Chapter Twenty-Three
It was a rather full drawing room where Elizabeth sat with Kitty and her guests while the men attended the funeral of Mr Denny, who had died three days before.
Half a dozen of the wives of Hawthorne Vale’s closest neighbours were present, as well as Mrs Beaumont, as the wife of the curate, and a small contingent of kind ladies from Lambton.
Miss Darcy and Priscilla had arrived with Mrs Annesley and Miss Poole.
Mrs James was accompanied in her carriage by the Misses Jenks and Mrs Forest. Mary had accompanied her husband and Mr Bingley, who were at the funeral with Matthew and the men.
Jane was not well enough that morning to attend.
“She is not lying about her illness, it is real enough,” Mary informed Kitty and Elizabeth in a quiet moment after she arrived.
“She has met some of my callers, but she is not always well enough to leave her room. I must say, she knows precisely who to hide her new character from, she was positively angelic when Miss Jenks and Miss Matilda called. Though she is far better behaved in front of all of my guests than she was in front of Kitty’s.
Somehow she never finds herself so concerned in my parlour. ”
“It grieves me to be so cynical, but I fear that is because you are a parson’s wife, and you do not have a king’s ransom in silver that she must look at each time you pour tea.” Elizabeth could not prevent herself from replying.
“Well, I would be interested to see what Miss Jenks would have made of the way Jane behaved here last week,” Mary said.
“In fact, I am not convinced that even Jane’s old behaviour fooled the lady.
She was certainly more stern during that call than she ever was before.
And Jane was so sweet, I thought nothing had ever changed for a moment, and that we had all gone mad. ”
“I admire Miss Jenks’s discernment,” Elizabeth murmured. “She is an astute woman. You are lucky to have her as your neighbour and friend.”
Mrs Philpot came to the rescue again with the refreshments for the funeral.
“We shall place an order with the bakery, Mrs Denny, you just let Mrs Hawes know what the budget is, and I will take care of it. Anything else we need, the estate will provide, as it always has. That is one blessing you can rely upon. Whatever the late Mr Denny’s faults were, he enjoyed a sumptuous table, and he did not like to spend money sending to London for things.
You worry yourself about that young husband of yours, madam. That is what you must do now.”
Elizabeth had quietly for weeks been hemming and embroidering small black flowers onto the corners of handkerchiefs for both ladies and the gentlemen who would attend the funeral and the family.
She had done the work as she sat with the old man, who spoke little and was unpleasant when he did.
His pain was great, and he had barely eaten since Elizabeth and her sister arrived.
He spent most of his time sleeping under the blanket of laudanum.
Any time he might have had to reconcile with his son was wasted, for now when he was awake he suffered too much for conversation.
He died without having spoken in days, and no one could even recall his last words, which was probably a blessing.
Elizabeth was glad now that she put forth the effort for the small mementos that were often expected as gifts for those who visited a family after a death.
More than two dozen handkerchiefs were tied up with sprigs of rosemary and black ribbon, laid out upon a table near the door.
Mrs Philpot had produced dozens of funeral biscuits, which Elizabeth and Mrs Hawes–who had been hired and took up her place as housekeeper the previous Monday–wrapped up in wax paper and black ribbon to be sent out by bidder,1 and delivered to the local houses and neighbours to announce the loss of Mr Denny and the details of his funeral.
Kitty sat surrounded by her neighbours, as the low murmur of feminine voices carried about the room. Elizabeth was conversing with Mrs Forest and Miss Poole when James entered and spoke to Kitty quietly.
“Mrs Denny, there is a man named Mr Bennet in the hall. We thought he must be your father, but he arrived with his trunks and seems to intend to stay.” The footman’s voice was low.
“Oh my! My father has such an odd sense of humour! He is positively the worst correspondent! He never wrote to say he was travelling north!” Kitty exclaimed, not a little nervously.
“He certainly did not.” Mary frowned. “It is just the sort of thing he would do. Would you like me to take him back to the parsonage?”
“Of course not, you have Mr and Mrs Bingley as your guests already. It is no trouble to spare my father a room.” Kitty turned and spoke to the footman as her guests looked on with interest. “James, my father is very likely tired from his long journey, he must have been in his carriage for days. Mrs Hawes had a few rooms made up in the guest wing in case anyone travelled to pay their respects to Mr Denny. Please show my father to a room, have the fires lit, send him hot water for bathing. Then please return and make a tray from the refreshments to send up to him. And a pot of tea, please. Tell my father I will not tire him with my guests just now, and that he may join us later for dinner.”
“Yes, Mrs Denny.” James bowed and left them.
“Is it not odd for Mr Bennet to arrive unannounced?” Miss Jenks asked curiously.
“I fear it is not unlike him at all.” Elizabeth did her best to think of a polite way to describe her father.
“Mr Bennet is more comfortable in a library than a drawing room. Like many scholars, he is a terrible correspondent, and he might board his carriage and travel anywhere and arrive without warning. He raised us all to endure the unexpected whims of men with fortitude.”
Elizabeth looked to Mary with an impish smile. “Remember the time he forgot to inform Mama that Mr Collins was coming to visit until the morning the gentleman arrived in the village?”
“It was lucky for Mama that Mr Collins stayed as Miss Bingley’s guest while in Meryton or she would have been quite backwards in her preparations at Longbourn,” Mary answered with a grin.
“Ah, scholars often have such peculiar humour.” Miss Jenks nodded in comprehension.
“Personally, I find the humour of all men to be quite foolish,” Miss Poole said. “My father was a man…I believe I understand their gender quite well enough.”
It was a half hour before the men returned from the churchyard, and by then, Elizabeth caught Mrs Hawes and instructed her to take a particular volume of Mr Darcy’s from her bedroom and to deliver it to her father, in the hopes of keeping him from wandering the house in boredom and finding some way to mortify Kitty.
“I am told that your father is here,” Mr Darcy said to Elizabeth quietly by the window as she watched Kitty and Mary having the same conversation from across the room, but with their husbands.
“Yes, and it cannot mean anything good.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I am certain he only means to amuse himself at Kitty’s expense.”
“Would he truly travel so far for such a trivial purpose?” Darcy asked.
“Amusing himself would be the only reason I can think of that would draw him from his bookroom.” Elizabeth was wry.
“I hope you do not mind, but I sent your copy of John Dalton’s book on Chemical Philosophy to his room.
He has spoken of it since last year, it is certain to keep him upstairs and away from Kitty’s guests, at least for a little while. ”
“By no means would I suspend any method of yours. If there are any other texts I can send to interest him, I will gladly have them delivered.” Darcy inclined his head.
“With the assistance of your library, I could keep him in his room forever, but then Kitty would be obliged to keep him fed, and that is my mother’s task. I can only be grateful that Mrs Bennet refuses to travel.” Elizabeth tutted.
The guests stayed and condoled with the Dennys and took refreshment, then departed within two hours, including the Darcys and their family.
“Lizzy, if Papa has decided to nap, I hate to disturb him just to say hello, but there are two hours before we must dress for dinner, and I simply must rest.” Kitty’s eyes were shadowed.
Elizabeth and Mr Walters had sat with Mr Denny as much as possible over the last three days to give Kitty some respite, but she was still quite obviously exhausted.
“Retire for the night with your husband, Kitty, I will dine with Papa,” Elizabeth urged. “I sent him a book, hopefully he is resting or reading.”
“Lizzy, I could never do such a thing,” Kitty objected.
“If Papa wanted attentive civility, he ought to have sent word ahead of his coming.” Elizabeth was grim.
Her father, mother, and Jane had all lost all of her devotion.
Jane had turned against all of her sisters, her father had set them all against one another, and solicited men to take Kitty and Mary away.
It did not matter that both of them seemed happy with their husbands, their father ought to have done better for them.
And while Mrs Bennet had perhaps been the least malicious since the entire issue of the money began–other than the time she had gladly sent Lizzy away for a headache–she still was not reasonable, nor–Elizabeth mused–had she ever been.
“Was Mr Bennet aware of my father’s death when he set out?” Matthew asked.
“How could he have been?” Elizabeth asked. “I certainly have not written to him, and it has only been three days. There has been no time for a message and his journey.”
“Of course,” Matthew agreed. “Then why is he here?”