Strained lines in his face relaxed and he leaned back and closed his eyes. Elizabeth was not sure if she should remain, or if she wished to remain.
After a while he stirred himself, leaned up a little and said more clearly than before, “Elizabeth, I am glad that I met you before I died. The Lord was kind.”
A few minutes after that he fell asleep.
Elizabeth left the room filled with a great deal of resentment on Robert’s behalf, but she suspected that to say as much to Robert would only make him feel the slight more keenly.
Instead, she encouraged Robert to talk about happier things.
They all sat in a sitting room just down the hall from Lord Rochester’s sick bed and waited in case they were called. Butthey never were. Mr. Darcy sat holding Elizabeth’s hand, and Papa also looked at her with concern on occasion.
They must worry that she was affected, but she was not. It was only for Robert that she worried.
Mr. Bennet started him talking about his childhood, asking keen questions.
She learned about how he’d run all over the estate, the excellence of the apple orchards at Ironwood, a few tales of herself when she’d been very young, and how she always insisted on doing everything herself without any help.
Darcy told his own stories about playing with Robert and running about Rosings estate for two weeks every Spring. She learned about how they had been such close friends at school, and how the two of them met Bingley for the first time.
Later that night, while Robert and Darcy remained at Rosings, Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet walked over to the parsonage to stay with Mary. She’d had to refuse the offer of Lady Catherine’s carriage several times, but Elizabeth imperiously preferred to walk.
As they made their way over the dewy grasses while holding lanterns to light their way, Mr. Bennet asked, “Well, how was it seeing him? Really?”
“Poor Robert! Poor Robert. And he does care. That is what is saddest. He cares a great deal—Lord! Rochester senses weakness in his own child and wishes to attack it instead of protecting it. The only reason Lord Rochester says he approves of me is that he sees it hurts Robert. I dare say he intentionally called me a son, just for that reason. Awful, awful man.”
“But are you happy,” Papa asked, “that you came all this way to see him?”
It was always delightful to walk about in the night. When they reached the gate to the parsonage, they blew out the lanterns and looked up at the moon and stars. They traced outthe constellations, as they had done together very many times before.
After a while Mary and Mr. Collins heard their conversation and joined them in the pleasant night air. Neither of them cared particularly for the stars, but they were polite enough to enjoy being reminded of which clump of lights in the sky had which traditional name.
When they finally went in, Elizabeth said to Papa, “I am glad. I am here for Robert. I satisfied my…need toknow. And there is something proper about being here.”
That evening Lord Rochester suffered another attack. His cries alerted the servant who sat at the foot of his bed, and the family was woken and the physician called for. However, the end came swiftly, and by the time the messenger sent to the parsonage had arrived, and the Hunsford party had hurriedly dressed and come across it was over.
Elizabeth found Robert seated next to the body, wracked with choking sobs as he held his father’s hand. She sat next to him and took his other hand and squeezed it.
Lady Catherine sat on the other side of the bed, stiff faced, but showing clear signs to Elizabeth’s eye that she struggled against tears.
Darcy came around from where he had been sitting next to his aunt, and he whispered into her ear, “My dear, I do not know if this will comfort you, but the end was fast, and we do not believe that he suffered any particular pain.”
Seeing how Robert sobbed, Elizabeth replied quietly, “I am glad.”
It was never a good thing, she thought, for a person to suffer without there being some good purpose for it.
The old man’s face was symmetrical again, as all of the muscles had relaxed together. His face and bald head were verymuch like the image in Elizabeth’s nightmares. She was tempted to reach out to touch the dead cheeks but decided not to.
Papa came in, and sat near Elizabeth, and he looked at the body with grim satisfaction. But he said nothing of his feelings.
Robert let go of the hand and looked at Elizabeth. “Lord knows he never was a kind father to me. I had always believed him to be a murderer—and what he did to your mother was the nearest thing to it. He never showed me kindness. He never—Lord! Why am I sobbing.”
“He was your father,” Papa said to Robert. “He has been a central point, the core around the battle of your life has turned for many years. Both in your efforts to be like him, and to be wholly unlike him, he did much to create you as you are. You ought to weep, for what has been and what now is impossible.”
Robert nodded. He wiped at his eyes, and then he stared at the face. He looked at the other people in the room. “I ought to close his eyes, I think.”
“You should, Lord Rochester,” Lady Catherine said.
Having that title given to him startled Robert. He looked around a little wildly. “The King is dead, long live the King? If I am the earl, I must be the earl.”
