Apologies that I haven't been updating much lately, work has been crazy. Next weekend I'm hoping to knock out the rest of the chapters. There isn't much left and I'm dying to get it to you.

Chapter 70

Mr. Bennet, somewhat scared straight, due to recent events, was in no way wholly reformed. He returned home, meaning to assess the situation in Meryton (mainly learning if gossip had spread), and by no means meant to incite his wife with rumors of potential nuptials for his other two daughters. Though he knew it would be a balm to her nerves and a relief to her spirit, he also knew it would immediately put his house in an uproar, of which he was at present of no constitution to deal with.

He determined to put the matter off until his daughters returned home, glad tidings confirmed, and could impress upon their mother the importance of ensuring Lydia's story never spread. He would do his part eventually, telling her a tale that their future sons insisted that if the news ever spread they would be forced to cut the Bennet's, with no future support forthcoming upon his death. That, unfortunately, was the only likely means of silencing her. It was far better to have the happy news of their engagements for his wife spread when his daughters returned, her having another occupation and the threat of destitution would have more of an effect on her, he determined, than any more legitimate efforts on his part to reason with her or curb her nature.

Therefore, he went straight to his wife's rooms, where she had kept, unwittingly lending dignity to the matter and further lending credence to the gossip that the household was ill. There he found exactly that which he had expected: his wife laying victim to her nerves, suffering from flutters of the heart and palpitations of her spirit. He knew not what she endured, she said as he crossed the threshold. Three whole days and no news of her poor Lydia, surely Lizzy was to blame, though she knew not how, though it was evident that her stubborn nature was surely spreading to the daughters with whom they had justifiability had higher hopes.

He ignored her nonsense and inquired after her well-being, knowing it likely that he would need to summon Mary before he heard enough sense to puzzle together what was being spread about town. Mrs. Bennet, believing herself encouraged to share her vexations, finally shared the intelligence that Mr. Bennet had been waiting on: she had not left her rooms; her flutterings were too much and she could not overcome them; if not for her husband's cruelty towards her, she would have at least had her sister for company. He wished his wife well and returned to his study, summoning his housekeeper.

Mrs. Hill, sensible of both the threat to the deserving young ladies of the household and the level to which they could rely on their parents, had gone about the seeing to the gossip as she saw best: ensuring something was being talked of, other than the truth. No one in the community would believe that Mrs. Bennet was not heard from for three days without good cause; it was best not to leave them to their own speculations. When Mr. Bennet inquired after news of the household and his wife's "condition" she responded:

"I'm sorry to say, sir, your wife has been so unwell she has kept to her rooms. I, of course, sent for more of Mr. Jones' draughts and a fever powder. I thought it wise to send visitors away, as I assured Mrs. Phillips, who insisted upon being available for her sister's comfort even if she "should die from it," that it was very likely Mrs. Bennet suffered from something which would spread, as it was unlikely anything else would keep her to her rooms.

Never had I seen Mrs. Bennet, in all my years, I said, kept to her rooms for two days by nerves, it must be serious indeed. Well, sir, she went away, swearing she would call upon the good Christian people of Meryton to pray for her dearest sister. I explained that she should also tell them to give thanks, as the family was lucky to have three daughters in London, you having been kind enough to take Miss Lydia yourself, sir. We have much to be thankful for, knowing so many would be spared, even if the fever in the house worsened. I hope that you are not upset sir, that I presumed to order the droughts without instruction."

He assured her otherwise and thanked her for seeing to matters while he was away. He took out his writing tools and began to relay the news to his relations in London. For that, at least, he could breathe a sigh of relief. Though his task was a necessary one, in order that all could be settled in London, he knew he was wrong for the relief he felt to be departing and leaving the difficult business of marriage contracts and arranged marriages to his brother. He reflected on how easy it was to wish for changes in one's character more than one wished to trouble themselves to institute it before he settled into his book.