Page 32 of A Most Beloved Sister
Tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes; she’d hoped Mrs. Hurst’s story was a miraculous one she could look to for hope. Blinking away the moisture, she gave the married woman a small smile and turned her attention back to her sister.
Dr. Carson had taken Jane’s delicate wrist in his hand, his fingers resting on the inside, while he held a small pocket watch in his other hand.
“Hmm.”
He jotted down a few things in a small notebook—not unlike the one Mr. Jones used—then asked, “Could you please open your mouth and stick out your tongue?”
Jane giggled and obliged. He put on a pair of spectacles and peered into her mouth. “Lift your tongue.”
After a few more notes, he then lifted Jane’s upper lip, causing her to giggle lightly again. He smiled kindly at her. “I know it seems a bit ridiculous. Have you always had such difficulty sticking your tongue out very far?”
Jane nodded.
“Just as I thought. Now, what can you tell me about your courses?”
Jane turned bright red and looked down at the bed, remaining silent. Elizabeth stepped forward. “They come once a month, sir. They are usually only for a day or so, and while there isn’t much blood, she does get painful stomach cramps and a headache.”
“But she does get them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good.”
He opened the satchel he had placed near her bed and pulled out a unique horn-shaped object. He placed the large end on Jane’s chest above her heart; then the smaller end went into his ear. Using the pocket watch again, he was silent for a full minute before withdrawing the instrument.
At Elizabeth’s astonished expression, he explained, “I prefer using an ear horn. I know it is typically used by those who have hearing loss, but I’ve found it gives my patients a better degree of privacy than the typical way.”
“That is quite forward-thinking of you,” Mrs. Hurst remarked. “I daresay most men wouldn’t be so thoughtful.”
Dr. Carson frowned. “Yes, well, unfortunately there are many who seek to abuse a system put in place to help those who are less fortunate.”
He stood from his place near Jane’s bed. “Thank you for being such an excellent patient, my dear. You are perhaps one of the calmest patients I have ever treated.”
Jane gave him a sleepy smile, then laid back on the bed. Elizabeth walked over and kissed her sister on the forehead. “We’ll let you rest now, dearest.”
Once Dr. Carson, Mrs. Hurst, and Elizabeth left the room, the latter resumed the earlier conversation, sharing Jane’s last experience with a doctor from London. “Papa found out later that the doctor was receiving money for each person he brought to the asylum, as it increased the facility’s income from donors, and Jane was especially beautiful.”
Mrs. Hurst’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t understand why asylums and poorhouses even need to exist when I know so many people who keep their children at home! I know many families who do so; why, even Lord Byron has a deformed foot, and he is quite accepted throughout society!”
“Only because of his status and works,” Dr. Carson replied. “Besides, a physical defect that is clearly seen is different from an infirmity of the mind. At least, that is the view of many educated people. You would leave a child with a mother who has a missing limb, but you would not leave a child with a madwoman or idiot.”
“A physical ailment often has a cause,” Elizabeth pointed out. “I know Lord Byron’s is from birth, but it only affects one part of him. With people like Jane, some wonder if it is a hereditary condition. Our society places such high value in breeding and blood, and if Jane’s ailments were to be genetic…” Her voice trailed off.
“Which it may be,” Dr. Carson answered. “We simply don’t know enough to know for sure. All we can do is treat the individual as best as we can.”
“I understand you have treated Mr. Darcy’s family for a long time,” Elizabeth said, hoping to gain more insight into the man who was proving to be such a conundrum.
“Ah, yes, I have,” he replied simply.
There was an awkward silence. Curiosity burned inside Elizabeth’s chest, but she could tell by the firm set of the man’s jaw that any further questions would be answered with a similar vagueness.
“What is your prognosis on Jane, then?” she asked instead, redirecting the conversation to her sister.
“I understand from Mr. Darcy that your apothecary, Mr. Jones, has said that Jane’s heart is failing her?”
Elizabeth nodded. “He said she may only have a few months left to live, or even a year. But surely…” She looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
The doctor sighed. “I’m afraid he is correct. Your sister’s heart is beating much more quickly than it should be—even for being ill—and there is an unusual rhythm to it. It seems to slow down,speed up, and even skip beats entirely. Additionally, her lungs sound as though she has winter fever—they are filled with fluid. It is why she coughs.”
