Page 18 of A Quiet Affection

That closeness made Jane feel happy. Her sister was not alone, even if Jane had failed her duty to be her comfort and support.

The day after George and Fitzwilliam left, a cold day when the snow swirled down from the skies in great eddies, and they all were kept warm inside, Jane approached her sister and said with a formality in her matter that her discomfort with the task caused, “My dear Lizzy, I am so, so sorry that I have let a distance appear between us. We are sisters and we must be friendly. Please, I miss how we always used to talk. And…and…”

At this Jane thought of Mama and Papa, and Lydia and Mary and Kitty, and she began to cry.

Elizabeth was quite still as she listened to her sister cry after this wholly unexpected speech.

She had in fact believed that Jane wished that she had died. Even the rational parts of her mind considered it likely that Jane would prefer three thousand additional pounds to a blind and scarred sister. One who would be a great, an intolerable, and an awful burden upon her. Such a burden, that Elizabeth must abandon every instinct, act against her own nature, become someone very different than her beloved father had raised her to be, so that she would be less of a disgraceful, useless, disgusting, vile, crippled, blind burden.

Elizabeth would rather be evil.

The resentment that this notion had engendered had festered and fermented and twisted around and around in Elizabeth for months. It was like an inflamed pustule that had never been lanced, and so the poison had entered the blood. And it certainly is the case that in her resentment at being told to behave herself so she would be less of a burden to Jane, Elizabeth had never noticed that it was always Mr. Darcy who said this, and never her sister agreeing upon the matter.

After a period of tears, Jane went to take Elizabeth’s hand saying, “I hate this coldness between us. I want us to be friends again.”

Elizabeth sharply withdrew her hand. She pulled back away, trying to recall if there was anything behind her that she might trip into.

“Please, Lizzy, forgive me for not comforting you, for not being the sister you deserved, for not—”

“You hate me. Iknow—don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want—I know you wish I had died with Lydia. I know! I don’t know why you are at last pretending we are sisters. But don’t! Don’t lie!”

This reply was not something that Jane could have ever imagined receiving. She stared at her trembling sister. The black scarf covered Elizabeth’s eyes. Jane wished she could see the eyes to understand. Elizabeth’s eyes had always been very expressive. Jane had not once seen what had become of them, because every time she ever saw her sister it was when the mask was already present.

Jane had no notion what to say. How to fix this matter that she had broken by not being there for her sister. Being told such a thing was different from anything that she had ever heard.

Jane stepped closer. Elizabeth stepped backwards.

“No, no, no. No. I do not hate you? How could I ever hate you? You are my sister whom I love!” Jane exclaimed with great anxiety. “It has been very wrong of me to let you alone. But we are sisters. Let me do better. I will not fail you again. Why would I ever wish you were dead?”

Elizabeth sneered. “Jane, you do not need to pretend. It is not like you to dissemble. I know you wish that I was dead.”

“Why would I? Lizzy, please, I know I deserve it, but please do not say such hateful things.”

“Why? Why would you? So that you wouldn’t have aburden.” Elizabeth spat the word out as a curse. “So much of a burden for you to bear. A blind useless burden who should hate that she is alive. I hate all of you. So much. I am happy to be alive, and I hate you all for thinking I would be better off dead. And then you’d have six thousand pounds, and you’d marry a Lord because you are so pretty. Well, I wouldn’t give you a penny if you were starving. I’m glad I’m alive, just because it means you can’t have all of the money. I deserve it as much as you do. I deserve it twice as much because I am blind, and because I was Papa’s favorite, and because I can’t marry. I hate you, Jane. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

And so saying Elizabeth burst into tears and turned to flee. She tripped over the carpet and barely caught herself with her hand, instead of smashing her nose. She sobbed and gripped her wrist that was in some pain.

When Jane reached to help her up, Elizabeth screeched like a banshee or a particularly upset child of three. “Don’t you touch me!”

This sound brought a footman, a maid, and Georgiana running to see what the commotion was. Georgiana came up to Elizabeth shouting, “Lizzy, Lizzy, are you well?” and Elizabeth allowed her to help her to her feet and lead her through the halls and back towards the nursery.

Naturally Elizabeth sobbed a great deal, and she refused to be comforted, and ate very little of her meal that evening. However, at this time, rather than feeling any shame or guilt about how she had spoken to her sister, Elizabeth felt a self-righteous delight in herself.

She had spoken truth.

No matter how it might harm her in the future if Jane refused to help her when she was grown—help Elizabeth did not want and would not need with the income from her own fortune—she had spoken truth. She had not let Jane pretend to like her. She had not let Jane pretend to love her for whatever reason that Jane wished to.

Thisthought gave Elizabeth a brief pang of uneasiness.

It was not like her sister, or at least not like what her sister had beenbeforethe fire. Jane hated to lie and always tried to be good.

That notion was shoved away by Elizabeth. She reveled in delighted pride at her own bravery. Yet…it returned to her once more, a hint of discomfort, a sense that perhaps she had not acted rightly, and that she ought to seek Jane out to apologize.

As already said, the wound in Elizabeth’s soul, and her relation with her sister had been allowed to fester too long. Though some pus had now been released, the poison still swam about in Elizabeth’s blood.

That night Elizabeth quietly opened the door to the nursery and snuck out with soft footsteps.

This was something which Elizabeth did two or three times a week after Georgiana and Miss Wilson were both deep asleep.