“Of life, Lizzy. We speak of life, as Mr Bennet would have wished. Mourning is kept in the heart, not by burying oneself along with him.”
“Nor by discussing Mr Darcy within hours of the burial.”
“We are not, in truth, speaking of Mr Darcy. I believe you are trying to form some notion of your future. That is what must be done now. You will carry flowers to Mr Bennet’s grave, and consider what you are to make of your life.”
Mrs Gardiner paused, and, turning her back towards the house, made a sign for them to return; the hour of meeting with the gentlemen was near. But there was still something she wished to know.
“If he were to ask you today, would you accept him?”
Elizabeth sighed deeply. “I do not know, but I am certain I should not speak to him as I did before. I should be silent, reflect, perhaps even question him.”
“London is but twenty miles away. You might question him still.”
Elizabeth shook her head with firmness. “No. I hope he does not hear of my father. I could not endure, in addition to his disapproval of my family, his pity for our situation.”
“When one loves, concern is not pity.”
Elizabeth looked at her aunt, endeavouring to understand the full meaning of her words. Then, taking her arm, she whispered, “Thank you.” The conversation was not, in truth, about Mr Darcy. It was rather the question whether she had changed enough to accept a man she did not love, but respected; her father’s death had altered the very meaning of that question. But it was too soon for an answer.
Chapter 6
Elizabeth entered her father’s library after her conversation with Mrs Gardiner, with a faint hope that her sorrow might be softened. But it was enough to see her father’s chair, left empty with reverence by her uncles, for her grief and her loss to fall upon her like a storm, a hundred times greater than before.
It seemed impossible to her that she should never see him again, that the chair should remain forever empty. But then the full horror of their situation seized her—he was gone, and in a short time, their beloved home must be left behind.
What was to become of her father’s books, of the beautiful bookcase in dark mahogany, perhaps the most elegant piece of furniture in Longbourn, over which time had not passed as it had upon the furnishings of every other room?
Her mother’s voice roused her from that dreadful vision, yet reality was no gentler.
“Could we not defer this discussion?” asked Mrs Bennet, but her tone was far removed from that which she was wont to employ when she governed her household.
“No, my dear,” replied Mrs Phillips, exchanging a brief glance with Mrs Gardiner, who was ready to speak to calm her; but, to the surprise of all, Mrs Bennet inclined her head and seated down in silence, accepting the state of things.
Chairs had been brought from the dining parlour, since there were not enough in the room.
Elizabeth took the chair she usually occupied, near her father’s empty seat, without looking about her. It was her right, earned through the many hours she had spent with him.
Her grief became almost insupportable; the pallor of Mr Phillips increased her agitation, until it bordered upon physical illness.
“My dear ladies, I shall be brief and perhaps somewhat severe. Mr Bennet was…” He paused. “Unfortunately, this discussion can neither be deferred nor altered in its nature.
“I must tell you at once that the terms of this unhappy entail are not defined with any precision. Neither the time allowed to the family nor the manner in which the property is transferred is strictly determined. Everything rests upon an agreement signed by Mr Bennet.
“The solicitor, that is, myself in this instance, writes to the new proprietor within a few days of the…melancholy event. I shall do so tomorrow, and the letter will be sent to Kent. He must then receive it and write in return to announce his intention to come. His visit is merely formal and bears no legal consequence; he becomes proprietor after three months, as is stipulated in the agreement of which I have spoken.
“Sir William has been so obliging as to acquaint me with the correspondence between himself and Mr Collins in the last days. It appears that Mr Collins will come into Hertfordshire tomorrow, as soon as he receives my letter. At least, such is his father-in-law’s expectation.”
“Oh!” cried Mrs Bennet, rising from her chair, as her voice recovered something of its former inflections. “He does not even allow us to breathe.”
“Mama, pray sit,” said Elizabeth with infinite gentleness, and she obeyed, though her countenance was animated again, even as the tears still fell.
“No, my dears, he is exactly as we imagined him, and we must be prepared,” returned Mr Phillips, simply.
“He will come upon a visit, when Mrs Bennet writes to signify her consent.”
“Never!” cried Mrs Bennet again, twisting her handkerchief; but Mrs Phillips, who sat beside her, stilled her hands and made a sign to her husband to proceed.
“I might request that he extend the term of those three months, but you must know that such a proposal was already made by Mr Bennet and myself, and that he refused it.”
