Page 23 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 31/3: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, she decided to speak to Cook about the date. Typically, she merely grabbed the muffin that Cook left for her and hurried out the door, eager to enjoy the morning quiet. Today, however, it was imperative that she ensure the day was Wednesday.

As she was lying in her bed after Jane left, she had a horrid thought that perhaps the visions were something more than mere visions. What if she had been trapped in a series of Tuesdays, all unaware, and the visions had been her mind remembering what had already occurred, rather than predicting the future?

It seemed impossible that time might be repeating, but Jane did not recall the Tuesday before yesterday when she had first had the visions and, today, the visions, far from fading as dreams did, had only become clearer. She now recalled entire weeks of Tuesdays. Elizabeth’s chest grew tight; if she had been living in a similarly oblivious state as Jane and had only just awoken to the truth....

She shuddered as she tied her dress. The thought of the whole world repeating the same day over and over again, events almost always remaining precisely the same—it was like watching a bug trapped in a spider web. If time did not move forward and no one remembered the repetitions, they would no longer be able to grow or change.

The morning bustle in the kitchen was well underway when Elizabeth entered. “Good morning, Cook, Betsey.”

The two women waved at her, dropping half curtsies. Cook was frowning, but Betsey smiled at her.

“Did you need something, Miss Elizabeth?” Betsey asked.

“I just wanted to thank you for always leaving a muffin out for me. I so appreciate it—your muffins are so delectable that they always cheer me.”

Cook gave her a slight smile, though she did not stop measuring out ingredients.

Elizabeth hesitated; there really was no good way to request the date from a person without sounding either confused or quite odd. “What day is it? I am afraid I am feeling particularly muddled this morning,” she added with a laugh.

“It is Tuesday, Miss,” Betsey said.

Tuesday! Again? “Thank you, Betsey. Well, I shall not keep you.”

As quickly as she could, Elizabeth sped from the house and down the path towards her thinking spot by the creek. What was happening? She definitely remembered yesterday (and the day before) as being Tuesday. Time appeared to be behaving in a singularly nonlinear fashion.

She would have to ask Mr. Darcy about it.

Her attention only half on her surroundings, Elizabeth made it through breakfast and was halfway to Meryton before she was able to speak to Jane. Making an excuse that her boot laces had come loose, she pulled Jane to one side.

“Lizzy, are you well? Your mind has been entirely occupied all morning.”

“It happened again,” Elizabeth hissed.

Jane blinked at her. “What happened again?”

“My vision—I have already experienced this day once before. Just like yesterday’s dream.”

Jane’s expression grew fixed, then concern spread over her features. “I do not know what you mean. Could you explain further?”

“You do not recall our conversation yesterday?”

Jane put a hand on her arm. “We had several conversations yesterday; you will have to be more specific.”

“The one about my visions,” Elizabeth said, studying her sister’s wide, uncomprehending eyes. She huffed. “What day was yesterday?”

Jane’s brow furrowed. “As today is Tuesday, yesterday was Monday.”

Elizabeth stared at her sister, searching for any hint of humour or disingenuousness—which was ridiculous; Jane would never tease her about something like this, nor would she lie. She was simply incapable of it.

“I―” Elizabeth passed a hand over her brow, trying to decide if she wished to explain the whole to Jane yet again. She glanced towards the rest of the group; Mr. Collins was waiting impatiently, and the two younger girls had already begun edging down the path. No, she did not wish for Mr. Collins to hear her explanation. “I had a strange dream—I shall tell you about it later.”

“Are you certain you are well?”

Elizabeth nodded, unable to meet her sister’s gaze. She was not unwell, per se, but the thought of being trapped in this nonlinear time without Jane left her stomach twisting.

The moment they neared the spot in the path where they had occasionally met Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth began keeping a keen eye out for the gentlemen. She was not sure what she could say in the presence of others—she had no desire to be branded as lacking in sanity—but surely something could be discussed.

Before long, the sound of hoofbeats had Elizabeth nearly vibrating in anticipation. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley came into view.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy’s welcome greeting came.

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”

The man held out an elbow in inquiry. “May I escort you to Meryton?”

“You may escort me to my aunt’s house, if you would like,” she returned.

“Mr. Darcy, I must apologise for not presenting myself to you sooner,” Mr. Collins began. “As your aunt’s rector, I consider myself especially well-placed to assure you of her health as I last saw her not three days ago.”

“Three days?” Elizabeth put in. “I believe it has been some time since you have been at Hunsford, Mr. Collins.”

Mr. Collins gave her a patronising smile. “You are mistaken, Cousin, though I understand where you might find yourself in error. Truly, you and your family have made me so welcome that it feels as though we have known each other for some time.”

“I believe we have known each other for some time, have we not, Mr. Darcy?”

The man stared at her. “You refer, perhaps, to the nonlinear nature of time as of late,” he said cautiously.

She came to an abrupt halt. “You have been experiencing nonlinear time?”

“For several weeks now,” Mr. Darcy confirmed.

Elizabeth nearly stamped her foot. Mr. Darcy was in this repetition the same way she was. Mr. Darcy! The man who had immediately categorised her as unworthy of his attention, who strutted around Hertfordshire, ignoring all and sundry, and who took every opportunity to needle her! Why could not it have been Jane? Or Charlotte? Or anyone else?

Mr. Collins cleared his throat. “Time is a precious thing, is it not?”

Almost anyone else.

His rhetorical question was then followed by a homily on the nature of one’s short lifespan and the importance of spending the time one had wisely, rather than descending into sloth.

“I see that Mr. Wickham is here again today,” Elizabeth said under her breath, hoping to get a rise out of Mr. Darcy.

The man stiffened. “He is indeed. Unfortunately, I have been informed that removing him will not solve the problem.”

“Informed?”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

Mr. Denny claimed their attention, introducing Mr. Wickham. Mr. Darcy drew Elizabeth a little closer, as though attempting to lay claim to her.

“Is there a way we can speak privately before your aunt’s dinner, or would you prefer to have this discussion there?” he murmured, keeping a wary eye on Mr. Wickham who was politely listening to her two youngest sisters’ enthusiastic retelling of some lark they had got up to with Mr. Denny and Mr. Pratt.

Elizabeth hesitated, glancing at Mr. Bingley who had drawn Jane to one side. “Are you including Mr. Bingley in the discussion?”

Mr. Darcy frowned. “Bingley? Why would we include him?”

“He is not also experiencing Tuesdays?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head.

“Ah, then the changes in his behaviour are simply the result of your actions. Of course. I had not accounted for that factor.”

Before Mr. Darcy could reply, Mr. Collins intruded once more.

Some twenty minutes later, when the little man was monopolising her aunt, Mr. Darcy again drew her aside. “Have you considered the best way to obtain privacy for our discussion?” he murmured.

“I would rather not risk my reputation, sir,” she said with forced sweetness.

Mr. Darcy merely blinked at her. “I assure you that your reputation would suffer no risk—no one else is aware of the occurrences of Tuesdays past.”

“Not even the old woman?”

Mr. Darcy started. “You can see her?”

“Of course I can.” She did not bother to inform him that Jane had been unable to do so. “Is she too experiencing nonlinear time?”

“Possibly.”

“What do you mean?” she hissed, trying to keep her frustration leashed. He alone appeared to know what was occurring; why did he refuse to provide straightforward answers?

Mr. Darcy shifted his weight from one foot to the other like a small boy caught stealing a choice dessert. “She is aware of the repetitions, but she is not always in Meryton, so I do not know if she merely experiences the day somewhere else or if she goes somewhen else entirely.”

“Somewhen?” Elizabeth asked sharply, then shook her head as Jane looked in her direction. “Let us continue our conversation at my aunt’s dinner tonight.”

“Very well, I―”

Jane glided towards them with a smile on her face. “Mr. Bingley and I were just discussing the enjoyment that the prospect of good company in the evening brings and how it enhances the entire day. Do you agree, Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth suppressed a chuckle. Likely Jane had seen the heated turn of their conversation and was taking steps to keep the peace.

She recalled her promise not to annoy Mr. Darcy any more than he had annoyed her—it would serve the man right if she made things difficult for him, considering how difficult he had been over the past month or more of their acquaintance.

Mr. Darcy nodded stiffly. “Indeed.”

“I agree, Jane.” She smiled at her sister. “And I am certain that anticipation will speed the afternoon by.”

“One can only hope,” Mr. Darcy said.