that he took no notice nor showed the slightest concern for the distress he had caused.
Still alarmingly pale, Rebecca obeyed immediately in a strained, barely audible timbre. “Miss Bennet, I welcome you to Everton Manor.”
Sensing it would only make matters worse, Elizabeth stilled the impulse to reach out a comforting hand to the devastated girl. Instead, she gave her the most sincere, understanding smile she could manage in front of the viscount.
“Thank you, Miss Ballard. I very much look forward to our becoming better acquainted.”
The necessary introductions having been accomplished, Lord Grissholm brusquely dismissed the girl and turned back to the ladies with an obvious wish to be done.
“Miss Bennet, Mrs. Younge, you must be fatigued from your journey and will want to rest.”
“I would appreciate that very much, sir,” replied Elizabeth, “but I fear that Mrs. Younge must return to London immediately. Would it be too much trouble for your carriage to take her back to the post-station right away?”
“There is no need, I assure you,” said Mrs. Younge, casting a dark look in Elizabeth's direction. “I have no pressing business to speed my return.”
“You are to be commended for your devotion to duty, madam; but did you not mention your sister's illness to me just today?”
“It is nothing,” she replied with a sudden wariness. “I am sure his Lordship would want me to stay a few days and help you settle into the household before I take my leave.”
“It is very generous of you,” replied Elizabeth sweetly, “but with your sister so very ill, and her family in such desperate need of you, it would be cruel indeed to keep you detained any longer. I thank you for bringing me all this way, and rest assured that I shall not forget the kindness you have shown me.”
“She has a trifling cold,” said Mrs. Younge desperately, looking to Grissholm for support and finding none.
“You are too good to make light of your troubles, Mrs. Younge; but did not the doctor send word it was very likely pneumonia? I know how worried you must be and I would not dream of depriving your family of your sisterly devotion. I urge you to make haste though; for I believe I heard the clerk say the late post-coach departs in less than an hour.”
“But I cannot – I am not sure that –”sputtered Mrs. Younge helplessly.
“In view of these circumstances,” Grissholm cut in, obviously intrigued by Elizabeth's clever ploy to rid herself of her companion, “I would not wish to detain you a moment longer. My carriage is at your disposal.”
Mrs. Younge flushed with anger and mortification, but Lord Grissholm's presence prevented her from offering any strong response. “You are too kind to worry for me so, Miss Bennet,” she finally replied in a voice stiff with resentment. “I look forward to the pleasure of returning the favor one day.”
Lord Grissholm stood silent as Elizabeth watched her companion of five days briskly gather her things and stride angrily from the room. When the door finally closed behind Mrs. Younge, Grissholm addressed her once again.
“Your presence is not required for dinner this evening, Miss Bennet. A tray shall be sent up for you. I will, however, expect you at breakfast – seven o'clock sharp. Mrs. Moore will show you to your room now.”
A slight motion to the footman standing at the door brought a stout, dark-haired woman of about forty almost instantly.
Elizabeth was astonished that she had been dismissed so abruptly, but was at the same time grateful that she would not have to summon the energy required to appear for dinner. She followed the housekeeper out, suddenly very tired and desperately feeling the need to be alone.
Some hours later, Elizabeth sat at the ornately-carved writing desk in her room and stared at the sheet of paper before her. How much should she tell her father of her journey to Cumberland? Would it do any good to tell him of things he had no power to change? Her indecision and the effects of a satisfying meal and a relaxing bath finally gave way to a brief note simply telling him she had arrived safely and giving him directions of where to send his letters.
Wanting to have the letter posted as soon as possible, she went in search of a footman. It did not take long to find one who could accommodate her and she returned to her room straight away. Reaching the hallway outside her door, she paused on the threshold, feeling a pair of eyes upon her. Turning around, she saw Rebecca peering out from a partially open door across the hall, her deep blue eyes swollen and red from hours of crying.
Elizabeth's sympathetic smile was greeted with a sullen stare. Hoping to offer some comfort, she took a step toward the girl but the gesture was rejected with a solid thud of the closing door.
Chapter 7
“Checkmate!” Mr. Bennet grinned as he swept the bishop from the board and Bingley cringed in defeat. “I must say, Mr. Bingley, you have been a little more of a challenge today.”
“Thank you, sir, I try. As you have seen twice now, the finer points of the game tend to elude me.”
“Patience, my friend, patience. It will aid you every time.”
“My good friend, Mr. Darcy, gives me similar advice,” Bingley smiled, trying to ignore the quiet snort that erupted from Mrs. Bennet. “Shall we try again – say on Thursday?”
“Thursday? Yes, that should do nicely. I even believe the ladies will be happy if you come in time for tea. Is that not so, Mrs. Bennet?”
“Oh, yes! Tea on Thursday would be lovely, I am sure. We are always honored when you visit us, Mr. Bingley. It would be most – ”
“Well, well, my dear. Mr. Bingley has humored my love for chess long enough and must have other matters to attend. I am sure I do.”
“Quite right, Mr. Bennet,” his wife agreed, casting a meaningful look to Jane, “but we cannot end this most enjoyable time without our Mary playing something for us, can we? Shall you stay a little longer, Mr. Bingley?”
“Of course, Mrs. Bennet. I would be delighted!” Bingley exclaimed as Mr. Bennet sank unhappily back into his chair.
Surprised and pleased at
the unexpected attention, Mary quickly produced a favorite score and settled herself at the piano-forte.
Bingley was happy to oblige Mrs. Bennet for he had hoped his visit would present an opportunity to speak with Jane, and until this moment, none had materialized. He moved to the open chair next to her on the pretense of having a better view. Mary's first notes filled the room and her efforts had not reached the end of the first page before he began.
“Miss Bennet, my sisters have just arrived at Netherfield, along with Mr. Darcy, and his sister. If you have no previous engagements, Caroline would be pleased if you could join us for tea tomorrow afternoon. I would like it – that is to say, she would like it very much if you would come.”
Jane's expression brightened at the invitation, only to darken with disappointment just as quickly. Charles was puzzled. They had spoken only twice since his return, but he had thought there was great progress in their understanding of one another.
“I have no previous engagements, sir,” said Jane quietly, “but do you not think it might be an imposition upon certain members of your party?”
“An imposition? How could it be an imposition?”
“I…I was told by your sister, Miss Bingley that…she was kind enough to inform me of your…admiration…for Miss Darcy. I…thought perhaps my presence would cause some discomfort for…some of your guests,” she finished and looked down in awkward silence.
“Upon my word! I never….I…I am amazed! I…I cannot say what possessed Caroline to convey such a thing,” he whispered anxiously. “You must believe me, Miss Bennet, there is no understanding of any kind between Miss Darcy and myself. I give you my word. The only connection I have to the Darcy family is my good friend, Mr. Darcy!”
“But your sister –”
“Miss Bennet,” he met her eyes, refusing to let her turn away as he spoke, “I assure you that your presence at Netherfield would not cause any discomfort in the least. In truth, the effect would be quite the opposite.”
Jane caught her breath and finally pulled her eyes away from his, trying to conceal the blush rising in her cheeks.
“In that case, sir, I shall be delighted to accept.”
* * * *
“You have to let me go, Papa!”
“Indeed, I do not, Lydia.”
“But Mrs. Forster has invited me as her particular friend!”
“Particular or not, you shall not go to Brighton.”
“Mama, my heart shall break if I do not go!”
Mrs. Bennet could contain herself no longer. Setting down her glass of wine, she fixed an endearing smile upon her husband seated at the other end of the dining table and entered the fray.
“My dear Mr. Bennet, surely you would not have us slight Mrs. Forster by refusing to let our dear sweet Lydia accompany her to the seaside?”
Mr. Bennet slowly removed his napkin and placed it on the table, trying to control his rising agitation. He wanted to say, “And have her disgrace the family completely? Not for all the Mrs. Forsters in the world!” But instead, he rose and faced his wife squarely.
“I have no intention of slighting Mrs. Forster, but Lydia shall not go.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” cried his wife petulantly. “How can you be so cruel? You have scarce allowed the poor girl out of doors this entire week!”
“Nevertheless, my mind is made up. I shall be in my library, not to be disturbed.”
Making his retreat, he turned a deaf ear to the sounds of Lydia's wailing and Mrs. Bennet's soothing assurances.
“There, there, my dear. He shall come round by and by. You shall see.”
Softly closing the library door, Mr. Bennet sank into the soft cushions of his favorite reading chair, feeling exhausted. The shock of Lydia's shameful behavior still fresh in his mind, he vowed he would not relent his decision. He could not allow her unguarded and imprudent manner to disgrace the entire family. Besides, what if the blackmailer was among Colonel Forster's regiment? He could not risk it.
Taking Lydia's letter from his pocket, he examined it yet again looking for anything that would reveal the rake's identity. What was the girl thinking to write such a letter - and exactly how many more are there? Beads of sweat formed on his brow and a trembling hand wiped them away. God forbid they should become public!
Dejectedly, he looked around the comfortably cluttered library, searching for answers. His eyes were drawn to the luminous object lying on his desktop across the room and a low, contemptuous snort erupted from him. It had been years since he last took the ancient dueling sword down from its place above the hearth, and his attempt at some practice strokes that very morning had left him weak and gasping for breath within a few short minutes. Absently rubbing at the ache in his arm that had come with the morning's exercise, he conceded to Lizzy's earlier argument. He was in no shape to fight this man – whoever he was.
* * * *
A faint knock at the door sounded distantly in William Bennet's mind and he opened his eyes against a dull, throbbing pain that filled his head. He was astonished to find himself lying on the floor of his library. Puzzled at how he came to be there, he tried to sit up and instantly regretted the effort as the room began spinning wildly and his stomach lurched nauseously. Dropping his head back to the carpet with short, deliberate breaths, he attempted to roll onto his back. His astonishment quickly grew to alarm as he discovered his right arm and leg refused to respond to his efforts.
As he looked about for something to help him get up, he spied Lydia's shameful letter lying on the floor, just beyond his right hand. The letter! If someone should see it, the family would be ruined. He reached out to retrieve it, but his paralyzed arm would not respond no matter how hard he tried. He tried again, reaching across with his left hand, but it was beyond his reach and the movement only succeeded in bringing on another debilitating wave of vertigo.
He was forced back to the floor, pale and trembling from his exertions. In another moment, his alarm escalated to true panic when the knock sounded again, and was followed by a hesitant opening of the door.
“Father?” Jane inquired cautiously.
“Jane!” he answered weakly.
“Father!” she cried at the sight of him on the floor. She flew to his side instantly, tears of apprehension filling her eyes. “You are ill! Lie still, I shall get John at once!”
“No, wait!”
Not hearing his feeble objection, Jane ran from the room frantically summoning their manservant, “John! John! Come quickly! Mr. Bennet is ill!”
Mr. Bennet lay motionless on the floor listening to the house come to life with Jane's cries of alarm. As the news of his collapse spread, he could hear Mrs. Bennet's shrill cries above stairs demanding to know what had happened. His eyes went again to the odious letter resting on the carpet in plain sight. The room would very soon be filled with people. People who must not find it!
He groaned in a renewed effort to retrieve it. Pushing with all his might against the dead weight of his useless limbs, he managed to move a little closer. He again reached out with his left hand only to be forced back down by the nauseating dizziness that enveloped him. Not close enough! He struggled to move another inch, panting with exhaustion, straining every muscle to reach the letter, and was rewarded when trembling fingertips brushed the edge. Once more and he would have it, but he had to hurry!
Spurred on by the sound of John's heavy footsteps entering the house, he gathered his strength for one final attempt. They were almost here! He took a ragged breath and pushed once more, managing only an inch closer, but it was enough! His trembling fingers reached out to claim the letter just as Mrs. Bennet burst into the library.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet! What has happened? You cannot die! What will become of us!” she wailed, sinking down beside him. The swish of her skirts swept the letter away, carrying it beyond his reach and he fell back in despair.
In the next instant, confusion filled the room as Jane rushed in with John and Mrs. Hill, followed closely by Mary, K
itty, and Lydia, the girls all falling down around him in tears. Mr. Bennet watched helplessly as the flurry of skirts sent the letter flying again and again, and he could only pray that it would go unnoticed in the tumult.
With his wife fluttering uselessly over him, shrieking for someone to do something, Mr. Bennet could no longer defy the heaviness in his eyes and let them close. As he sank further and further down into a dark pool of nothingness, he heard the sound of Mrs. Hill's voice sharply dismissing the hovering servants with orders to fetch the physician at once.
* * * *
Jane tapped gently on the door to her father's room. “Dr. Heaton? I have brought the cloths and cool water you asked for,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
The door quickly opened and the doctor took the items from Jane.
“Thank you, Miss Bennet. Is your mother settled?”
“Yes, sir. The draught has finally taken effect and she is sleeping. Mary is with her now.” She craned her neck anxiously to see into the room. “How is my father?”
The doctor gave her a compassionate smile. It was plain to see she had brought the tray herself instead of sending a servant so that she might have a chance to see her father.
“He has had a serious attack, but is holding his own for now. This next day will tell me more.”
“Will he recover?”
“It remains to be seen what the extent of his recovery will be,” Dr. Heaton replied evasively, and fresh tears began to well in Jane's eyes. “I will know more after tomorrow. I have written instructions for a compound that might help. Why don't you stay with your father a few minutes, while I go talk with Mr. Jones?”
Sitting in the stillness, Jane listened to her father's labored breathing and studied his quiet form. She noted the sagging lines that pulled at the right side of his face, and her tears spilled over. She reached out and gently traced one of the lines, only to snatch her hand back in surprise when his eyes fluttered opened.