CHAPTER 29 To Longbourn
They stood at the curb before dawn the following morning. Jane and Mrs. Bennet were already in the carriage and Bingley was standing off to the side seeing to the loading of their trunks. He would ride in the carriage today with the ladies, in order to lend both conversation and support.
“I shall write to you,” Darcy told Elizabeth, “as soon as I have news.”
She did not wish to leave him, not knowing what the future held.
What if he could not find Lydia and Wickham at all?
What if her family’s subsequent ruin was more than he could stomach?
What if her father was no longer alive when they reached Longbourn?
Or what if Darcy met with Wickham, fought him in a duel and was killed?
“I do not wish to leave you,” she said.
He put his arms around her and held her close, pressing his lips to the side of her head. Then he pulled back and gave her a soft smile. “Do not worry so, Elizabeth. I shall make everything right…you may depend upon it.”
At these words, Elizabeth felt even more miserable, scarce able to bear her impending separation from this man she had come to love more than anything.
But her courage soon rose up and she was able to nod and give him a bracing smile of her own.
“Promise me you shall take care of yourself, Fitzwilliam.”
He chuckled. “Of course; I always do.”
“And write whether or not there is news.”
“I shall.”
He handed her into the carriage, then Bingley followed close behind her. Darcy closed the door, and the carriage began to pull away.
Elizabeth looked back through the window - at Darcy, standing under the gaslight and becoming dimmer and dimmer, as the London fog pressed between them.
She sat in the forward facing seat with her mother, while Jane and Bingley sat opposite them.
Mrs. Bennet remained strangely quiet but thankfully no longer seemed as troubled as before.
Instead, there was a kind of resignation upon her face which made Elizabeth realise how much her mother had grown in the past weeks.
Bingley spoke on occasion, pointing out landmarks and commenting on their good fortune that the roads were dry.
The miles passed and they stopped at an inn between London and Hertfordshire.
After refreshing themselves and having a light meal they continued northward and arrived at Longbourn just a little after noon.
Mary and Kitty were both standing at the front portico when the carriages pulled into the drive. Elizabeth jumped down even before the steps were placed and went directly to her sisters.
“Is he..?”
“Papa is alive, Lizzy,” said Mary. “But he is very weak and has a fever. Dr. Stephens does not know whether or not he will recover.”
“Dr Stephens?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy sent him from town. Did you not know of it?”
“No, but…perhaps he forgot to tell me…”
Bingley, Jane and Mrs. Bennet had alighted now and made their greetings. Afterwards, everyone entered the house.
“Mamma, may I assist you to Papa’s room?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, Lizzy, I should like to see your father.”
They entered Mr. Bennet’s room, followed by Jane, and saw that Mr. Bennet was propped up on three large pillows. Dr. Stephens, who had been sitting with him, stood up as they entered.
“And how is my husband, sir?” Mrs. Bennet asked him.
“He is doing a little bit better, Mrs. Bennet. But, unfortunately, he may have aspirated something during his apoplexy...”
“I do not understand, Doctor. What does that mean?”
“Aspiration,” answered the doctor, grimly, “is when the contents of the stomach end up in the wind pipe, sometimes leading to an infection of the lungs. And, in the case of your husband, I am afraid that that is what has happened as he has developed a slight fever. Hopefully it will subside soon. However, his weakened state may hinder such recovery.”
“An infection of the lungs!” cried Fanny Bennet, now coming to sit by her husband. “And have people been known to…die from this?”
“They have, at times,” replied the doctor hesitantly. “But others have survived. It is simply a matter of waiting, seeing how the body responds to ward off the infection.”
Mrs. Bennet looked mournfully at their father and exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Bennet, I cannot bear to lose you!”
He seemed barely able to move his arm but turned his head to her and said in halting tones, “There, there, Fanny. I am still here, as the doctor has said, and may continue for another few days…at least.”
“Oh, good Lord!” cried Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth sat on the other side of his bed and regarded her father ruefully. He seemed so weak, so diminished; and his speech so slow. But at least his thought process was sound, and for that she was thankful.
“Do not worry, Fanny dear,” said Mr. Bennet, looking sympathetically at his wife, “You shall not be thrown in the hedgerows…not yet, at least.”
“You must not tease me so, Husband!” she responded, “for I have been worried sick about you.”
She began to sob so violently that Dr. Stephens took the opportunity to say, “I shall just step out for a moment to allow you some privacy.”
He left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
“I do apologise, Fanny…” said Mr. Bennet weakly, as his wife continued to sob.
He turned to Elizabeth. “But enough talk of me. I have to admit that I would prefer not to dwell, at present, on my impending demise.” He chuckled slightly as Elizabeth realised that his use of humour was nothing more than an attempt to make the best of the circumstance.
“So what is this I hear about you and Jane being engaged? Mr. Darcy sent an express from London, you see, apprising us of recent events. But tell me, Lizzy, have you not always detested him? And was your engagement a way of sacrificing yourself for your family?”
“Papa,” she said fervently, “pray, do not speak so of my betrothed. He is an honorable man and I love him. I love him dearly.”
“Oh…” said her father weakly. “I apologise…I did not know. I was unaware you felt so strongly about him. But I can see that your sentiments…are honest.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, who had become tearful herself after all the trials of the previous day, “they are. I love him and freely admit it. Now is the time, after all, to stop prevaricating…”
Mr. Bennet nodded slowly. “Yes, you are right, Lizzy…in that we all must face reality some time. So…tell me everything. Take me out of myself, if you are able.”
For half an hour, with the help of Jane and Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth told him about everything that had happened in Hunsford and London.
They told him of the kindness of the Matlocks and Lady Catherine and how, even now, Mr. Darcy was in the process of finding Lydia and Wickham.
Naturally, they did not mention that the family was ostracised.
“So Mr. Darcy will find Lydia and Wickham and make them marry?” he said at length.
“Yes, I believe so, Papa.”
“I am glad of it. For it seems that Mr. Darcy is doing everything that I was not able to do. Although it will likely cost him a great deal. Wickham has many debts in Meryton, according to your Uncle Philips. But at least I can die…knowing that my family shall be cared for. It seems that I can rely on your Darcy…and your Bingley.” He smiled faintly at Elizabeth and Jane, who were now openly crying.
“Do not weep, girls. For we all must pass…sometime.” He took a deep, ragged breath and continued, “But please allow me to apologise. I should have taken Lydia in hand while I had the chance. And I should have supported you, Fanny. I should have taken better care of Longbourn and not allowed you to constantly be worried about being left without a home...”
“Please, Mr. Bennet,” said his wife, “do not take all the responsibility onto yourself. For I should have guided our daughters better. Especially Kitty and Lydia…”
“Now, Fanny, you did the best you could…under the circumstances, and I apologise I was not there for you. Please…forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive, dearest Thomas…”
Mrs. Bennet bent over their father and cried into his hand.
“Perhaps you should leave us for a time, Jane…Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet. “I would like to speak to your mother in private.”
Elizabeth nodded, then left the room with Jane.
A few hours later, their father breathed his last.