Chapter Nine

Bingley ached in every way possible. He was not used to staying in the saddle for such an extended period of time, but it had been necessary. After leaving the McGregor cottage, Bingley rode across Pemberley lands, checking on the various families. As he rode, Bingley finally realized the true size of Darcy's property. No wonder Darcy had been so stressed when he had to take over the running of the estate after his father's death.

Some families he spoke with were perfectly fine, though many had at least one member of their family ill. None of the families had been as hard hit as the McGregors. There were no additional deaths, and it appeared that no one else was gravely ill. It was a good thing, he supposed, but that did not stop the sorrow he felt knowing how much that one family had been affected. Though his body was sore from riding, it was his heart that ached the most.

In all reality, he worried more for Jane than he did anyone else. The other men had gone to the cottage to quarantine, but Bingley needed to check on Jane. He was worried not only about her health, but about her heart. Jane was at the core soft and compassionate, and she cared deeply about people. Jane wanted everyone to be happy and healthy and often became invested in helping others. It would be heart-wrenching for her to stay and care for the sick and dying.

It had grown dark while he was at the last house, but a full moon lit his way. As he approached his destination, Bingley could see the lights shining from the windows. If he did not know what was going on in the house, he would have said the home seemed to have a hopeful look about it, shining there in the dark. Coming down off the horse, he left it to graze before going inside. He knew he would only be able to stay a short time before going back to Glenn Cottage for the night.

Susan stood at the stove, but looked up to greet Bingley when he knocked at the door and came in. Keeping his voice low, Bingley said, "Hello Susan, how are you doing this evening?"

"Oh, hello, Mr. Bingley. I am well enough." Gesturing to the kettle on the stove, she asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Not at the moment, but perhaps before I leave. I want to check on Miss Bennet and the others first. How are they doing?"

Glancing in the direction of the sickroom, Susan sighed. "The children are managing, I suppose. Young Allen is not getting any worse, but I know Miss Bennet is afraid that Grace is falling ill. Mrs. Mercy, however, I do not think will last the night."

Nodding, Bingley made his way to the sickroom and, after knocking softly, made his way in. He let his gaze slide around the room. Two children were asleep on a pallet on the floor. They did not appear healthy, but neither did they seem deathly ill. It did not take that long for Bingley to realize why Susan seemed to be so certain that Mrs. McGregor was not long for the world. Every breath she took was a gurgling struggle to draw in the air.

Jane was sitting on the bed next to the suffering woman, stroking her brow, her voice low and soothing as she said, "All is well, Mercy. Do not be afraid. I am here with you, and more importantly, God is with you. You are not alone." Bingley watched as Jane dabbed a wet cloth on Mrs. McGregor's lips. "It is all right to let go. Your children are safe and cared for. I promise that I will do everything in my power to see that they are safe and happy. They will never be alone in this world. You do not need to worry; all will be well. You may go in peace."

Bingley stood frozen, unable to move from his spot as he watched the strength of the woman he loved shine through the sadness that permeated the room. How strong did you have to be to soothe someone in such a manner? Bingley was in awe of her. His heart ached for her, and he yearned to be by her side, offering solace. However, he resisted the temptation to interrupt the profoundly poignant moment.

It was not long before Mrs. McGregor released her last breath, and the room was full of silence. Propelled forward by the sorrow that he could see on Jane's face, Bingley helped Jane to bring the blanket up over the woman's face. Bingley's mind searched for something to say to offer comfort to the woman he loved but found it impossible. He knew of no words powerful enough to provide solace at such a time.

Bingley could only stand before Jane, wondering how he could help ease some of her pain. Then, as if they were two magnets drawn by forces beyond their knowing, they both moved, and somehow Bingley was holding Jane, allowing her to sob quietly into his chest.

Sometimes life was just too heart-wrenching to bear. Jane burrowed her face into Charles"s waistcoat, trying to muffle her sobs. It was impossible for her to remain stoic and serene in that moment. Moreover, she did not want to wake the children. She did not think she could face explaining their mother's death when she had still not come to grips with it herself. Mercy had been such a smiling woman, and she had loved her children to the depth of her bones. The McGregors had been such a happy family, and now only the two children remained. How would they cope with such a traumatic loss?

Eventually, Jane realized that Charles was patting her back and crooning to her as if she were a child, and suddenly the world was not such a horrible a place. There was still light and comfort in the world and reasons to move forward despite the pain. Pulling her head back, Jane looked up into Charles's eyes. She was surprised to note that his face was painted with tears, and his eyes were red rimmed. They were a pair, matching each other in their grief.

After some time of simply staring at one another, Charles said, "Come, you need of some respite." Then, with an arm around her shoulders to hold her close, he shepherded her into the kitchen and settled her at the table. Bringing the basin over to her, he helped her wash her hands with the lye soup before washing his own. Drying their hands on a towel, he offered her his support in strength and silence.

Susan seemed to understand what had taken place with no explanation. Moving to the stove, she silently wiped away her tears. Returning, she poured the hot water into the teapot and then returned the kettle to its place on the stove. "We all need a nice calming cup of tea at times such as this."

Soon, there was a cup of tea in front of each of them as they all sat around the table, sipping in companionable silence and grief. In time, Jane looked up from watching the steam rise off her cup of tea and saw that Susan and Charles were both watching her with concern. Smiling grimly, Jane said, "I am well." She tried to smooth her hair away from her face with a sigh. When her hand encountered more of a mess than she expected, she settled for shoving her wayward hair behind her ears. "Mercy is not the first person I have tried to help who has died."

Though she had known she would not be able to save Mercy McGregor, her loss still cut like a knife. Charles's eyes sought Jane's and his tired blue gaze seemed to emphasize his words as he said, "That does not make my need to comfort you any less." Reaching out, Charles clasped her hand that lay on the table in his larger one. "What can I do to help? What do you need?"

Jane's chin wobbled for a moment before regaining her self-control. Jane knew her mask was slipping and that everyone could see her grief. It took her a moment to fight down her panic at showing weakness. She reminded herself that Charles and Susan would not judge her. Looking into Charles's gaze, she knew that he would never hurt her and, in fact, would be the first to protect her from harm. Taking a breath, Jane said, "I do not want the children to see their mother dead when they wake. Do you think it would be fitting to move her into the barn until she can be buried?"

Nodding his head, Charles said, "I am sure that would be fine."

It was horrifying to think that the children would wake to see their dead mother lying there in the morning. She could not stop the sadness they would face because of their mother's death, but she could protect them from haunting memories.

When Grace woke up, she looked around the room slowly. Based on the watery light she could see coming from under the door, she thought it was morning. She did not feel any better than the night before. In fact, she felt worse. Her throat hurt, and her head was fuzzy, but she ignored that in favor of checking on her brother.

Reaching out, she ran her fingers through her brother's hair and was happy when he said, "Stop, Gracie, I'm seeping." He then cuddled into her side, and she held him close, enjoying the warmth he brought with him.

Her relief was short-lived. As soon as she turned her head to check on her mother in the bed in the corner, Grace realized what had happened. The bed had been made up with clean sheets and a quilt she did not recognize, but it was empty. Her mother was not there. The only reason her mother would be missing was if she had died like her papa, grandma, and baby Patience. She was that much closer to being all alone.

Grace let her tears fall quietly in the dim morning light. She clung to her brother, her only remaining family, and tried to muffle her sorrow and sobs. Grace could not help but feel overwhelmed. Feeling sluggish and fuzzy made everything more difficult. There also seemed to be a great weight laying on her chest.

When the door opened quietly and Miss Jane walked into the room, their eyes met and locked. Grace saw the moment the woman noticed her tear-stained cheeks. In a rush, she came to the small pallet where Grace and Allen lay and said, "Oh, honey, I am so sorry."

Grace liked that the lady did not act as if she was too young or stupid to understand. Not every adult would act that way. "What is going to happen to us now?"

Holding her arms out, Miss Jane asked, "May I hold you? Come here, sweetheart." When Grace nodded her head, Miss Jane leaned forward and helped her to crawl into her lap. "I promised your mama that you would be taken care of. That means that I will make sure you and your brother are happy and safe. I do not know if you have any family nearby, but if you do, you might go to live with them. But I want you to know that no matter what happens, I will make sure you are both well and are as happy as can be."

Grace closed her eyes and became lost in the comfort that Miss Jane was providing. She could almost believe it was her mother embracing her, even though she knew it wasn't. It was still nice when Miss Jane started humming and rocking her back and forth when she cried.

The small, soft weight of Grace's body reminded Jane of the last time she had held Lydia. Her sister had scraped her knee in a fall and had been crying, so Jane had held her until her tears had dried up. Though it was a different child she held, she hummed the same lullaby. The most obvious difference was the fact that the tears soaking into her dress were not the result of a scraped knee. The child's tears stemmed from the desolation of grief.

Jane was so glad that Charles had moved poor Mercy into the barn before he left the night before. At least Grace had not had to discover her mother's dead body when she woke. Little Grace had enough to deal with.

While Jane did not know the loss of a mother, she could imagine the sorrow Grace felt, not to mention the fear she must have for her and her brother's future. Jane wondered if Grace and Allen had any family nearby. Was there someone out there who would be willing and able to take in two children not their own?

Mentally shrugging, Jane focused her attention back on Grace. It was not like she would ever allow Grace and her brother to suffer. Between herself, Elizabeth, and William, she knew provisions would be made for the children's future care. What concerned her at the moment was the heat coming off the little girl in her arms.

"Grace, how are you feeling this morning?" Jane asked while smoothed Grace's hair back from her face.

"Mmm…fuzzy." Grace sighed and rubbed at her chest before saying, "I will be fine. I can still help you take care of Allen."

Brow furrowed in concern, Jane asked, "Do you hurt anywhere, Grace?"

Grace seemed to sigh again, then rubbing her forehead, she said, "Yes."

Jane did not like the floaty way Grace sounded when she spoke. Grace had definitely caught whatever had befallen her family. Pressing her lips together, Jane looked down at the sleeping Allen. The boy seemed to sleep deeply. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his forehead. While he was warm, he was not nearly as hot as his sister and had improved from the night before.

Kissing the top of Grace's head, Jane asked, "Grace, I want to move you to the big bed your parents used. I think you and your brother would be much more comfortable."

Grace sleepily nuzzled her head into Jane's body, and after a moment, she mumbled, "All right."

It was not the easiest thing for Jane to stand with her arms full of the seven-year-old, but she managed to take Grace to bed and tuck her in. It was much easier to pick up Allen's much smaller form and transfer him to the bed. In this way, she could sit in the chair next to the bed, and the children might be able to get some well-needed rest.

It did not take long for Jane's worst fears to come to fruition. Grace's fever grew worse as the night progressed. By morning, Jane knew that Allen was on the path to recovery. She also knew that if things did not improve, she might very well lose Grace.

When Grace started coughing, Jane forced her tired body to move. She would need steam and more of the liniment if she was going to keep the cough from settling deep in Grace's chest. Leaving the room, Jane went out into the kitchen where there was a kettle on the stove. Pouring boiling water into a bowl, she brought it back and placed it on the small table next to the bed. Aiding her to sit up, she held Grace over the bowl and helped her to breathe the vapor with a towel draped over the young girl's head. Jane knew that the steam somehow helped loosen the mucus in her chest.

Even when the coughing finally settled, Grace's troubles did not go away. She seemed to dream or possibly hallucinate. Crying out to her brother, she said, "Allen, don't cry. I will take care of you even if mama's sleeping. Don't cry."

Jane's heart went out to the poor girl who, even in her delusions, sought to care for the one family member she had left. Sitting on the bed, Jane pulled Grace to herself, rocking her and soothing her brow with a cool compress. She murmured, "Shhh, Grace. Your brother is fine, he is well. Do not worry."

"What is wrong with her, Miss Jane?" Looking over, Jane saw Allen's wide, worried eyes staring at his feverish sister.

Plastering a smile on her tired face, Jane said, "Your sister is just talking in her sleep. Do not worry, I am taking care of her."

Allen's expression was too knowing for a child so young, but he had just recently witnessed the loss of most of his family. Shaking his little head, he said, "She is sick now too, isn't she?"

"Yes, but you are better. I am sure that she will get better soon enough." Jane hoped she was not lying to the poor boy. "Are you hungry or thirsty, Allen?"

Sitting up in bed, he grinned. "Yeah."

Lying Grace back down on the bed, Jane tucked her in and smiled at the boy. It was a good sign that his appetite was returning. Removing the rag from Grace's forehead, she swirled it around in the bowl with cool vinegar water before wringing it out and placing it back on Grace's head. "I will go and look in the kitchen and see what I can get you to eat. Will you watch over your sister while I am gone?"

Allen sat up a little straighter, as if proud to have been given a task. "Yes, I can do that."

Leaning over, she ruffled his damp hair and said, "You are such a good brother. Just call out if you need my help. I will be quick."

Leaving the room, Jane waited until the door was closed behind her to stretch out her neck and back. Leaning over the children and spending most of the day and night in the wooden chair was not helping her posture. At least she did not seem to be becoming ill.

Going over to the small table she had set up with water and strong soft soap, she began scrubbing at her hands up past her wrists. Her mother had sent a batch of their most powerful soap for people, promising to wash away any dirt or grime and hopefully illness. Jane's grandmother had always insisted that cleanliness was next to godliness. The journals had often pointed out that strict hygiene seemed to prevent the spread of illness. The compassionate words she discovered in those journals had deeply moved Jane, motivating her to extend her care to the sick and those in need.

Turning to the kitchen, Jane spotted Susan at the table folding the linens that she had laundered. "Do we still have some of the broth? Allen is awake and has asked for something to eat."

Standing, Susan hurried to the table, her excitement at the news evident at the energy in her step and the tone of her voice when she said, "I am glad. You said that you thought he would recover, and it seems he is." Ladling out a cup of broth, she poured it in a mug before adding, "After being unwell for so long, I thought a mug might be better than a bowl for the lad. Here, you take a roll as well. You need to keep your strength up, too. I can't have you getting ill." Handing the mug to Jane, she turned and grabbed a dinner roll off the plate on the kitchen table and handed that to her as well.

"Thank you for looking after me, Susan," Jane said gratefully as she took a small bite of the roll, savoring the buttery soft texture and rich flavor. It seemed to be the best roll she had ever tasted; that or she was exceedingly tired and hungry. It was possible she was hungry, tired, and it was the best ever roll. Her own inner dialogue had Jane rolling her eyes at her antics. Maybe she needed to take a break and rest after all.

Going back to the table, Susan picked up a sheet from a pile. "How is young Grace?"

Shaking her head, Jane sighed and answered, "Not well at all. Her fever is staying quite high, and she has developed a cough." Jane squared her shoulders. She would rest after Grace improved or her fever at least broke. "Thank you for the roll and the broth for Allen and, of course, for all of your hard work with all the household chores."

Returning to Allen, she inelegantly shoved what was left of the roll in her mouth and chewed and swallowed hurriedly. Brushing crumbs from her mouth with her free hand, she smiled and then opened the door. It would not do to let Allen know how weary she was.