Manner of Devotion

by DJ Clawson

"Everybody likes to go their own way--to choose their own time and manner of devotion."

Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

Author's Note: My policy: Update twice a week or when a chapter reaches 5-10 comments, whichever comes first. Please note that I don't update on Friday nights or Saturday because of religious observance.

Warning: Accents ahead.

Chapter 34 - Mourners

Sadly, Mrs. MacKenna was not the only one to wear jet that summer.

The Darcys had not been home a week (and were still deciding exactly what details of their trip they would explain to their larger family, and when) when Darcy entered his own study to read the day's mail to find Elizabeth weeping. She held up the letter, which to his surprise, was in Mr. Bennet's handwriting. "Mama," was all she said as she fell into her husband's arms. Little more than a year after her first stroke, Mrs. Bennet suffered another. This one felled her.

The Kincaids, fortunately, had already left and the Darcys could leave immediately without having to see them off. Darcy merely inquired of his brother if he wished to come and pay his respects to Mrs. Bennet, whom he had not known well, and Grégoire said he would. Darcy barely had time to order all the arrangements made for Elizabeth's wardrobe when they returned to Pemberley, whenever that would be.

He did have time to confer with Bingley, whose house was also in an uproar, when the sisters met to confer in their sadness. The letters were the same and very brief – Mrs. Bennet had been struck down when trying to get up from a chair and died only a few hours later. Even Dr. Bertrand's immediate intervention could do nothing. She would be buried as quickly as her daughters could come home.

"Have you heard anything else?" Darcy asked. He had been caught up in estate matters since their return from Ireland.

"No," Bingley said. "The letter just arrived this morning. I did write Louisa and Caroline, though I imagine at least Caroline knows somehow."

"They're at their country house?" Darcy said, referring to the Hursts. The Maddoxes still lived in Town full time.

"Yes. I doubt they could arrive in time even if they were initially told."

"The Kincaids will just send their condolences. They've been away from home a long time and it's a very long journey for them."

"And Grégoire?"

"He wishes to pay his respects."

Bingley nodded. "So when is it going to be an appropriate time to ask about Ireland?"

"He met a girl."

"I thought you would say that with a bit more excitement."

"He's waiting for the end of her mourning period," Darcy said. "Whether he wants anything else public is his business."

Grégoire had largely returned to his good humor, but kept to himself, and his thoughts seemed elsewhere – and with good reason. Only Elizabeth knew the whole story.

The next morning many carriages set out from Derbyshire for Longbourn. The weather was good (if a little hot) so there were no delays, and they were the last ones to arrive, completing the set of former Bennet daughters. There would be no Mrs. Bennet again until Joseph married. He looked the most sullen of all the grandchildren, having grown up with his grandmother as a constant presence. Mary and Kitty had already done their fair share of mourning before their other sisters even arrived.

As for Mr. Bennet, he had retired to his study and said he would receive their condolences after the burial. That he was beside himself was obvious enough, and they had no choice but to respect his wishes.

The Collinses arrived just in time, with their four daughters in tow. If Mr. Collins had been disappointed about hearing which Bennet had expired, he showed none of his emotions in that regard. There was only a moment of awkwardness when he assumed he would be giving the sermon, only to discover that Mr. Bennet had already asked the local Rector and would hear nothing of Mr. Collins and had not the patience to tell him otherwise.

The next morning, a very somber, very large crowd gathered to pay their respects to the husband and five daughters of Mrs. Bennet. In age order and all in black gowns sat Mrs. Jane Bingley, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, Mrs. Mary Bertrand, Mrs. Catherine Townsend, and Mrs. Lydia Bradley. Mrs. Bennet's life work was complete. Her five daughters were all married (happily, even!) and all provided for by their husbands (to varying degrees, all acceptably).

"She outpaced me in everything we did together," Mr. Bennet said after the Rector had finished his sermon. "She was always the more active one." He paused before continuing. "By circumstance, the happiest years of my life were our first year of marriage and our last year of marriage."

He seemed to have more to say, but he could no longer stay standing, even with the help of a cane, and his many sons-in-law helped him back to his seat, where he collapsed in tears. It was not unacceptable for a man to cry after losing his wife of many years, but of Mr. Bennet, it was unexpected. Not that they expected him to be joyous, they expected more somber than grief-stricken. Mercifully, the remaining service was short and the wailing of various Bennet sisters ( Lydia and Kitty in particular) was not terrible as all five sons filled the grave.

The reception was almost as brutal as the funeral. Mr. Bennet, never a fan of public gatherings, obviously did not appreciate turning his house into one, as nearly all of Hertfordshire came to pay tribute to Mrs. Bennet. All of Hertfordshire knew her and/or her many daughters, and of course her newly-wealthy husband who had come into a great fortune only a few years before.

"I just had a thought," Bingley said to Darcy as they stood in the back, while their wives received condolences. "Of all of us, Dr. Bertrand is the only one with both living parents, and he's much younger than us. When Mr. Bennet dies, we'll be ... the old people."

"I prefer 'distinguished,'" Darcy replied. "You can call yourself old."

At last the reception came to a close, and those who were not mourners or married to them said their good-byes. Everyone who was not necessary made themselves scarce – except Mr. Collins, who barged in on Mr. Bennet's study when he was sitting with his favorite daughter, pouring himself a glass of wine, his first real peace of the day. "Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Darcy. I hope I am not interrupting anything."

"No," Mr. Bennet said. "However, it is very late and I am very tired, Mr. Collins. If you would be brief."

"I thought perhaps now, while I am in Hertfordshire, we might discuss matters of the estate – "

If Mr. Bennet did not have the will to intervene, Elizabeth would, "Mr. Collins, this is not the best time – "

"Indeed," her father said, capping the bottle of wine. "Come back when the correct Bennet has died, Mr. Collins, and discuss matters of the estate." The mean undertone was lightened a little as he added, "And you cannot inherit Longbourn just yet, sir. You are one daughter short."

Taking a glare from Elizabeth as his cue (she was, after all, his patroness), Mr. Collins most politely excused himself, if not particularly expeditiously, but Mr. Bennet did not seem to have the will to interrupt him, and just let Mr. Collins rattle on about how sorry he was to lose such a wonderful and faithful wife until the poor man shut up and actually did take his leave.

"With all of my daughters settled and Mrs. Bennet now ... settled, he has no concerns except waiting for me to die, which he has been doing for years," he said, and then immediately changed topics. "She did talk of having a place in Meryton. Or Brighton, perhaps. Or she would stay with Kitty – she has always admired Netherfield. It's nothing to Pemberley, but it has its charms."

"That was a last resort to being tossed from her own home, Papa," she said. "Now she does not have to suffer that."

He just nodded, but it was a grateful nod. They sat in silence for some time before he spoke again. "Did you see Lady Lucas?"

"Yes, I received her."

"I mean, did you see her with me?" He shook his head. "She could have been a bit more subtle."

"You are an eligible bachelor, Papa. She was mercenary before her husband died, and now I fear it is worse."

"On the day of the burial! She's not cold in her grave ..." he trailed off, leaning on his hand. Elizabeth rose and hugged her dear father, who was crying again. "There will never be another Mrs. Bennet. For all of the years I complained of my marriage, I could never imagine having any other."

"Papa," she said.

"This is my happy ending," he said. "My daughters are all married to good men and have children of their own I am most proud of. My wife will not have to worry about a place to live after I die. Poor Mr. Collins will have to contend with the likes of Longbourn and at least four daughters to raise under its roof – the perfect irony. There is no better way this could have happened. And yet, why am I so miserable?"

"You are sad. We are all sad because we had not the wits to know a truly great thing until it was gone," she said.

"Perhaps we cannot be faulted for that," he said, "for so many years, she so cleverly disguised it." His sad laughter seemed to settle his wits a bit – and hers. "There will never be another Mrs. Bennet."

"That I think we can safely say is true," she said with a somber smile.

When all the guests departed and it was just the core family – still a large crowd – they had one final matter to attend do. Not so grave, but in many ways, still a blow to them all. Mr. Bennet announced he did not wish to live in Longbourn without his wife rattling way, and since the Bertrands had more business in Town than in the country, they decided to buy their own townhouse, and would lodge with the Bingleys while they searched for one. Longbourn would be closed again until Mr. Bennet wished it reopened or his death. He said he would travel to see all his daughters, but they knew he detested traveling and would likely just stay at Pemberley once he reached it. The former Bennet sisters reluctantly agreed – while they could not stand the idea of Longbourn closed up, they could not imagine it open for nothing but memories.

All the arrangements were made, and with final good-byes for his southern-living daughters, Mr. Bennet departed with the Darcys for Derbyshire. The Bingleys briefly delayed their departure to help the Bertrands choose a suitable place, to which Darcy said to him in private, "I hope Bingley has learned to make that kind of decision on his own."

"He is just giving advice."

"Well, it cannot all be praise."

Mr. Bennet insisted on riding in the carriage with Grégoire, whom he had not had a chance to grill about his adventures in Ireland, and only heard in gossip that he had met someone there.

"Have caution, Papa," Elizabeth said. "The end result was reached only through the most painful circumstances."

"Is there any other path to true love?" he replied, smiling for the first time since his wife's death.

"Mugen-san! Mugen-san!"

But Mugen-san was not outside, where he usually was when Georgiana Bingley made one of her visits, no matter how unannounced. He always just knew. Sometimes he sat on the porch of the Japanese wing of the Maddox house and smoked a long pipe, but today, there was no pipe and his geta shoes were just outside the door, meaning he was inside.

"Mugen-san? What are you doing?"

He had only a small bag that he was sorting through. Mugen always packed light. He had no house to put things in; he was a nomad. "Leaving."

"But you weren't supposed to leave until September!"

He did not look up from what he was doing. "I am leaving tomorrow instead. So sorry, little ookami. I have business at home, and this is not my home. I will always be a stranger here."

She grabbed his hand and tugged him away from his packing, which only happened because he allowed it to. "For a thief and a criminal you're no good at lying."

He smiled. "I – how do you say – overstayed my welcome?"

"Did you gamble all of Uncle Brian's money away?"

"No."

"Did you get in too many fights?"

"No."

"Did you kill someone important?"

"No."

"Did you sleep with every prostitute and now you're bored?"

Mugen laughed. She was now too big for him to casually pick her up, like the old days. Instead he just walked around her and slumped onto his bed mat. "See, this is why I go. I am a bad influence on you."

Georgie could not comprehend him, and there was no language barrier between them. "Why are you leaving?"

He picked up his pipe from the nightstand – more of a low stool – and began to stuff it. "I just told you. Weren't you listening?" He took the match box she handed him and struck a light. "I told him everything."

"Who? Papa?"

"Not so bad. Brian-chan."

"Why? Why would you do that?" Her surprise and confusion quickly turned to horror.

He had no hesitation in his answer. "Because I was drunk, Jorgi-chan. Very, very drunk. Like you say, in the drink."

"In the cups."

He shrugged. "Whatever. I was drunk and he asked. Maybe he is not as dumb as he looks."

"And he's making you leave?"

He inhaled, and exhaled a long stream of smoke, not in her direction as he rose and stepped out on the porch as she followed. "He is very mad. I do not like being around angry armed samurai whom I am not allowed to kill. It is a tricky situation."

"But Mugen-san – "

"He wants the wall. I do not want to be the wall," he said.

"Will you come back? When he's not as angry?"

He looked her in the eyes. That was all it took.

Georgie abandoned all pretenses and hugged him, grabbing hold of his waist and burying herself in his silk jacket. "You can't leave me! I won't let you!"

"You could try to make me stay," he said, "but you're not that good. Yet."

"That's why you can't go."

He tried to smooth it over as he forced her to release him. "There are things I cannot teach you, Jorgi-chan. There are things I do not know, or do not know how to express. You have to find your own way." He chuckled. "Besides, if I stay, we might have to get married –"

"Mugen! Gross!"

"– and then everyone is upset at me," he said. "There is a trunk in the corner of my room. After I go, it is yours."

"Can I see it now?"

"No. When you need it," he replied.

"I'm coming to Japan," she said, trying not to cry in front of him. There were few people Georgie truly did not want to ever cry in front of, and Mugen was one of them. But if it made him feel bad, it was worth it. "I am going to come find you."

"I know," Mugen said. "I'll be waiting."

Next Chapter ... English Gentlefolk