Chapter 37

On the way to Netherfield Hall

Darcy, seated across from Elizabeth Bennet and her maid, found himself staring with compassion at the lady's pale face and shadowed eyes, while Miss Bennet herself stared outside at the winter fields passing by. They were dead and brown, with a few scattered stalks jutting towards the sky. It was a forlorn scene, and one that matched her wan expression.

As if aware of his attention, she suddenly looked at him, and he felt himself flush slightly, though he hoped that it was not obvious in the relative darkness of the carriage.

"I do not think I have expressed my gratitude for all your assistance, sir," she said.

"Please," Darcy replied with an impassioned wave of one hand, "do not thank me. I am only glad to be able to help you during such a difficult time."

Elizabeth bit her lip and turned toward the window again, and when she spoke, it was in such a low tone that he had to strain to hear her over the sound of the wheels. "It is difficult indeed. I will be entirely honest and say that the uncertainty is perhaps the hardest thing of all. I wish I knew, one way or another, whether my father will recover, or whether he is truly … truly…"

"I understand," Darcy said, and it took every iota of self-control for him not to reach out and take her gloved hands in his own. "When my own father was failing, the waiting was the most challenging part."

Now she was looking at him with grave eyes. "I am sorry. You lost your father some years ago?"

"Yes, he passed five years ago and was very poorly for the year before his death. It was terribly painful. I wished to believe that he was improving, though of course he was not, and Pemberley itself required so much of my attention…"

He paused and shook his head. "I apologize, Miss Bennet. I ought not to be speaking of my own difficulties during this time."

"No," Elizabeth said impulsively, and she did reach out toward him with one hand before pulling it back and dropping it in her lap. "No, I appreciate your sympathy and your voice of experience. I was a small child when my father was hurt so badly from his fall, and I know my mother shielded us from the worst of his injuries. She despaired of his life then, but we children were kept almost entirely unaware. Now, well, we will see."

She managed a tremulous smile and continued, "My father has surprised us before, and I hope he will surprise us again."

"I am praying for him and all of you," Darcy said, to which Elizabeth smiled faintly and nodded.

The rest of the short journey was carried out in silence.

/

Netherfield Hall

Sunlight slanted in through the open curtains, illuminating the sitting room between the master and mistress suites. White china with its pink roses shown in the morning sun, with sliced fruit in its bowl glowing like so many gems. A small pyramid of artfully cut sandwiches presented a charming picture, rather like a still life with its sharp shadows and bright edges.

All of this beauty was entirely lost on the newlyweds, who were wholly absorbed in one another. Loving glances were exchanged, and hands busy with food halted occasionally to caress a lover's cheek. The quiet serenity of the room provided an idyllic backdrop to a peaceful repast. Unfortunately, the peace was broken when the door opened, and Jane's personal maid entered, wringing her apron in her hands, her expression decidedly anxious.

"Phoebe? What is it?" Jane asked in surprise.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Bingley," her maid said nervously, "but Miss Bennet has arrived and says that it is an emergency."

Jane, who had been relishing her private time with her husband, started in alarm. "What kind of an emergency?"

"I do not know, Madame. She is waiting in the parlor below."

"I will be there shortly."

The girl withdrew speedily, and Jane rose hastily to her feet and brushed out her skirts

"What do you think is wrong?" Bingley asked, standing up as well.

"I do not know," Jane said worriedly, "but it must be something serious. Elizabeth would never interrupt us like this otherwise. Will you come?"

"Of course, my love."

/

Dining Room

Longbourn

Eight O'clock in the Evening

Cutlery clinked quietly against china, a strangely musical sound unaccompanied by voices. The table was full with not only Mrs. Bennet and her unmarried daughters and their governess, but also Mr. and Mrs. Phillips and the newly married Jane and Charles Bingley. A roast chicken stood on the table, and potatoes, and peas, and little else; no one wished for a vast and varied meal on this grim day.

Elizabeth looked across the table at Jane and grieved that her sister's first full day of marriage should be blighted by such ill news. But Jane and Charles had rushed over at once, and Mr. Bingley had been all that was kind and supportive, providing a loving presence to his wife and quiet comfort to his in-laws. Elizabeth was grateful for his kindness, though she had more than once found herself wishing that Mr. Darcy had come as well. His closeness never failed to inspire her with a feeling of security.

It was a vaguely unsettling realization, but she had little attention or energy to spare for examining it. Her thoughts dwelt almost entirely on Mr. Noakes, the physician who had arrived earlier in the evening. He had closeted himself immediately in Mr. Bennet's bedchamber and had now been there for an hour.

"Please pass the peas," Kitty murmured, sounding vaguely congested, her eyes still red from her earlier weeping. Charles gently untangled his hand from where it was twined with his wife's to pass the bowl down to his sister-in-law. "Thank you," Kitty said, still subdued, and received a perfunctory smile before silence reigned again.

The quiet was broken some minutes later by the door opening, and Mr. Stewart stepped inside, face grave.

"Madame," he said to his mistress, "Mr. Noakes has come down and wishes to speak to you in the drawing room."

Mrs. Bennet looked around the table and said, "I think it would be best if all of us heard the news at once. Shall we ask the doctor to come in here, or should we repair to the drawing room?"

"I cannot eat another bite," Lydia declared, and there were murmurs of agreement from the others.

"Let us go into the drawing room," Elizabeth suggested, and everyone rose and made their hasty way to where Mr. Noakes was waiting with Mr. Jones, who had spent much of the day at Longbourn.

The London physician was a slight man, with long clever fingers and a way of looking at one squarely and with keen thought. His dark hair was perfectly if simply styled, and his coat, though plain, was obviously made of fine cloth. His movements were brisk, and spoke of a temperament both confident and certain, although there was nothing of pompousness or haughtiness about him. As Elizabeth entered the room, she studied his expression in vain. His face was utterly calm and controlled, and he did not betray by so much as a flicker of an eyelid what verdict he had for them.

Mrs. Bennet only waited until everyone had arrived in the room, and the door was shut, before turning to gaze intently at the doctor. "Mr. Noakes, what is the news?"

"Perhaps you could all sit down?" Noakes suggested.

This was not a propitious recommendation, and Elizabeth felt her knees tremble as she obediently took a seat on the couch, while Kitty and Lydia crowded down on either side of her. The others distributed themselves on the various chairs and sofas, and when all were seated, the physician said solemnly, "I have examined Mr. Bennet carefully and unhappily must agree with Mr. Jones that Mr. Bennet has suffered from a severe apoplexy within the last full day. Given that he cannot speak and his increased level of breathing difficulty, I do not..."

He paused, took a deep breath, and then continued, "I fear that he will not survive for more than a day or two at the very most."

There was an indrawn gasp from those assembled, and Kitty, on Elizabeth's right, began to sob quietly.

"Thank you, Doctor," Mrs. Bennet said gravely. "I appreciate your truthfulness. Is he in pain, do you think?"

"I do not believe so," Noakes replied gently. "He is, I think, mostly unaware of what is happening around him."

"Ought we to give him laudanum, perhaps, just in case?" Elizabeth asked, and her voice sounded peculiar in her own ears.

"Laudanum can increase breathing difficulties, so I would not advise it unless you believe he is in pain."

"I see," Elizabeth said blankly, her mind wandering to and fro in a thoroughly confused manner. Why had this happened now, of all times? Why would God permit this when her sisters were just married so happily? Dear Jane and Mary would soon be in mourning, and Longbourn would be in flux, and why?

"Mr. Noakes," Jane said, speaking for the first time, and her face was white. "I am not certain if you are aware that only yesterday I married Mr. Bingley, and my sister married Mr. Collins. Is there any reason why our weddings could have caused my father's illness?"

Noakes looked at Mr. Jones, then back to Jane, hesitated, and then said carefully, "I understand from Mr. Jones that Mr. Bennet suffered a great injury many years ago due to a fall from a horse."

"Yes," Mrs. Bennet murmured.

"I also am aware that Mr. Bennet has been drinking heavily and taking laudanum for many years to manage the pain. My experience is that men who drink and take opium are at a higher risk from exactly this sort of trouble. If he drank more than usual yesterday, it is possible that it spurred on his collapse, but regardless, it would have happened sooner or later. It is not, in any way, your fault."

Jane turned to bury her head in her husband's shoulder, and he pulled her into his tender embrace. Mrs. Bennet, her face suddenly old, said, "Thank you, Mr. Noakes, for your insight and care for my husband. I assume it would be permissible for us to visit him to say goodbye?"

"Certainly," the doctor said compassionately, "though I am not certain he will be aware of any of you. But yes, if you wish to bid him farewell, I advise that you do so soon."

At these words, Lydia and Kitty burst into noisy sobs, and Elizabeth gathered both of her younger sisters into her embrace. Her own heart felt strangely frozen. As much as she was irritated and hurt by her father's ways, she still loved him. A part of her was relieved that the near constant threat of his verbal attacks was finished, but such thoughts made her feel guilty. She had enjoyed her father's good mood during the previous day's wedding breakfast, and it had renewed her hope that someday he would change for the better, that someday she could expect kindness from him on a regular basis. Such hopes were at an end now, and that broke her heart.

/

Mr. Bennet's Bedchamber

Longbourn

Midnight

Elizabeth stepped into her father's room and looked around. She had not been in this room for several years now, as her father had made it clear that he wished for none of his womenfolk to disturb his fortress.

Bookshelves reached for the ceiling, covered in their treasures. The heavy navy curtains had been pulled across the windows, shutting out the night and deepening the somber air that hung over the room. A few candles wavered on the nightstand, casting a golden pool of light over the bed and the chair moved up beside it.

Even with the yellow light of the candles, Mr. Bennet looked nearly as pale as the pillows supporting his head and shoulders. The blankets had been drawn up nearly to his chin, an extra one brought in by the servants to ensure he suffered no chill. His wife sat at his bedside, her Bible open next to her on the table beneath the candlesticks. She too was pale, and her face was drawn, but her expression was one of peace, and she managed a wan smile as Elizabeth came into the room.

All of Elizabeth's sisters had preceded her in bidding their father a final farewell. Jane had gone first, lingering only a few minutes and coming out composed, save for a certain pallor of face and redness of eye. Her husband had at once gathered her close under his arm, bid the Bennets goodbye and whisked his wife home to Netherfield. Kitty and Lydia had gone in arm in arm, leaning on each other for support. They, too, had not stayed long, but emerged precipitately and scarcely cleared the door before both were weeping. They were now in Kitty's room, comforting each other.

Mr. Allen, the local rector, had visited as well some hours previously and administered last rites on the ailing Bennet patriarch.

"Mamma," Elizabeth said worriedly, "you really ought to go to bed."

Mrs. Bennet sighed and shook her head, her gaze fixed on her husband's pale face. "I cannot leave him alone."

"I will stay with him," Elizabeth said firmly. "Indeed, you must get some rest. If you fall ill from exhaustion and sorrow, what will happen to us?"

Mrs. Bennet's eyes, already red, filled with tears again, and the droplets slid down her wan cheeks. "I am very tired, but I feel guilty about … I know I was a disappointment to him as a wife, and I feel that this is one last thing I can do, to be with him until he passes on."

Elizabeth, gazing at her mother compassionately, could not help but sympathize. She knew, intellectually, that her father had been a bad husband and a bad father, but her heart groaned within her that Mr. Bennet was dying, that there was no hope for reconciliation and healing between the Longbourn patriarch and his family.

She pulled a chair over to sit by her mother and forced herself to stare into her father's pale face.

He was clearly insensate. His eyes were half-shut, the fragile lids fluttering. His skin seemed odd, dry and thin, almost like parchment, and nearly as wrinkled. The right side of his face drooped alarmingly, his mouth twisted down with a small trickle of saliva stringing from the corner of his lips. His right eye was far less responsive than his left, and even his very cheek appeared to sag. Though the blankets over his chest perceptibly rose and fell, each inhale rasped in his throat, and whined on the exhale.

" TheLordis my shepherd; I shall not want," Mrs. Bennet began, causing Elizabeth to start. A moment later, she relaxed and nodded her head as her mother continued reading the ancient words from the twenty-third Psalm.

2He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of theLordfor ever.

Two hours later, with his wife and second daughter watching over him, Mr. Bennet breathed his last.