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The loop tightened against her fingers so sharply that she nearly cried out.

Reynolds looked at her.

Elizabeth stopped pulling.

She had repeated Mara’s failure. Her right hand trembled. A pale line marked her skin where the linen pressed against it.

“Miss?” Reynolds said softly.

Elizabeth lifted her eyes.

The housekeeper stood close enough to see her lap. She did not touch the working thread. Her hand rested upon the arm of the chair, steady beside Elizabeth’s shaking one.

“Do you require anything?”

“No.” The answer came too quickly. Elizabeth swallowed. “Not yet.”

Reynolds remained near her for another moment before turning to take the cloth Mrs. Talbot held out.

Elizabeth let the free end lie loose across her palm. She could not drag the pressure away.

Jane opened her eyes.

“How is Charles?”

“Mr. Darcy is with him.”

“Did Sally find them?”

“She did,” Reynolds answered. “Mr. Bingley has had something to eat.”

Jane nodded. Elizabeth watched her sister’s face. It had become so pale with weariness that she wanted to call the midwife’s attention to it, though Mrs. Talbot could see it as plainly as she could.

“Is there something I ought to be doing?” Elizabeth asked her.

“Stay beside her. Tell me if she asks for anything.”

Elizabeth bent nearer.

“I am here, Jane.”

“I know.” Her sister tried to smile. “You need not look so sorry for me.”

“I shall endeavour to look disagreeable instead.”

“That would not persuade me.”

The reply was faint, but it was Jane’s. Elizabeth held to it while another pain took the smile away.

She began again without drawing upon the thread. Warmth first, through the palm resting against Jane’s arm. Then the loose end, lifted by her right thumb and brought across her palm toward the opening.

The inward pressure resisted her.

She waited.

“Slowly,” she said beneath her breath.

Jane heard her. “I do not think I have a choice.”