Page 18 of Grief and Grievances
“I’ve written to Father,” Charlotte said quietly as they finished their meal. “Asked him to come and take Maria home. She is too young to witness what is to come, I think.”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “She is doing her best, but she is obviously finding the whole situation distressing, indeed overwhelming. Better she goes home.”
“And better I seek my bed.” Charlotte failed to hide a yawn behind her hand. “I will relieve you at midnight, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, sleep as long as you can. The maids and I will take care of Anne. You have enough to manage.”
The housekeeper, Mrs. Watson, had taken to her bed and not risen from it, entirely incapacitated by her grief. Elizabeth had little patience for the woman, considering that all her tasks had fallen on Charlotte’s shoulders. Maids less than half Mrs Watson’s age were frightened and grieving too, but had straightened their shoulders and stepped up to care for Anne as best they could.
As the dying embers of daylight gave way to the sombre embrace of night, Elizabeth stood by Anne’s bedside, her vigilant gaze never straying from the fragile figure that lay before her. The soft glow of the candlelight flickered across Anne’s pale features, casting shadows that seemed to ebb and flow with each laboured breath she took. Elizabeth brushed a stray lock of hair from Anne’s forehead, her heart tightening in her chest at the clamminess of her skin.
The door creaked open behind her, and Lady Catherine entered the room, her normally imperious countenance subdued and weary. She approached her daughter’s bedside, her footsteps almost hesitant, and took Anne’s frail hand in hers. There was an unexpected tenderness in her touch, as if she sought to bestow some of her own strength upon her child through the simple act of contact.
“Anne, my dear,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the words laden with a depth of emotion rarely heard from the formidable woman. “I am here, my love.”
In that moment, any lingering animosity Elizabeth harboured towards Lady Catherine faded away, replaced instead by a grudging understanding of the pain that even one such as she could not escape. Here was a mother, desperate and afraid for her child, and Elizabeth could not help but empathise.
“Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth began tentatively. “I assure you, we are doing everything in our power to aid Anne’s recovery.”
“Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine replied, her gaze never leaving Anne’s face. “I can see the devotion and care you have shown my daughter. I... I am in your debt.”
Elizabeth blinked in shock, unsure how to respond to such a rare display of gratitude. But it was clear that now was not the time for petty grievances or false modesty. Instead, she offered a small nod of acknowledgement, her heart swelling with the knowledge that she had managed to forge an understanding with this haughty, arrogant woman.
“Your ladyship,” she said softly, “it is my honour to assist in any way I can.”
Throughout the night, Lady Catherine remained by Anne’s side, holding her daughter’s hand as if it were a lifeline. And though there was little conversation between them, Elizabeth found herself oddly comforted by the other woman’s presence—the shared burden of their worry and concern forging an unexpected bond between them.
As morning dawned and the first rays of sunlight crept through the curtains, Lady Catherine rose from her chair, the exhaustion and strain of the night etched upon her face. She looked to Elizabeth, and for the briefest of moments, the barriers that had once stood between them seemed to crumble away.
“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I shall not forget your kindness.”
With those parting words, Lady Catherine left the room, leaving Elizabeth to resume her solitary vigil. And as she gazed upon Anne, still locked in the grip of her fevered dreams, Elizabeth allowed herself a small, weary smile, having learned that in the darkest of times, even the most unlikely of alliances could be formed.
Sir William Lucas arrived that morning to take Maria home, lingering only a short while in the oppressive grief of Rosings, but providing a welcome distraction for Charlotte, who was glad to see her father. Elizabeth watched from Anne’s window as the hired gig rolled away again down Rosings’ long driveway, Maria leaning against her father’s shoulder and not looking back.
With a weary sigh, Elizabeth leaned her head against the side of the windowframe, gazing out onto the green parkland with sore, gritty eyes. She had not been outside in days, either sitting at Anne’s side or catching brief periods of sleep on the bed in the adjoining maid’s room.
Just as Sir William’s gig disappeared from view, another carriage appeared, one very much larger and grander, drawn by four glossy black horses.
“That will be the Earl of Matlock,” Charlotte said at Elizabeth’s side, “bringing Mr. Darcy’s sister with him, if I am not mistaken. I had best go down and greet them.”
Curious to see Mr. Darcy’s sister, Elizabeth remained at the window to watch as the carriage drew up before the house. Unfortunately, due to the high elevation of Anne’s window, she could see nothing of the faces of the three people who got out of the carriage; a man in an expensive coat and hat and two women, one with the slight figure of a young girl. Charlotte greeted them on the steps of Rosings and they all entered the house.
Elizabeth supposed they might wish to see Anne, so summoned one of the maids to her side and did her best to make the sickroom look a little more appealing, brushing Anne’s hair and ensuring the bed was straightened and the room tidy.
A tap on the door heralded Charlotte’s arrival, accompanied by a tall young woman with thick golden curls tumbling about a pale face with reddened eyes.
“Miss Darcy to see her cousin,” Charlotte announced, rather unnecessarily.
“Of course,” Elizabeth said warmly, mustering a smile. “Please, do come and sit beside the bed. I am sure Anne would be glad to know you are here.”
“She is not aware at all?” Miss Darcy looked at Elizabeth, her lips trembling.
“I am sorry,” Elizabeth told her gently, “but she has not awakened since her accident.”
“Poor Anne!” Miss Darcy came forward in a rush, sitting down by the bed and taking Anne’s hand in hers. “I wanted to come earlier, but Uncle could not get away, some stupid vote in Parliament he insisted he had to stay for.” She sniffed back tears, and pressed Anne’s hand against her cheek. “Dear Anne. Will you not wake for your Georgie?”
Elizabeth’s heart went out to Miss Darcy, who was obviously very fond of her cousin. Miss Darcy looked no older than Lydia, for all her height, and was clearly in an emotional state.
