Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

September 1813, London

A unique sort of wardrobe was required for a sea captain's wife, but with the advice of the elder Mrs Newfield, Mrs Gardiner was up to the task. Within two weeks in town, Elizabeth had a small yet serviceable wardrobe of sturdy travelling gowns that could be adjusted to suit a variety of climates, new petticoats and undergarments, pelisses and shawls, half-boots and shoes. She brought one evening gown for any captain's dinners or other formal occasions. Any belongings she wished to take with her would need to fit into a remarkably small space. She had never owned much in the way of jewellery or other impractical possessions. Her small garnet cross was all. A set of personal items for her toilette, a complete sewing kit, her writing desk and journals, and the little telescope were all she had. She carefully considered which books to take and was gladdened to discover that the captain had similar tastes in literature and already owned many of her favourite titles.

A quiet anticipation began to grow within her. She spent part of the day before her wedding with two naval officers' wives, Hannah Langley and Molly Dunbar. They had spared her no details of what her life aboard ship would entail. If she truly meant to be a support to her husband, there would be hard work with little leisure time. The rewards in return were great.

Elizabeth instantly admired these women. They were strong, practical, unflappable, and with a dark sense of humour. She was happy for her sisters; they had found lives and husbands that suited them perfectly. She hoped that with her unconventional marriage and role as a naval wife, she had found a life that suited her too. She and Samuel had friendship and trust between them, and that was the basis of any good marriage, was it not?

They spoke their vows at St Benet's church the day before they set sail. Elizabeth's trunk was moved to the captain's quarters, her new home on his new command, the frigate Melisande . Her husband had given her his bunk, and he would sleep in a hammock slung from hooks nearby. Although their marriage was only one of convenience, and Samuel had no interest in her person, they would live in very close quarters.

They said their farewells at the docks. All her family had turned out, even Jane in her delicate condition. Elizabeth embraced each one fiercely, whispering special words in their ears. Every eye was wet, even Bancroft's. At length, she stood before her father.

Mr Bennet wiped his eyes and hugged his Lizzy tightly. His voice uneven, he said in her ear, "You must come back to me, my girl, and point to all the places you have been on the globe and tell me of your adventures. Be safe, my child."

He released her and shook the captain's hand. "She is precious to us all, sir. I know you will keep her safe for us. We shall welcome you on your return, my son."

Bancroft held his new father-in-law's hand in both of his. "It is my solemn vow. I will bring her back to you."

Sending each of his daughters out into the world had been hard, but letting Lizzy go had been the most painful. Mr Bennet was inclined to go home to Longbourn to sit in the privacy of his study and lick his wounds in solitude like some injured beast, but his London family would not have it.

After being prevailed upon to extend his visit twice, Mr Bennet was in better spirits. He reacquainted himself with museums and booksellers. He attended performances and lectures. He took unexpected delight in the company of his loving family and sights and places they showed him. He witnessed the intelligence and decency of the men his daughters had married, and it soothed his conscience. He attended court sessions with Kitty, who proudly watched her husband argue his cases. He listened to Herr Heidemann work on his compositions and was fascinated by the plans and models of Mr Magnussen's projects. Most of all, he held his first grandchild in his arms after Jane unexpectedly went into labour weeks early. The tiny girl was small but strong and had Mr Bennet's own mother's eyes. Now, another babe was expected in the winter, this time Mary's.

The only person absent was his Lizzy, but even she made appearances in the form of letters, which he reread on the journey home to Longbourn. The letters had been posted from the Royal Observatory, from Dover, and finally Portsmouth before she and Bancroft set off into the great sea, with the promise of much more correspondence to follow from wherever they went. She described her experiences so far, their tiny quarters on the Melisande , how the ship's bells ordered their days, and how other officers' wives befriended and advised her.

The news of Elizabeth's departure and his solitary presence at Longbourn soon leaked out, and less than three weeks after his return from town, the first neighbourly visitors in almost two years presented their cards at Longbourn House.

It was a Tuesday, formerly Mrs Bennet's ‘at home' day, when Hill tapped Mr Bennet's library door and announced visitors. "Mrs Crombe and Miss Crombe are here, sir. Are you at home?"

He raised his eyes from his book and squinted at her. "Who? Do I know them? Ah, Goulding's sister, is it? Why are they here?"

"They are here for a visit, sir," Hill answered gently. "Do you wish to receive them?"

Mr Bennet opened his mouth to give a resounding ‘No' to such foolishness but changed his mind. It had been too quiet lately. "Oh, I might as well. Perhaps there will be some sport in it . "

There was none. The elder of the two ladies expressed her sincere condolences upon the death of Mrs Bennet, whom she had known all her life, and emphasised how deeply affected she was. There was nothing said of Lydia. She remarked slyly upon how a manor such as Longbourn must suffer for want of a mistress. The younger lady said nothing at all. Mrs Crombe made a few attempts to share village on dits with him, and he shrugged. "I am unacquainted with those people," he finally said. After they had taken some tea and biscuits, staying much longer than the acceptable quarter of an hour, they finally left. He stomped off to his study, muttering, "Lord, Fanny was at least entertaining when she gossiped."

By the next Tuesday, blood was in the water, and the hunters had caught the scent. Mr Bennet was again uprooted from his sanctuary. Mrs Long called with her nieces. Within a quarter of an hour, they were joined by the Miss Robinsons and Mrs and Miss Crombe. Lady Lucas arrived for a visit, only to find Longbourn's parlour well-populated with local ladies and their single female relations. With a stubborn set to her jaw, she settled in to share her grief on the death of her particular friend Mrs Bennet, but mostly to ensure nothing happened to prevent her eldest daughter from taking her future place as mistress of Longbourn. A half an hour of suspicious sidelong glances among the ladies and stilted conversation ensued, which was mildly amusing for a short time. To put an end to it, their host made up some business that required his attention.

Mr Bennet was disgusted. "Condolence calls, my foot! Why do they come here now? My wife is dead because of them. My daughters were compelled to leave their home because of them. Why do they interrupt my peace?" he grumbled as Hill brought him his luncheon on a tray.

Mrs Hill looked at him, clearly incredulous. "It is a truth universally acknowledged, sir, that a single man in possession of his own estate and needing an heir, must be in want of a wife," she said calmly, her hands clasped neatly at her waist. "Do you require anything else at present?"

Mr Bennet stared at her, unable to move. "No," he finally said. "Thank you, Hill." He rose slowly to his feet and stared out of the window as the housekeeper's remark sank in. After all these many years, he was again a single man. It simply had not occurred to him before. A single man. A man who might marry. A man who might marry and sire a son. What a thought! Did he wish to marry? What would his daughters think? Even if he did marry again, did these women seriously believe he would choose a wife from amongst the community who had caused his family so much pain?

He was still in mourning, still bereaved. He had not realised how terribly he would miss his daughters, all his daughters, even Lydia. Fanny too; even her nerves. As badly suited as they had been, he had grown accustomed to her and missed her noisy bustle, her genuine joy over gowns and parties and lavish dinners. She had always remained for the most part a silly girl, both taking delight in and fussing over frivolous, simple things.

It was time to put an end to the farce. Mr Bennet duly informed Hill that he would be at home the next Tuesday, and to batten down the hatches.