Mistaken Expectations
The morning of the funeral began earlier than was strictly necessary, for Mrs Bennet would not be easy until everything was in readiness. Cloaks were called for, then set aside, and called for again; and though the hour was not yet pressing, she declared more than once that they must not be late.
The younger girls remained seated, though not without restlessness, while Jane prevailed upon her mother to take a little tea. Mrs Bennet consented, but not with composure, and spoke between each attempt of what must still be done.
Elizabeth, apart, was folding linen, her hands steady, her attention fixed upon the small order of the task.
Mrs Bennet set aside her cup before it was finished, declaring that she had no appetite for anything of the kind on such a morning, though she had scarcely tasted it.
Jane did not oppose her, but quietly removed what remained, and spoke of the time, as if it might be of greater consequence than her mother allowed.
Susan appeared to announce that the Hardings’ carriage was at the door. Elizabeth finished her folding and set the linen aside. The younger girls were checked once more before they were permitted to rise, and they all left the cottage together.
The Hardings’ carriage was at the door, and Mrs Harding leaned forward to receive them. Mrs Bennet went at once to her, expressing her concern with earnestness, and speaking of her late friend with all the feeling the occasion required.
Mrs Harding answered her with composure, and with a quiet kindness. She was dressed in black, and though her manner was steady, there were traces of fatigue in her countenance, as if she had not long been at rest.
There was little delay after this. A servant stepped forward, and Mrs Bennet was handed into the carriage; Jane followed her without hesitation.
Elizabeth and the others set out on foot, the distance being small, and the morning equal to the walk.
They went on together through the village, their course an easy one, and little inclined to conversation. The morning was quiet, and though they met with one or two persons upon the road, there was no interruption beyond a passing acknowledgment.
Lydia spoke once or twice, but was checked, and Kitty, though less disposed to remark, did not long remain silent. Mary walked with composure, and Elizabeth, somewhat before them, attended only to the way.
Willowbank soon came into view, the house already marked by the arrival of others, and by a degree of movement about it that showed the business of the day was well begun.
They approached without delay, and were admitted as soon as they reached the door.
Within, the house was already in motion.
Servants passed quietly to and fro, and several ladies were assembled in the drawing room, seated in small groups, their voices low and their attention divided between conversation and observation.
Elizabeth entered with the others, pausing only to take in what lay before her. There was no disorder, but neither was there ease; everything proceeded as it must, with a steadiness that admitted no interruption, and little that required remark.
She moved forward, and took her place among them.
Cassandra Harding, seeing her, came forward with an ease that admitted no ceremony, and drew her a little aside.
“You do not know my sister Charlotte,” she said, turning with a slight smile to a lady near her, “Mrs Chapman, who is come to us for the present occasion.”
Mrs Chapman received her with composed civility, and Cassandra, after a moment, added, “and Miss Finch, a cousin of Matthew’s,” who stood near them, and acknowledged the introduction with equal propriety.
Elizabeth returned the civilities, but her attention rested more particularly upon the sisters, whose resemblance, though not striking, was sufficiently marked to be observed with interest.
The room did not long remain as it was. Tables were brought forward, and what had been arranged was quietly set out, while those who had been seated rose by degrees to assist, or to receive such as continued to arrive.
Mrs Bennet spoke with feeling of her dear friend, and was heard more than once to recall the kindness she had received, though her voice was not so steady as she might have wished. Jane remained near her, attentive without appearing so.
Elizabeth, observing what was required, soon found her place among those who were employed, and took up what offered without direction.
The return of the gentlemen from the churchyard was soon known within the house. The sound of the carriage in the yard, and the opening of the door below, were sufficient to alter the disposition of the room.
Those who had been employed paused, and such conversation as had been carried on fell away almost entirely. Several withdrew a little from the tables, and others resumed their places with less appearance of occupation than before.
Mrs Harding, who had moved without rest through the morning, stood still for a moment, as if to collect herself, before turning again to what remained to be done.
There was, in all, a greater quiet, and a fatigue that was no longer to be concealed.
Mr Ashton entered with the others, and was immediately engaged by Mrs Harding and her daughters, who received him with a degree of attention that admitted no delay.
He remained with them for some time, answering what was addressed to him, and speaking in return with a steadiness that, though composed, did not wholly conceal fatigue.
Elizabeth, who was at some distance, did not at first expect to be included; but as the small group broke and re-formed, he found himself near her without any appearance of design.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “I hope your mother is not over-fatigued by the morning.”
“She is affected, but bears it as well as may be expected,” Elizabeth replied. “My sister remains with her.”
“I am glad of it. She could not be better attended.”
There was a moment’s pause, but not an uneasy one.
“You have walked over?”
“We have.”
“The air is mild,” he said. “It is something in such a day.”
“It is,” she returned.
He bowed then, and turned back towards Mrs Harding and his cousins, without any attempt to detain her.
Elizabeth was soon taken up by Mrs Grant, who addressed her with kindness, and spoke of the morning with that mixture of feeling and propriety which the occasion required. Elizabeth answered her with attention, and was glad to be so employed.
As they spoke, her eye was drawn, almost without intention, to the further part of the room, where Mr Darcy stood near Mrs Harding, in conversation with one or two gentlemen who had but lately returned.
Not far from him, Mr Ashton spoke with Miss Finch, and appeared wholly occupied by what passed between them.
She looked away again, and resumed her attention to Mrs Grant.
The afternoon wore on without further distinction. Those who had called began, by degrees, to take their leave, and the room, though still occupied, was no longer so full.
Carriages were ordered for those who required them, and Mrs Harding, though evidently fatigued, saw to it that none departed without proper attention. Mrs Bennet, who had come in the carriage, was entreated to make use of it again, and did so readily, being not equal to any exertion.
Elizabeth remained as long as was proper, and then attended her mother, while Jane took her place beside her. The others prepared to follow as they were able.
They returned with less expedition than before. Mrs Bennet spoke little, though she was not silent, and leaned upon Jane when she alighted. The others attended as they were able, without any attempt at cheerfulness.
At the cottage, everything was as they had left it, yet it appeared altered by their absence, and by the fatigue they brought back with them.
Some weeks had passed, and though the forms of mourning were still observed, they no longer pressed with the same immediate weight.
Mrs Bennet was not herself. The loss of her friend had been felt more keenly as time passed, and though she spoke often of bearing it as she must, she did not recover her former spirits.
Mrs Grant was with her that morning, and did not leave her long, but remained near, attending to her with a quiet patience that admitted of no notice.
“I do not know how I am to go on,” Mrs Bennet was saying, as Elizabeth entered.
“To lose such a friend—and at such a time! When everything was so happily arranged. I am sure I do not know what is to become of it now. Mr Ashton must be sensible of the delay. It cannot be thought of for a twelvemonth.”
“My dear mama—” Elizabeth began.
“And so it must all wait,” Mrs Bennet continued, “when it was so nearly settled. It is very hard, I am sure.”
She was interrupted by the appearance of Susan, who came to announce that Mr Harding was in the parlour.
Mrs Bennet started at the name, and declared herself unequal to seeing any one, though she enquired, in the same breath, what could have brought him at such a time. Mrs Grant spoke to her in a low voice, and persuaded her to remain where she was, while Elizabeth went to him in her stead.
Lydia caught at her sleeve as she passed. “If it is about Cobweb’s foal, Apricot, you must ask directly how she does. I am persuaded something is amiss, though no one will attend to it.”
“I shall enquire, if there is any occasion,” Elizabeth replied, disengaging herself.
She found Mr Harding in the parlour, and received him with propriety, though not without some surprise at the visit.
“I hope I do not intrude,” said he. “I was unwilling to call without necessity.”
“You are very welcome, sir.”
He enquired after her mother and sisters, and, being satisfied on that point, did not sit long before explaining his purpose.
“I am come,” he said, “at my wife’s desire, to request the favour of your company at Highfield, if you are at liberty to attend her this afternoon.”