“Lizzy…I failed our mother. I did not do anything for her. Everything I offered, she refused. And since you and I spoke, I stopped going to her room. I left her entirely in Hill’s care.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“She refused her meals. She refused to drink. She would not allow Hill to bathe her. She refused to see Dr. Edgerton. She wanted to be left alone… and so we left her alone.”
Mary’s voice faltered. “And now she is dead.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Was she alive last night, Mary?”
“Yes. Hill says she took her a fresh pot of tea just before bed, and she refused it. She rolled over and asked Hill to leave, so she carried away the tray.”
Mary began to wring her hands.
“This morning, when Hill brought her breakfast, she found her still lying on her side. She touched her shoulder to wake her… and she was cold.”
Elizabeth’s face tightened. “Have you been up to see her?”
“No,” Mary whispered. “I am afraid to.”
Elizabeth rose. “Come. We will go together. We must see for ourselves. We must know that she has truly passed.”
Both sisters tied neckcloths over their mouths and noses, then walked quietly into their mother’s room.
Mrs. Bennet still lay upon her side, unmoving.
They drew near to the bed and touched her shoulder.
It was cold. Stiff.
The sisters looked at one another, but neither could speak.
They left the room and stood in the hallway, the silence pressing upon them.
Elizabeth said at last, “We must tell him.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed. “Let us tell him now. There is no reason to put it off.”
Elizabeth tapped softly at her father’s door. At his call, she entered, Mary close behind.
They stood in the doorway.
“Papa… we have just been in to see Mamma. She passed in the night.”
Thomas Bennet sat upright, shaken, and began to cough harshly.
Elizabeth hurried forward with a cup of water, which he drank in its entirety.
After a moment, he said hoarsely, “Girls… take me to her.”
Mary brought his banyan, and together they helped him into it. Then he walked slowly to his wife’s room and sank into a chair beside the bed.
He did not speak. He only stared at her, as though unable to comprehend what lay before him.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before he murmured, “I feel short of breath, weak. I need help getting back to my bed.”
The two sisters each took an arm and helped their father to stand, but before he left, he reached over and touched his wife. His face was uncomprehending as he rubbed his hand along her arm, and then he murmured quietly, almost under his breath, “Cold and stiff. She is gone.”
When they had him back in his bed, Elizabeth gave him a saline draught, which he drank without protest, and then he lay down again.
