Epilogue
THE DRAWING-ROOM AT Longbourn was, under ordinary circumstances, a place of domestic industry. Today, however, it had become a powder magazine of matrimonial hysteria, with Mrs Bennet marching through it carrying a lighted taper.
She sat on the settee, her lace cap trembling from her agitation.
In her left hand, she clutched a letter from Jane, written with all the joy of a woman in love who had just realised she was going to be the mistress of Netherfield.
In her right, she held a letter from Elizabeth, written in the jubilant and—frankly—unhinged way of a woman in love who had just accepted the hand of the wealthiest, most brooding, and most stubborn man in Derbyshire.
"It is too much!" Mrs Bennet shrieked, her voice reaching a level resembling a herd of wounded banshees. "I am going to faint! Hill! Fetch the salts! Fetch the brandy! Fetch the smelling salts soaked in brandy! I am having palpitations of the soul!"
Hill, who had survived twenty years in the Bennet household, stood in the doorway like a seasoned war veteran. She did not move. She merely watched, waiting for the inevitable.
"I have done it!" Mrs Bennet continued, ignoring the lack of service.
"I have achieved the impossible! I have secured two fortunes!
Two! Not one, but two! Oh, Mr Bennet, you cruel, unfeeling man, how can you sit there in your study, staring at your books, when your wife is undergoing a severe attack of the nerves? !"
Mr Bennet, who had retreated to his armchair with pained resignation, did not abandon his volume of Plutarch's Lives. "My dear, can you desist from your exclamations? The cat is concerned."
At that very moment, a tabby cat, who had been enjoying a peaceful nap on the rug, was startled by Mrs Bennet's next ear-splitting "OH, THE BLISS!
" The cat launched itself four feet into the air, hissed at the concept of matrimony, and scrambled up the curtains, where it hung, swaying like an indignant furry pendulum.
"Lydia! Kitty!" Mrs Bennet waved Jane's letter.
"Did you hear me? Your sister Jane is to be Mistress of Netherfield!
Five thousand a year! And Lizzy—my Lizzy—is to be Mistress of Pemberley!
Ten thousand a year! Do you understand? Ten thousand!
We shall have diamonds the size of goose eggs!
I shall have a carriage so large it will be bigger than Mrs Long's parlour! "
Lydia, who was sprawled across the sofa with a stack of fashion plates, let out a shout that matched her mother's. "PEMBERLEY! Oh, Mamma! Can I stay there for the season? Can I have a carriage with velvet cushions? Can we get a cook who only cooks in champagne?"
"We shall have everything, Lydia! Everything!
" Mrs Bennet sobbed, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief that was already damp with triumphant tears.
"We shall be the talk of the county! We shall be the talk of the country!
I shall have a gown made of gold silk, and I shall wear it to the Meryton assembly just to spite Mrs Long, who told me last month that I looked 'tired'! "
"Mother," Mary Bennet said, closing her book with a scholastic thwack. "In the triumph of this occasion, may I remind you that fortune is but a fleeting vapour, and that the union of two souls is a grave, solemn undertaking that demands—"
"OH, SHUT UP, MARY!" Mrs Bennet roared, the volume increasing until the cat on the curtain let out a yowl of feline terror. "This is not the time for grave solemnity! This is the time for gloating! I shall gloat! I shall gloat until my gloating makes the sun shine in December!"
Mrs Philips, who had been invited over specifically to serve as an audience for this brand of insanity, sat on the edge of her chair, her mouth hanging open. "Oh, Sister, it is... it is monumental. Ten thousand a year! Why, the curtains alone! Do you think he will let us see them?"
"He shall let us see the entire house, Sister!
" Mrs Bennet cried, her voice cracking with the joy of social triumph.
"I shall march into Pemberley, I shall sit in his best armchair, and I shall tell his housekeeper exactly how she has been mismanaging the dust!
And that woman—that insignificant Mrs Long—what will she say now? Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Mrs Bennet's laugh was scary. It was the laugh of a woman who had spent years being underestimated and had finally turned the tables.
"Mr Bennet!" she said, turning her attention to her husband. "Why are you not dancing? Why are you not playing the fiddle? My daughters are married! I am vindicated! I am the most successful mother in the history of the human race! I have defeated the Longbourn doldrums!"
Mr Bennet slowly closed his book. He looked at his wife, then at the cat hanging from the curtains, then at his two younger daughters, who were performing an uncoordinated jig in the middle of the room.
"My dear," Mr Bennet said, his voice flat, "I have always suspected that you were, at your core, a force of nature. I see now that nature has decided to break its own laws."
"I am a force!" Mrs Bennet agreed, missing the irony.
She stood up, paced the room, and began to list her demands for the weddings.
"We shall have a cake the size of a hayrick!
We shall invite the entire militia! I shall command the band to play only the most expensive tunes!
And I shall buy a new bonnet, and it shall have so many feathers that it will require a small team of maids to help me keep my balance! "
"Mamma, can I have a pony?" Lydia shouted, ignoring the wedding particulars. "A pony with a diamond-studded saddle?"
"Yes, Lydia! You shall have a pony! You shall have a stable of ponies! You shall have a pony for every day of the week!"
Mrs Bennet was now spinning in a circle, her lace cap askew, her hands clutching the letters, her eyes glowing with the intoxicating fire of a mother who had just won the two biggest prizes.
"I am a lady of consequence!" she cried, throwing her head back. "I am a mother of wealth! I am invincible! If there is anyone in this village who has ever looked down their nose at me, they shall tremble! They shall bow! They shall weep with envy!"
At that, the tabby cat finally lost its grip on the curtain. It fell, landed squarely on Lydia's bonnet, which had been left on the floor, scrambled across the tea service, and darted out of the room, leaving behind a trail of claw marks.
Mrs Bennet did not even notice. She was weeping with joy, her mind already halfway to Pemberley, planning her social domination of the British aristocracy.
"Oh, the bliss!" she sobbed, finally collapsing back onto the settee, her lace cap now covering one of her eyes.
"I am the happiest woman in England! I am the queen of Longbourn!
I am... I am... I am going to have tea, and I want it served on the finest china we own, even if we have to break it tomorrow, because from now on, everything is going to be GOLD! "
She waved the letters in the air, while the Bennet drawing-room descended into the kind of joyous pandemonium that would be remembered in Hertfordshire for the next hundred years.
The End