THE PROPER AND ORDERLY LIFE OF BENNETS
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The clock was ticking near midnight. One Mr. Bennet sat in candlelight only to get up every other minute and pace around the room restlessly.
Mr. Bennet sat down again wringing his hands when his wife's wailing could be heard through the house. Her voice had grown more and more tired and hoarse as the hours slipped by. He picked up a book and opened it without conscious thought and stared blankly at the open page with unseeing eyes, mind in other matters.
This was by no means his first time waiting for the birth of his child. Indeed this was the fifth and no doubt the last time he would need to do this.
His wife had given birth to four daughters with great struggle and effort. And those were the times she had managed to carry the child until the time of birth. It was not proper for him ponder about it, but his wife had miscarried not once or twice, but three times during their marriage to his and her great distress.
Every time she would swear this was the last time she would carry children. It was too painful for her, she would say. She was fully unsuited for giving birth, she would cry bitterly during those early days and swear to never again go through with it.
And her poor nerves. Must never forget her poor, poor nerves.
But time would heal, if not all wounds then most of them. And she knew the importance of male heir. Knew the stability it would bring to all of them.
And he would not lie, and say he that after four daughters he didn't long for a son.
Girls were wonderful and silly and so very loud. Although Lizzy was not very silly nor loud, and he expected she would only grow wiser in the future.
Lost in his thoughts Mr. Bennet startled and blinked his eyes when he heard the sound of baby crying.
His shoulders slumped slightly in relief, he had been hearing his wife screaming in agony for the past seventeen hours, only quieting down to gather her strength and sip water.
Wearily he stood up and placed his book on the desk. Walking with forced calm to the door of the birthing room.
He didn't need to wait long, Doctor Merryweather called him in with brisk voice and presented him his newest daughter.
He can not say he was not disappointed.
But there is no use wailing over matters you can't change. Ces't la vie, as the French say. He's a cynical realist at heart, and thus it's with a great sigh and shrug of his shoulders that he takes his newest daughter on his arms. Holds her vulnerable little body with practised hands and smiles conspiringly down at her.
"I fear your older sisters have been hoping for a younger brother. I expect they shall be quite miffed to have another girl to share all their toys and ribbons with. And with you being the youngest. My dear, I fear you are doomed to be spoiled rotten by your mother."
He glances at the bed where his wife is red, sweaty and looking quite exhausted. Their midwife Mrs. Calloway is wiping her face with cool clothe and muttering congratulations to both of them.
"Indeed," Doctor Merreweather says and nods down at the baby. "A healthy child with all ten toes and fingers and a working set of lungs. My felicitations for you and your lovely wife."
Then he straightens his back and Mr. Bennet knows the lecture is coming. Is slightly surprised the good doctor waited this long to deliver it.
"There were however, several complications during the birthing. I am not hesitant to say there were many times when we feared for the lives of your wife and the baby. I can only say that your daughter was safely born by the grace of God.
I must insist, I must absolutely insist that you consider heavily the wisdom of acquiring any more children in the future." He ends his lecture by giving him a sharp look and returns to tend for his wife.
It is with some morbid amusement that Mr. Bennet considers the Doctor's words.
When Mary had been born, the old doctor had explained the difficulty of her birth and politely asked them to perhaps wait a while before trying for another child.
When Kitty had been born, the doctor had very reluctantly given them the permission to try for another child.
And not before warning him against the folly of it. Seeing as Mrs. Bennet had, by that time miscarried several times already.
It seems the good doctor's patience had finally run out with them.
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It is several days later that he stops to consider their situation.
Jane and Lizzy are both playing with dolls on the floor. Their first impression with their newest sister had run around the lines of 'ah, another one' and been left there. Jane had cooed down at the now named Lydia, and Lizzy had firmly told him her dolls would remain hers and Lydia could get her own.
Ah, the generosity of the gentler sex.
He cannot congratulate himself enough for his foresight to have the library built on the east wing. The sound of screeching carries there hardly at all.
However his wife is still recovering and their young maid and Mrs. Hill can watch after the girls only for limited amount of time before other duties demand their attention. Namely making dinner for the family of seven.
For this reason, he is forced to abandon his sanctuary and brave the whirlwinds that are his daughters for an hour every afternoon.
It is during one of these afternoons, that he starts to think.
About the present and from there, inevitably, about the future.
It was the old problem really. His family's Estate would always be inherited from father to son. And if there were no sons the Estate would go to his closest male relative. There was no assurance that this relative would allow his daughters and wife to remain in their home. No legal obligation outside of his goodwill to provide for them at all.
In case of his death his daughters and wife would be left quite destitute, without a roof to call their own.
When Jane had been born he had not worried overly much, there was time a plenty. Now that time had run out.
There was of course marriage.
A woman's path ultimately steered towards a husband and children. If this husband happened to wealthy then that could only be called a happy accident.
Mr. Bennet held no illusions. With his means, his girls would only get fifty pounds a year. There would be no Lords nor Barons begging him for the hands of his daughters with that amount.
Unless they were madly in love of course, but how likely was that to happen.
And there was no guarantee, no guarantee at all, that they all would get married. If they had no luck none of them would.
He tried to see his girls all grown up. Jane was a beautiful little girl who, no doubt would only grow more beautiful as time went by. She was very easy and even tempered child. She would grow into a gentle lady and be perhaps due that to be surest to find a husband.
And the there was Lizzy. Mr. Bennet thought darkly, his dear smart mouthed Lizzy. She was not as pretty as her sister but she was clever and lively child. Always running and climbing trees.
It would be more difficult for her, he feared. She could be headstrong and opinionated and he knew those were not very popular qualities in ladies of the ton.
Kitty and Lydia were still too young. Their natures still developing but Mary had always been quiet and serious child. There were times when it was difficult to tell what she was thinking and some might take her for a docile child.
But the truth was out of all his daughters Mary was perhaps the most stubborn one.
She didn't set her foot down often but when she did come hell or high water she would never lift it up again.
Not very popular character in a wife, he feared.
Mr. Bennet tought of a future where his girls were forced to hunt after men like hungry foxes after chicken. How the tongues would wag, about those Bennet girls. It wouldn't take much, only three seasons without a husband and a woman was judged to be a spinster.
And naturally having a confirmed spinster as a sister affected the reputation of the rest.
He felt slightly ill with his thoughts. The future did not seem very bright. The most popular ladies to be wed seemed to always be those who didn't really need any more monetary support.
Dear God, he could already imagine how his wife would throw herself to the task of finding husbands for each girl. The art which required a subtle and careful hand. And subtle and careful, Mrs. Bennet most certainly was not.
He did not know who to pity more. His girls, or the unfortunate husband candidates.
"Oh Mr. Bennet. That handsome gentleman next door makes ten thousand pounds a year. Quickly Jane, if you throw yourself in front of his carriage you might break a leg and he will feel obligated to look after you"
He could see it. Dear God, he could almost hear it too.
But what else was there he thought frantically. He had never realised the lack of opinions women had until now. Now that he was trying to find a path for his girls that would be both honourable and allowed them to live out of poverty. Or not needing to rely on the pity of relatives. Without needing to hunt down the nearest wealthy gentleman. A way to look after themselves.
A commotion started in the yard when the horses started neighing in panic, and all the chickens scatted around in flurry of terror. Their young maid screamed and dropped a basket of dirty laundry.
A shadow of a courier dragon fell on the yard for a moment before it disappeared with a roar that seemed to shake the glass on the windows.
Oh.
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It was not a good idea. He knew that. All in all it was a terrible idea. Possibly scandalous even.
But it was not a impossible idea.
The Aerial Corps held a… disputable reputation. Their methods and habits were often scorned by the Army and Navy, while the general populace would whisper about how disreputable their behaviour was behind the curtains.
And of course, there were dragons.
Huge beasts, as big as houses at worst cases and still bigger than draft horses in best. With sharp talons and even sharper teeth. With only a small human controlling such a beast, could you blame people for being nervous around such unpredictable and vicious beings.
Such monsters could easily swallow a man. Their violent natures being only held in check by making them fight the French and professional handling.
Only it was not true. Not at all.
And how did Mr. Bennet know this?
When he had been but a boy of eight, his father had brought him to meet his Aunt Emma.
And his Aunts massive, poison spitting dragon.
It had talked.
Young Mr. Bennet had been very impressed.
When he had vowed to join the Corps the very next day, his Aunt had laughed joyously and his Father had dragged him back home by the scruff of his neck.
He had, however, been allowed to sit on the dragon's back first.
It had, perhaps, been the greatest moment of his eight years long life.
Even now, when he was no longer a boy, the memory warmed his mind.
He had kept in touch with his Aunt for years afterwards. Reading her letters with avid interest. She always travelled to the most fascinating places in the course of her duty. He had been sad to hear her fall in battle. Her and her dragon.
He had made his decision. He was quite certain of it. Traditional notions of property and order would have to hang. His girls would have this opportunity. This chance to live in relative freedom. They would have to work hard for it but serving the king and country was no shame. No shame at all.
Now how to tell Mrs. Bennet?
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