Gentle Readers,
Thank you for all the very kind comments about the work so far. I did not know I had fans (other than my mom and she's been slacking off), and your comments mean a lot to me. I am very touched. I honestly was considering giving up writing JAFF because I wasn't sure it was worthwhile (writing's hard, ya'll), but now I'm considering leaning in and trying to crank out a few more this year. So, thank you! Anyhoo, here's ch. 2.
GS
Still, Mr. Collin's cold persisted, and a day later, he developed a fever.
"We must call the apothecary," Jane whispered to Elizabeth as she applied a cold cloth to his forehead.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together and said nothing, but secretly agreed and gave Jane a knowing look. "Mama will not like it."
For the last hour, their cousin had been in a feverish, unconscious state.
"He is our cousin. We must look after him." She thought sadly of how only two days ago, he had been pestering her at the Netherfield ball. "We should have Kitty and Lydia fetch the apothecary from Meryton."
Jane nodded. "I will tell Papa," she said and left the room.
Although Elizabeth wasn't fond of her obsequious cousin, she did not wish him active harm either.
Collins twitched and mumbled something in his sleep, his face damp, a fleck of sputum on the corner of his mouth.
Swallowing her disgust, Elizabeth wiped his face clean.
At least now he could not sneak up on them, making a nuisance of himself in front of company.
Despite herself, Elizabeth's face grew warm when she remembered how Collins had insisted he introduce himself to Mr. Darcy. She remembered how Mr. Darcy's cool, dark eyes fell to Mr. Collin's hand on his coat. She blanched at Collin's terrible manners, but why should she feel so exposed simply because her cousin embarrassed her in front of Mr. Darcy's unreadable gaze. The man was arrogant, which was unforgivable no matter how tall and broad one's shoulders were.
Elizabeth shook away her thoughts as Jane rejoined her.
"Papa agrees with you. The girls have been sent to Meryton to fetch the apothecary." Jane looked at her sister as she sat across from her. "Are you well? You look flushed."
Elizabeth pulled away and stood up. "I am tired."
As she stood, Collins grew more restless. His face turned from one side to the other. "Get the carriage," he mumbled.
"I wonder who's carriage he's dreaming of," Jane said.
Elizabeth smiled ruefully. "Almost certainly ours."
Jane returned her smile, noticing the dark circles under her sister's eyes. "Jane, get some rest. One of us ought to remain presentable in case new neighbors call. I have no one to impress."
Jane's face pinkened, and she bit her lip. "If Mr. Bingley calls, he may bring Mr. Darcy. Did I not see you dancing with him?"
Elizabeth laughed. "He danced with me only to tell me my faults. I daresay It will not happen again."
"Lizzy, are you so certain of his scorn? Men usually dance with women they admire, you know."
Elizabeth laughed."There was no admiration involved. He danced with me and barely said a word. For a moment, I wondered if he had sustained a head wound."
Jane shook her head but smiled. "I cannot believe that's true. A man as fine as Mr. Bingley would not keep close company with a man who does not share superior qualities."
"Yes, the only thing that speaks well of him is his friendship with Mr. Bingley." She stretched her hand behind her neck.
Suddenly Collin's hand grasped hers. "Fair cousin," his voice rasped.
Elizabeth automatically wanted to pull back, but she schooled herself for a moment. "You must rest, Mr. Collins." She tried to be soothing, although Collin's strong grip startled her.
Mr. Collins shook his head fretfully. "From the moment I came to Longbourn, I have sought you out as the object of my affection."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jane's bemused smile.
"Mr. Collins, please remember yourself."
"I wish to make you my wife," he said and closed his eyes as though the effort fatigued him. Elizabeth hoped he remained unconscious.
But he still kept her in his grip. Finally, she wrenched her hand away.
"Consider it, cousin," he whispered while Elizabeth rubbed her wrist. She was glad to have her appendage back.
"He does not know what he is doing," Jane said.
Elizabeth nodded. "Please do not tell anyone about this. Particularly Mama."
Mr. Collins seemed to fall back into a deep sleep, his breath growing rhythmic and slow.
A servant entered the room to take the bedpan, and both sisters were silent. Elizabeth squeezed Jane's hand and left the room, desperate to be outside the stifling room.
She took the stairs quickly until she came to the sitting room where her mother sat.
"Lizzy, is Mr. Collins still ill? I cannot abide a sick room, you know. Does he show any improvement?"
Elizabeth passed through the room and stood at the window, gazing outside.
"Unfortunately, no. He is still feverish." She heard her Mama move towards her until she was behind her.
"Well, this is very inconvenient. What nerve to travel as a guest and then fall ill? Very rude."
Elizabeth sighed. "I do not think he runs a fever on purpose, Mama. And, do not forget, Jane was ill at Netherfield."
Mrs. Bennet ignored this and fretfully wrung her hands. "It inflames my nerves terribly to be around the infirm. I am not a natural nurse, you know."
Elizabeth started at the door. "Yes, we all know. I'm going outside for some air."
"Take your shawl. We cannot bear to have another catch ill!"
Elizabeth went out the door and down the steps of the house. She held up her hand at the door as though she were taking a shawl, but in a rare act of defiance, chose not to.
Collin's actions left her uncomfortably warm. She knew, of course, he had followed her around at the ball the previous night. And she was aware that his eyes sought hers when she entered a room, but she shuddered in revulsion.
The breeze felt cool on her face as she walked back toward the garden and the shade of the trees. She might never marry, she decided. The suffocating feeling she felt with Collins–or other interested men–looking at her caused her heart to pound.
She brushed dried leaves off a rock and sat down to view the faded garden in an attempt to calm herself. Perhaps it was for the best. Maybe she did not have the constitution to be a wife. She was not good at putting others' needs before her own, like her sister Jane, and she only grew rankled when others tried to impose their will on hers.
The wind shook the tree leaves above, and the few ragged leaves floated down. Though it was mild for November, she could feel the last hints of autumn leaving.
Would it be so terrible not to marry? Her mother would be scandalized to hear her say so. Yes, she'd be an old spinster. She had no fortune, but then no one telling what she should and should not do either. Jane would almost certainly marry, and she could find a way to be useful in her household. If Jane married Mr. Bingley, she was certain she'd allow her to help her run the house. And such a big house–there was plenty of work to do. Especially when there would be nieces and nephews.
She always hoped she'd meet someone who loved her, someone she could learn from and also tease. An intelligent man who read asked her opinion of matters, but was also kind. But there were precisely zero men in Meryton who met this description.
She thought perhaps maybe George Wickham might have potential. But he had not come to the Netherfield Ball, and she could not ascertain why. Then she had forgotten about Wickham entirely when Mr. Darcy asked her to dance. She knew now him to be arrogant, but for a few moments when he'd first entered the assembly at Meryton, his tall figure stirred something in her chest. He was handsome, tall, and had dark hair that curled at the ends. He seemed different than any other person she had met in her life.
In addition to his (admittedly) pleasant face, something set him apart. She'd always felt like she was an outsider too, even within her family. She thought he might know that quality too.
She touched her hand on the rock. She was being ridiculous. He'd proven to be a self-important dunderhead. How wrong she had been about him. She heard voices from a distance and turned. Lydia, Kitty, and the apothecary returned from Meryton with a servant trailing behind them. Now perhaps Mr. Collins could recover and their lives might return to normal.
The apothecary was an older, kind gentleman who had visited Longbourn before in an attempt to remedy Mrs. Bennet's many ailments over the years. He greeted Elizabeth warmly. "Miss Bennet, although I am glad to see you, though I wish it were under happier circumstances, alas that is the nature of my occupation."
Elizabeth nodded and led him toward the door at Longbourn and up the stairs to the room occupied by Mr. Collins. Before she knocked, they heard a deep, chest-racking cough through the door. Mr. Taylor frowned at the sound, but he was let in to examine the patient.
"Mr. Collins seemed well enough at the ball," her mama said, sniffing unhappily when Elizabeth joined her downstairs.
"Mama, his condition has become worse. Hopefully, Mr. Taylor will be able to help," Jane said, ever the optimist.
Lydia entered the room, her hair unkempt.
"Lydia, you look out of sorts," her Mama said.
"Who can sleep with a whooping bird in the room down the hall? Mr. Collins kept me up all night with his cough."
"Oh, poor dear, do have some tea."
Lydia sipped her tea churlishly. "I haven't slept a wink."
"You have done your deed by getting the apothecary. Now rest."
Lydia accepted the tea and slumped in her chair. "I am exceedingly tired of Mr. Collins."
"Lydia, do be polite."
Lydia sat up straight, sighing as though it was a Sisyphean task.
Jane stood behind them, staring out the window, and Elizabeth knew she was thinking of Mr. Bingley. She had the odd faraway expression on her face. Hopefully Bingley would soon visit again and Jane's waiting would soon be over. She had never seen Jane so besotted before.
Elizabeth only hoped that Bingley's sisters–and Mr. Darcy–did not hold too much sway over him. She could not fail to notice their lack of enthusiasm for the rest of the Bennet family and Meryton society in general.
Finally, the apothecary came downstairs and asked to speak with Mr. Bennet in his office.
"Will Mr. Collins improve soon?" Lydia asked as they entered the room. "I do wish to return to Meryton soon."
Mr. Bennet said nothing, but shook the apothecary's hand and thanked him.
"What did he say, Papa?"
Papa's face looked distracted.
"The news about Mr. Collins is not good, I'm afraid. He is suffering from putrification of the throat."
"Oh!" Mrs. Bennet said, her handkerchief fluttering.
Lydia and Kitty exchanged looks of disgust.
Mr. Bennet scowled. "It is serious, my dear. The condition can be quite dogged."
"What can be done?" Jane asked.
"We can only tend to him and pray he recovers. The apothecary bade us keep a fire burning in his room's hearth. Jane and Elizabeth had similar fevers in their youth, so they are likely immune. The rest of you should stay away from Collin's room."
Mr. Bennet walked to the fireplace, leaned his hand against the stone hearth, and addressed his wife. "I know you do not like sick rooms, my dear. Perhaps Lizzy, Jane, Mary and I can take turns sitting with him. It is our Christian duty to provide comfort for him."
"You are right, Papa," Mary said.
Of course, Elizabeth didn't want Mr. Collins to die, and she felt guilt over the unfortunate things she had thought and said about him over the last several days. The guilt was such that she volunteered to sit in Collin's room immediately. Papa was right; they owed him comfort.