Page 32 of The Lost Prophecy

Chapter Six: Departures and Arrivals

THE MORNING OF THE Bennet sisters’ departure from Netherfield arrived too soon for their liking.

Their trunks had been closed and they were ready to depart. Mrs Nicholls brought a tray to the bedchamber and placed it on the small table, where Jane sat wrapped in a shawl despite insisting that she no longer felt cold.

Elizabeth occupied the chair opposite her. She watched her sister spread butter on a piece of toast, divide it into four precise squares, and eat none of them.

“You should try a little more, miss.” Mrs Nicholls poured fresh tea into Jane’s cup. “Mr Jones was very particular about it.”

“I shall.” Jane lifted one square of toast and smiled at the housekeeper. “I was only waiting for my tea.”

The toast reached her lips just as a man’s voice sounded in the passage. Jane’s hand stopped. Colour touched her pale cheeks before a footman passed the door and continued walking to the rear staircase.

Mrs Nicholls moved to the bed and began folding the spare coverlet. “Mr Bingley has ordered hot bricks for the carriage. He also wished to send another carriage behind you in case the first should suffer an accident.”

Elizabeth lowered her cup. “Does Mr Bingley believe carriages become unreliable when transporting convalescents?”

“I believe he considers everything unreliable where Miss Bennet is concerned.” Mrs Nicholls placed the folded coverlet over the foot of the bed. “He asked whether the road to Longbourn contained any dangerous inclines.”

Jane concentrated on her food. “He is very considerate.”

“He is preparing for a three-mile journey as though we intend to cross the Alps,” Elizabeth observed. “If we remain another hour, he may send men ahead to remove the hills.”

Jane finally ate the square of toast. Her mouth curved, but the smile faded when she turned to the window. Netherfield’s lawns lay grey beneath the morning sky, and beyond them, the drive curved between the bare trees towards Longbourn.

She was glad to be well, but she was not glad to leave.

Elizabeth spared her the indignity of having this noticed aloud. She continued drinking her tea while Mrs Nicholls collected the breakfast things and issued instructions to the maid concerning the stairs. Once the housekeeper departed with the tray, Elizabeth inspected the room for anything they might have forgotten.

Jane’s gloves rested next to her bonnet. Elizabeth’s own pelisse hung behind the door. She had reached for it when she remembered the novel on the bedside table.

“I must return this to the library.”

Jane adjusted the fringe of her shawl without raising her eyes. “You could leave it here. One of the servants will return it.”

“I borrowed it from Mr Bingley’s library. It would be discourteous to abandon it in a bedchamber.”

Jane’s eyes rose at last, a suspicious gentleness entering her expression. “Of course.”

Elizabeth took the book. “There is no reason to say it in that tone.”

“I said only two words.”

“You placed a considerable amount inside them.”

Jane smiled and turned to the window again, leaving Elizabeth to depart with as much dignity as her sister’s implication permitted.

She opened the door and nearly stepped into the punch bowl.

It stood directly outside the chamber, positioned in the centre of the corridor with its engraved side facing her, morning light from the distant window travelling across the silver rim. No footman attended it, no sideboard had been placed nearby, and nothing suggested that a serving vessel had any reason to visit the guest bedchambers.

Elizabeth stood on the threshold, one hand around the door handle.

The bowl remained still.

“You are not alive.”

It rolled towards her.