Page 3 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn

Longbourn

“Jane! Elizabeth! Thank the Lord you are here!” Mrs. Bennet shrieked as her two eldest daughters stepped into the drawing room of their family home.

The mistress of Longbourn threw her shawl aside, leaped to her feet, and rushed forward to grasp her eldest daughter by the shoulders.

“Let me look at you, my dear! Oh, you are so handsome, though … oh my, you are a bit tan. Have you not been using your parasol?”

“Jane is as stunning as she always is,” Lydia, the youngest of the Bennet daughters, declared, hurrying into the room to embrace her two eldest sisters.

“I am so glad you are both back! Did you bring any beautiful gowns from London? Oh, did you hear – a regiment of militia officers is coming to Meryton! Kitty and I are so excited!”

“I am certain you are,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes twinkling merrily.

“Officers are generally a very handsome group,” Mrs. Bennet agreed, “what with their red regimentals and polished boots. But come now, girls, I daresay you need to freshen up and soon it will be time to change for dinner. You arrived later than we expected!”

“It was hard to say goodbye to Uncle Josiah and Aunt Charlotte,” Elizabeth said gravely, being careful not to look at Jane; her elder sister had insisted on spending two hours discussing sculpting and wood carving with Josiah before they left this morning, which had delayed their departure.

“Aunt Charlotte,” Mrs. Bennet repeated in exasperation. “She is but five years older than Jane!”

“But she is indeed married to our Uncle Josiah, and thus is our aunt,” Jane said gently.

“I know, I know,” Mrs. Bennet said glumly, “and when your father dies, not that he will any time soon, well, the former Charlotte Lucas will be mistress of this house. It is quite dreadful.”

“Where is Father?” Elizabeth asked, determined to change the subject.

“Oh, he is in his sitting room, I suppose. His gout is acting up again, and he often stays upstairs all day and even eats his meals there. I do not expect him for dinner.”

“Well, I will go see him now for a few minutes,” Elizabeth declared, and at her mother’s indignant expression, added, “but only a few minutes, and I will be certain to be at the dinner table on time.”

/

Elizabeth knocked on the door of her father’s sitting room, and a moment later opened it at the sound of his voice.

She scarcely noticed the heat that washed out, her eyes tracking to her father. He was easy enough to find, as he was the obvious focal point of the spartan room.

Two wingbacked chairs were drawn near to the roaring fire, with a footstool placed close to one.

Mr. Bennet was laying aside a leather-bound Bible, taking care as he placed it on the simple wooden side table beneath the unlit candelabra.

Elizabeth swallowed her horror at how thin her father’s hands looked.

Mr. Bennet eased his right foot to the floor and unwrapped the blanket from about his shoulders.

The thinness continued, the once-strong shoulders frail and bony, the cheeks hollowed and sunken over the skull, the skin papery and gray-tinted.

His movements were slow and careful, as he folded back the edges of the blanket and grasped the leathern armrests of his chair.

“Father,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “It is wonderful to see you. ”

“I am very glad to see you as well, Lizzy,” the master of Longbourn replied, pushing himself to his feet and holding out his arms. She came to him immediately and melted into his embrace, even as her heart quailed at his fragility.

She could feel how sharp his shoulder blades were through his coat, and she swallowed hard.

“I look a sight, do I not, Lizzy?” her father asked as they separated.

“You are very thin, Father,” she said truthfully.

“I know. Do sit down, my dear,” her father instructed.

Elizabeth did so, choosing the chair farther from the fire. It was very warm in the room.

“Do you not wish to eat?” she asked.

Her father sighed and nodded. “I fear my appetite is greatly diminished, and ... well, I also do not wish to complain, but your mother is reluctant to order the acquisition of food and drink that does sound appealing.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed angrily, and she said, “Mamma will not purchase foods that you like? How could she? And why?”

“She believes the only thing that ails me is gout,” her father replied with a mirthless laugh. “She is wrong, of course, but it is, perhaps, an understandable conclusion on her part as my leg and foot pain me considerably. Mr. Jones is quite certain it is not gout, however.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and said, “What does he think, Father?”

“He thinks that it is cancer, and spreading,” her father replied wearily. “Dr. Reeve suspects the same – he is a doctor from London with an excellent reputation, and he visited me last week while your mother and sisters were visiting your aunt Phillips in Meryton.”

His favorite daughter swallowed hard and quavered, “How ... how long do you have?”

“That neither the doctor nor apothecary can say,” Mr. Bennet said.

“It might be weeks, it might be months. Probably not a year, but even there we cannot be certain. Perhaps I will rally somewhat. Maybe it is not cancer but some other mysterious malady. In any case, I will almost certainly survive until the new year, especially if my eldest daughters can prevail upon Cook to supply me with lemonade and beef broths and other soups that sound appealing, but which Mrs. Bennet believes are bad for gout.”

Elizabeth clenched her jaw and said, “You should have called us home earlier, Father! We would have come if we had known the situation here.”

“And I wanted you and Jane to have a few weeks with Josiah and Charlotte, Elizabeth,” her father returned.

“ Your sketching is remarkable, and Jane is a gifted sculptor who can only improve under the tutelage of my brother. After I am gone, your work together will provide a certain degree of economic freedom for both of you and, by extension, your mother and sisters.”

Elizabeth stared at her father in confusion and growing dismay. “Do you ... are you uncertain ... do you believe that Uncle Josiah will not support us?”

“Oh, I am certain he will, to the best of his ability,” Mr. Bennet said hastily.

“Josiah is a very good man and fond of his nieces. But he is also father to a son, and he will soon have another child. He must be concerned about his own house and legacy, after all. Furthermore, your mother will not be pleased to yield her position as mistress of Longbourn to the former Charlotte Lucas. It may well be that when I am gone, you will find it best to move into a cottage or something like that.”

Elizabeth bit her lip as the tears welled in her eyes again.

Mr. Bennet looked at her with concern and said, “I know it is hard for you to hear me speak so boldly of my death, but I rely on you to support me in administering the estate in the next weeks and months until I pass on. I am sorry, Lizzy; it is a burden you should not need to carry, but I fear that it is necessary. I should have saved more, of course; I also should have hired a steward to assist in managing Longbourn. But I spent so many years hiding in my library, ignoring my possible demise, and now it is too late to make substantial changes.”

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment and then asked boldly, “Do you have any debts, Father?”

“No, none. I did manage that. Your mother has always been a spendthrift, but I have, at least, kept the estate out of debt.”

“I am glad,” she said.

Silence fell for a minute until Elizabeth asked, “Are my sisters aware of your situation?”

“They are not,” he replied, “and I think it best that you do not tell them the truth yet.”

“Why not?” Elizabeth demanded indignantly.

Mr. Bennet leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.

“As I said earlier, I do not know how much time I have left. The doctor believes it is cancer. Perhaps it is not! The doctor thinks that I have less than a year. Perhaps he is wrong. I would not wish for you and your sisters to put your lives on hold waiting for me to die. You can tell Mary, if you like, but the younger girls – well, Kitty would be full of fear, and Lydia would argue furiously with your mother, trying to convince Mrs. Bennet of the gravity of the situation. That would not be good for anyone in Longbourn. ”

“That is true enough,” Elizabeth agreed unhappily. Her youngest sister, Lydia, was indeed a strong-willed girl, and Kitty was delicate and prone to anxiety.

“When you get worse...” she began, and her father finished, “I will tell them, yes.”

Elizabeth stared at her father’s thin face, his brow etched with pain, and she asked softly, “Are you afraid, Father?”

Mr. Bennet looked down at the Bible in his lap, and his pale lips quirked up a little.

“Of dying, my dear? No, I am not. Mr. Allen has been visiting me once a week, and I find great comfort in our Savior’s death on Calvary.

I am an imperfect man, my dear Lizzy, but I am saved by the blood of Christ.”

“We will miss you very much.”

“I know you will,” he agreed, “but in the end, we are all but dust, of course. Now run along, Lizzy; it is nearly time for dinner, and I wish to take a nap. And mind you, I do not wish for you to walk around in a cloud of grief. You have always been a happy, joyful person, and the best thing you can do for me is to enjoy these last weeks, months, or years together.”

/

One Hour Later

Elizabeth looked about the boisterous table, her heart a strange amalgam of gratitude and sorrow.

It was good to be back at Longbourn, even with the sad news that her father’s health was failing.

She always missed her sisters and parents when she was away.

Kitty and Lydia chattered and giggled in tandem as Jane and Mrs. Bennet discussed the latest fashions in London.