by C. P. Odom
She cared for nothing but being safely ensconced in her room, where she later rejected all messages sent by her mother to come downstairs and explain why she had so suddenly left Lucas Lodge. Equally, she had rejected the summons to the evening meal and had not even been able to talk to Jane, who was quite worried about her. She sat curled up on the window seat in her room with two blankets wrapped around her for warmth against the chill air just beyond the glass and felt absolutely wretched.
She and Jane had shared their most intimate secrets all of their lives, but Elizabeth simply could not share what she had learned about herself today. Not yet, at least. Perhaps, not ever. For she now knew that the reason for her reaction to Mr. Darcy was nothing less than the indisputable fact that she was a fallen woman—as good as a harlot.
And that handsome man from Derbyshire is the one responsible for my fall! she thought miserably. Or, rather, I am the one responsible for my fall, and he is just the lure that tempted me to succumb. Has not our parson warned of the sin of fornication and the many evils attendant on being tempted by that sin?
Imagining she knew the reason for the inexplicable urges afflicting her since the first night she met the man did not, however, alleviate her distress. Worse had been the unbidden urge that came into her mind after her dance when she wished to feel his hand on her skin. On her bare skin!
It was unthinkable! Decent, well-brought-up young ladies simply did not have such thoughts! They did not think of such things as giving them pleasure, as she most certainly had been doing!
On at least four occasions since the first night at the assembly, Elizabeth had awakened with those memories of intense, forbidden pleasure surging through her body.
It was at last understandable that, despite having heretofore been an example of a pure, chaste, and virginal young lady, the daughter of a gentleman and thus the equal of Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire, she was instead nothing more than a common tart, a strumpet, a woman of licentious desires.
I do not even LIKE the man! Mr. Darcy is not at all amiable or likable! But I can delude myself no longer. I want him to touch me! As a man touches a woman! As a husband touches a wife!
She winced at the thought because she knew such a connection was impossible. Certain of her fallen state, utterly dismayed at the mere thought of having been subject to such forbidden longings, she threw herself into her bed. She sobbed as she had never sobbed before, sobbed for all she had lost because of her desire for this horrid, objectionable man. Sleep eluded her for eons, but exhaustion of spirit finally brought a surcease to her anguish.
No dreams disturbed her deep sleep during the night, and she did not hear Jane’s knock at her door to summon her to breakfast. Nor was she aware of Jane looking into her room at her motionless form and only departing in relief after seeing the slow rise and fall of her sister’s breathing.
Chapter 14
For as men in battle are continually in the way of shot, so we, in this world, are ever within the reach of Temptation.
— William Penn, English nobleman,
writer, early Quaker, and founder
of the colony of Pennsylvania
Monday, November 11, 1811
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
McDunn took another sip of his brandy, lamenting his empty bottle of smuggled Scotch whisky. Brandy was better than nothing, but it just wasn’t his style.
He had just finished reviewing the paperwork sent from town on the construction of his prototype steam locomotive, and a glow of satisfaction added to the warmth of the brandy. There had been a litany of the usual problems associated with doing things for the first time, but he had been able to determine the problem and detail a solution for all of them. He would probably go to town in a day or two to check things over, but all seemed to be going as well as could be expected.
In the midst of his self-satisfaction, a diffident knock came at the door.
“Come!” he called, and a female servant opened the door, curtseying with her eyes downcast.
Do I scare the servants so much? he wondered idly. They all seem to regard me with a measure of fright, but I cannot think of anything I’ve done to warrant it.
“Beg pardon, sir, but Miss Bingley asks whether you might come downstairs. It seems a guest has taken ill.”
McDunn’s eyebrows went up in reflex. Caroline gave as little notice of him as she could, consistent with at least a modicum of courtesy. But what was this about wishing his presence because someone was sick? But there was only one way to find the answer, and he stood immediately.
“Tell Miss Bingley I shall come down directly,” he said, receiving another timid curtsey as the girl all but fled.
Shaking his head in disbelief, McDunn got his first-aid packet and slipped it in his pocket. In more than two years, he hadn’t used any of its limited supplies except for a couple of touches of the antibiotic ointment. He had seldom allowed anyone other than Darcy to see it though the canvas packet was outwardly innocuous.
But the Velcro fastenings aren’t, he thought, and I’m not in the mood to answer questions from either of the Bingley sisters. But I might need an aspirin, so I’ll bring it and make sure they don’t get a good look at it.
The servant awaited him at the bottom of the stairs and led him to the parlor where the two Bingley sisters stood, looking down at a sofa.
Mrs. Hurst was wringing her hands as she looked up. “Major McDunn, do you know anything about sicknesses?” Her anxiety was plain to discern, and McDunn gave her a nod.
“A bit. One picks up a little knowledge here and there in the military.”
“That is what I told Caroline. Might you see to Miss Bennet?”
By now, McDunn had reached the sofa and had seen that the eldest Bennet sister lay on her back with a small pillow under her head. Her eyes were closed, and she indeed did not look well.
McDunn knelt by the sofa, not even noticing Caroline hastily moving out of the way.
“Miss Bennet?” he asked gently, and the girl opened her eyes partway.
“Yes?” she said, rather weakly.
“I’m told you’re not feeling well.”
“I shall—it is just a moment of dizziness.”
“Uh-huh.” McDunn smiled slightly with the tolerant amusement of an older brother who had heard the same from sisters trying to stay out of bed while their mother looked for a remedy from her medicine cabinet.
“With your permission, may I see if you have a fever?”
When she nodded, he put the back of his hand against her forehead for just a moment.
“—and you have. At least a couple of degrees. Tell me your symptoms, Miss Bennet. That is, have you been shivering?”
Somewhat unwillingly, Jane nodded.
“Sore throat?” Jane shook her head in the negative.
“Headache?”
“Only a slight one.”
“How long have you been feeling ill?”
“It was after dinner when she first mentioned it,” Caroline said. “The gentlemen are dining with the officers, and we invited Miss Bennet to dine with us.”
“She came on horseback through the rain,” Mrs. Hurst said.
“Oh, great!” McDunn exclaimed. “I was returning from my ride when the rain started, and it was a cold rain!”
“Miss Bennet arrived later than you did, Major McDunn,” Caroline said uncomfortably. “Nearly an hour later, in fact.”
“And didn’t get out of her wet clothing and under some warm blankets, I imagine.”
Caroline was forced to admit the truth of that.
“Well, it’s most likely just a cold. When is your brother supposed to return?”
“I am not certain,” Mrs. Hurst said. “Since it is the officers the gentlemen are dining with, it is likely—” Her voice went quiet.
&nbs
p; “—that they stayed to have a few snifters of brandy,” McDunn said, finishing her sentence before continuing. “It’s too late to send her home, especially on horseback or even in a drafty coach. It’s still raining steadily.”
To this, the two Bingley sisters quickly, almost eagerly, nodded.
“I suggest getting her upstairs, out of her wet clothing, and into bed under some warm blankets,” he said, ticking off points on his fingers. “Miss Bennet needs a warm nightgown, a foot-warmer at her feet if possible, and a fire in the fireplace.”
Putting his hands in his pockets and looking down at the sick girl, he continued. “It’s likely all that can be done tonight. Tomorrow, Bingley can send for—”
He stopped and looked at the two fashionable sisters. “What is it you English call your doctors? I know you have several different people in the medical trades while we Americans would just send for the doctor.”
“Possibly you mean the apothecary,” Mrs. Hurst said. “They dispense potions while surgeons see to things like broken bones. And physicians—”
McDunn threw up his hands and turned for the door. “Three people, as I said! Then I suggest sending for the apothecary in the morning. And I’ll take a look-see myself. Have the servants call me immediately if her fever rises. Otherwise, I’ll look in on her before breakfast. Good night.”
With a nod, McDunn turned and strode briskly out of the room, leaving two highly genteel, refined, and fashionable ladies somewhat speechless. They had asked for help and got it, but this American was nothing like the gentlemen they were used to. He seemed supremely confident and was not at all submissive, which they considered more appropriate to his station.
***
Tuesday, November 12, 1811
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
The news of Jane’s illness was delivered to Longbourn the following morning, relating her illness and the forthcoming arrival of an apothecary.
Reading the missive, Elizabeth could only shake her head at her mother’s machinations. After Jane had received a note from her new Netherfield friends the previous day, inviting her to spend the day and dine with them, her mother had forced Jane to go to Netherfield on horseback rather than her father’s carriage, even though—or perhaps especially because—it looked like rain.
And rain had come, cold and hard, necessitating her remaining overnight, which her mother knew would throw her into the company of Mr. Bingley. But now Jane had taken ill, and her friends insisted she stay until she was better.
Mr. Bennet was most philosophical on the matter. “I am awestruck, my dear, at your skill in managing the chase for a suitable husband for your eldest daughter. In the event she dies of her illness, it should be a comfort to both you and her that her demise was in pursuit of Mr. Bingley and under your direction.”
“How can you be so tiresome, Mr. Bennet? Healthy young girls do not die of trifling colds, especially if they are properly cared for. So Jane should stay at Netherfield as long as may be. I should go see her, if I might have the carriage.”
Then a cunning light came into her eyes. “On further thought, it would be better to send Lizzy since she and Jane are so close. Even better, Jane will undoubtedly insist Lizzy should stay, which means she would be in company with Mr. Darcy!”
Elizabeth looked up sharply. She had entertained the idea of accompanying her mother because of her concern over Jane. Since it still rained, she had known her mother would be able to obtain the carriage from her father, which would make the trip more pleasant.
However, after her mother’s proposal that Elizabeth go in her place and remain with Jane, the impropriety of her even visiting Netherfield, much less remaining with Jane, became apparent. Despite the neighbors’ aversion to Mr. Darcy, due to his neglect of their own daughters, they were still abuzz at his having shown such an attraction to her. If she went to Netherfield—or worse, stayed there to take care of Jane—it would be instantly known in the mysterious manner in which supposedly private happenings became the gist of neighborhood gossip. The whispers would label her as a blatant fortune hunter pursuing one of the most eligible and wealthy bachelors in the land.
And there was the disturbing desire she felt for the gentleman, of which only she was cognizant. Even if Elizabeth now knew why Mr. Darcy disturbed her so, she was still trying to reconcile the fact of those dreadful revelations. She had to force herself not to glance down at her fingers when she remembered the disturbing surge whenever their fingers touched.
Even through her gloves!
“No, Mother, I shall not go,” she said, suddenly declaring her resolution firmly. “It would be regarded as highly unseemly if I did so, as though I was throwing myself at Mr. Darcy. Jane will be well taken care of.”
“Lizzy, how can you be so silly?” cried her mother. “None of our friends will think such a foolish thing! Your attachment to your sister is known everywhere! Now, go to your room and dress. I wish to leave in a quarter-hour.”
“I said I shall not go, and that is an end of it. It would not be proper.”
“Disobedient girl! You will do as I say! And order the maid to pack a trunk for you.”
“I shall not go!”
“Mr. Bennet!” cried her mother. “You must make her go! Make her obey!”
“I shall not go, Father! I shall stay in my room and read!”
“Mr. Bennet!”
“What should I do, Mrs. Bennet?” that worthy gentleman said, throwing his hands up. “I see the sense in what Lizzy says, and it does not seem as though it is a matter on which to gainsay her. She is likely correct in the inferences that would be drawn by the neighbors.”
He rose from the breakfast table even as his favorite daughter did the same. “I shall be in my library,” he said, “not to be disturbed.”
“And I shall be in my room,” Elizabeth said. “Take my other sisters with you if you must.”
“Mr. Bennet! Lizzy!” wailed Mrs. Bennet.
But she was alone, listening to the sound of receding footsteps.
***
Tuesday, November 12, 1811
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
“You are entirely correct in your estimation, Major McDunn,” the apothecary said. Mr. Jones stood with Bingley’s party at the foot of the stairs, relating what he had found during his examination. “Miss Bennet does indeed appear to have a cold, acquired certainly from her exposure to yesterday’s cold rain.”
“I’ve seen it many times with troops in the field,” McDunn said with a nod. “They seem to forget—or never to have known—that most times the only way to get dry when it rains is not to get wet in the first place. I assume she still has a fever.”
“Indeed, but it is not worrisome at the moment.”
“Then it’s much the same as last night. That’s good.”
“Indeed, Major. The real danger in illnesses like this is an unchecked fever. In addition, she now has a headache, her throat is sore, and her back aches. This last symptom might suggest it was the more serious la grippe,[1] to use the French term. But that illness does not usually come on so quickly after exposure. I still think it is simply a violent cold. I advised her to remain in bed and get what rest she can. I shall have some draughts delivered.”
[1] Influenza.
And I’ll sacrifice a few of my small store of aspirin if her fever gets worse, thought McDunn. I’m not going to be foolish when a girl’s life might be in the balance. In these days before they even knew about germs, people often died unbelievably quickly from simple illnesses that would be treated with over-the-counter drugs in my time.
“Miss Bennet shall stay here at Netherfield as long as necessary,” Bingley said, concern clear in his voice. “A note was sent to her home this morning, and I shall send another with the particulars of your observations, Mr. Jones.”
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And either Elizabeth by herself or her mother and perhaps all her sisters will be arriving shortly! McDunn thought, glancing aside at Darcy. Assuming Miss Bennet doesn’t sicken further, the next few days should be very interesting with Elizabeth remaining in this house.
But in this expectation, McDunn was to be disappointed for no one arrived from Longbourn. When prodded by his wife, Mr. Bennet had been unwilling to release the horses from the farm, so Mrs. Bennet and three of her daughters were unable to make the journey.
So, all McDunn could do was scratch his head and wonder about yet another perplexing deviation from Austen’s novel.
But at least he had his work, and both Georgiana and Darcy had expressed an interest in being apprised of the progress on the steam locomotive and preparations for laying metal tracks near the Wylam colliery for a demonstration.
***
Wednesday, November 13, 1811
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
Mrs. Bennet was more successful in obtaining the carriage the next day, and she arrived in good time soon after breakfast with all her daughters, including Elizabeth, who simply had not been able to stay away.
Elizabeth quickly assessed that Jane was in no danger. Her ailment had indeed been a cold, and the pain from her sore throat was reduced, as was her fever. Jane had even pressed to return to Longbourn, to which Elizabeth agreed, thinking Jane would be more comfortable in her own bed.
But her mother was not at all of the same opinion. Once she had satisfied herself that Jane’s illness was not alarming, Mrs. Bennet had no intention of having her quit Netherfield since it would remove her from any contact with Mr. Bingley. Despite Jane’s wish to return home, Mrs. Bennet stated firmly that Jane was still too ill to be moved. In this, she was supported by Mr. Jones, who had also called at Netherfield.
“I think it advisable that Miss Bennet remain indoors and in bed rather than hazarding a journey by carriage, with the attendant drafts, just when she is regaining her health,” he told Bingley when he and the party from Longbourn adjourned to the breakfast parlor where Bingley waited with his sisters and guests.
