Chapter 30
Netherfield Park
The Next Day
The butler opened the door, and Elizabeth and Mary stepped into the vestibule of Netherfield Park.
There was a soft cry from their right, and both turned as Jane, dressed in a dark blue gown, hurried over to gather both her sisters in her arms.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bingley murmured. “Oh, Mary.”
Elizabeth had managed to make the journey from Kent to Netherfield Hall without crying, but her elder sister’s sympathy made her break down. Mary, who had always been less demonstrative, released a single sob, but she too seemed eager to accept Jane’s embraces.
A full minute later, Elizabeth straightened, reached for her handkerchief, and wiped her face.
“I promised myself I would not fall apart like this,” she told Jane. “I am sorry.”
“My dear sisters, it is entirely understandable that you are greatly distressed. Now, give the maids your hats and pelisses, and come into the east sitting room to warm yourselves. Charles and Caroline said they would give us some time alone to talk, so we will not be disturbed.”
Elizabeth followed her two sisters down the corridor. “That was kind of them.”
Jane pushed the door open and stepped back to allow her sisters to precede her.
A fire was crackling pleasantly in the hearth, and Elizabeth took a few steps within and looked around with interest. She had been here the previous autumn before Jane and Charles’s marriage, and the room was now noticeably different.
The furniture was the same, but Jane had changed the curtains from cool blue to warm peach, two rather ugly small tables had been removed, and the walls had been painted a pleasant cream color.
“It looks so nice,” Mary said, echoing Elizabeth’s own thoughts, and Jane said, “Thank you. Do sit down by the fire, please.”
The younger ladies obeyed, and Elizabeth stretched out her hands towards the flames and said, “Please tell us about Father? Was he sick when…?”
“No,” Jane interrupted and sighed deeply. “No, it happened very suddenly. He was himself the night before, and when his valet came in the next morning, he was gone. Mr. Jones thinks it likely that his heart failed while he slept.”
Elizabeth’s vision swam, and she gulped hard. Again, she grabbed her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. She shifted her gaze to Mary, whose expression was one of obvious distress.
“I should not have left him,” Mrs. Collins said in a constricted tone. “I should have…”
“Mary!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You must not blame yourself.”
“You did exactly what you ought to have done, Mary,” Jane said firmly.
“By marrying Mr. Collins, you kept Longbourn in the family. Moreover, Father’s valet was specifically chosen because he knew how to take care of elderly gentlemen.
Mr. Jones has assured us that there is nothing anyone could have done; it was simply our father’s time. ”
Mary gulped hard, and now tears came spilling down her cheeks.
“I cannot help but feel guilty,” she said in a trembling voice. “I have so enjoyed Hunsford, and being married, and all this time, he was worsening…”
Jane knelt down, wrapped her arms around Mary, and said, “My dear, you absolutely must not allow yourself to think in that way. Mr. Jones said that he had no idea that Father’s death was imminent. It was simply his time, and you could have done nothing to prevent it.”
Mary responded by sobbing into her older sister’s shoulder, and Elizabeth gulped and leaned back in her chair, determined to wrestle her tears under control.
There was a heavy, knotted lump in her throat, grief and guilt mingled.
She should have been here, not far off in Kent blithely enjoying herself.
Jane was correct that there was nothing anyone could have done for her father, but Elizabeth wished she had been home, nonetheless.
She could well imagine how Mrs. Bennet had reacted, and what about the younger girls?
Neither Kitty nor Lydia was particularly sensible, and the shock must have been severe.
Even poor Mrs. Hill was likely having a very trying time, dealing with the chaos that undoubtedly ruled Longbourn at the moment.
“How are Mamma and our sisters?” Mary asked, echoing Elizabeth’s own thoughts.
Jane straightened, rose to her feet, and walked over to sit down on a nearby chair.
“Mamma was hysterical at first, of course, but … I think it is fair to say that she and Father have been more acquaintances than loving spouses for many years. Her greatest concern, frankly, is that you will take her bedchamber at Longbourn.”
“I will do exactly that,” Mary said calmly.
Jane looked startled, but Elizabeth said, “I agree that is the best thing to do, Mary. Mother has been mistress of Longbourn for nearly five and twenty years now, and she will wish to go on as she has. But the reality is that you are legally mistress of Longbourn now.”
“That is true,” Jane said, “but given that Mamma has just lost her husband, perhaps…”
She trailed off hesitantly, and Mary and Elizabeth exchanged glances. Jane hated to make anyone unhappy, and she too, for all her current calm, was doubtless grieving deeply.
“We can discuss it later,” Mary said. “Now, William sent us on ahead so that we could assist you as quickly as possible, but he plans to arrive here in Hertfordshire tomorrow. He needed to arrange for a curate to serve at Hunsford until Lady Catherine can find another parson.”
Jane nodded and said, “I understand. I think it would be best if I took you upstairs to your bedchambers. I will send maids along to help you dress for dinner, which will be in an hour, and then we should all have an early night.”
“You do not think we should go to Longbourn after dinner?” Elizabeth asked.
Jane shook her head. “You have both endured a great shock and have traveled quite a distance. Tomorrow you can see Mamma and our sisters.”
“Very well,” Elizabeth said.
She rose and followed her sisters out of the room, up the stairs, and into the guest wing of the great house.
In the midst of her sorrow and agitation, her mind kept circling back to Mr. Darcy, who had declared his love for her only two days previously, who wanted to marry her.
She had thought that she would be permitted weeks to consider the matter, to pray for wisdom, to ponder whether she and Mr. Darcy were a good match.
Now, with her father dead and Mr. Collins soon taking his rightful place as master of Longbourn, she had not had nearly enough time to think about his offer of marriage.
She was aware, through her grief and confusion, that she wanted Mr. Darcy here at her side, not miles away in London. She knew that he would be a comfort and support to her.
He did not even know, of course, that Mr. Bennet had died. He did not know that Elizabeth was back in Hertfordshire.
And she desperately wanted him to know.
***
Drawing Room
Longbourn
The Next Morning
Jane walked with her sisters into the drawing room.
It was normally a rainbow of bright colors, but today discordant spots of black drew the eye.
Black ribbons absorbed the sunlight falling on the table drawn up under the window.
Piles of merry spring silk flowers that had been carefully pinned onto hats and bonnets were now pulled off and strewn across the surface, giving way to the accoutrements of mourning.
Mrs. Bennet sat in the best chair in the room, uncomfortably close to the fire.
Her face was pale and sallow, her complexion washed out by the black crepe of her gown.
Her youngest two daughters were in slightly better condition, even if they sat in a silence unnerving to one who knew them.
Even boisterous Lydia had been quenched into solemnity on this grave occasion, silently removing the pink roses from her bonnet, with black ribbons at her elbow.
Kitty sniffed once, but she shed no tears.
All three ladies turned toward the door as it opened, and Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary entered the room. Mrs. Bennet lurched to her feet.
“Oh my dear girls!” she cried out. “Oh, my dear girls, welcome home, though it is a grim welcome, is it not? Poor, poor Mr. Bennet! At least you married Mr. Collins, Mary, and how very thankful I am for that. I will not be cast from my home penniless, not to say that Mr. Bingley would have failed to provide for us, but to be able to stay here! I am so thankful. My dear Mary, I want you to know that since you are still young, I will be pleased to continue to serve as mistress of the house, at least until you are a little older. You have very little experience, after all!”
“That is kind of you,” Mary said calmly. “Now, do sit down, Mamma. I would not wish for you to be chilled.”
Mrs. Bennet allowed herself to be guided back to the fire, and Mary said, “Jane, will you sit with me while Elizabeth talks to the younger girls?”
Jane obeyed, and Elizabeth made her way over to the other side of the room where Kitty and Lydia were now standing.
“My dear sisters,” she said tenderly, “how are you?”
Kitty and Lydia looked at one another, and Lydia said, “We both feel rather confused, to be truthful. It is sad that Father is dead, but we did not see him a great deal, and we never felt as if he cared much about us.”
Elizabeth was thankful that Jane was now talking to Mrs. Bennet in a soft tone.
Mrs. Bingley would doubtless protest at such a statement from Lydia, but Elizabeth would not argue what was substantially true.
Mr. Bennet had always been more interested in his books than his family, and in the past years which, in retrospect, Elizabeth could see had involved his steadily declining health, that tendency had been stronger still.
“I understand,” she said simply, and she turned to look at the hats on the table. “You are adding black ribbons?”
“Yes,” Kitty said. “Mamma has a black crepe bonnet on order from the milliner in Meryton, but we…”
She trailed off and looked at Mary, who was now seated next to Mrs. Bennet, and Lydia continued, rather too loudly, “No one knows what the money situation is, Lizzy. With Father dead, Mr. Collins is now master of Longbourn. Do we have any money?”
Elizabeth reached over to pat her sister’s hand, and she said, “I understand that the situation is a complicated one. It is best to not be overly concerned about such things for now. I am certain that Mr. Collins will be willing to provide some funds for mourning, and given that he will be here tomorrow, it makes sense to wait until then to make any decisions. Mostly we will dye existing gowns black.”
Lydia sat back down and began stitching black ribbon to one of her hats.
“I have already thought about that,” she said. “My pink dress is quite old and out of fashion, but no one will care during mourning. The old yellow one will also be appropriate, but I am not certain about a third gown. Do you think two black gowns will be enough?”
Elizabeth felt as if her world were tilting. Her father was dead, and they were speaking of the ideal number of mourning gowns.
And yet, Lydia’s questions were entirely, surprisingly practical. None of them, save perhaps Mrs. Bennet, could afford to weep all day. Decisions had to be made.
“I think three would probably be helpful,” she said and pulled a chair close enough to the table that she could begin assisting with hats. “But again, we can speak to Mr. Collins on the subject tomorrow.”