The Gypsy Blessing (3 page)

Stranger and stranger still. I will be impatient to hear from Aunt Madeline again.

~%~

During their mid-day meal, a great deal of noise erupted from the direction of the front hall. Mrs. Hill entered the dining parlor and crossed the room to speak to Mr. Bennet. “Sir, Mr. Jones is here—”

Mrs. Bennet interrupted, “Tell him that he must wait, Hill.”

“Yes’m, I did, but he says it’s urgent he speaks to Miss Elizabeth right away.”

Mr. Bennet looked at Elizabeth. “To Lizzy? Whatever for?”

His daughter only shrugged her shoulders slightly.

“He didn’t say, sir,” Mrs. Hill answered.

“Well, Lizzy, let us find out what the apothecary might need from you.” Mr. Bennet rose from the table and moved to help Elizabeth with her chair.

“If you ask me, it is very rude to show up uninvited in the middle of our meal and break up our family party!” Mrs. Bennet commented.

Mr. Bennet responded, “My dear, you know that Jones would not do such a thing unless it was particularly important. Come, Lizzy.”

A few moments later, Mr. Bennet approached Mr. Jones with his hand extended in greeting. “Mrs. Hill says you need to speak to my daughter?”

“Good day, Mr. Bennet. Yes, the Lucas family has returned home early from their visit to the North due to Miss Lucas coming down with a host of alarming complaints. The family was turned out of their relatives’ home due to a
midwife
, of all people, saying that she has the plague.” He shook his head. “It is not the plague—not even close to it—and after travelling so far, she is particularly unwell. I require the nectars from the roots of a certain plant to help her. It is rarely used, and I have found that my stock is tainted. Miss Charlotte’s life depends upon finding more. I was hoping that since you are so fond of nature, Miss Elizabeth, you might have seen the plant growing somewhere nearby.”

“Of course, Mr. Jones. I would do anything to help Charlotte. Can you describe the plant in detail?” Elizabeth braced herself, suspecting that she already knew
exactly
what it looked like from the drawing her aunt had sent her.

“I can do better than that!” Mr. Jones exclaimed, reaching into his pocket, and retrieving a piece of paper that he immediately unfolded. “I tore this page from one of my books so there would be no mistake.”

Mr. Jones’s handing her the page seemed to take an extraordinarily long time. She swallowed hard—it was happening again, just as it had in the dining room with Lydia’s gown and the wine stain. What confused her most was that when she reached out to take the page from Mr. Jones, her hand moved slowly, as well. Was her mind working extremely quickly? She looked down at the page.

It is the same drawing that Aunt Madeline sent me.

As her eyes moved away from the page to Mr. Jones, his movements became normal in speed. Elizabeth reached out and leaned on her father’s arm.

Mr. Bennet supported his daughter. “Elizabeth, are you well? You have become so pale.”

Elizabeth nodded.

Mr. Jones said, “I am very sorry to have shocked you with such serious news about your friend, but it is absolutely necessary that you tell me if you have seen this plant.”

Elizabeth straightened her back as she released her father’s arm. Clearing her throat, she stated firmly, “I know where this plant grows aplenty. Give me a moment to retrieve my pelisse and bonnet from above stairs, and I will lead you there at once.” Elizabeth hurried to her room.

I am glad I went out again directly after receiving the drawing to find the plant!

“I will come along, as well.” Mr. Bennet turned away and called out, “Hill? Ah, there you are. Inform Mrs. Bennet that Lizzy and I will be going with Mr. Jones. We shall return as soon as is possible.”

~%~

After leading Mr. Jones to the patch of plants where she helped him gather what he needed to tend Charlotte, she and her father had returned to Longbourn only to deal with Mrs. Bennet’s anger at their leaving during their meal. Her father quitted the drawing room soon after, saying that he should not be disturbed for the remainder of the afternoon—unless there was news of Charlotte. Elizabeth was left to explain.

“Well, well! Most likely Lady Lucas has told Charlotte to
pretend
to be ill to gain sympathy at being turned out of their relatives’ home,” Mrs. Bennet declared.

Amidst her two youngest sisters’ giggling, Jane sat dumfounded by their mother’s comment.

Elizabeth spoke up, “Mama, Mr. Jones would not have been so concerned about Charlotte had there not been such a serious illness.”

Mrs. Bennet would not hear her argument, and Elizabeth excused herself to her room with yet another headache.

Elizabeth closed her chamber door and leaned heavily against it, closing her eyes. A feeling of having done this before came over her, and momentarily she feared that the same phenomena were happening again, even though she had received no drawing of this scene. She sighed when she realized she actually
had
acted in a similar manner the previous day. This had been a difficult day so far, and it was not over yet.

When she moved her hand, the sound of the crinkling of paper in her pocket once again brought back the feeling of having done this before. Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open. She took out the page that Mr. Jones had given her, and rushed across the room to where the drawings were kept. Once the ribbon that was tied around the increasing stack was loosened, she unfolded both depictions of the herb to compare the two.

They were identical in every way, other than the paper. She could see the drawing she had received by post was on sketch paper whilst the other was a different quality and thickness—clearly a page from a book, as Mr. Jones had indicated. Had her aunt traced the plant from a duplicate book her uncle had on a shelf at Gracechurch Street?

Elizabeth stared at the first drawing that had been in this lot: the Lucas family’s return home.

All these sketches were high quality; the artist must have taken quite a bit of time to accomplish the task, and the drawing must have been begun long before the Lucas family had returned home. How did her aunt know Charlotte would be ill and require the aid of that particular herb? How did she draw so many details of the Lucases’ coach and house without setting up a stool on the drive to make the sketch? As far as she could remember, Aunt Madeline had not been to Lucas Lodge more than twice. Could she have
that
detailed a memory?

Elizabeth held her head between her hands. The endless string of questions running through her mind and no way of finding immediate answers made her head ache further. She placed the drawings on her dressing table and lay down to rest her eyes, but she could not sleep.

An hour later, Elizabeth slipped down the stairs unnoticed and made her way to the writing table in the sitting room to write a short letter.

Dear Aunt Madeline,

Your drawings are beautiful, but I must ask—no, I must
beg
you—please, do not send any others!

Yours, etc.

Elizabeth

She wrote the direction on the outside and placed the note with her father’s outgoing mail. Not long after returning to her room, Elizabeth was fast asleep.

Chapter 2

June 2, 1811

As Elizabeth descended the stairs to join her family at the evening meal, she was startled by a knock on the front door. At the same moment that Elizabeth reached the bottom of the staircase, Mrs. Hill scurried past and opened the door to reveal the apothecary.

Elizabeth stepped forward. “Mr. Jones, do you have news of Charlotte Lucas?”

He removed his hat. “She is well, thanks to you, Miss Elizabeth. I believe she received the antidote just in time.” In response to the unspoken question in her eyes, he said, “I did not wish to explain it fully until I was certain, but I believe she was poisoned. The suddenness of her recovery since taking the concoction I gave her is the proof. She is well on the road to recovery.”

“Good heavens! Who would want to poison Charlotte?”

“Perhaps it was an accident, or it might be that the poison was meant for another, I know not. From what I understand, once she fell ill, she would eat nothing other than a dried fruit her aunt had served them that evening. They had been given the remainder of the treat to take with them on their journey. Together with her symptoms, I suspect that the fruit had been poisoned.”

Quite unnerved, Elizabeth could think of nothing but seeing her friend. “When will she be well enough to receive visitors, Mr. Jones?”

“I see no reason why she cannot have visitors on the morrow.”

“Excellent news, sir!”

~%~

June 3, 1811

The ladies of the Bennet household entered the drawing room at Lucas Lodge. Mrs. Bennet sat with Lady Lucas, and Kitty and Lydia approached the younger daughter, Maria. Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary crossed the room to sit near Charlotte, who was reclining on a sofa, bundled in blankets.

Elizabeth took Charlotte’s hand in hers. “Charlotte, I am so happy to see you well! What a scare you must have had.”

“You could not know how much I have missed you all. During our journey home, I kept thinking of you, afraid that I would never see you again.”

Elizabeth squeezed her friend’s hand slightly. “What exactly was it that made you ill?”

“Candied fruit that my aunt had purchased as a treat to us all.”

“Oh, Charlotte, it is good that you did not eat very much at one time,” Jane said.

“My experience proves that our mothers were correct—too many sweets are not good for a lady,” Charlotte quipped. “It seems that I was the only one who enjoyed the indulgence and took a second piece. Once I fell ill, my parents and aunt were desperate for me to eat something, so they offered me more of the fruit, thinking it would be better than nothing at all. Although I had no appetite, I took a bite now and then to please them.”

“To be travelling, as ill as you were, must have been a trying experience,” Mary observed.

Charlotte nodded. “My aunt did not like asking us to go, but when the midwife told her it was the plague, she feared for her small children’s lives, and my uncle ordered us to leave. Really, I cannot blame him.”

In the quiet that followed Charlotte’s statement, Lady Lucas’s voice was prevalent. Charlotte gestured, indicating the young ladies should listen to her conversation with Mrs. Bennet, detailing their journey home. “Somehow, word spread south faster than our coach could travel. We tried to stop at several inns along the way, but none would take us in. We drove straight through from York to Lucas Lodge, stopping only to change horses.”

“Oh, Lady Lucas!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed.

“At each stop, a servant went around to the kitchen of the inn to obtain food and drink. Most would not even allow him the courtesy of entering the building to warm bricks in their fire so that Charlotte would not be chilled further, afraid that the servant carried the plague! She was so cold; no number of blankets could make her comfortable.”

Mrs. Bennet’s features formed an appropriately horrified expression. “No!”

“Yes!” Lady Lucas nodded. “After the servant reminded them of Christian charity, some
did
allow us to purchase warmed bricks of their own, so they would not have ours pass through their door. When he would pay for food and bricks, some would even force our man to place our coins in a bucket of lye!”

“And it was all for nothing. Miss Lucas was not ill after all!”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Bennet. Charlotte was ill—deathly ill! I thought every moment might be her last.” Lady Lucas offered Mrs. Bennet a biscuit. The latter took her up on the proffered treat—so as not to be rude, of course. The former transferred several biscuits to her own plate and continued, “Just look at her, Mrs. Bennet, and judge for yourself how exceedingly pale and sickly she appears.”

Both Lady Lucas and Mrs. Bennet turned to examine Charlotte with critical eyes.

Elizabeth thought,
It is true that Charlotte has not been in her best looks, but at this very moment her complexion is quite red.

Mrs. Bennet tightened her eyes. “Yes, yes. I see what you mean. She does not look well at all and is much thinner than usual.”

Charlotte’s blush deepened.

As the two older ladies returned to their conversation, Elizabeth took pity on Charlotte and whispered, “To me, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Lizzy, I cannot thank you enough for helping Mr. Jones find the remedy. He said he would not have found enough of that plant in time if not for you.”

Elizabeth squirmed slightly in her seat. If she had not received the drawing, it would have taken her much longer to remember where that particular plant grew so readily, but she felt it unwise to make this fact public knowledge. “Your recovery and continued health is thanks enough.”

Before long, Mr. Jones arrived to check on Charlotte’s progress. Soon after Mr. Jones had received assurances that Charlotte had been drinking the brew that he had left for her, he made to leave. Their fifteen minutes had passed long ago, and Mrs. Bennet rose, as well.

Charlotte said more loudly than was necessary, “I wish you did not have to go.”

“You are not tired?” Mary asked.

Charlotte shook her head and looked to her mother for permission to visit longer. Lady Lucas agreed as long as Mr. Jones said it was all right.

“I see no reason why Miss Lucas should not visit for another hour, but then she should rest.”

“If you would like to stay, girls, I will walk home with Kitty and Lydia,” Mrs. Bennet said.

Lydia whined, “If they are staying, why should I not stay with Maria?”

“Maria is my friend, too!” Kitty added.

“Well! And what am I supposed to do—walk home alone?”

“As I will be passing Longbourn on my way to the Danton’s, I can take you in my gig, Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Jones offered.

Mrs. Bennet seemed quite pleased with the plan and agreed.

“Are you certain you are feeling well enough for a long visit, Charlotte?” Jane asked.

“Yes, I am not tired.” Charlotte paused and continued in a tone so low that only her companions could hear, “I have not even
seen
a person close to my own age for many weeks. Please stay and visit a little longer?”

Since Charlotte seemed so desperate to have company, the three eldest Bennet daughters agreed to the idea.

A while later, as Elizabeth and her sisters were donning their coats and bonnets, Elizabeth felt rather strange. If she did not know better, she would think this was a moment like those when she had experienced an event depicted in a drawing. Thinking it was all her imagination playing tricks on her again, she steeled herself and readied herself to leave.

~%~

Arriving at home, the young ladies of the house met a harried-looking Mrs. Hill on her way down the steps.

“Mrs. Hill, what is the matter?” Jane asked as the housekeeper helped her off with her coat.

“Oh, then you don’t know what happened, Miss? I thought maybe you’d seen Mr. Jones along the road.”

Jane shook her head. “We came on the footpath.”

“Well, then—poor Mrs. Bennet met with an accident in Mr. Jones’s gig, fell to the ground and landed in a puddle of mud! It’s a good thing that little Jimmy Smith came along on an errand for his mother just then and went to fetch help.”

“Was my mother injured?” Elizabeth had to raise her voice to be heard over the sound of Kitty and Lydia still giggling after hearing that their mother had been covered in mud.

“Some bruises and scrapes is all. She’s just had a nice, hot bath.”

“Is Mr. Jones unharmed?” Mary asked.

“He is fine, miss, but if he hadn’t kept his horse in check, I’m sure I’d be tellin’ ya a different story. That horse might have stomped all over my poor mistress.”

“Where is my mother now?” Jane asked.

“She’s abed, Miss Jane.” Mrs. Hill curtsied and rushed off towards the kitchen.

They all hurried up the stairs to their mother’s rooms.

“Oh, girls! What you have done to me! Jane, Jane—fetch my smelling salts!”

Jane did as she was told and held the dish to her mother’s nose as she took a whiff.

“Lizzy! This is your fault—
you
talked your sisters into staying, sending me off with Mr. Jones in that
contraption
of his! You know how muddy the roads are after last night’s rain; we were dodging puddles the entire time we walked to visit Lady Lucas. I could not have the fortune of being thrown from the gig into a small amount of mud. No, I landed in a deep puddle! I am covered in bruises—in areas of my person best left unmentioned, too! It may be days before I can leave my bed. Oh!” She reached for her smelling salts once again, and Jane complied whilst Mary sent Lydia a reprimanding look for not stifling her giggle.

Elizabeth felt it was safer to remain quiet. Truly, she did not think she
could
speak, even if she had wished to.
The drawing!

“That incompetent Mr. Jones—he cannot drive; he broke the wheel.”

Mary said, “It sounds to me that since Mr. Jones kept the horse from harming you further, he is a good driver, Mama.”

“Oh, Mary, your father said almost the same thing! You have no compassion for my nerves!”

Jane, who usually knew best what to say to soothe her mother’s nerves, suggested, “Perhaps the excitement of having so many visit at once is not good for you right now, Mama. After this experience, rest is in order. May I stay? I can continue to read to you from the novel we had been reading last week, when you were indisposed.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds a good plan, Jane.”

The remainder of Mrs. Bennet’s daughters filed out of the room.

Elizabeth went directly to her room and locked the door behind her. Pulling out the drawing of her mother sitting in a mud puddle, Elizabeth could now see a detail that she must have been too distracted to see when she looked at the picture the first time. There was a broken wheel behind Mrs. Bennet. Or was it possible that the wheel had not been in the drawing before?
No! No, I will not think it!

Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
What is happening?
A knock on the door made her startle.
I have been so easily frightened these past few days!
She called out, saying she would be there in a moment, and then folded the page and placed a book on top of it.

She opened the door to reveal her father standing in the hallway. Mr. Bennet had always called her to his study when he wished to speak to her—in fact, she could not remember his ever coming to her room in the past at all. Elizabeth stood aside and motioned for him to enter.

Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I just came to give you this.” He held out a letter.

Elizabeth froze and stared at his hand.

“Will you take it, or would you rather that I read it to you?”

She tried to smile and took it from him. The hint of amusement dancing in his eyes almost immediately turned to concern.

“You have not been yourself these last few days, Lizzy—these headaches. If this should continue, I shall send for Mr. Jones, no matter what your mother now believes about the poor man.”

“Do not let it concern you; I will be well again soon, Papa.”

He nodded and turned to leave, but then paused to add, “You
have
heard about your mother’s accident, I suppose.”

“Yes, we were just in her rooms. Jane is with her now.”

“Ah, well. Perhaps that explains your pallor now.” He sighed. “Why do you not take a rest before coming down?”

“Thank you, sir; I will.”

Elizabeth watched her father walk away and closed the door, then stood gaping at the letter. This time, the direction
was
in her aunt’s handwriting. She was suddenly gripped by an inexplicable fear of what news this letter held, but after scolding herself internally, she broke the seal.

Dear Elizabeth,

It was my pleasure to forward the recipe of the marzipan to your mother. Since you enjoyed it so much when you were here, I thought it would be nice for you to have a special treat on your birthday. Cook was especially pleased to hear that hers turned out even better than did Mrs. Hill’s, although, from her expression, I have a suspicion that when transcribing the necessary steps, she held something back—a secret ingredient, perhaps.