Page 17 of Grief and Grievances
The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving only the faintest glimmers of light in the sky above the horizon. Within the dimly lit drawing-room, Darcy stood by the window, gazing out at the darkening sky with a furrowed brow.
“Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte said softly as she entered the room. “I thought you might like an update on Anne’s condition.”
“Please do tell,” he replied, turning to face her. His eyes betrayed his concern, and Charlotte offered him a reassuring smile.
“Anne is resting comfortably now, thanks to Elizabeth’s efforts.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Collins,” Darcy said gratefully, his voice laden with genuine relief. Yet, as his mind began to process this welcome news, it was soon overtaken by a renewed sense of guilt—for had he not once thought poorly of the very woman whose compassionate ministrations brought his cousin comfort?
As Charlotte took her leave, Darcy returned to the window, staring out at the darkening landscape. The weight of his guilt was heavy upon him, but it was tempered by a newfound respect for the women who had proven themselves so capable in the face of crisis. Determined to atone for his past failings, he resolved to support them wholeheartedly, and to learn from their example.
Chapter Nine
ElizabethBennet,herhandscalloused and her eyes heavy-lidded from days of ceaseless care, sat beside Anne de Bourgh’s bed as the young woman fought for each rasping breath. Charlotte Collins, steadfast and unwavering, stood on the other side of the bed, her gaze fixed upon her friend with a mixture of concern and admiration.
“Her fever has risen again,” Charlotte whispered, gripping a damp cloth tightly in her hand. “We must continue to cool her brow.”
Elizabeth nodded, her own brow furrowed in concentration as she gently dabbed at Anne’s forehead with tender precision. The maids scurried about, speaking in hushed tones, attending to their myriad duties with practiced efficiency. The air within the room was thick with the scent of illness and worry, punctuated only by the laboured breathing of its fragile occupant.
The sun was setting on a sombre day at Rosings, casting a warm glow that belied the chill in the air. Elizabeth sat by the window in her chamber, the last rays of the dying day giving her just enough light to pen her letter to Jane. The quill scratched softly against the parchment as she wrote, her thoughts focused on conveying the gravity of Anne’s condition and the events unfolding around her.
“Dearest Jane,” she began, pausing momentarily before continuing, “I hope this letter finds you in good spirits, although I wish it were under far happier circumstances that I write to you.” Her heart ached with longing for her sister’s presence, but she knew better than to let emotion alone dictate her actions; there was much yet to be done before she could even consider leaving Anne.
“Since my last missive,” she wrote on, “The doctor from London attended and unfortunately confirmed the local man’s diagnosis. Anne’s health has taken a precarious turn, and we have been tirelessly nursing her through several critical episodes.” She paused over the words, feeling their weight in her heart, before concluding the letter, “Please give my love to our family, and know that I am ever grateful for your thoughts and prayers. Yours affectionately, Elizabeth.”
Sealing the letter, she handed it to one of the maids, who nodded solemnly and left the room to ensure its swift dispatch. As the door closed behind her, Charlotte entered, her face lined with fatigue but her eyes resolute.
“Mrs. Jenkinson’s funeral took place earlier today,” she informed Elizabeth quietly. “Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were in attendance.”
Elizabeth nodded, acknowledging the information with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. Despite the short notice and the small, private nature of the service, it was heartening to know that Anne’s devoted companion had been given a proper farewell. She couldn’t help but wonder how Darcy and Fitzwilliam were faring, but she pushed those thoughts aside for now; there would be time for reflection once the immediate crisis had passed.
“Thank you for telling me,” Elizabeth said softly, her gaze drifting back towards the window as twilight began to fall. “It is a comfort to know that they were there to pay their respects.”
“Indeed,” Charlotte agreed, placing a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Now, let us return to our vigil by Anne’s side. Together, we will see her through this dark hour.”
With renewed energy, Elizabeth rose from her chair, taking one last glance at the letter before leaving the room with Charlotte.
The following evening, as dusk settled and cast a sombre glow over Rosings Park, Elizabeth found herself seated in a small, dimly lit dining room with Charlotte at her side, Maria Lucas and some dedicated maids sitting with Anne so the two of them might have a short respite. The flickering candles cast eerie shadows on the walls, mirroring the exhaustion etched on their faces. As they waited for their meal to be served, their eyes met, and in that moment, a tacit understanding passed between them—they were both bone-weary, but determined to continue bearing the yoke of responsibility.
“Elizabeth,” Charlotte whispered conspiratorially, leaning closer as she divulged a secret with a weary smile. “You will not believe what I have ordered for dinner tonight.”
“Pray tell,” Elizabeth replied, intrigued by the hint of mischief in her friend’s voice.
“Roast goose,” Charlotte revealed, her eyes glinting with a touch of humour. “The very same bird that caused this entire calamity.”
Elizabeth blinked in astonishment before allowing a small, tired chuckle to escape her lips. The irony was not lost on her, and she marvelled at the way life seemed to weave its tapestry with threads of both tragedy and comedy intertwined.
“Indeed, it is almost poetic,” she mused, raising her eyebrows in amused disbelief. “To think that we would dine upon the very creature responsible for our present predicament.”
“Life has a curious sense of humour sometimes,” Charlotte agreed, her own laughter mingling with Elizabeth’s. Their shared mirth, though brief, provided a much-needed respite from the oppressive weight of the situation. For a fleeting moment, they were simply two friends sharing a moment of levity, rather than caretakers grappling with an ever-present crisis.
As the goose was brought to the table, Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for finding amusement in such a dire situation. She quickly pushed the thought aside, however, recognizing the importance of finding solace in even the smallest of joys. In an unspoken agreement, both women savoured each tender and succulent bite, a silent tribute to their continued perseverance.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” Elizabeth whispered, her eyes conveying her gratitude not just for the dinner, but also for the unwavering support her friend had provided.
“Of course, dear friend,” Charlotte replied, her own gaze reflecting a similar sentiment. “We must find light in the darkness when we can.”
They ate slowly, almost too weary to chew the food in their mouths, but both aware they needed nourishment to keep their strength up. The staff of Rosings were attentive, well aware that their mistress’s survival thus far was due entirely to the devoted care of these two young women.
