Will could only stare at the chocolates. It was a custom order, sent directly from Brussels, not ordered from a stateside distributor. How did she know? He wondered. I never mentioned . . .
G touched the box of chocolates. “How did she know about Neuhaus?” she asked.
Richard considered the question—then suddenly, his face cleared. “Your addiction came up in conversation once. Months ago, in Brussels.” He took her chin in his hand and gently tipped it up so she’d look him in the eye. “Then I forgot all about it. But Elizabeth evidently remembered.”
Georgiana blinked and blushed beet red. “She hadn’t even met Will then, had she?”
Richard shook his head. “No. So there were no ulterior motives. She just remembers things like that.”
Will remained silent. His anger with Georgiana was not going away. It was better not to say anything until he was calmer.
G pulled away. She ducked her head and tapped a bottle cap. “Is there something special about the beer?” she asked.
Richard’s grin faltered. “I bought her one of these at De Roos.” He glanced fleetingly at Will before returning his attention to the bottle. “I guess it’s her way of making sure we get to finish it this time.”
Instead of chastising his sister, Will picked up his own phone and tried to call Elizabeth. Again. Again, he was sent to voice mail. He opened a text box and sent a message saying they’d received the beer and chocolates. He waited, but there was no response. He wanted to jump in his car and drive out to New Jersey, but it was nearly two in the morning now. He weighed the fact that she preferred to stay up until the wee hours against the knowledge that she was getting up early to go to the Gardiners’ house for Thanksgiving. He took a deep breath, accepting the beer Richard had poured into a mug and was handing him. I’ll run by the Gardiners’ in the morning. Richard had opened the box of truffles and motioned for G to help herself. She took one piece.
Richard lifted his glass. “To Elizabeth Bennet and being home.”
Will grinned gamely and tapped his mug against his cousin’s. “To Elizabeth, who’s going to get a piece of my mind tomorrow and probably a new battery for her phone.”
G lifted her chocolate before she ate it. She said nothing at all.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth woke on the bathroom floor, her head still throbbing lightly. Someone was knocking on her door. She put one hand on the toilet seat and hauled herself up. There was a shot of pain through her strained stomach muscles, and she bent over instinctively to grab at her midsection. Something shiny caught her eye as it fell from her pocket and dropped into the clean water of the toilet with a sickening plop.
“No, no, no,” she moaned, recognizing her phone. She fished it out and set it next to the sink. She turned it off, then stuck a few more Tylenol into her mouth, shoving her hand under the running faucet and sipping from it to wash them down and rinse out her mouth. She walked to the kitchen and grabbed a box of instant couscous, tore it open, poured it into a Ziplock bag, and shoved the phone inside. She groaned. She’d seen the screen flickering before she turned it off. This was probably a lost cause.
The knock on the door grew louder and more insistent. She straightened her clothes before checking the peephole. There were two uniformed officers standing in the hallway. She thought perhaps they wanted to talk about Kaylie.
She undid the locks and opened the door. “Good morning, officers,” she said softly, trying to ease the pounding in her head. At least she wasn’t nauseous anymore. “Can I help you?”
“Elizabeth Bennet?” the shorter one asked roughly, as though pronouncing a curse word. He pointed at the door. “May we come in?” he asked gruffly. His eyes were stony, and he was trying to look beyond her into the living room.
Elizabeth was not in a patient mood and bristled at the attitude. “I am Elizabeth Bennet, but no, you may not come in.”
“This would be easier if you’d let us inside, ma’am,” said the taller one with darker skin. His tone was vaguely threatening. Outnumbered, she thought reflexively. Stay outside.
“Maybe for you,” she said groggily, and stepped outside into the hall. “We can speak here.” She closed the door behind her.
Her neighbor Mr. Pizanski threw open his door. He was in a light blue bathrobe and hadn’t combed his snow white hair, which was now plastered flat against one side of his head and sticking out at a variety of angles from the other. “What’s going on out here, Miss Elizabeth?”
“I don’t know yet, Mr. Pizanski,” Elizabeth replied as she turned her attention to the uniformed men. “What is going on out here, officers?”
“Is there something in there you don’t want us to see, ma’am?” continued the taller man, whose nametag read Spinoza.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied coldly, “my apartment.” She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her ear against her shoulder.
There was a coughing bark from behind the police. “Don’t tell them anything, Miss Elizabeth! This is how it starts—they take you away on false charges, and then your family never sees you again!”
“It’s all right, Mr. Pizanski,” Elizabeth responded, not taking her eyes off the officers. “They aren’t taking me anywhere.”
The two officers exchanged a glance that indicated she might not be correct.
“Headache?” asked the shorter man. His hair was all brown curls, and he appeared not much older than Elizabeth. His nametag identified him as Goring.
“Migraine,” she told them tersely. They didn’t seem to believe her.
“Were you drinking yesterday, ma’am?” Spinoza queried.
“No,” she sighed. Her mouth felt like she was swallowing cotton. “You want to tell me what this is all about?”
“That’s right! Make them tell you! This is America! They must have evidences!” Mr. Pizanski hollered, his face beginning to flush. He had come out in to the hall now and was holding up his phone. “I’m steaming this live!”
Elizabeth would have smiled at “steaming,” but her head hurt too much. Mr. Pizanski had lived a hard life before immigrating here. She’d listened to some of his stories while they did their laundry in the basement. Spinoza’s eye twitched, and Goring frowned. Something seemed wrong, out of place, though she couldn’t say precisely what that might be. Elizabeth was suddenly comforted by the old man’s presence.
There was some rustling downstairs, and the sound of other voices rose up to them.
Spinoza shifted from one foot to another and glanced down the staircase before asking, “Where were you between ten and eleven yesterday evening, Ms. Bennet?”
Ah, now we get to it. She straightened but left one hand pressed lightly against the wall to steady herself. Her reply was precise and detailed. “I was at the Montclair Township Police Department in the presence of two sworn officers, supporting a friend who was the victim of a crime. We then traveled together to the Montclair State University Hospital and were there until after midnight. Why?”
“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Pizanski. “Alibi! So now you go!”
Spinoza’s change of expression from smug to annoyed gave Elizabeth great satisfaction. “You mind if we check on that?” asked Goring.
Elizabeth dug into her pocket only to find Spinoza’s hand on her forearm. “Remove your hand, ma’am.”
For heaven’s sake, she thought, struggling mightily not to roll her eyes. She removed her hand and stuck her hip out. “If you want to go in there, I have the primary officer’s card and you can call her direct line.”
“You can do it,” Spinoza said, after patting the pocket down. “Just go slow.”
They’ve been watching too many cop shows, Elizabeth told herself, and then, just humor them, Bennet. Don’t make it worse. She stuck two fingers in, grabbed the card, and held it out. “Please just copy down the name and number,” she said, “I may need the card later.”
Spinoza took it and walked down the hall. Elizabeth leaned against the wall, listening to his voice
, which was low enough to be indistinct. She felt ragged and was wishing she had grabbed a bottle of water on her way out.
“Rough night?” pressed Goring with a smirk. He leaned in a little too close.
She stared at him through half-lidded eyes. “Have you ever had a migraine so bad you threw up?”
He shrugged. “No.” His tone suggested that nobody else had, either.
She sighed. My night was rough, but I’m not telling him that. Twit. “Well, you might want to give me some room. I can’t promise that I’m finished.”
Goring stepped back.
A few minutes later, Spinoza was handing the card to her and gesturing to Goring. His eyes flickered to Mr. Pizanski and then the stairs. “Come on, let’s go.”
Goring’s head turned quickly towards his partner’s. He was obviously surprised.
“That’s it?” Elizabeth asked angrily. “You come here, treat me like a criminal, accuse me of doing something illegal, and then you just leave without explaining what it was about?”
Spinoza gazed straight at her. “Yep.” The two men tramped down the stairs.
“I got it all,” Mr. Pizanski said triumphantly as he eyed their flight. He handed her his phone. “How do I send it to you?”
Elizabeth was surprised to see that her neighbor had managed to use the video on his phone correctly, though he hadn’t really been streaming anything. She sent a copy to her own account. “Thank you, Mr. Pizanski,” she said warmly, then winced as a sharp pain ran down the back of her neck. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
The main door to the building closed.
“Everyone okay up there?” came a rough voice from the first floor. “Pizanski, you all right?”
Elizabeth had only met Mr. Ivan once, but she knew his gravelly voice—he was a bulky, red-faced Teamster whose family had for many years occupied the largest apartment in the building.
“We are finest, Mr. Ivan!” Mr. Pizanski called. “I will be down for dinner with the rolls.” He smiled at Elizabeth and patted her shoulder awkwardly. “You will be with your family, no?”
“Yes, I will,” she said. Elizabeth thanked Mr. Ivan and returned to her apartment, where she spied the bag of couscous and felt like crying. “I want my phone,” she told the empty room. She sat on the couch, discouraged. She could use her laptop, she supposed, but now she was sitting she didn’t feel like getting up again. Jane would be picking her up later. She’d just call Will from her sister’s phone.
It seemed that no sooner had she drifted off than Jane was shaking her shoulder. Elizabeth opened one eye and groaned a bit. She still had the headache, and her stomach was cramping again.
“Janie,” she complained, “what are you doing here so early?”
Jane’s eyes were fixed on her sister’s face. “Lizzy, I was supposed to pick you up at seven so you could help with the food, remember? I’m thirty minutes late. I tried to call . . .”
“Oh,” Elizabeth mumbled, her dry mouth tasting sour. “Sorry.” She rose to her feet, but as she took her first stumbling step towards the bedroom, Jane caught her by the arm.
“Sit down, Lizzy,” she ordered. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” The front door shut behind her.
Elizabeth knew there was no arguing with Jane when she used her nurse voice, so she sat and leaned back, wondering why she still felt so awful. Her thoughts were sluggish and standing made her dizzy. Maybe she’d caught something at the hospital the day before in addition to her migraine. What a day to be sick. Lifting a hand to her forehead took more effort than it ought, but her skin was cool.
Jane was lowering herself to the couch before Elizabeth realized she’d come back inside. She pulled up Elizabeth’s sleeve with a practiced flick and closed a blood pressure cuff around her bicep.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth protested, trying to free herself.
“Elizabeth Madison Bennet, you stop that right now,” Jane said firmly. Elizabeth rolled her eyes but let her arm drop. Jane inflated the cuff and took the reading. “When was the last time you ate or drank anything?” she asked in a clipped tone.
Elizabeth had to think about that. “Ummm . . . breakfast.”
“You had breakfast this morning?”
Elizabeth shook her head carefully. “Yesterday.”
Jane’s thunderous expression had Elizabeth scrambling to defend herself. “It was a big breakfast,” she insisted. “I planned to eat a lot at dinner, so I skipped lunch.” She placed a hand on her stomach for a moment. “Then Kit called. Did she tell you?”
“Yes,” Jane said, dropping the cuff on the coffee table and walking to the refrigerator. She came back with a bottle of water. “Drink.”
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked.
“Looking for Major Fitzwilliam’s number.” Jane touched her phone’s screen.
“Why?” Elizabeth meant to sound forbidding, but the room was starting to spin a bit, and she had to close her eyes.
“Because I need help getting you downstairs. Uncle Ed’s back is out again, and unless you want me to call an ambulance, the major is the best bet.” Unspoken was the fact that the ambulance would probably take longer on a holiday than a drive from the city on clear roads.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Elizabeth scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m never ridiculous about medical care, Lizzy,” Jane replied. “Your skin is actually gray. You’re going to the ER.”
Elizabeth changed tactics, trying to tease her sister into relaxing a bit. “I didn’t know you had Richard’s number, Jane.”
“I’ve had his number since Brussels,” was the curt reply. “I’d call Will, but his number I don’t have, an oversight I will remedy this morning.” Jane held up the plastic bag with her sister’s dead phone inside. “Unless you happen to have it memorized.”
“I do,” groaned Elizabeth, “but I can’t think. It hurts.”
“So you got home, had a migraine,” Jane said, compiling a history. “Did you get sick?”
Elizabeth thought she might get away without answering that, but Jane just shook her head. “I can smell it, Lizzy.”
She sighed. Jane always asked questions when she already knew the answers. It was sweet in an aggravating sort of way. “All night long.”
Jane shook her head, her ponytail swaying. “You should have called me. I was off at eleven.”
Elizabeth took a small sip of water and felt the cold liquid dripping down into her stomach. “Didn’t you have a midnight coffee date with Charles Dingley?”
“Bingley,” Jane corrected, “as you well know. Yes, but I would have come right away.”
“How’s that going?” Elizabeth asked, still trying to change the subject.
“Okay,” said Jane. “He’s very charming.” She nodded at the water. “Keep going.”
“Charming?” Elizabeth prodded, sipping from the bottle. Her stomach gurgled ominously.
“Mmm.” Jane looked at her askance and began fussing with the cuff again. “I would have been exceedingly attracted to the man when I was twenty-two. Now . . .”
“Charming’s not enough?” smiled Elizabeth faintly, still trying to dispel the frown on her sister’s face.
Jane considered that before answering, “He’s also smart, and he seems to like me. But I don’t see us going very far. He’s not . . . I don’t know.” She took Elizabeth’s wrist to take her pulse. “He’s young. Not in years, necessarily, just . . . not serious enough, I think. Does he have strength of character? Kindness? I suspect he’s the kind of man who’s fine when nothing goes wrong, but as today demonstrates, life is a series of things going wrong.” She shook her head. “He’s no Uncle Ed.” She sighed and crouched down in front of Elizabeth. “I really shouldn’t make any decisions yet. It’s only been two dates.”
“Sometimes it’s enough,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Don’t try to talk yourself out of your instincts because you don’t want to be rude. That’s when you get into trouble.”
Jane snorted. “And you pay attention to everyone else’s needs before your own. That’s how you get in trouble. Don’t be a martyr, Lizzy. Call for help when you need it. Otherwise you’re really going to piss me off.” She began to pump the blood pressure cuff up again and made a call, setting her phone down on the couch as she took a reading.
Elizabeth placed her free hand on Jane’s arm. If she’d pushed her sister into swearing, she knew she’d genuinely scared her. “Honestly,” she said apologetically, managing only a sickly grin, “I couldn’t call. I couldn’t do much of anything. It was pretty bad.”
There was a click on the line as the call was answered on the third ring. “Hello?” Elizabeth heard a familiar voice ask sleepily. Jane had put the phone on speaker. She would have said something if she wasn’t so embarrassed. Instead she just leaned her head against the back of the couch.
“Major Fitzwilliam?” Jane asked, all business. “This is Jane Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet’s . . .”
“Sister, right,” he finished for her in a voice now fully alert. Elizabeth heard a mattress squeak and presumed he was sitting up. “Is she all right, Doc? We’ve been trying to call since last night.”
Doc. That brought a weak smile to her face. Jane frowned at her.
“Her phone took a swim,” Jane told him, “but I’m calling because I need some help getting her downstairs. She was pretty sick last night, and I want to take her to the hospital.”
Lizzy closed her eyes. Maybe she could pretend not to be here for this conversation. She hated that they were talking about her as though she wasn’t in the room, but she didn’t have enough energy to announce her presence, either.
“I would call an ambulance,” Jane was saying, and Elizabeth sighed. She didn’t need one. “But she’s just well enough to refuse it.”
Of course she’d refuse it. If Jane would just give her a few minutes, she could walk down the stairs herself. She would probably have to go to the doctor, though. She wasn’t delusional enough to think she was in good health.
Adapt Page 7
