Obligation and Desire

by DJ Clawson

Story 10 of the series. Updated about twice a week.

Sometimes I go deeper into my thoughts on certain chapters on the message board for this series. Check it out by deleting the spaces:

laughingman . web . aplus . net / phpbb / ? f=23&t=57

Chapter 38 - Mr. Bennet of Longbourn

It was no small thing to bring the five Bennet sisters together in the heart of winter, especially with two of them bringing their father's body from the north. Whatever forces had taken their father from them spared them now, and the sky was sunny and clear on the long march to Hertfordshire.

In the front carriage, Darcy held his wife, clutching her newly-dyed gown. Elizabeth did not speak, and he found nothing he could think of to say to her, the one person he could always think of something to say to. He knew no words to console her; even sharing fond memories of her father would only make her upset, and her eyes were red, surrounded with dark circles from crying. He couldn't stand to see it, for her own health and sanity. He remembered losing his father, and hearing none of the words offered to him. Then he thought only of his sister, just a child, who had never known her mother and now would have barely known her father, and feeling overwhelmed in the task at hand – raising her, not running Pemberley. Thank heavens Richard Fitzwilliam stepped in as a joint guardian. It was his only relief through the whole mourning period, and he could think of nothing now.

They sat together, entwined physically but both lost in their own thoughts.

********************************************

"I could have said something." Jane looked out the window, but still held tight to her husband's hand. "The night before, at dinner, if only I said something meaningful – "

"There were thousands of dinners and thousands of nights where you said things that meant things to him," Bingley said. "Your very presence meant something to him – why else would he spend the last years of his life in Derbyshire, so far away from his own home? He did not require a goodbye, or he would have asked for one."

"I didn't know. I wasted so much time."

"It seems that way, but it's not true." Bingley said it with conviction, more than was normally in his voice, and squeezed her hand. "You were with him when he needed you, and you were living your life and giving him grandchildren – and great-grandchildren. It made him so happy. Do you remember how he liked to read those bawdy stories to Georgiana? He thought he could get away with it because they were Chaucer, and he was right."

"He used to read to me," Jane said, wiping her eyes. "When I was younger, in his study. I was very small, and Lizzy wasn't much bigger. She couldn't have understood – I barely understood – and she would sit in his lap and he would hold her in one hand and the book in the other, and I would sit on the footstool beside him and listen for hours. Mama was busy with Mary, and then with Kitty, and finally Lydia, and he kept reading, and Mary joined us and she got to sit on his lap and we had to sit on stools, me and Lizzy, and we were so jealous of her." She leaned into him. "Charles."

"I know, my angel." He kissed her on the cheek. "I know."

********************************************

Despite all of her gentle rocking, holding, and whispers, Georgie could not get William to go to sleep, or even stop wailing. She looked across from her to her husband, who gave her a tired smile. Alison clutched his side against the rough ride that was a carriage ride in winter; especially at the speed they were going. "I don't think he likes the carriage ride, honey."

"Just like you," Alison said.

"Yes, but no one hit him in the head."

"You got hit in the head?"

"Yes. That's why I get headsick and I can't hear very well."

"When?"

"Before you were born. I was a young man."

"Did Mama do it?"

Georgie laughed, and Geoffrey looked down at his daughter. "No, of course not."

"Then who did?"

"A very bad man."

"What happened to him?"

"Your mother fought him, and I shot him. She was very brave."

"Was he a samurai?"

"No, this was in England. A long time ago." It felt like years – everything felt like years ago, as if some great era had passed, divided by when Grandfather Bennet was alive, and when he wasn't.

********************************************

"George! How can you be reading at a time like this?"

George looked up from the book long enough to reply, "It was the book Grandfather was reading before he died."

"Oh." Isabel was ashamed, though he didn't mean her to be. She held Edward, who was chewing her necklace and pulling at it without much success, so she let him. "What is it?"

"The Divine Comedy," he said. "An English translation, but a good one."

"Will you read it to us?"

"Of course." He cleared his throat. "The bookmarker was at the third book, Paradiso. I'll start again: 'The Glory of G-d who moveth everything, penetrates all the universe and shines more brightly in one part, and elsewhere less. Within the Heaven which most receives His Light I was, and saw what he who thence descends neither knows how, nor has the power to tell..."

********************************************

"Charles," Eliza begged, drying her eyes with her handkerchief, "what will we do without him?"

"Soldier on, I suppose."

"Most people don't know their grandparents, much less until they are adults," Edmund said, and met two glares. "I just meant we should be thankful."

"I didn't know my grandparents," Lucy Bingley pointed out. "You're very lucky."

Eliza sniffled and nodded, but didn't feel that way – not at that precise moment.

********************************************

When the caravan of carriages arrived at Longbourn, things were prepared. Mary Bertrand, in bombazine, rushed to greet her sisters, with Kitty following behind her, and eventually Lydia. Joseph Bennet, returned from University, stood in the doorway with Dr. Bertrand to receive guests and mourners.

It took some hours to settle everyone. Even with Longbourn renovated, it was hard to fit everyone between the estate and Netherfield Park (which had also been renovated some years ago, but maintained its original façade). The Bennet sisters took turns sitting with the casket of their father, placed in a back room until the funeral. It would wait for all the mourners to arrive, even those who knew him as friends, because there were a great many of them.

Charlotte Collins arrived first thing the next morning, joining Elizabeth to her great surprise and delight in the parlor, where she was recovering from several hours of poor sleep with some strong coffee. "Charlotte!"

"Lizzy!"

They embraced as they always had, as old friends. All of Charlotte's daughters were married, and she was living in the house at Hunsford as a dowager, secure in her residence and near at least two of her children, who lived in Kent. "I'm so sorry. He was such a wonderful man."

"Thank you." Elizabeth squeezed her hands. "It is so good to see you. Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"My brother still lives in town with his wife and children, at the old house. He'll be attending the funeral."

"Oh! I'd forgotten. It's been so long since I've been in Hertfordshire. Of course, your brother." She was in enough correspondence to know that Charlotte's sister had passed away some years ago. "Until a few days ago, there was so much good news to tell you."

"After the funeral," Charlotte reassured her. "There will be time."

The local Vicar arrived, someone they didn't know but the Townsends and the Bertrands did, and Mary and Andrew Bertrand received him. He would perform the ceremony, but Joseph insisted on giving the eulogy. He was not far from ordination himself, and he had such a commanding presence about him when he wanted to that it was impossible to say no. He was tall, but not excessively so, and his hair was black and his skin darker in tone as it always had been. He did not have his mother's stern face except in rare moments when he put it on, and he could to great effectiveness. Now was not the time, of course, and he greeted all of his relatives with a gentle handshake or a bow.

The sound of children's laughter kept the mood up just enough for everyone to bear it. None of Lydia's children were out and most of them nowhere near being so, and Alison played well with the ones closer to her age. Georgie, Isabel, and the nurses erected a little pen in the nursery where they could place the babies that were old enough to sit up or crawl, along with a number of toys for them to put in their mouths or fight over.

That night, Elizabeth found her husband in the study, going over the correspondences on her behalf "No! Darcy, don't sit there."

He stood, and looked down at the ordinary armchair. "What is it?"

"My father's chair. That was my father's chair. He would sit in it for hours to escape – well, you remember Mama." She was almost too tired to cry, but she managed, and he helped her into the other seat and leaned on the desk, patiently waiting for her to recover. "Can you just tell me who they're from? I don't need to hear the words ."

He picked up the pile. "They were all very nice, so that you know. Here we are – a daughter of Mr. Collins, another daughter of Mr. Collins, my sister and Lord Kincaid. A lovely one from Richard and Anne – and a separate one from Henry Fitzwilliam." Back in Derbyshire, Darcy immediately sent out notices, saying to relay their regrets to Hertfordshire instead. "My brother and his wife. And Patrick, who also signed the letter."

"How nice."

"One from our own housekeeper, signed by a number of the staff. The Maddoxes, who are intending to be here but not sure if they'll make it on time, depending on the roads." Brian and Nadezhda Maddox would have been there, but as Dr Maddox had explained, they were away in Holland on business. One from Mrs. Lucy – is that Miss Lucy Gardiner?"

"Yes."

He put the letters aside. "Would you like something? Tea?"

She shook her head. The only thing she wanted was not something he could give her.

********************************************

The next morning, the Maddoxes arrived in full force.

"He was a good man," Dr. Maddox said to Jane and Elizabeth. "Sensible. He could make light of the worst situations."

"Thank you."

The afternoon sky was clear and blue, and the snow was shoveled in the cemetery and the ground opened at last. Hertfordshire was not nearly as cold as Derbyshire, and yet Elizabeth was tugging her black shawl tight around her anyway, as the five Bennet sisters looked upon the coffin of their father, as it was led away by wagon to the cemetery.

Joseph Bennet, all in black, stood at the head of the coffin. "'With the ancient wisdom; and in length of days understanding.' Book of Job Chapter 12, paragraph 12. A more appropriate line could not be found for Edmund Bennet, who passed from this earth into heaven after four and eighty years, and not a single person here who knew him would doubt that he was among the wisest of men. As one of his twenty-one grandchildren, one of my first memories was of him reading to me. At eight he was already teaching me Latin and Greek, and he loved to speak to me in Italian, so I had to learn that as well. He was as much a father to me as a grandfather.

"We also remember him a devoted husband, who never once removed his mourning band for Mrs. Bennet, and would speak of her often, as if to remind us how proud she was of all of their daughters when she was no longer present to say it.

"Where another man would have buckled under the pressure of having no son to inherit and pushed his daughters to marry as early as possible, Mr. Bennet's daughters were treasures to him, and he only gave them away after every consideration and reassurance that they would be happy with their choices. When they needed shelter, he took them in, and when he saw a chance for his own house to prosper without him, he offered it away so that his daughter could fill it with her own family. He saw no use for riches, and gave to whomever came asking, even to his own disadvantage. If it was a daughter or a son-in-law or a grandchild, or one of Mrs. Bennet's relatives, he never turned his back to them. They said that his death would be the death of them, and bring misfortune to the younger family members, so he lived a very long time, enough to see grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren – a feat of which few men can boast.

"Though the news weighs heavy on my heart, it was some small comfort to me that he died peacefully, and as he lived – reading, in the library at Pemberley. I cannot think of a more suitable ending for a life well-lived. Amen."

"Amen."

The Vicar began his prayers as they lowered the coffin. Joseph turned his head and wiped his eyes, and Geoffrey gave him a pat on the shoulder. "A very nice speech."

"I hope they won't all be like that," Joseph whispered back.

George stood beside them, letting his tears fall. George remembered Mr. Bennet; they lived at Longbourn between his father's death and his mother's remarriage.

Mr. Bingley picked up the shovel, and put some earth on the grave before handing it to Darcy. "That's it. We're the old men."

"I prefer distinguished," Darcy said, but there was no laughter in his voice as he took the tool and his turn. The five husbands of the five Bennet daughters all took their turns, and then the grandsons, and the friends, with Frederick filling in for his father, who insisted on at least holding the handle, until the grave was well-covered, and they turned away, to be comforted inside, where there might be some warmth.

"Mr. Bennet," the Vicar said, acknowledging Joseph again as he entered. "I could not have done half the job you did."

"You were not his grandson." Joseph tried to smile, his eyes red. "Thank you."

The Bennet sisters sat in a line, and were not required to rise to each person they received. Mr. Lucas, son of Sir William, offered his condolences as he walked down the row with his wife, followed by his sister Charlotte. The son and daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were there, and many older men and women in Meryton who had known Mr. Bennet, or had known the Bennet sisters as children, as he so rarely went to Meryton. Mary Bertrand and Kitty Townsend and their husbands had friends in the area, and they came en masse to pay their respects, and comfort their friends.

At the end of the room stood most of the grandchildren, waiting to see if they were needed, or snatching a bite to eat from the reception if they were not. One woman, about his mother's age approached George. "You must be George Wickham's son."

"Yes, I am."

"My name was Mary King. This is going to sound strange, but your father almost married me." She smiled. "You look just like him – very handsome."

"Thank you."

"Kitty's told me something of you over the years – you're to be a doctor or a barrister or something."

"Doctor, hopefully."

"Good for you. I'm sure both your parents are very proud. I know Lydia is."

He bowed. "Thank you."

It was long, and grueling, and the sisters took breaks, to grieve privately in the study or in another room, or even have a bite to eat, at someone's insistence, usually a son or a daughter.

"I didn't do him justice," Lydia moaned. "I always picked on him. He never let me do anything I wanted to do, I would say, and he really did give me money and let me do as I please, and to what ends?"

"Eight children and a happy marriage," Jane said.

"He loved having you home, before you remarried," Mary added. "He got to watch George and Isabel grow up a little, and play with Joseph. It was a very happy time for him. And before I married – " She started sobbing, and Kitty took her in and let her lie her head on her sister's shoulder. "Why did I have to marry? Why did I throw him from his own house?"

"You never said a word." Elizabeth's voice was soft. "You were living in London, and he didn't want an empty house, and then he wanted for you to raise your family in your home, with Dr. Bertrand as the head of the house. He did it for you and he never regretted it. Of that I'm sure."

"We should have been there! He was old – we all knew it. You wrote us that he was barely able to walk."

"But he wasn't sick," Elizabeth replied. "If he was sick I would have written. It was very sudden."

"I just knew, when I heard the doorbell." Jane discarded her handkerchief, useless at this point. "The bell woke both of us, and Charles went to answer it, but I already knew. I just felt this chill and I thought someone must be dead for a caller that hour of night, and then I knew for sure that it was Papa. Charles didn't even have to tell me. I saw him at dinner, and he looked so well - " She trailed off into her sobs, and no one stopped her.

"I should have been a better daughter," Lydia said.

"I should have known," Jane said.

"I should have visited him," Kitty said.

"And if I say one more 'I should' I will drive myself to Bedlam," Elizabeth said. "He lived a wonderful life and we did the best we could, and he was very, if not exceedingly, happy with the results. Let us be happy for him, that he had such a good life and stayed with us for so long. Can we not have a smile about that?"

They could not bring themselves to smile, but they could bring themselves to agree.

... Next Chapter - The Question of Entail