Author's Notes: HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope everyone reading had a safe and happy holiday season in a strange year, and are getting a good start to the new year.
I say this every time, but your enjoyment of this story and your encouragement in my writing has been a truly humbling experience. I love hearing your feedback, seeing the guesses to the next turn things will take, and your insights about the characters. One of challenges and privileges of writing fanfic is having a audience who know the characters you're writing as intimately as you do, and having you guys react to my main characters in such different situations with such a different backgrounds but still recognize the character, has been so rewarding.
It really means a lot to me knowing that I've engaged interested readers, and I have never been more motivated to finish anything in my life, especially since I know exactly how I want it to end.
Keep your eyes peeled for a pretty important clue in this chapter.
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In the north wing of Netherfield Hall lay a small chapel, which had scarcely seen any use in over a decade, when the owners of the Hertfordshire estate had chosen to quit the house and let the property to supplement their income. Like many rooms in the estate, the chapel was uselessly fine, clearly designed with the intent to showcase wealth rather than cater to occupant's spiritual needs. Miss Mary Bennet, who had no love of finery and ornamentation, thought Netherfield was perhaps the gaudiest house she had ever stayed in, and the chapel especially offended her sensibilities…yet her feet had led her to that room more than any other over the course of the past s'ennight.
Though one could pray anywhere, and Mary always felt her prayers would more easily reach the Lord's ears when they were spoken in place dedicated to His worship. In the first days of their stay, she had visited the chapel after breaking her fast and before retiring for the evening, in order to pray for her cousin's recovery. As fever ravaged his body and the secrets of the Bennet family began to be laid out to bare, the chapel was quickly becoming her refuge. It was the one place she could be truly alone, a safe, private space where she could release all her worries…that is, until this morning.
In the first pew facing the garish alter knelt a young man, his head of brown hair bowed reverently. From his hands, folded in prayer before him, a gold pocket watch hung limply. Mary paused in her pursuit of the pews, startled to see another guest of the household making use of this sacred space, especially one so restless as Constable Gantry. In the brief time she had known him, she had never seen him be so still and quiet – her mind briefly flashed to his relentless pacing in the hall outside of the sick room in the small hours of the morning, and quite unbidden, her lips turned upward in a wry smile. No, such stillness simply did not suit the energetic young man.
Mary's musings on Constable Gantry were interrupted by the gentleman himself. "Will you not join me, Miss Bennet?" He asked politely, never turning toward her.
Instinctively, Mary's knees dipped into a curtesy, though Gantry had not risen to greet her as a gentleman was expected to. She moved forward with cautious steps, suddenly realizing that they were completely alone together. He had visited her in the sickroom the previous evening, yes, but her cousin William had been present in the room, ill as he was, as was a Netherfield maid, though she had been soundly asleep for the duration of Gantry's interview. Now they were the only two souls in the room, save for the Lord, of course, and Mary felt her heart beat thunderously with the knowledge of such intimacy.
Still, it was the midday, and the chapel had been thoroughly cleaned by Mr. Bingley's instruction so that she may make use of it at her leisure. There always seems to be much on Mary's mind in the best of times, and today her head was positively swimming, knowing that Elizabeth was on her way to Netherfield, even as Cousin William lay near death's door. She would not be missish for propriety's sake when she was so desperately in need of prayer. She sat in the pew behind the Constable, conscious of keeping some distance between them, and with more calmness than she felt simply said, "Thank you."
A few quiet, endless, moments passed between them. Mary had her hands folded to pray, but she could not regulate the tumult of her thoughts while so very aware of Gantry's presence in the room. Her quick and curious mind was consumed with wonder at Gantry's display of piety and quiet devotion…he had not struck her as a religious man, as well as full of chastisement with herself for her lack of concentration and preoccupation with the man.
Just as she was beginning to order her nerves back into equanimity, he spoke again, surprising her. "I must confess, Miss Bennet," he murmured, almost more to himself than her, "I have found no rest this evening. My mind is far too engaged for sleep, at present."
Mary's head rose quickly from her own folded hands to stare at the back of Gantry's head, which had remained lowered. "It has been a restless time for many of us, sir." She answered quietly, her normal severity of addresses softened by the chapel walls.
"I do not doubt that Miss Bennet." He answered, almost in a whisper, "you are truly a diligent nurse."
She blushed slightly and was thankful that he kept his gaze forward. "There is little course for me but diligence, I can not bare to be idle while my cousin is suffering. I am hardly a saint, there is a great relief to be found in useful occupation."
"I feel much the same, ma'm. Whenever I find myself in a situation out of my control, if I can lend my aid, I find I must do so – doing nothing, admitting my powerlessness, it is unbearable to me. I have suffered a great deal due to such stubbornness, yet I find no matter how fruitless I know my endeavors must be, I am compelled to continue. Is this not pride?" His head drooped slightly with the self-disparaging words.
As she gazed at the silken tresses of his earth brown hair, Mary felt a wave of feeling rise up in her and release itself as a small, delicate, gasp. She had a busy mind, a restless and intelligent mind, a mind that looked at the world and saw it for what it was, not the pleasant prospect most young ladies were taught to view it as. She had spent so many years harboring secrets and living under the rule of a tyrant that feeling much had been tamped down long ago. She was loving, fiercely loving of her sisters, especially Jane, but logic, never emotion, lead her decisions. And now, at the late bloom of nineteen, in a uselessly fine and little-used chapel, she felt her emotions surging to the surface all at once.
Mary had been a child when her mother died, and barely beginning the first transition into woman hood when her father had been lost as well. Her formative years had seen her shuttered between the homes of various relatives, all of whom had different hopes for her future, and expectations of her behavior. Intimidated by the new Master of Longborn, she had initially chosen to live with the Phillips family in Meryton. Her childless Aunt and Uncle were not unkind to Mary, but neither did they have an interest in her. Indeed, Aunt Phillips had little use for her outside of a listening ear for her varying complaints and gossip. Then, after Elizabeth's disappearance, she had been sent to the care of the Gardiner family in London for the sake of her "education". The Gardiners were certainly Mary's favorite relation, and quite spoiled her, (Mary was sure some guilt over Elizabeth was the cause of such doting), but Mary had always felt her attentions were all defined in her ambition for Mary to make a "good match" …much as her mother's attentions to Jane during her life had fixated on Jane's marriageability as well. Finally, at sixteen she was permitted to come home to Longborn and live with Jane…and while life in Hertfordshire was not always easy or pleasant, she knew that Jane's only true hope for her future was happiness, and her only expectation of Mary was that Mary allow Jane to love her. She could live with Collins' cruelty to give Jane someone to love and care for. But a youth of such uncertainty had a created a young woman who lived in her head, rather than her heart.
And now her heart, usually kept under strict regulation, was caught in her throat. Rather than form a dry, polite response, only her gasp of surprise at such feeling escaped her lips. Perhaps it was simply the strain of this wretched week at Netherfield…even the most stoic character could not remain unmoved. Her cousin had come for a visit only to be abused and publicly humiliated by his father, she had watched powerlessly as he been ordered from the carriage, sat in agony for hours with her sister waiting for his return, and spent a week laboring to combat a violet fever he had caught in the deluge. Her cousins' illness would be strain enough to break most, but Mary had remained steady and unflappable throughout the battle. Then Mr. Darcy's investigation into her sister had been unveiled, and this very day they would be reunited after more than five day's absence. "Yes, that must be it." She reasoned with herself internally, "I only am overcome because of all that is happening – it is a natural reaction to such a chain of events in so short a span of time."
Her gasp, slight as it was, had not gone unnoticed. Gantry lifted his head, his locks catching the light of the candle and casting a golden halo around his head. "Indeed, it is prideful." He said, a touch mournfully. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I shall not trespass on your privacy any longer." He began to rise as if to leave, and instinctively, Mary's hand shot out, touching him gently on the shoulder, so that he might sit again.
"I do not think you prideful, sir." She spoke, barely above a whisper. "Indeed, I think it a very admirable thing. Is such a compulsion, to be of help that is…why you became a Bow Street Runner?"
He remained in his seat in front of her, but finally turned his head, facing her. His eyes, a rich chocolate normally bright with ideas, looked sad and tired. But beneath her spectacles, Mary's icy gaze burned with the intensity of her unacknowledged feelings. His lips ticked upward slightly, an ironic twist of a smile. "It is why, Miss Bennet, I did not become a physician, as my father wished for me." His sad eyes drifted toward the small hand which kept him in his seat.
Embarrassed, and annoyed at herself for feeling so, Mary pulled her fingers away, and in her normally more brusque-manner, said, "All parents place expectations on their children they have neither the desire nor talent to fulfill. But if you should wish to be of help to people, I would say there could be no better occupation for you than that of a physician, sir."
"And in many ways, you are correct, Miss Bennet." He replied, gentle and calm. "But I found that I could not bear knowing how much of my success or failure was ultimately in the hands of God. Dr. Barringer is as capable a fellow as any you can find, Darcy is a clever man and would not subscribe to absurdities of a Town quack, and still…your cousin, the balance between life and death will ultimately reside in his own strength and the dictates of fate. Even the best physician and the most diligent nurse can do little more than keep a patient in comfort, there is often very little that can be done to cure a man. I spent my days in agony at all that I could not do for them."
A wave of feeling rushed through Mary again – a sensation of understanding and intimacy with a man who was little more than a common and indifferent acquaintance. "I quite understand you sir," she answered him, her gentleness returning, "losing a patient would be very difficult indeed, for one of your disposition." She paused, hesitant, yet longing to speak freely, then added, "My cousin's case must feel quite difficult for you, personal in some way."
He sighed. "You are quite right. I was assigned to this case specifically because my experience as a surgeon's assistant and medical student has given me a greater insight in understanding the severity of an assault such as the Reverend's. Yet I have struggled greatly watching the decline of his health. I am not normally a praying man…but I sometimes must concede that prayer is the only thing it is in my power left to do."
"It is our last bastion," came the soft reply. "I have spent so many helpless hours in prayer, knowing that when I had nothing else, when everything was lost to me, I still had prayer left. To me, it has been the greatest comfort, the knowledge that there is one more thing I can do to help."
The golden watch glittered in the candlelight as it began to move through previously still fingers. Chocolate eyes began to glow with a hint of warmth. "I shall endeavor to remember that Miss Bennet." He said thickly, "That my prayers are not admitting defeat, but rather an action showing that I am doing all I can."
"And I believe you are doing all you can, Mr. Gantry." Mary spoke softly, searching his face for something she couldn't quite define. "You will be better able to serve my Cousin William if you seek your rest. I am sure that your wits can aid him now, even more than your prayers, but you will solve nothing if you are too tired to think clearly."
With her words, Gantry released a humorless laugh. "You underestimate me, Miss Bennet." He answered, some of his usual energy returning. "The case of Reverend's Collins assault has been solved. I know the culprit, I know the timeline of events as they happened, and soon enough, an arrest will occur. If that arrest is simply for assault, or murder, is in the hands of Dr. Barringer and the Lord…yet there is one element of this crime that haunts me…and I fear I will have no rest until I achieve understanding of it."
Mary leaned forward in her seat, growing animated by his declarations of having solved his case. "And what element is that sir? Surely if you have truly ascertained who the assailant is than you must be near to understanding all!"
"Why the motive of course, Miss Bennet – the motive!" He rose abruptly, his own excitement rising to meet her interest. The watch twirled through his hands. His dark eyes were gleaming as they locked on her. "Or perhaps you have a theory why a man of immense pride, obsessed with family position, advancing in years and married to a young, but seemingly barren woman, would mercilessly abuse his only son and heir well into adulthood, and then attempt to kill him?" The watch slapped abruptly into his left hand, punctuating the thought. "What sort of monster is obsessed with his line – yet tries to end it at the same time?"
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Fortunately, not every room of Netherfield House was pretty and impractical. The guestroom chosen as William's sick room was decorated richly, befitting the estate, but the true beauty of this room was in its comforts. It a snug, cozy space, away from the drafty hall and perfectly suited to a sickroom. The fire crackled merrily as William had thrashed that morning when Jane had come to relieve her bleary-eyed sister, and hazily Jane realized it was now becoming dangerously close to embers. She wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep, but quickly glancing at the clock, Jane realized it was late afternoon and her turn at the bedside had almost come to an end. She would need to refresh herself before Mr. Darcy arrived from London with …and Jane hardly believed such a thing possible…her sister Elizabeth.
As sleepiness drifted away from her…it suddenly occurred to her William was no longer thrashing as he had been, nor coughing with the violence of the past few days. Her stomach dropped, and her body wrenched itself upright, panic rising. She leapt off the settee next to the bed and stood up fear present in every inch of her body – Had he!? … No!
For the first time in week, Reverend William Collins slept peacefully, his chest rising and falling in slow, restful waves. His normally ruddy cheeks were very pale, but as he had been so recently flush with fever, Jane nearly wept to see him looking so wan. His black hair hung limply across his face, and sitting gently on the edge of the bed, Jane raised a hand and tenderly brushed it aside. As her fingers swept across his forehead, Jane felt her heart swell with a gratitude she had never experienced before. His skin was clammy, but cool. The fever had finally broken. Tears pricked at her eyes. He had made it through the worst. Her William, the kindest, dearest boy in the world, might yet live.
She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to disturb his rest with the noise of her tears. But a weak, thin, voice interrupted her.
"J-Jane…?"
Jane gasped, cornflower eyes flying open. William's eyes were open, and he tried to pull himself into a sitting position, but found himself besieged by a coughing fit, and far too weak to do more than raise his head.. His ankle was in dreadful pain as well.
. After briefly turning to pull the bell and alert a maid to summon Dr. Barringer, she placed extra pillows beneath his head, saying "Hush William, you mustn't strain yourself speaking too much. You were injured on the grounds of Netherfield and then became dreadfully ill after you were caught in rain. You have been at Netherfield for a week now."
His stepmother instantly threw herself into caring for him as he struggled. She pressed a wet rag to his cracked lips and raised a glass to allow him a few sips of water. "I am…very sorry…for the trouble." He coughed out between sips.
"Such nonsense!" Jane tutted, her eyes moist, "You have nothing to apologize for, dear William. Catching ill was not your fault! Mary and I have been dreadfully worried for you, may I summon her, dear? She will be so relieved to see your fever has finally broken."
Exhaustion already attempting to claim him to slumber once more, William could do little more in response than offer his stepmother a tired nod.
"My fault." He croaked out.
"Hush now," Jane whispered soothingly, her mind turning toward the man who had put them both in Netherfield. "You're safe here. Nothing is your fault, William."
The remnants of fever and near exhaustion cast a zealous gleam in the Reverend's eye. "No Jane," he said with a rattling cough, "everything is my fault. I..must...you..must know the truth."
Jane felt her nerves rattling…feeling as if there was some greater significance to what he meant, but logic telling her William's mind must be addled from the fever. She stroked his brow gently. "William, nothing is your fault. Please, rest dearest. You are safe. Jane is here."
An energetic knock sounded on the door. "Mrs. Collins? May I enter?"
Jane did not move from her position on the edge of the bed, but called out to her lover, "Mr. Bingley, please do!"
He entered quickly and seeing the room to be unoccupied save for Jane and her patient, took purposeful strides toward his beloved. Her name was on the edge of his lips when he took stock of her smiling, tearful face, and hesitated. With a start he realized that the patient was awake, and a joyful beam cut across his face.
Bingley bowed low to the invalid. "Mr. Collins, it is so very good to see that your fever has broken. I welcome you to Netherfield sir."
The sick man seemed embarrassed and confused by Bingley's entrance.
"Netherfield?" He coughed, looking toward Jane in some alarm.
"Yes dear." She said frowning, "Did I not mention that you have been recuperating at Netherfield Hall?"
Her words did not seem to soothe him, in fact the patient became increasingly agitated, and tried to sit up once again, causing another round of severe coughing.
"Have you rung for the doctor?" Bingley asked Jane, concern written across his face.
"Of course." Jane answered with a hint of a snap, her focusing on rubbing William's back as he struggled for air.
Bingley had the decency to look a bit sheepish. "Of course. You are a most capable nurse." Then barreling onward, he continued, "I wanted to inform you that Darcy and his party are almost to Netherfield but have encountered some trouble with their carriage. I am riding out to meet them. Our guests should be here within the hour." Glancing toward William he said, "You must of course, remain with the Reverend until the Doctor comes. And Miss Bernard will need to settle into her room. We need rush nothing, but I wished you to be informed, so that you could move at your own pace."
The knowledge that her sister…separated from her seven long years, could be before her within the hour hit Jane with a power she had not expected. She had thought all her emotions exhausted the evening she learned of Elizabeth's identity…but knowing her little Lizzy would be standing before her before the day was through…and on the same day that William's fever had finally broken? Well, how could Jane possibly bare such happiness, such joy? To have those she loved best in all the world returned to her from the edge of the abyss? Did she deserve such compassion, such grace? She was truly blessed, blessed beyond what a poor sinner like her deserved.
"Of course, Mr. Bingley." She breathlessly replied, "Thank you for informing me. I will stay with William as long as the doctor needs me to. And of course, we must be rationale, Miss Bernard must do her duty to her hostess, as well as settle in after traveling to avoid rousing any suspicion amongst the staff. We will meet this evening, as we have planned."
A sharp knock sounded on the door, but Dr. Barringer did not wait for admittance to attend his patient. He came bustling in the door, his bag in hand, Mrs. Nichols and two lesser servants following in his wake carrying hot blankets, soup, and gruel. He was smiling widely and barely paused in his stride to bow to his betters.
"Just the news I was hoping to hear on this day! Reverend Collins, my boy, it is decidedly good to see you awake!"
The Reverend could only offer him a thin smile, punctuated by a cough. "Ankle?" He whispered hoarsely.
"I'm afraid it was broken sir. Had it been a lesser strain you would not have found yourself caught in the rain as you were, I dare say."
The Reverend grimaced and nodded weakly.
The doctor turned to his host and his most diligent nurse. "Mrs. Collins, please go and rest a while. I will be administering more laudanum to our patient to help him sleep with his pain, and your services will hardly be needed now. Let Collins rest and we shall see how he fare this evening."
"Come, Mrs. Collins," Bingley said offering his arm, "We should allow the good doctor a chance to do his work, and you must be desirous of rest. Allow me to escort you to your rooms."
"Very well," Jane demurred, glancing toward Bingley. "As long as you are sure there is nothing else, I can do to assist you, Dr.?"
"I am positive, dear lady." The elder gentleman replied, taking her hand, and patting it affectionately before placing it on Bingley's arm. "Go and rest. The worst is over for now, but the true battle is in recovery. We shall need you at full capacity."
She curtseyed, and leaned down, kissing the brow of the man who should have been her husband. "Rest well, William. I'll be back soon, and Mary too, I promise."
The weakened reverend surprised them both by reaching up his hand and touching her face. "My fault." He murmured, choking down coughs to speak, dark eyes shining. "Everything. Mine."
"Shh.." she whispered, pulling away from him. "Nothing is your fault William. Let the doctor take care of you now…"
And though he did not speak again, his voice followed her down the hall. "My fault. Everything. Mine."
O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Elizabeth Bennet was quite through with acting. Bingley had moved at a good pace to see them to Netherfield's door, and she was desperate to see her sisters and cousin, but Adelaide Bernard had no reason to be in a desperate rush for anyone. Miss Bingley was the hostess of Netherfield, and Adelaide had to do her duty by her. Thankfully, mourning Forelli limited how much time and attention the dictates of society would allow her to give her hostess, and her mourning veil prevented the gossip from viewing her face too closely.
She had sat with Miss Bingley and her listless sister, Mrs. Hurst, through tea, and took minimal refreshment. She had been tasked with delivering a handwritten note to Miss Bingley from the Countess, that Elizabeth was sure to remind the sisters of their need to stay their tongues regarding her visit. The women had been so delighted to receive such a missive that it thoroughly interrupted their own interrogation of Miss Bernard in favor of the great lady's note – surely Miss Bernard did not mind? The Countess had been friendly, thanking Miss Bingley for hosting her "little friend" as well as her son, and reminding her of the ball she had been invited to at Matlock House. Gossip about a mourning actress who kept to her rooms would not be worth the friendship that the Bingley family shared with Matlock. It was a gentle reminder, but a necessary one.
Neither Miss Bennet or Mrs. Collins had been presented at tea, and Elizabeth had felt herself quite ready to bolt if she would have been forced to share another moment in the company of sisters Bingley, rather than Bennet. She had spent so much of her youth playing at someone else, cultivating a new identity, wearing a mask to the world. Being in Hertfordshire, knowing her sisters were so near, in the very same house, the mask was crumbling, deteriorating before her eyes, and she could not be certain how much longer she would have the strength to maintain it.
Tea was finally over, and Elizabeth escorted to a nicely furnished guest room and provided with a hot bath. Knowing it would be hours before the meeting, and she was quite worn out from the road, she decided to avail herself of the amenities Miss Bingley offered and took a soak. She had informed her hosts she would not be joining them for dinner while she remained a guest, as there were too many guests to consider the meal a family dinner and would not be appropriate for a woman in mourning. Miss Bingley was clearly put out by this news, but perfectly civil in addressing it with her guest. Darcy and Bingley had decided that best time for the reunion would be at the separation of sexes after dinner. Mrs. Collins would announce at the start of the meal that she intended to return upstairs directly, and Miss Bennet would quit the Bingley sisters' company some fifteen minutes after the gentleman departed. They would think nothing of it that all three sisters remained above stairs for the duration of the evening.
The hours that passed were among the longest of Elizabeth's life. The bath had been refreshing but languishing alone with her thoughts for a seemingly endless interval of time was not. She paced, she fretted, she tried to practice her monologues for Romeo and Juliet, she tried to think of anything at all outside of seeing her sisters, but her mind was wholly occupied by their sweet faces.
A strong knock interrupted her reverie. Darcy's deep voice rumbled from the other side, "Miss Bernard, might I have a moment of your time?"
Elizabeth strode to the door and threw it open, feeling as if she had never been more glad to see another soul in all her life. Darcy was dressed for dinner, and in his hand was a glass of amber liquid.
"Good evening, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, feeling rather breathless at the sight of him.
"Elizabeth." Darcy murmured, dipping his head in a bow. "May I step in for a moment – the others have all gone down already."
Elizabeth's speaking eyes glanced at him questioningly, but she stood aside for him to pass. Leaving the door ajar behind him. He took two steps into the room, and looking rather pointedly at her face, said. "I know you must be impatient, and this delay must feel cruel to you by this point in the day, but Bingley and I are only thinking of your safety and that of your sisters."
Elizabeth smiled slightly. "I am going quite mad in here alone, Mr. Darcy, but I do understand why you are taking these precautions…and as loathe as I to admit it, I do appreciate them."
"I brought you a glass of brandy. I beseech you, drink it slowly, especially if you are unfamiliar with spirits. A few sips will help to calm you nerves but drink the glass too quickly and you will find yourself quite inebriated."
Lizzy's smile widened in an impish fashion. "A glass of liquid courage. I thank you, sir."
"Do no thank me just yet, you must eat something when your tray comes, or you will move from bravery to recklessness before you even feel the effects."
She could not help the peal of laughter that escaped her lips. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I promise that if I should require extra courage, I will ingest it slowly and, on a stomach full of food. I confess Darcy, I have seen men in their cups more than once. I know how to avoid such embarrassment, I promise you."
Darcy's cheeks pinked slightly, but he did not feel slighted to have been the object of her amusement. In fact, he rejoiced in it, for making Elizabeth laugh was his principal delight in life. He gave her a deep nod of understanding and merely said, "You have waited all these years…you will suffer no ill effects of waiting through dinner."
"You are quite right," she replied with an easy playfulness she did not truly feel. "and now my wait will be much more pleasant." She added, tilting the glass in his direction.
Darcy smiled at her. "Enjoy your dinner, madam." He said, offering her his bow.
She dipped into a curtesy. "And you as well, sir." Came her arch reply.
Elizabeth was alone with her thoughts once more. She took a few sips of the fiery liquid, enjoying the way the burn momentarily cleared her mind of anxiety it had built surrounding the meeting with her sisters. She found she had no appetite for the food that had been sent up, though it looked tempting enough. To appease the scolding Darcy in her mind, she picked at each the dishes so the alcohol would not simply run straight through her but could only manage small bites every few minutes. Her eyes were locked on the clock, wondering how much longer she should wait until adjourning to the small sitting room attached to the sickroom. Would the wait be better there, or worse, knowing her cousin William lay but feet away?
Another knock on the door pulled her away from her worry. This time it was Mr. Smythe, Mr. Darcy's valet. "Madam, Mr. Darcy instructed me to inform you when the separation of sexes occurred. The gentlemen have just withdrawn from the ladies, shall I show you to the sitting room?"
Elizabeth took in a shuddering breath. The moment had finally come.
"I thank you, yes." She answered, taking his arm with a shaking hand.
The journey from her bedroom to the sitting room was the longest Elizabeth had been on. Her desperate walk to London was not half so exhausting as the one that would lead her to her sisters. She felt her pulse quicken with each step, realizing that this moment was truly before them. She could scarcely believe she wasn't dreaming. After seven long years she would be able to take Jane and Mary in her arms…
A lifetime passed, and they reached the door. Smythe moved to open it, but Elizabeth stayed his hand in order to take one last deep breath, squaring her shoulders back. She met his eye and nodded, and Smythe open the door.
"Miss Adelaide Bernard," He announced as plainly as any footman, and shut the door behind her.
The gentlemen were assembled already. Only Barringer and Mr. Hurst were missing, and deliberately so. Barringer had asked Hurst for a game of chess in order to remove him from the assembled gathering. They rose respectfully, and offered her tea, which she accepted but was too anxious to drink. Elizabeth had been disappointed that it was not Jane who awaited her, but a group of men, but realized the necessity of it. Her story was a trying one, and though it was becoming easier to speak of her experiences with practice, she had never recited it in whole, from the beginning, to anyone before she would this evening. By gathering everyone now she need only tell it once.
The clock ticked by slowly as they awaited the arrival of Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet. Her eyes frequently turned toward Darcy, who met her look with an encouraging smile from his stance near the windows. Finally, finally, footsteps could be heard in the hall.
The handle of the door moved, Elizabeth rose, shakily, staring at the entrance.
The door opened.
And there they were.
Her sisters.
Her heart's desire.
The gentlemen had risen as well, offering their bows, but neither Jane nor Mary had eyes for anyone in the room except the vision of their missing sister standing before them. Mary, petite and delicate, trembled, holding Jane's arm for support. While Jane's other hand had risen to cover her mouth, the emotion of the moment too powerful.
Seven years they had been separated. For seven years Jane and worried, and wondered, and grieved, for seven years Jane had imagined Lizzy dead, a precocious thirteen-year-old for eternity. Yet she was not only alive, but also grown up, grown into a beautiful and vibrant young woman, a seemingly prosperous one based on the quality of her mourning dress.
It seemed as if none of the sisters could bring themselves to speak, or to look away from one another, as if one would blink and the other, disappear. Taking pity on them, Bingley walked over to Mrs. Collins and her sister, and placing their arms on his own, escorted them to the couch.
It as Mary who finally spoke, her voice trembling. "Oh Lizzy…you are so beautiful. I see why it is that you became Benito Forelli's muse."
Elizabeth blushed prettily but was hardly conscious of it herself. She was transfixed by the little sister she had left behind as a child, and the woman she had grown into. "Dear Mary…can you really be so grown? I knew that it would be so but I marked every one of my sisters' birthdays…but it is hard to believe you are truly a woman now Mary."
And then her eyes met Jane's cornflower blue gaze, watery with unshed tears. They were accusatory eyes, hurt and angry, yet they radiated with the warmest affection imaginable. Elizabeth found herself moving toward the sofa where her sisters had been seated of her own volition, and kneeling before them, grasping their hands in her own. "Oh Jane. Mary…. I cannot take away the pain and confusion that my leaving Longborn caused in your life. Hurting you, and all my dear family, remains the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. If you do not wish to forgive me, I can bear you no ill will. But I hope if nothing else you will part from this meeting knowing that every choice, I have ever made has been out of the greatest love for you."
Jane was looking away now from her now, pulling her hand from Elizabeth's grasp. "You left me, Lizzy."
"I know." Elizabeth whispered mournfully, "I am so, incredibly sorry, my dearest Jane. I have thought of you nearly every moment of every day since I went away."
Her eyes turned back to her sister's famous orbs, and her voice dropped to an angry whisper. "You left me, Lizzy. You left me with him."
"I know, Janie. I know. I'm sorry, darling."
Tears now rolled freely down the cheeks of the lovely Mrs. Collins. "Why Lizzy? Why did you run away?"
Elizabeth sighed heavily, rising to stand. "I have a rather long and complicated story to tell, will you hear me, Jane? Mary?"
Jane nodded decisively, grasping Mary's hands. "We will hear you, Elizabeth. We must hear you."
Elizabeth gave her sisters a watery smile of gratitude. "Very well," she said, steeling her resolve, "I suppose I ought to start the beginning…"
Author's Notes: And there you finally have it, sisters reunited! Next chapter continues the reunion, as well as explains more of the mystery. It'll be dialogue heavy, so I want to give every sister a moment to get their internal dialogue out before we get into the nitty gritty. Hope you all enjoyed! As always thank you for reading, I appreciate your support more than you know.