“Perhaps,” I hazarded, “your literary success affords you some gratification?”
I tried to catch her eye, but she had turned away, seemingly studying something off in the distance where green park gave way to gray city. Finally she said, “Oh, Henry never could keep a secret.”
“In truth, it was Mrs. Tilson,” I blurted out, and Jane laughed, a throaty, wicked chuckle.
“Even better! I must give over always suspecting him. But it was amusing, that other night, hearing your brother go on about my work, with such an air of innocent admiration.” She shrugged. “Suspecting he knew—and suspecting he knew that I knew that he knew . . . He is quite a practiced flatterer, is he not? Forgive me, that is not a thing I should say to you.”
I assured her it was exactly a thing she should say to me. “But I hope you do not take him for some sort of coxcomb.”
“I? Oh, no.”
THE SAME DAY SHE’D ASKED LIAM’S ADVICE ABOUT IT, JANE WROTE to her sister, Cassandra, as well as to her brothers James and Edward, telling them of Henry’s illness in terms that must have been dire, for it brought them hurrying to London. Hurrying being a relative term.
The first day after that was the sunny one of the carriage ride, when she admitted to being the author of her novels. The second day was overcast, but she came out with me again anyway. We went to Hatchards, where I bought several books she had expressed an interest in, and then to a pastry cook’s for ices, where I insisted on paying. The third day it rained and we did not go anywhere, just stayed in the drawing room, talking and laughing while Liam and Mr. Haden attended on Henry, whom Liam reported to be about the same, maybe slightly better.
Jane was starting to be comfortable in my presence by then, though it was clear, when Liam came down at the end of his sickroom visits to brief her and bid her farewell, that she preferred him. When we were all three in a room, it was he who held her gaze, his words she hung on. I tried not to mind this; he and I were a team, after all.
On the fourth day, Richard did not take Liam to Henry at once, but showed us both into the drawing room, where Jane stood, looking out the window. She greeted us warmly, but seemed troubled.
“I think he is better today,” she said, looking from me to Liam and keeping her eyes on him. “I wonder if you will agree, Doctor, or think it merely a sister’s disordered fancy.”
“I am sure you are an acute observer.”
“I will ask you to go there in a moment and be the judge, but there is a delicate matter I must address first.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes, tilt of the head, a trusting gaze. “My brother Edward arrived in town late yesterday and was so alarmed at the sight of Henry that he insisted we call in a physician he knows. I explained to him that we are already consulting you, as well as Mr. Haden, but he was adamant.”
“Nothing could be more natural.” Liam’s tone was soothing. “Perhaps this one comes recommended by your brother’s friends?”
“Oh! Indeed. Dr. Baillie attends on the prince regent himself. To my mind not a recommendation at all, but Edward feels differently.”
“Consult him to be sure, if it will put your brother’s mind to rest.”
“You will not be affronted? Henry feared you would be; he grew agitated and even snapped at Edward.”
“Miss Austen, agitation is what he must avoid of all things.”
“It is not intended as a slight to you.”
“I am not known in London; nothing could be more natural than to consult someone who is.” He paused. “But you will, will you not, let me continue to monitor him? As a friend? In an advisory capacity; I should not presume to interfere with any course of treatment that Dr. Baillie might advise.”
And if Dr. Baillie advised increasing the bloodletting? Mercury, opium, and snails? I sighed before I could stop myself, but neither of them noticed.
“You hardly need to ask, as if it were a favor to be granted. Your kindness . . .” She turned back toward the window, then hurried over, looked out, and rushed into the passage. “Richard!” she cried. “Richard, hurry! They are come!”
I went to the same window to see a carriage stopped outside. A pale face looked out from the gloom of its interior, but no one moved, except the coachman, who left his seat to pull two trunks from the boot and drop them, from a height, onto the street. Richard scurried outside, opened the door, and helped two people alight.
The lady, wearing a brown pelisse, was tall and solidly built without being fat; on her face was an impassive expression, on her head a frilly lace cap. She was up the stairs and out of my view before I could notice anything else. From the hall, I heard:
“My poor dearest one!”
“How good you are come, at last. How was your journey?”
The man, who wore the black coat and distinctive neckcloth of a clergyman, stretched his limbs and rubbed his eyes. He dropped a coin into the outstretched hand of the coachman, said something to Richard, and started into the house. I turned from the window to find Jane reentering the room, arm in arm with the new arrival. “Miss Ravenswood, may I present my sister, Miss Austen. Dr. Ravenswood, my sister.”
Cassandra Austen inclined her head without a hint of warmth and said nothing.
“Dr. Ravenswood has been extremely helpful,” Jane was explaining as the second passenger walked in. Taking no notice of anyone, he shouted down the hallway: “A glass of water, if you would be so good. I am choked with dust.”
James Austen, as it could only be, flipped the tails of his coat out of the way and threw his long limbs into a chair. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. “The last five miles are always the longest, or so ’tis said, but I never fully felt the force of that threadbare aphorism until today. Dear Jane, but I forget myself. How is Henry? Is Edward come? What of Fanny?” He had a pleasant, melodious voice I imagined his parishioners appreciated when listening to his sermons.
“Edward is here, but Fanny must stay in Kent for now. I hope she can come a little later. Edward went out on business he could not avoid, but he will return. As for Henry—”
“They are not with him in the sickroom?” Cassandra demanded. “You have not left him alone, given your alarming report of his condition?”
“Only for an instant; I came down to greet the Ravenswoods.”
“I would be honored to go and see Mr. Austen now,” Liam said. Cassandra looked him over with a quick but thorough gaze.
“You shall go there without delay,” Jane said, which was not quite true, as she then introduced James Austen to us. Sighing slightly—we seemed to be one more inconvenience in a day full of them—he stood up and went through the motions.
“The doctor and his sister are but lately come to town,” Jane explained. “Henry had met them shortly before his illness, and Dr. Ravenswood has been most helpful. They are from Bermuda, and know our Hampson cousin there.”
“Jamaica,” I said, quietly hoping it was audible only to her.