Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A week later, at precisely two o'clock, Longbourn's door opened. Within five minutes, the parlour was quite crowded with local ladies. Mrs Crombe seated herself next to the largest low table, certain she would be asked to pour out. But when the housekeeper entered the room with the tea tray, Mr Bennet directed her towards another visitor and said, "Lady Lucas, if you would be so good as to pour." Then he asked after the health of Mrs Collins, leading Mrs Crombe to assume he was paying his respects to the future mistress of the house. Lady Lucas straightened in surprise and preened a little. Mrs Crombe bristled.

Mr Bennet spoke to the general company but directed his commentary mostly to Lady Lucas. He spoke of the silver tea service that had belonged to his great-great-grandmother, which her daughter might someday use. He pointed out the portraits of his father and grandfather on the walls. Mrs Crombe strongly resented the turn of the conversation. She, who would have been mistress of the house had not Fanny Gardiner interfered, should by rights claim that position. She should be the one who described the family portraits—indeed, her own portrait should be gracing the wall! Finally, she could contain herself no longer.

"What an ancient and distinguished history Longbourn has," Mrs Crombe said, loudly enough to quell other voices and ensure all eyes were upon her. "I declare your late mother would turn in her grave to see the state it is in at present. The late Mrs Bennet was clearly not up to the task, not having been raised as a lady. You did the honourable thing after her deceitful entrapment, but at what cost to your family's legacy?"

There were quiet gasps from the other ladies, who then turned their complete attention to their host. Mr Bennet calmly took another sip of tea, but anger flashed briefly in his eyes. "Do you know, Mrs…" He tapped his chin. "Ah yes, Crombe. Pray, pardon me. There was indeed an entrapment, madam, but there was more to it, as you are well aware. Your mother, the late Mrs Goulding, schemed to force a marriage for her only daughter, with me as your prey. At a dinner party at Haye-Park, I was called to the library, ostensibly to see a book, but no one was there except my dear Fanny. I later discovered you were to appear shortly after, with your gown artfully torn in strategic places. Mrs Goulding was to discover us together in an incriminating position. But she had reckoned without the late Mrs Gardiner, who had already placed her daughter in the library to entrap Colonel Millar."

Mrs Crombe knew perfectly well that he had not forgotten her name but had done it to make her a laughingstock, and her temper was further enflamed. Before she could respond, Mr Bennet continued. "I had no idea of the planned scheme until your own brother shared it with me shortly after my wedding. He had witnessed your mother tear your gown herself. He thought it a great joke." He chuckled. "My poor Fanny was quite disappointed when she was forced to marry me instead of a handsome officer. We were ill-suited, of course, but I suppose we rubbed along together well enough. My wife created a beautiful home for us. We brought lovely daughters into the world."

"Do you include Miss Lydia, sir?" challenged Mrs Crombe. All eyes turned to her, then back to Mr Bennet to hear his answer.

"Even poor, foolish Lydia. A father's love does not stop, even when a child has made grievous mistakes. You see, our family's grief has drawn us together. My daughters and I have chosen to forgive the faults and mistakes of others, to recognise our own, and to think only of the past as its remembrance brings us pleasure." His guests sighed in approval.

"Your ‘lovely daughters', as you put it, have been forced to marry anyone who could be paid enough to take them!" In her anger she did not notice that her audience glared at her in disapproval.

Mr Bennet replied mildly. "You are mistaken, Mrs Crombe. My daughters have all made advantageous marriages of their own free choice. Jane is married to a gentleman architect who has recently earned the imprimatur of the Crown Estate. Mary has made a happy match with a distinguished lecturer at Cambridge. Kitty has married a gifted young barrister, and my Lizzy recently married a naval captain who was one of the heroes of Trafalgar. They sail on a mission to the East Indies as we speak."

Mrs Crombe watched as Mr Bennet carelessly rubbed his nails on his lapel. "They are better marriages than they could have found locally, at any rate."

His audience gasped, and all heads turned to Mrs Crombe for the return shot, but Mr Bennet had not finished.

"I had wondered at the thoroughness of the shunning my family endured. It almost had the feeling of some sort of revenge being taken. Then, when the last of my daughters departed with her husband, I marvelled at the sudden reappearance of so many of my wife's old friends after being so conspicuously absent for almost two years."

Her face heating, Mrs Crombe took in the arched brow and the mocking glint in Mr Bennet's eye as he continued.

"I thought it very strange and could not understand it. Indeed, my servants had to explain it to me: that as a single man, I have more value to the local ladies than as a husband or father. No doubt they wondered at my naivety. In truth, the idea that I might remarry would never have entered my head but for this sudden interest in my society. I was never this popular even in my younger days. I wish you and your families all well, but I can promise you, were I to marry again, it would not be to anyone from Meryton or its environs. I forgive, but I do not forget."

Mrs Crombe, her design to assume the role of mistress of Longbourn in shreds, rose. "We do not have to sit here and listen to your petty resentment," she said angrily.

"I do not hold resentment. It is you, madam, who is the picture of what happens if you do not let go of old resentments, and it is a lesson for us all."

Mr Bennet watched as Mrs Crombe rose and took her leave, shouting for her humiliated daughter to follow. After they had gone, the drawing room was silent. Finally, Lady Lucas rose, tears in her eyes. She apologised for not being there for his family. Sir William had not wanted to interrupt their friendship, but she had been too afraid. One by one, the ladies all left with whispered apologies and farewells.

Quietly, Mr Bennet began to keep company with friends again. The local ladies, although they had driven him to stage quite a performance to rid himself of their company, had broken the ice. Sir William came to call first, to invite him to dinner at Lucas Lodge. Mr Robinson followed suit, as did others. Even a sheepish William Goulding visited, apologising for his sister, who in her fury was making his life so unbearable that he was taking her shopping in London and then for a seaside holiday. He had taken pity on his niece as well and sent her to stay with her father's people for a prolonged visit.

Mr Bennet rode through Meryton for the first time in nearly two years and was shocked at the change. Longbourn's custom was not the only missing source of revenue for the merchants. Netherfield was still empty, as was Purvis Lodge; the Harringtons were still gone, and his brother Philips's establishment was vacant. The militia had decamped completely and gone to Bedfordshire. Would that they had left two years before.

He was pleased beyond measure for his daughters. The Gardiners' initiative and generosity had transformed his great failure as a parent into success and happiness for the girls.

But now he was truly alone at Longbourn. He welcomed his privacy but missed his family. How strange to feel both sorrow and peace. How strange to miss the behaviours that had aggravated him for years, like a persistent painful condition suddenly healing, only to find he missed the familiar ache.

Mr Bennet began to take his meals in his study. Sitting alone at the long, polished table in the dining room was both ridiculous and unnerving. Ruthie brought in a tray and settled it in amongst his disorganised papers. After he had picked at it for a while, he rang for it to be taken away. Hill came in and noticed how little he had eaten.

"Was dinner not to your satisfaction, sir?" she asked.

"It was very good, but I have no appetite tonight," he answered. "Please tell Jenks that her efforts are appreciated."

Mrs Hill, tray in hand, dipped a quick curtsey and turned to go.

"Hill," he blurted, then stopped.

"Yes, sir?" She met his eye quizzically.

He frowned and looked down at his hands. "I… 'Tis nothing. You may go."