Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

JUNE 1809

T hroughout the winter and spring, many letters travelled back and forth between Elizabeth and Mary. In those letters, Mary shared first of her growing familiarity with the new heir to Longbourn, Mr. William Collins, a young man of just twenty-three who was waiting to take his orders to become a rector. Mary and her cousin formed a friendship, and Mary recommended him to the Allens in Meryton who might help the young man find a curacy.

Since he was not yet of a proper age to take orders, Mr. Allen was able to offer him the position of curate for his church in Meryton. This pleased the young man, who enjoyed the company of his cousin. The two were frequently in company as their friendship continued.

Initially, he stayed at Longbourn, though Mrs. Bennet’s shrill complaints and her vocally insisting that Mary and Mr. Collins wed “to save the family” grew taxing on everyone. When Mr. Allen offered Mr. Collins not only the position as curate but also a small cottage for him to live in, he gladly accepted. He earned enough to hire a maid to help with the cleaning and washing, and he knew enough to brew a cup of tea and prepare a few simple dishes. Mrs. Allen often invited him for meals, and as he became more involved with Longbourn’s tenants and the parish's less fortunate, the number of invitations to meals and social events steadily increased.

It became widely known that the young curate was the heir presumptive to Longbourn, which made him an eligible catch by many of the women of that small village. However, most of these ladies seemed to want to bide their time, for they saw where and how he lived and were not quite ready to suffer the hardships of being a curate’s wife, regardless of his future prospects.

Mary’s letters indicated a growing regard for the gentleman although it was evident that she viewed him as a friend and brother, not as a future husband, much to her mother’s frustration.

Toward the end of April, not long before Elizabeth’s nineteenth birthday, two critical events came to pass. The first was that Elizabeth discovered she was with child after emptying the contents of her stomach every morning for nearly a fortnight. Both she and Darcy were concerned by this until a casual reference by the housekeeper reminded Elizabeth of a conversation she had with her aunt before her marriage. She sent a note to Mrs. Gardiner asking her to visit and related the symptoms she was experiencing. It did not take long for Mrs. Gardiner to confirm what Elizabeth already suspected and when she informed her husband of the cause of her so-called illness, he was delighted. The two would become parents before the year was out.

The second event was much more upsetting. A letter from Mary informed the pair of a smallpox epidemic spreading through Longbourn village. It had begun with the tenants and servants and quickly spread to the family, with each member of the Bennet family suffering from the illness in varying degrees. Mary returned to Longbourn, and as she remained unaffected, took up nursing the rest of her family. The least ill of the servants assisted her in this, as did Mrs. Allen and several others from the neighbourhood who had smallpox as children and were therefore at less risk. Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, was one of these as was Charlotte Lucas, and these three proved invaluable in assisting those who needed it .

Jane was not particularly ill though she was perhaps the most affected by the rash. This was enough to keep her confined to her room for the duration, believing what her mother had taught her, that her only value came from her appearance. Therefore, she did not want anyone to see her when her body was marked by the sickness. When anyone entered her room, she would cover her body with the bed clothes and refused to be seen. This frequently made caring for her more difficult, while, as usual, she did not seem to realise how her actions affected others.

Though Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia were all ill, they recovered reasonably quickly. It was Mr. Bennet who was the sickest in his family. Mr. Allen came frequently to speak to the gentleman, as did the apothecary and Mr. Phillips, all who had fallen sick from the illness in their youth. Each of these conversations was serious, and they provided guidance in the only way they could: Mr. Allen tended to him spiritually, Mr. Jones medicinally, and Mr. Phillips spoke to him of his family’s future.

Unsurprisingly, none of these conversations were pleasant. Mr. Bennet was angry with himself, his family, God, pretty much everyone, blaming each in turn for the illness that befell him. He had little to say to Mr. Jones, though he did listen to his advice. However, Mr. Bennet’s health only grew worse. It was Mr. Phillips who heard the worst of his anger. Mr. Bennet had done nothing to plan for his eventual demise, and Phillips could barely disguise his disapproval at this lack of foresight, leading to several arguments between the two men.

As Mr. Bennet declined further, Mrs. Bennet took to her own bed, demanding attention from her daughters. She could not help but bemoan Jane's altered appearance, lamenting the small scars from smallpox near her right ear. Though minor and confined to a small area, Mrs. Bennet acted as if Jane was now hideous. All the praise she had once heaped upon her daughter for her beauty turned into cries of lost chances .

Therefore, Elizabeth was mostly unsurprised a little over a week later when she received a black-edged letter from Longbourn announcing the death of Thomas Bennet. She was still in London, and while a part of her wanted to pay her final respects to the man who had given her life, neither she nor Darcy were willing to travel to Hertfordshire for the funeral. As a female, Elizabeth would not be permitted to attend, and neither wanted to be party to the inevitable complaints from the Bennet matriarch when they would not give into Mrs. Bennet’s demands to provide for the rest of the Bennet ladies.

They had fortunately met Mr. Collins a few months earlier when he visited London on Mr. Phillips’s behalf. He was a good man; they had heard good things about him through Mary’s letters, and knew she considered him almost as a brother. Despite Mrs. Bennet’s insistence that Mary and Mr. Collins wed, neither had any intention of doing so, especially now that the Bennet family was in mourning.

When they met, Mr. Bennet had been healthy although Darcy and Collins had spoken of what might transpire upon the event of that gentleman’s demise. Collins agreed with Darcy that since the Bennets had cast Elizabeth from their home at the tender age of eight, that she owed nothing to her parents, particularly her mother. Due to his friendship with the middle daughter, Collins reassured Darcy and Elizabeth both, along with Mr. Phillips and Mr. Gardiner, that he would not cast the Bennet family from their home immediately upon Mr. Bennet’s eventual death. So long as Collins was unmarried, he would allow the family a minimum of six months to mourn their father before even attempting to claim the estate as his own, though he would begin managing it as soon as he could. However, he was comfortably situated at present in his little cottage, and so would not do as Mrs. Bennet feared and “cast them into the hedgerows.”

He also agreed that, as long as he could, he would assist the widow and her daughters financially, ensuring they had enough to live on. When it came time for him to claim Longbourn as his, he would allow Mrs. Bennet and her daughters the use of the dower house. However, he did ask Darcy for some assistance in ensuring the dower house was suitable for residence since he was uncertain of its condition at this moment.

Darcy and Elizabeth agreed since it was unlikely to cost as much as what Mrs. Bennet might demand; Elizabeth felt assisting her sisters in this way was the least she could do for them. She did not offer it on Mrs. Bennet’s behalf, but truly, most of it was done for Mary since she was the only sister who had continued a correspondence with Elizabeth that did not consist of demands for new clothing, ribbons, or trips to town.

After Mr. Bennet’s death, Elizabeth received a letter from Mary. She was very surprised to find a second letter addressed to her inside. She did not recognize the handwriting and opened it.

My Dear Elizabeth,

It hardly seems fair to you to call you dear now, though I did want you to know that you were, in fact, dear to me. You were my always favourite child, little though I showed it, and I missed you dreadfully when you went away. However, by that time, I had spent the last decade giving into my wife’s demands, without thinking of what it may cost me. Losing you was a much larger cost than I fully realised.

I doubt even Mary knows it, but I have read each letter you sent her and know more about your life at present than I have any right to. You have been generous in your advice to her, and, frankly, generous in continuing to correspond with her at all, given what Mrs. Bennet and I have forced you to endure. We wilfully threw you to the side when I ought to have stood up to my wife. What happened to Jane that day was not your fault, and I think Mrs. Bennet must realise that as well, though she would never admit to it.

Our family suffered much when you went away. I tried even less following your departure, and we spent every bit of the income from Longbourn selfishly. Because I would not stand up to my wife on the issue of you, I found myself giving in to my wife’s demands over and over again. Now that I am dying, I realise far more of what I have done.

Longbourn is in worse shape now than it was when I inherited it. I think my young cousin Collins is a good man though perhaps not well versed in estate management, but I think he will be a more diligent master than I have been. He will do a better job than me, that is for certain, but mostly because few could do worse.

In the months following your return, I managed to set aside small amounts of the estate income. I had intended it to serve as a dowry for my daughters eventually, but with this illness, I believe that it is insufficient to aid as it should. I should have been taking these steps all their lives, yours included, to ensure they would be protected at the end of my life. However, it seems as with most things in my life, I have waited too long. There is nothing for it now, for it seems that I will shuffle off this mortal coil much sooner than I would have liked. I truly believed my wife would have gone first, with all her nervous flutterings and complaints, but it seems that it will be me. At least the heir appears to be a good man so perhaps my wife and daughters will be cared for, despite my lack of effort in that direction.

It is hardly adequate for an old man now on his deathbed to offer an apology. I feel certain it cannot make up for what you have suffered in being sent away from your family, but perhaps you had a better life than what we would have offered you. Had I raised you, you would have no doubt been full of conceit and sarcasm, just as I am, and unwilling to stand up for what is right, as I have done. I would have made things far worse for you. Though perhaps having you home would have helped me to be a better man and made me less indolent.

Regardless, there is little point in exploring these ideas now, but I do want to tell you how sorry I am for not being a better father and a better man. By all accounts, you have married an excellent man, and when the time comes for you to bring a child into this world, he will no doubt prove to be all I am not and chose not to be. I hope that this letter will help you, if even a little bit, to forgive me for my failures.

Sincerely,

Your Father, Thomas Bennet

Elizabeth shook her head as she read the letter through a second time. Part of her would like to find it in her to forgive the man, but even his apology was worthless. To wait to tell her now that she was ‘dear to him’, when he had made no effort in his lifetime to act remotely like a loving father, or even a concerned one, felt almost like a slap to the face instead of the apology he believed he was making. Like everything else in his life, he hoped to ease his conscience so he could die in peace. He might have felt better after writing this letter, but instead of evoking feelings of love or even of sympathy, instead she felt anger and annoyance.

Darcy saw these emotions as they flashed across her face and moved toward her. “Dearest, are you well?” he asked, his voice soft and filled with concern, as he sat on the settee beside her, drawing her into his arms.

Elizabeth shook her head, her movements slow at first as though weighed down by the heaviness of her thoughts. Then, with a suddenness that startled him, she shook her head again, as if trying to dispel the cobwebs clouding her mind. “My fa … Mr. Bennet has died.”

Darcy’s arms tightened around her. “Oh, Elizabeth …” he whispered, his breath warm against her hair.

Her voice was steady, though the weight of sorrow pressed upon her words. “Mary’s last letter indicated this was not far away. Of the family, he was the most ill. Then I received this,” she paused, holding up a letter, her father’s handwriting unmistakable on the pages. “In the days leading up to his death, he wrote this … apology for not doing enough to protect me as a child.”

She looked at Darcy, her eyes searching his face as though trying to find the words to express the tangled emotions within her. “In it, he claims to have loved me. He read my letters to Mary—probably all the letters I wrote to my sisters—and thinks he knows about me and my life from those.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed as he listened intently, his heart aching for her, though he remained silent, not wishing to interrupt the flow of her thoughts.

“Truly, I am sorry he is gone, which means we can never be restored,” Elizabeth continued, her voice tightening with unshed tears, “but I am not certain we ever could have been. He is … was too selfish to truly love anyone besides himself.”

Her words hung in the air, and Darcy could feel the truth in them. The resentment she had harboured for years, the pain of neglect, all seemed to spill out, raw and exposed.

“If there is one thing I have learned from my aunt and uncle,” she said, her voice softening, “and from my relationship with you, it is that love is unselfish and wants the best for the object of its love. This claim of love from Mr. Bennet is selfish and is more about appeasing his conscience than any real affection for me. If he truly loved me or any of my sisters, he would have done more for us and not waited until he was dying to try.”

Darcy’s chest tightened at her words, and he instinctively pulled her closer. He could feel her tremble, the weight of her grief pressing against him. Yet, there was little he could say. He agreed with her, deeply so, and he thought she knew that. Still, finding the right words to comfort her felt beyond his reach.

Instead, he held her, hoping she would feel the depth of his love in his embrace. His hand gently stroked her back as she nestled into him, her head resting against his chest.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the crackle of the fire in the hearth the only sound in the room. Darcy’s thoughts flickered briefly to her condition, worrying that the stress and grief would worsen her health. But as if sensing his concern, Elizabeth shifted slightly and looked up at him, her gaze steady despite the sorrow lingering in her eyes.

“Do not fret, my love,” she whispered, her hand coming up to rest against his cheek. “I will be well. I promise. It was merely the shock of receiving first Mary’s letter and then his.”

He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered, “I know, dearest. I know. There is a finality to death, is there not? We might have wished for something different, something better, but now it is impossible.”

Elizabeth nodded, acknowledging his words, but she did not wish to dwell on the matter any longer. Instead, she leaned into his embrace, allowing the steady warmth of his presence to soothe her as she grappled with the multitude of emotions swirling within her—grief, anger, regret—all threatening to overwhelm her. Darcy held her close, offering his silent support, knowing that words were no longer necessary.