Page 21 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
ELIZABETH
I spent the entire day in Jane’s room, tending to her as best I could.
She remained feverish, but she was not so hot that I worried unduly.
Still, I applied cool rags to her forehead, arms, and chest as often as I could.
The maid, together with the footman stationed right outside the door, ensured I had cool water every hour.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came up nearly an hour after I was shown up and remained fifteen minutes. Their conversation mostly consisted of commenting on how vexing it was to be ill in someone else’s home and how they always wished for the comfort of familiar surroundings when they were ill.
They left when Mr. Jones arrived. I aided Jane in moving to one of the chairs in the sitting area of the room so he could examine her more easily.
However, after examining Jane, he declared that she had caught a violent cold after being thoroughly wet through. He advised her to remain in bed for several days and left a draught for her and several plasters to apply to her chest at intervals to aid with the coughing.
Once he left, I assisted Jane in returning to her bed, making her as comfortable as I could.
Her fever had begun to increase, and she claimed her head ached terribly.
I continued to do all I could to care for her, but as the afternoon waned, I began to worry.
Mr. Darcy had indicated both in his note and as we made our way to Netherfield that he would ensure I was invited to stay with Jane.
Our hostesses returned not long after Mr. Jones had departed and remained for over an hour to sit with Jane. Their manner was outwardly kind, but there was a sharpness beneath Miss Bingley’s civility that left me wary. Her compliments felt rehearsed, her concern too precise to be genuine.
Mrs. Hurst lingered behind her sister when they rose to leave. Her well-wishes for Jane’s recovery were simply stated, and unlike Miss Bingley’s, they carried a quiet sincerity that surprised me.
Jane had finally fallen asleep when I realised that I badly needed a respite. After ascertaining that the maid would remain in the room to watch over my sister, I stepped into the passageway and ran almost directly into Mr. Darcy.
“I am pleased to find you here,” he murmured. “How is your sister?”
“She is still feverish, but I believe she is improving, at least a little,” I answered. “The remedies Mr. Jones left have helped ease her cough somewhat, and she has finally fallen asleep. I doubt either of us will rest well tonight.”
“You must take care, Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, and I blushed again at his use of my Christian name. “It will not do you or your sister any good if you fall ill alongside her.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” I replied, ducking my head slightly as I hoped to regain my composure.
“Allow me to escort you to the drawing room; our hosts should be waiting for us with tea,” he said, extending his elbow towards me.
I took it and was caught slightly off guard when his free hand rose to gently cover mine. For the briefest moment, I let my imagination wander—pretending we were in our own home, descending the stairs to greet guests we had invited together. The image was warm and comforting… and entirely foolish.
The illusion vanished the instant I saw Miss Bingley waiting at the foot of the staircase, her expression already sharp with scrutiny. I schooled my features into calm neutrality, praying that my cheeks had not betrayed me, and prepared to meet her gaze with all the composure I could muster.
Her eyes dropped to where Mr. Darcy’s hand rested over mine on his arm, and the flicker of displeasure that crossed her face was impossible to miss.
He had once confided to me in one of our conversations atop Oakham Mount that Miss Bingley could be quite territorial where he was concerned.
Yet I had never seen that possessiveness so plainly displayed as in that moment.
A small, wicked part of me longed to smile and lean closer, to make my connexion to him unmistakable. But another, more cautious part held me back—still uncertain what his gestures truly meant or how far I might trust in them.
“And how is dear Miss Bennet?” Miss Bingley asked, her tone laced with false sweetness, even as she stepped forward to claim Mr. Darcy’s other arm, clearly intending to draw him away from me.
Mr. Darcy shifted his hand from atop mine to rest behind his back, thwarting Miss Bingley’s attempt to draw him away. With a barely concealed huff, she turned sharply and swept into the drawing room ahead of us, where Mr. and Mrs. Hurst already sat.
She seated herself with practised grace, then patted the spot beside her and cooed, “Mr. Darcy, do come sit with me and tell me how you have passed the day. You have quite hidden yourself away—we have not seen you since this morning.”
“I have been occupied with business, Miss Bingley, which I told you was my intention this morning after breakfast,” Mr. Darcy said, clearly attempting to hide his displeasure with his hostess.
“You have come by the library where I was working several times today, and each time you asked, I have given the same answer. Now, I have completed my tasks, and I am able to join my host for tea.”
Miss Bingley was clearly displeased, and her lips formed into a frown when he escorted me towards a settee, helping me to sit before taking the seat next to me.
“You are meant to be taking a break from so much business, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley cooed again, entirely unaware of how grating her voice became when she adopted that simpering tone.
Only I seemed to notice the slight wince Mr. Darcy gave in response, and I had to suppress another inward laugh at her continued efforts to secure his attention despite all his indications otherwise.
“When my brother invited you to our little family house party, I was under the impression he said you were here to rest and enjoy our company,” she added with a pointed smile.
“Your brother invited me to Netherfield to assist him in learning how to manage an estate,” Mr. Darcy replied, his tone clipped.
“I had anticipated a proper house party, but upon arrival, I was informed that the other guests you invited had declined. Had I known it was to be only family, I would not have come. However, I gave your brother my word, and so I agreed to remain for a short time to teach him what I could.”
Miss Bingley’s lips thinned visibly, the skin around them paling as she pressed them tightly together in frustration.
Mr. Bingley arrived just then and, when he saw me, immediately asked, “How is Miss Bennet faring, Miss Elizabeth? Has her health improved? I cannot imagine that it would not with such diligent care from her sister.”
I smiled at his exuberance. “She has improved and is finally sleeping peacefully,” I said, uncertain if I ought to say more.
“I am certain your presence beside her did much to aid her recovery,” Mr. Bingley said again. “In fact, you should not depart Netherfield at all until she is better. Caroline, you have already had a room prepared to house Miss Elizabeth, did you not?”
Miss Bingley scowled at being addressed and offered only a curt nod in reply. Her sister, perhaps hoping to smooth over the awkwardness, quickly spoke up.
“Of course, Miss Elizabeth, you are most welcome to stay as long as Miss Bennet remains. I cannot imagine being at ease, were I unable to be near my sister when she was unwell.”
Although her words were polite, the insincerity in her tone was unmistakable. The expressions on both Mrs. Hurst’s and Mr. Bingley’s faces did little to disguise how disagreeable Miss Bingley must be when she was unwell.
Smiling at my host and Mrs. Hurst, I gratefully accepted their invitation. “Might I send a note to Longbourn to request clothing for myself and for Jane?” I asked, “and to request some paper and ink so I can write the note?”
“My travel desk is in the library, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy offered. “Would you prefer to step in there or for me to bring it here?”
Before I could answer, there was a knock on the door. At Mr. Bingley’s call, several servants entered bearing tea trays filled with pots of tea, cups, and various pastries.
“If you do not mind, Mr. Darcy, would you bring the desk in here? I admit that I am parched since I do not think I drank any of the tea that was brought up for Jane,” I said.
He nodded and immediately stood to retrieve it. By the time Miss Bingley had prepared tea for everyone in the room, he was back and seated beside me once again.
I quickly finished my cup of tea before making use of the desk and its supplies. Soon, my note was on its way to Longbourn addressed to Mary since I did not expect either of my parents to act in the way I requested .
Miss Bingley surprised me when she offered a second cup of tea.
I hesitated briefly before accepting, watching as she poured with deliberately exaggerated movements.
There was a flicker of something—satisfaction, perhaps—when she handed me the cup, and I felt an immediate sense of wariness settle over me.
I took a cautious sip. The bitterness struck at once—sharper than the first cup and not easily explained by careless brewing.
I had no proof of anything untoward, but the difference was distinct enough to make me wary.
Choosing discretion, I cradled the cup in my hands and merely pretended to sip, lifting it occasionally to my lips until I judged enough time had passed to set it aside without drawing attention.
Miss Bingley reclaimed the floor, launching into one of her usual monologues.
She spoke at length of her time in London during the last Season, detailing every ball, dinner, and musical performance she had attended.
Her tone was light but deliberately pointed—each anecdote carefully chosen to emphasise the social strata in which she moved, one she clearly believed I could never enter.
She described French silks and Italian lace, the latest sleeve styles from Paris, and the gowns she intended to order from a modiste I had only read of in passing, mostly because Lydia and Kitty adored reading the fashion magazines and even their newfound interest in novels had not decreased their interest in sleeve lengths.
Her sister, Mrs. Hurst, murmured occasional affirmations, but even her interest appeared minimal, and Miss Bingley required no encouragement to continue.
The gentlemen remained silent throughout her soliloquy.
Mr. Darcy sat next to me, his expression unreadable as he gazed into the flames of the fire across the room.
Mr. Bingley sat with polite attention, yet his eyes drifted towards the passageway more than once—likely thinking of Jane and wishing to go to her.
I made no attempt to join the conversation. There was no invitation in Miss Bingley’s tone, only exclusion. Her intent was transparent: to remind me of my supposed inferiority and to make me feel out of place in a room I had every right to inhabit.
Meeting her efforts to exclude me with silence and a composed smile, I was unwilling to grant her the satisfaction of seeing me unsettled. I had endured sharper barbs and colder receptions. Besides, there is a dignity in restraint that no petty insult can truly undermine.
To my surprise, Mr. Darcy eventually leant towards me and whispered near my ear, “Is something wrong with the tea?”
“It tastes slightly bitter,” I murmured in reply. “She may have added something—perhaps laudanum or something similar. I cannot say for certain what else might account for the taste. I do not believe she meant to harm me… only to keep me out of the way for a time.”
“Laudanum,” he repeated, his voice carrying farther than intended and drawing the attention of those nearby.
Mr. Bingley appeared unconcerned, but Miss Bingley looked distinctly irritated.
“It may not be the most dangerous substance, but nonetheless, it could cause harm—particularly if administered without due care.”
Miss Bingley, catching Mr. Darcy’s lingering glance in my direction and noting the teacup at my side, narrowed her eyes and shot me a sharp glare. Her scrutiny brought the conversation to an abrupt end.
“Would you care for more tea, Miss Eliza?” she asked, her voice overly sweet and unmistakably pointed.
“No, thank you, Miss Bingley,” I said with a polite smile. “The second cup proved to be a bit too much for me this afternoon. Now that I know I will be staying, I should check on my sister. If you all will excuse me.”
I stood without waiting for a reply and quickly left the room, relieved to be free of the oppressive atmosphere of the room—and of Miss Bingley’s tea.