Page 57 of The Fee Entail

He woke up a bit later with an apology on his lips, but never actually got it out, no doubt realising how poorly it would be received. It was then, or perhaps when he carried me back to my own bed and kissed me on the forehead before retiring to his own punishment in his own room, leaving me to the care of his new sisters, that I for the first time truly saw my cousin for what he was. He was not always the fine man who kissed me, but he would never be anything less again.

I remember the next few days very well.

On Monday, the first of February, I was sitting with Lizzy and thought I might have seen some slight movement. She had been lying there nearly dead the day Charlotte Lucas came into our lives, and nobody would lay claim to having seen the slightest sign of life beyond the reflexes we had to coax to get some broth down. I held the sight to myself like a precious gift. I was not about to light the flame of hope and disappointment without more of a sign, but I would carry it myself.

She had been injured even worse than I was, and like me, had nearly succumbed to fever. In addition to the fever, her head had a blistering, swelling, pus-bucket of a wound that seemed likely to make her head explode. We would never know if all of her would come back, or if she would be in some way diminished. I was never entirely certain that all of my mind had returned. I was content with the part I had, as the portions of my memory that were gone were not terribly missed anyway. If my entire life started the moment I pushed Georgiana out of the way, I would be more than content; and if I was not as clever as I might once have been, I was still smarter than my cousins, who were only men.

Not much later, Charlotte entered and began her ministrations. We exercised Elizabeth’s limbs to keep them from shrinking away, and we of course had to force broth and perhaps the occasional bit of soup down her throat. We could all see that the battle with Father Time could not last much longer. She had not been large to start with, and every day she shrank a bit more, to where now her bones were becoming alarmingly prominent. At least her head no longer seemed in danger of leaving her body, and we no longer had to contend with the leeches, so that was something.

We all had promised to write to Fitzwilliam every single day without fail. Betsy could not even write her name, but Charlotte showed her how it was done, and she did the best she could, while Lydia and Mary eyed her like a new kitten. The poor girl had no idea what she had stepped into, but even those two were a vast improvement over the farm.

Charlotte was a woman much like me: tested, battered, bruised, but resolute and determined to survive and thrive. I liked her very much, not the least because she was calling my cousin to task. She had only been in his company once since her arrival and had ignored him so studiously I thought he might explode. A few weeks with Darcy should give me time to work on her, but I had my own curiosity.

“Charlotte, do you mind if I talk to you while you do your work?”

I was anxious to do my part but still too weak to be of use for anything more strenuous than watching her; and my own state was so precarious I doubted five minutes went by without someone happening by the door to glance in. Jane and Mary had been reading my father’s medical texts, and talking to anyone who would talk to them about recovery for both me and Lizzy. Their combined wisdom had apparently concluded that the remedy was torture. She made me get up and try to walk, while she and Mary dragged me up and down the corridors. She told me that, as soon as I managed to walk to the door of my own room, she would relent—lying, silly sisters.

“Of course, Anne.”

I was treading very carefully, hoping my invalid state offered some protection.

“You carry a heavy burden. Might you share it with someone? You have known the Bennets all your life, so they could serve if you need someone familiar. You have known me less than a fortnight, so I might do if you need someone… less… less… just, less. You know how we all feel about you, and I would do anything to lessen your burden, but I will not pry.”

She was unsatisfied with the completeness of my assertion. “Yet?”

I grinned and agreed. “Yet!”

She looked at me carefully. “My burden was lifted this morning, and I need nothing more at this time.”

I grimaced painfully. Richard had a much higher hill to climb than I thought, but at least it was not self-inflicted like my other cousin.

“Do you truly think my cousin is a bad man?”

She looked alarmed and said the most surprising thing of the day.

“Of course not! He is probably a very good man. He may even be the best of men… somewhere inside… though he is annoying in the extreme, and—”

She paused a moment, then rather incongruously said, “I imagine he gave you the list?”

This brought a chuckle to both of us. “I suspect if I invaded his quarters I would find a framed copy of it on his wall.”

“Perhaps I was harsh with him, but I… I… I just cannot.”

I thought I had made about as much progress as I was likely to for a day, and since she was right next to me rubbing Lizzy’s right arm with some salve that was usually used on cows’ udders, I pulled her down beside me and continued.

“Someday, my dear. Not today. Probably not tomorrow or the next day; but one day you will be ready to share this thing you carry, and I will be there to listen.”

She just nodded, then started on Elizabeth’s left arm, while I curled up in the sofa, tucked a blanket around my chin, and went to sleep.

Redemption

Bingley

Bloody Bollocks, it was cold! I looked over at the fond memory of my fire and wondered if I could figure out how to get it going again before I froze to death. I glanced over the fairly disgusting-looking remnants of the lamb I had on a tray for dinner in the library and wondered if there was anything salvageable, or if I should bother waking one of the servants. The candles were guttering down to nearly nothing, so a wise man might advocate that the better part of wisdom suggested going to bed.

In the end, I wondered idly how long I had been sitting there in thought, but instead of taking out my watch, I returned to the table where I had all the papers laid out, and tried once again to make sense of them.

The pages were obviously written in haste and agitation, especially the first. They did not look as bad as my writing, but if Caroline should happen to see them and praise the evenness of the handwriting or the quality of the pen, she would be lying more than usual. Of course, with Caroline, nearly everything was a lie, and every conversation was really just a matter of how many and how deep. She lived in her own little world, where nobody and nothing was important that did not assist her attempts to move into the circles where she was not born, and would never truly be accepted. She used people like tools, and failed to realise that most of her ‘friends’ did the same.