Chapter 1
23 October 1810
“Jane is dead!” As Elizabeth sat atop Oakham Mount in her mourning clothes, she repeated those three words aloud, over, and over, and over again. No matter how much she wished it were not true, it was! All of her wailing at the wind, which echoed across the lifeless fields below, every prayer in the world, the constant wishing could not change that fact. Jane was no longer alive.
The worst day of her life had been the eighteenth day of October when she had watched her beloved sister breathe her last. This day, the day of the interment, was another terrible day. It gave everything a sense of finality. Escape from the house was her only option. Even though her favourite aunt, Madeline Gardiner, was making sure the house ran smoothly and was there to speak to her whenever she needed, she could not bear to suffer her mother’s lamentations for another second. Knowing Charlotte Lucas would be at the manor house, did not change the fact Elizabeth could not remain and perform for all of their neighbours who would call while the men attended the funeral service and interment prayers.
Hence Elizabeth had practically run all the way to her place of solitude. Her flight had brought her here, to Oakham Mount. Elizabeth sat on her boulder, the one where in better times she would sit to welcome the new day’s sun. It was as if nature knew her angel of a sister was being laid to rest this day. Everything was just as she felt, bleak. The day was overcast with dark clouds—she cared not if it rained. Mayhap she would be taken to join her Janey in heaven. The oak tree she used toclimb as a child stood stark and bare against the skyline, and the fields which in the spring and summer teemed with life now lay empty, just like her heart.
Dressed in a dyed black gown, tears streaming down her cheeks, Elizabeth refused to turn and watch her Janey’s body being lowered into the ground for her eternal sleep next to generations of Bennets who had come before her. The wind was not strong so she was able to hear the indistinct sounds of Mr Pierce’s sonorous voice as he conducted the graveside service.
Her older sister had been her north star, her best friend, closest confidante, and peacemaker. People thought Janey had no spine, but they were wrong. As much as she liked keeping the peace, if one pushed her too hard or hurt one she loved, then one would see Jane’s steely resolve. In addition to being her sister, Jane had been the one to blunt Elizabeth’s sardonic wit when she thought it was needed.
If Elizabeth had a smile left in her, she would have done so at the thought of the firm way Jane would correct her course if she thought Elizabeth’s wit was too caustic—like their father’s.
It was Jane who had counselled her that Mr Darcy’s slight at the assembly was not aimed at her but his way—admittedly not a good one—to have Mr Bingley cease importuning him to dance, when he had clearly not desired to do so. Janey had opined the tall, devastatingly handsome man had said the first thing he thought of to cause his friend to desist. It was Janey who had pointed out the fallacy in the thought Mr Darcy only looked at Elizabeth to find fault.
As much as she liked peace and to see the good in people, Jane had not been fooled by Miss Bingley’s false friendship. She had seen it for what it was, but due to her desire to get to know Mr Bingley better, Jane had ignored the more supercilious aspects of the youngest Bingley’s character. Janey had agreed Mrs Hurst was to Miss Bingley as Kitty was to Lydia; theyounger sister led and the older followed.
Mr Bingley had called her an angel, and now Janey truly was one. That thought was the only thing which held her back from total despair. She had no doubt that Janey was at His side with her angel’s wings in place, already making sure there were no disagreements in heaven.
She was torn. She could hear Jane’s voice in her head telling her it was her time and God had called her home. The problem was Elizabeth knew better. She knew exactly who was to blame.
The question was, what, if anything, was she to do about it?
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Longbourn, Hertfordshire August 1810
“Mr Bennet! Mr Bennet!” Frances Bennet, called Fanny by all, the excitable matriarch exclaimed as she entered her husband, Thomas Bennet’s, study without knocking or an invitation to do so.
Bennet removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could either sport with his wife or allow her to say what she will and then be left in peace as expediently as possible. He chose the latter option as it was by far the easiest of the two. He placed the book he had been reading on his desk, pages down and open to maintain his place. “Yes, Mrs Bennet, how may I be of assistance?”
“Such news for Jane! Netherfield Park has been let at long last,” Fanny gushed.
“And what pray tell has that to do with Jane?” Bennet asked. There was no doubt his question was superfluous as his wife would tell him whether he desired to know or not.
Thanks to bearing him five daughters and no son and heir, Bennet was well aware of his wife’s fear for her own security, and the future of all of their daughters, if he passedaway before the girls were well disposed in marriage. There was an entail on Longbourn in favour of the male line. Once there was still no son born to his wife—after Lydia’s birth in 1795 he had stopped visiting his wife’s chambers—Bennet had not exerted himself to save for his daughters’ futures.
“The man is from the north, and according to Hattie (Fanny’s older sister, married to Frank Phillips, who loved to gossip as much as Fanny did) he is single and very wealthy. He will take residence just before Michaelmas. You must call on him so he can be introduced to Jane, see her beauty, and like you did with me, marry her,” Fanny insisted.
Bennet fought to maintain his equanimity. Almost four and twenty years past he had been overset by his infatuation with the then sixteen year old Miss Frances Gardiner, the youngest of three children of Meryton’s solicitor. He had not listened to his late mother, Mrs Elizabeth Rose Bennet—for whom his second Lizzy, born in 1790, had been named—who had warned him that he and Miss Gardiner were supremely incompatible. He was studious and valued the written word above all else, while Miss Gardiner was flighty, of mean understanding, and an inveterate gossip. To his everlasting chagrin, Bennet had ignored his late mother’s counsel, proposed to, and then married Fanny.
Within days of consummating his marriage when the haze created by his infatuation cleared, he had realised his mother and others had been correct about him and Fanny, but it was far too late to do anything about it. Bennet had decided in haste and now had the rest of his life to repent at leisure. Being an indolent man, he left it up to his mother to teach his wife her duties. When Fanny had not wanted to learn, Bennet had not stepped in to order her to do so. Jane had arrived in 1788, then after Lizzy, Mary was born, followed by Catherine, called Kitty by all, and then Lydia.
“Mr Bennet, how you like to vex me. Surely you know a single man of wealth must be in want of a wife? He will seeJane and her beauty will do the rest,” Fanny stated, “she is not so beautiful for nothing.”
“If you desire, you may call on the new tenant of Netherfield Park, but I will do no such thing.”
“Mr Bennet! You know I may not call at a man’s house, especially as I would not have been introduced to him. How can you be so heartless? Do you have no concern for my poor nerves?”
“To the contrary my dear, your nerves have been my constant companion for nigh on four and twenty years. I have great respect for them.”
“If that was true, then you would call on the new tenant as soon as he arrives at Netherfield Park.” Fanny flapped her lace bordered handkerchief furiously. As always, the more nervous she became, the more she waved it. “Do you not care for your daughters’ happiness and future security?”
“Mrs Bennet, you have imparted your news, now please vacate my bookroom and allow me to return to my tasks,” Bennet said dismissively. “And Mrs Bennet, close the door on your way out…without slamming it.”
With a series of sniffs, Fanny Bennet did as her husband had ordered.
