Page 31 of Grief and Grievances
“I don’t...”
“She had them right after the accident.” Elizabeth looked up at Lucinda, passing a hand over her wet eyes. “Her brain swelled inside her skull, the doctor said, and it caused the convulsions. They passed off, but he said they might come back... when the end approached.”
“Oh.” Lucinda stood very still, and then she leaned down and offered her hand to Elizabeth, to help her up.
“I’m sorry,” was all Elizabeth could muster as she clambered wearily to her feet, with Lucinda’s aid.
“How long?” Lucinda asked, her voice shaking. She was obviously trying to be brave and hold her emotions in check, and Elizabeth’s respect for her climbed even higher, despite her jealousy.
“I don’t think it can be all that much longer. Nobody can survive long without proper food and drink, and a little honeyed tea is all we have managed to get down her.”
“I see.” Lucinda fumbled her way into the chair beside the bed and reached for Anne’s hand, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said again, as footsteps heralded Georgiana’s return, with the housekeeper and several maids in tow.
“It’s not your fault,” Lucinda said, her voice strained with emotion. “We’re all doing what we can for her.”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She had never felt so helpless or useless in her life. All she could do was stand by and watch as Anne de Bourgh slipped further and further away.
The doctor arrived shortly after and did what he could, but there was little hope left for Anne’s recovery. As the hours passed, the convulsions returned, and became more frequent, and it was clear that the end was near.
“Send for Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth whispered to Jane at noon the following day, after a particularly dreadful convulsion, and Jane nodded.
It was time to say goodbye.
Lady Catherine arrived within minutes, her face drawn and solemn. She went immediately to Anne’s bedside and sat down, taking her daughter’s hand in her own. The room was quiet, save for Anne’s laboured breathing.
Elizabeth stood at the foot of the bed, watching as Lady Catherine leaned down to whisper in her daughter’s ear, tears streaming down her face. Lucinda sat on the other side of the bed, holding Anne’s other hand, her face twisted in grief.
The hours passed slowly, and the only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock on the mantel. The Earl of Matlock came in, followed by Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Jeremiah de Bourgh, each taking a turn to spend a few moments at Anne’s bedside, kiss her hands and tell her that they loved her.
Elizabeth was lost in her thoughts, wondering how she had come to be here, watching a young girl die in her prime. She felt a wave of sadness wash over her, knowing that Anne had never had the chance to live a full life, and that there was nothing anyone could do to change that.
As the night wore on, Anne’s breathing grew more and more laboured, until it finally ceased altogether.
Lady Catherine had not left her daughter’s bedside since Elizabeth summoned her, and now she set up a low, wordless keening, rocking back and forth in her chair, Anne’s lifeless hand held tightly in her own. Georgiana and Lucinda’s sobs echoed in the room, and Jane and Elizabeth could only stand back and watch the family grieve.
Chapter Fifteen
AswordofAnne’spassing spread, condolences poured in from friends and acquaintances alike, their well-wishes echoing through the hallways like a mournful refrain.
Elizabeth found herself standing at a window, gazing out at the gloomy sky as she considered the fleeting nature of life. The usual hustle and bustle of Rosings Park seemed to have quieted in response to the sombre atmosphere that now pervaded every corner of the estate.
"Miss Elizabeth," Lady Catherine's voice interrupted Elizabeth's reverie, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. "We are most grateful for your support during this trying time."
"Thank you, Lady Catherine," Elizabeth replied, turning her gaze towards the grieving mother. "Anne was a dear soul, and she will be sorely missed by all who knew her."
"Indeed," Lady Catherine murmured, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. "I cannot help but think of all the plans we had made for her future, and how they have been cruelly snatched away."
"Sometimes," Elizabeth said softly, "life has a way of taking us by surprise, forcing us to reevaluate our priorities and find solace in the love of those around us."
"Very true, Miss Bennet," Lady Catherine sighed. "I take comfort in knowing that she is now at peace."
The day of the funeral arrived with heavy clouds and a stifling air that seemed to reflect the weight of their collective sorrow. The rest of the family—the Countess of Matlock and her older son and daughter-in-law—joined the mourners at Rosings Park. They had travelled post-haste upon receiving news of Anne's demise.
"Miss Bennet," the very elegant Countess said, extending her hand to Elizabeth, "I would like to thank you for all you did for Anne. Your kindness and compassion have not gone unnoticed."
"Thank you, my lady," Elizabeth replied, her voice barely audible. "It was truly a privilege to know her, however briefly."
