Page 18 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn

Mr. Bennet’s Sitting Room

Longbourn

Elizabeth looked around the familiar sitting room as she eased the door open.

It was at jarring variance with its occupant; itself so unchanged, even as her father withered.

The dark-stained oak bookshelves meticulously cleaned, the leather-bound volumes that sat upon them organized just as they always were.

A teacup steamed lightly on the simple side table beside the chair.

Her father’s eyelids blinked open as she stepped lightly into the room, and he looked at her blankly.

It was sweltering, the fire built up far too high for her own tastes.

Despite the oppressive heat, Mr. Bennet was bundled tightly in several blankets layered over each other.

As she moved closer, he finally focused on her.

“Lizzy.”

“Hello, Father,” Elizabeth said, walking over to plant a gentle kiss on her father’s forehead. “How are you today?”

He wrinkled his nose as if struggling to understand her question, and then said, “Oh, well enough, I suppose. ”

Elizabeth bit her lip as she walked over to stoke the fire, then turned back to regard her father worriedly. He looked ... odd to her. His eyes were dreamy and his expression slack.

“Are you certain?” she asked delicately.

He sighed and smiled, and carefully lifted a cup of tea to his lips.

“Mr. Jones is giving me more laudanum to combat the pain,” he explained languidly. “I fear I do not have a great deal more time, my dear.”

Elizabeth felt her eyes fill with tears, and she nearly collapsed on a convenient chair. “How ... how long, Father?”

The patriarch of Longbourn closed his eyes for a full thirty seconds, and Elizabeth questioned if he had fallen asleep before he opened them again. She noticed, now that she was closer, that his pupils were strangely small.

“I ... I do not know, my dear. Mr. Jones does not know either. But...”

Again, he trailed off and closed his eyes, and this time it appeared he truly had fallen asleep. Elizabeth wondered if she should leave him, but since he had summoned her from Netherfield, he probably wanted her to do something .

“Father?”

He started and opened his eyes again. “My apologies. I need you to do two things: one, write a letter to your uncles Josiah and Gardiner, and ask them if they can come to Longbourn in the next week to discuss matters for when I am gone. Secondly, I wish Josiah to acquire a common license for Mary and her fiancé.”

“They have already called the banns once,” Elizabeth said.

Her father shook his head. “I may not live two more weeks, Lizzy, and if I pass on before they are wed, Mary would feel obligated to delay until she is out of mourning, and there is no reason for such a thing. She and Turnball are a matched pair, and I would see one of my dear daughters happily wed before I die.”

Elizabeth, to her dismay, promptly burst into tears. She had not meant to fall apart, not now, not with her father depending on her...

“Lizzy, my Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet murmured, leaning forward and pulling her gently toward him. She fell to her knees and rested up against his thin chest, listening to his heartbeat for a long minute.

“I am sorry,” she finally managed to say, pulling away and wiping her streaming eyes with a handkerchief. “I did not mean to ... to...”

“You have every reason to be sad, my darling daughter,” Mr. Bennet whispered and sat back again.

Elizabeth rose and finished drying her eyes, then walked over to a mirror on the wall and tidied her hair and dress before turning around, only to discover that her father was asleep again, his gray head leaning against the back of his deep wingbacked chair.

She sighed and swallowed hard, then covered her father more warmly before hurrying out to find her father’s valet. Anderson was devoted to her father, and she knew would take good care of the patriarch of Longbourn.

Sadly, she had difficult letters to write.

/

Netherfield

The house was quiet as Jane descended the stairs, her tapping footsteps the only sound.

The door to the drawing room hung slightly ajar, and she moved towards it, then hesitated in the doorway.

Mr. Bingley stood inside, quite alone. But he turned just as Jane began to withdraw, his face lighting up .

“Miss Bennet, good morning!” he exclaimed jovially. “How fares Miss Kitty this morning?”

Jane smiled politely. “She is sleeping now, sir, and I have faith that she will soon be on the mend,” she replied.

“Excellent, most excellent.” Bingley glanced towards the window and beamed. “Would you by chance wish to take a turn in the shrubbery, Miss Bennet?”

She was not particularly desirous of doing so, but it would be better than sitting around inside with little to occupy her mind or hands, and perhaps she would see some pleasant thing she could later carve.

She took her host’s arm, and the twosome departed the drawing room and walked to the rear entrance, and then made their way along a paved path into a narrow lane through the gardens behind the great house.

Jane looked around curiously as her companion chattered inanely about the weather, shooting, and the next assembly.

She answered mechanically when her participation in the discussion was required, her mind drifting away from the conversation as her eyes sought out inspiration.

There was little to be found; it was a drab dull day, with leaden gray skies and leafless trees peeking over the tops of uniform evergreen shrubs, and ever and anon the whole scene stirred with a listless chill breeze .

Voices became audible from the other side of the hedge; Miss Bingley’s strident voice, and Mr. Darcy’s lower tones, dust-dry in his brief responses to his companion.

“I hope,” Miss Bingley cried out shrilly, “that you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue, and if you can compass it, to cure her of shoving her younger girls towards the officers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavor to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses.”

“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?” Mr. Darcy replied coolly.

“Oh yes. Do let the portraits of your beloved’s Uncle and Aunt Phillips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley.

Put them next to your great-uncle, the judge.

They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines.

As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes? ”

“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression; but their color and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”

Jane, who had been pacing along silently alongside Mr. Bingley, flushed in anger as understanding dawned.

Miss Bingley was speaking of her dear Elizabeth; it seemed that Mr. Darcy admired Lizzy at least to some degree, and Miss Bingley, spurred by jealousy, was mocking the entire Bennet family.

She directed angry eyes on Mr. Bingley, who looked embarrassed.

He had obviously heard his sister’s words as well, which was no surprise, as Caroline Bingley had a penetrating voice.

There was a gap in the hedges, and Jane turned sharply to the right, which brought her and her companion onto a collision course with Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, who both appeared surprised, and in the woman’s case, uneasy.

“I did not know you intended to walk,” Miss Bingley exclaimed after a moment.

“Your brother was kind enough to invite me to get some fresh air,” Jane said, fixing a cold stare on her hostess. “It has proven a most interesting ramble!”

Miss Bingley gulped, and even Darcy seemed slightly abashed, while Bingley said hastily, “Perhaps we should proceed to the pond? It has quite a charming aspect.”

“Thank you,” Jane said, “but I will return to my sister’s chamber.”

/

Netherfield

That Evening

The last strains of music faded away, and Miss Bingley nodded and smiled as her audience clapped.

She stood up and turned toward Miss Darcy with a gracious smile pinned firmly on her lips. “Miss Darcy, please, will you not take a turn at the instrument? I know you are an exceptional performer.”

Georgiana, who was sitting by her brother, promptly paled in horror, and her gaze dropped to her hands. “Oh, thank you,” she said nervously, “but I do not wish to play tonight.”

“Oh, but you play so well!” Miss Bingley exclaimed.

“She does,” Richard interposed, “but it is growing late, and I believe Georgiana woke early this morning.”

“I am rather tired,” Georgiana agreed gratefully.

“Well, what about you, Miss Bennet?” Caroline Bingley asked, having entirely overcome any embarrassment over the encounter in the shrubbery. “I assume you play? ”

“I do not,” Jane responded composedly. “My sister Mary is an excellent musician, and Elizabeth’s performance is always pleasing, but they are the musical members of the family.”

“Indeed?” her hostess asked archly. “Well, if you do not play, I presume you draw?”

“Not especially well, I fear. Elizabeth is gifted with drawing portraits of people and images of plants and animals. She is quite remarkable.”

“She is!” Georgiana said, her eyes now shining. “She drew marvelous sketches of both me and my brother!”

Jane looked pleased and said, “That is wonderful.”

“Do you speak French?” Miss Bingley demanded.

“No,” Jane replied, “nor do I speak Latin or Greek. My father does, as he is a great reader, but I never saw the point of learning a dead language, as I am not particularly interested in the classics.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley cried out, “as a female, it would be completely absurd of you to learn Latin, but French? Well, I confess I am surprised that Mrs. Bennet did not insist upon it!”

Bingley, who had spent as much time as possible talking with or staring at the lovely Miss Bennet, glared at his sister indignantly, but Jane merely smiled and turned toward Mr. Fitzwilliam. “I suppose you speak French, sir?”

“I do, though not with any great skill,” Fitzwilliam returned. “I speak Italian a little better, as I spent a few early years of my military service in Rome.”

“Did you indeed?” Jane responded, her blue eyes now sparkling with enthusiasm. “I have long desired to visit Rome. The architecture must be remarkable, with the ruins of ancient temples, and the Coliseum, as well as the venerable sculptures and reliefs.”

“Darcy visited Rome some twelve years ago,” Richard said, “and I believe that he investigated the ancient ruins and buildings more than I did.”

Jane promptly turned her attention on Mr. Darcy and skillfully drew him into a dialogue about Rome, and somewhat to his surprise, he found himself discussing the Sistine Chapel in all its glory.

“It sounds fabulous,” Georgiana commented, her eyes round with wonder. “I would like to see it someday.”

“I fear it is not safe right now, Gosling,” Richard said, “but once we defeat the Tyrant...”

He trailed off, and Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation which she was not part of, said, “Louisa, perhaps we could perform a duet together before we retire?”

“That would be delightful,” Jane said politely.

Mrs. Hurst sang while her younger sister played, and at the end, all clapped courteously. Jane took the opportunity to rise to her feet and bid everyone good night, as she wished to be certain of Kitty’s well-being.

Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley retired a few minutes later, leaving behind the four gentlemen and two ladies.

Caroline Bingley, who had watched her brother hover over Miss Bennet the entire evening, said, “Miss Bennet is a charming lady, but it is astonishing that she is so little accomplished. To neither play, nor draw, nor speak foreign languages! It is shocking that the daughter of a gentleman would be so unskilled, though I suppose given that Mr. Bennet is merely a country gentleman, it is not so very surprising.”

Bingley, whose gaze had followed the lovely Miss Bennet out of the room, retorted, “Miss Bennet is, at least, a very kind sister who delights in nursing Miss Kitty.”

“I daresay it does not matter a great deal,” Mrs. Hurst commented, rising to her feet.

“After all, Longbourn is entailed away to an uncle who is an artist, and given that the mother is vulgar, and the daughters are impecunious – well, there is not much hope of any of the daughters marrying men of any consideration in the world.”

Bingley made no comment to this, and Darcy, who had been surprised to find himself missing Miss Elizabeth during the day, could only shake himself.

It was true that the Bennet ladies were not worthy brides for high-born gentlemen, and thus he needed to set aside his foolish partiality toward the second Miss Bennet.