Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict Read Online Free

depositing the tray with a clatter on the dressing table.
    “What is it, miss? Please don’t be ill again.”
    “It’s not that. I need to go to the bathroom.”
    Her face goes blank momentarily, and then she frowns. “You’ll be wanting a bath now, miss?”
    “I want the toilet, privy. Whatever you call it. I have to, you know—pee!”
    “Oh, of course.” She reaches under the bed and produces a china pot painted all over with little flowers, and thrusts it in my direction.
    “You expect me to pee in that?” The thought is revolting, but if I don’t relieve myself soon, the alternative will be much worse.
    I reach for the pot. “Here, let me. I can handle this myself.” But when she releases the pot into my grasp I almost drop it, I’m so weak. Shocked at the state of my physical condition and too desperate to think any more of modesty, I surrender to Barnes’s helpful hands. Quickly covering the pot with a cloth, Barnes rushes out of the room, promising to return posthaste to see to my dinner.
    I sink back on the bed, sweet relief flooding through me, and the aroma of some kind of roasted meat from the tray making my mouth water. I hope Barnes intends to wash her hands before she reappears.
    Barnes is back in a flash, but I can’t tell if she’s attended to personal hygiene, and it’s too awkward to ask outright. Anyway, I’m too famished to care much and gratefully surrender to her feeding me roast beef and potatoes. Yummy. It’s not long before I can’t eat another bite, though I really haven’t consumed much of what was on the tray.
    As Barnes bustles about covering dishes, she looks at me shyly and says, “You’re not in anger at me for helping Mr. Jones, are you, miss? I was only doing my job, and me and you was always such good friends. Surely you know I want what’s best for you.”
    Her face flushes red as she lowers her eyes and busies herself again with the tray.
    “No, of course I’m not angry,” I say.
    “My brother has been beside himself these past few days, worrying and fretting.”
    She’s looking at me, almost expectantly.
    “Your brother?”
    “He’s beside himself with joy at your recovery, as we all are, miss. But he seems more distracted than ever. And the worse he gets, the more trouble Mr. Dowling gives him. First there was the two crystal glasses he knocked over and broke the other day, and then today he was late for breakfast on account of Cook letting him have a bit too much brandy last night. Why, Mr. Dowling is this close to dismissing him. Which might not be the worst thing.”
    She has been twisting a handkerchief in her hands, but now looks up at me, as if wanting a response. “Perhaps you are of the same mind, miss?”
    “I…I’m sure you know what’s best for your brother. Sometimes even a lateral move can lead to more rewarding opportunities.” Suddenly I am channeling a human resources drone.
    Barnes has a sort of glazed look in her eyes. “Right, miss. Anyway, I says to him, what good can come of this if you stay? But he won’t hear none of it. Will you think of none but yourself, I says? You’ll have nothing to live on, and neither will I. Because sure as I’m standing here, I’d lose my place as well. And there would be nothing to send my mother, and…”
    Barnes’s voice cracks, and she starts to cry. “Dismiss me if you must for speaking so freely, miss, but please do not throw everything away. You’ll be cut off without a penny, and I can’t bear to think of you starving in the streets…”
    Now she loses it. She keeps trying to control herself, apologizing incoherently, blowing her nose into a handkerchief, eyes streaming, and all I can do is keep telling her that it’s okay for her to cry. But I have no idea what she’s talking about.
    Unless—could it be that the fretting, about-to-be-fired brother has something to do with my starving in the streets? Is Barnes implying I’ve been doing the nasty with a member of the serving