Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth returned to the drawing room more cheerful than she had been since that awful morning when she had watched her father collapse insensible.
To be kissed was a pleasant thing, and it left a lingering impression upon the lips.
Elizabeth rather wanted to do it again.
Unanticipated.
When she returned to the drawing room, Mr. Collins remained seated. He frowned at her then turned his attention back to a book that he studiously stared at, turning the pages infrequently.
It did not escape Elizabeth during the evening that her mother hoped to press him towards Kitty or Mary as consolations.
If Mr. Collins took to either of her sisters, she would speak privately with them, and with Mr. Darcy, to make certain they knew very well that the family need make only one marital sacrifice at present.
But such concerns were currently superfluous, for Mr. Collins maintained a stiff and withdrawn manner—different from what he had shown at any previous time during his stay.
Not one speech about Lady Catherine de Bourgh!
Not one discourse upon proper conduct! And he did not once in the whole evening reiterate his offer to perform any of the rites that were required of a minister of the Church of England.
Mayhap his determination to find the companion of his future life from amongst his lovely cousins had faltered.
Mrs. Bennet brought out excellent wine to toast Elizabeth, lit many candles, and instructed the cook to prepare a fine ham for dinner.
She ordered dishes that were Elizabeth’s particular favourites and said again and again, “Oh, my clever, clever daughter! You have saved us! God has been very good.”
That dinner was the first time they had all sat around the table since her father’s apoplexy. It was not right to cheerfully drink while he lay alone in the bedroom with only a maid seated next to him so that they all would know immediately if he needed help.
Or if he died in an instant.
Elizabeth saw the expense of the meal in the way that Mr. Darcy might—not the arrogant way that she at first imagined him seeing their table, as a display of their relative poverty and inability to afford something greater: “You describe this as a celebration? Anyone who is anyone sets a better table.”
No, what she saw was them burning their dowries in candle smoke, eating them away in fine cooking, and serving them away by having twice as many servants as the house needed.
How strict would the required economies have been to set aside sufficient money?
Elizabeth supposed that the answer must be a matter of shade and gradient.
A little economy practised over twenty years would have been enough to make their lives easier when her father died, but a great deal would have needed to be cut if they wished to set aside substantial dowries for five daughters.
After dinner, Jane begged to speak to Elizabeth before she went to sit with their father.
They went into Jane’s room and sat next to each other on the bed.
Jane frowned when she turned her clouded eyes towards Elizabeth. “I fear, that…you mean to marry Mr. Darcy for my sake. You must not. You know you must not.”
“Jane—”
“I am wholly serious! We can survive on two hundred a year. You are too anxious at present to think clearly upon the matter. You always wish to care for me, and that is very kind. But you must not sacrifice your happiness. There are a great many people—the vast majority of England—who live on much less than we shall have if Papa dies.”
“Not blind women.”
“Lizzy, that is not true. By far the greatest number of blind women in England survive upon less money.”
“When they survive at all! You have seen—you remember the picture they make! Ragged, smelling, starving, sitting in the market square with pots they jingle. The beggars, the useless, those who once could stand with dignity amongst the great productive classes of England and who now must beg for money because they cannot pursue their professions. The way that they are easily taken advantage of by those who pretend to help them. Poor people sent to the workhouses—you cannot mean to say that you would rather go to a workhouse instead of me marrying Mr. Darcy.”
“I might say that. Affection in marriage is an important thing. You have said nothing about affection. I listened this whole day hoping to hear the word. All I know about your sentiments towards Mr. Darcy is that you were incensed due to his insult of Charlotte and that you like his sister and daughter.”
“Jane, I beg you, do not try to make me unhappy. I have chosen this path.”
“A woman may withdraw without much shame after an engagement has been established. It is not like it is for the man. Write a note to Mr. Darcy telling him that you apologise but that upon greater consideration you cannot in fact accept his offer.”
“I shall not.”
“But you will not say that you have affection for him?”
“I certainly have more affection and liking for him than I do for Mr. Collins, and I was full ready to be led by him to the altar. If I was determined upon that expedient to protect us all from poverty—not only you but Mama and Kitty and Lydia and Mary as well—you cannot imagine that I would shy away from a man whose conversation I find fascinating, a handsome man, and one whose family I like exceedingly. His flaws are nothing next to the appearance of Mr. Collins.”
“Do you find him so fascinating?” Jane’s tone was hopeful.
Elizabeth sighed. “The two of us will get on happily together. But he has made it clear to me that he does not love me and that he marries to gain a mother for Emily and the chance of an heir. Though he promised prettily that he will not despise me and that he will see that if I only have female children, they are well settled.”
“Oh, Lizzy.” Rather than reassuring her at all, this speech sent Jane into despair, and she tightly embraced Elizabeth. “My poor Lizzy.”
“I shall not shy away from my choice.”
Jane cried on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I sometimes hate that I did not die when the pox took me. Then I would not burden you so.”
“No, no, no! Do not say such a thing!”
Jane cried, but Elizabeth refused to let herself shed a tear over such an absurd notion.
When Elizabeth walked to her father’s bedroom to sit by him, she found little remained of the glowing mood that Mr. Darcy’s kiss had given her.
The next day was more cheerful.
Having made a point of getting up to walk around the bed several times the previous day, Mr. Bennet dared to make the great expedition from his bedroom across the hall to the drawing room.
He made this quest supported only by Elizabeth on the weak side and Mary on the strong. He managed with some fatigue.
With a great deal of help from Elizabeth, he settled onto the same sofa on which he had been placed after his attack, then closed his eyes, but his breathing was regular.
Mrs. Bennet was in an excellent mood, and she chattered about how delighted she was by Elizabeth’s engagement, and while her husband did not open his eyes or say anything, he smiled a little.
There was a sense that with the sick man in the room, everyone must be quiet, and after a while Kitty and Lydia walked into the town, and Mr. Bennet sat up enough to encourage Mr. Collins to go with them.
Following the departure of their cousin, he took a proper nap.
The room was quite peaceful, though a little odd as Mr. Bennet seldom napped during the day and never in the drawing room.
Elizabeth watched the rise and fall of his chest.
Hope had emerged. Maybe he would not suffer from another attack.
Too early. Too early to hope.
Another attack could come at any minute.
It was a cruel torment that the world was so constituted that one who survived such a fit of apoplexy was at great risk of having a further one as soon as they had begun to recover.
It would be better, in Elizabeth’s view, if one either inevitably died in short course or always survived, rather than having the sword of Damocles hanging over them for a great length of time.
A short while after Kitty and Lydia departed to find pleasures in Meryton, Georgiana arrived with Emily.
Fearing that the little girl would wake her father, Elizabeth walked out to meet them and was immediately attacked by Emily. “Play! Play, Miss Lizzy!”
Elizabeth laughed and picked her up. “I shall chase you, and you will hide. My papa is taking a nap.”
“Yes!”
Betwixt the games with the child, Georgiana said, “I have never been so delighted! I could scarcely sleep to think about what great fun we shall have. Fitzwilliam left very early this morning, but I was up, and he told me to give you his love.”
Elizabeth felt an odd shock at that. “Did he say that—what were his words?”
“Oh, I do not remember… ‘Give my greetings to Elizabeth and tell her that I am eager to see her.’”
That did not amount to the same at all.
Elizabeth felt a little hollowness at the thought. She found that she craved, just a little, appreciation from Mr. Darcy.
She must discipline herself not to hope for such.
Georgiana continued, “Fitzwilliam said that he wishes us to all be home by Christmas! We always burn a great yule log, and it will be so much better this year than last—though Mama was nearly dead then. She lived only two weeks into this year. Oh, but Lizzy, I am sorry, I did not think. You cannot be so happy right now as I imagine we shall be. You are full of anxiety about your father. It is terrible. And you have always been so fond of him.”
That touched on emotions that Elizabeth did not currently wish to explore. Instead, she asked, “What were your mother and father like?”