P&P FF

"Captain's Concession: A Bennet's Destiny"

Previously:

"But at what cost?" Thomas looked at the letter again, "The ship has to be Captain Pedersen and his offer. It will keep Longbourn afloat. But at what cost?" Looking up the sky he asked softly. "We are on not Welch. Did you have to give my daughter the gift of sight?" Mr. Bennet then acknowledged, maybe, it was a good thing. "I guess at least I can mentally prepare for what myself for I am certain is coming."

Netherfield

CH. 2

The parlor in Netherfield was quiet as Jane sat on a sofa, working on a piece of embroidery. Her abdomen was not all that large, but it was slightly pronounced; it allowed one to know that a baby would not be long in occupying Jane's time. The sun burst into the room without invitation, proclaiming a hello as it did so—at least, Kitty had insisted it do so as she descended the stairs, half-awake.

"That is the consequence of staying up half the night," chuckled Jane, only to be informed that it was not her fault. "Blame Mary," Kitty glanced at the third Bennet sister, curled up on a chair in the shadows of the room. "She was the one pacing the floors."

"What is troubling you, Mary? You both are returning home today." Jane set down her project and turned to face her younger sister. "I do not know," Mary shrugged her shoulders and sighed. "I simply could not sleep. And whenever I did, I kept having strange dreams."

Kitty, who was in no mood to hear about anyone's odd dreams, inquired whether Jane thought the cook would mind if she went and fetched something from the kitchen, considering she had overslept. "I did not intend to, honestly."

"I am certain Mrs. Johnston has something you can eat," Jane smiled and waited for her little sister to depart before turning back to Mary. Her second sister was still gazing out through the French doors and into the garden. "You have been quiet the entire week of your visit. Is something amiss at home that our parents have not disclosed to me?"

"Father and mother are well, as far as I am aware, or at least they were when we departed," Mary finally turned away from the window, stood up, and walked over to a different chair before sitting down. "It is just that ever since Lydia's stunt with Wickham, there has been a sense of change in the air, and I am not referring to the usual changes, or the ones our parents have been implementing in their own behaviors or between themselves."

"Life never remains static, dear sister," Jane spoke softly. "I married, as did Elizabeth. And now, it is your turn to change. Observe yourself; even your physical features have drastically altered in the past year."'

"I have not altered that much. Yes, physically I have changed, but I am still the Mary I have always been."

"Do not delude yourself; you have blossomed into beauty just as much as I. The people of Netherfield and Meryton are blind if they cannot perceive it. Go…" She gestured to a mirror. "Take a thorough look at yourself."

Mary slowly stood and approached the mirror, followed by Jane. "Your hair has darkened more than the rest of ours, it is true; however, that does not render it undesirable," Mrs. Bingley whispered, knowing her sister was uncertain about what to think of its hue. Taking a brush from a set of drawers with hairpieces, Jane released her sister's simple bun and began brushing it, making a point.

Jane took her time and fashioned a hairstyle with ringlets atop and at the back of her sister's head, with two framing her face. "Now, attempt to assert that you are the same Mary as a year ago."

"Sometimes, I believe I do not even recognize myself any longer," Mary sighed having already seen the truth but was not going to argue with Jane. "I adore this manner of styling my hair, only…" She clenched her teeth. "Then men like Mr. Hurst repulse me when they gaze at me."

"Mr. Hurst displeases everyone. It is fortunate that he and Mrs. Hurst returned to London." Jane found it ironic that Miss Caroline accompanied them, only to become engaged to a 'mere' bookkeeper. Nevertheless, her sister was her primary concern. "Style your hair as you wish; nonetheless, do not conceal your true self. Do not let anyone take that from you. A true man will respect, ad protect you; if you let him." Jane then inquired about the dreams that had been troubling Mary.

"I must admit, Kitty has spoken the truth; my nights have indeed been restless, filled with dreams that persist like the morning mist. Each is enveloped in a dense fog, so thick it obscures all but the sight of our dear parents. They are present, I am certain of it, I behold them… yet they appear so distant, their forms blur, and their voices turn into faint echoes."

Jane patted her shoulder. "Perhaps you are merely maturing and apprehensive about leaving home."

"There is more," Mary continued. "Within this fog, Kitty and I remain close, yet it is strange, for at times, she slips from my grasp, and I find myself alone. It seems as if the dream mocks me, for then it is I who disappear. I observe, powerless, as Kitty seeks me in desperation. It becomes a merciless game of hide and seek, with the mist as our foe."

"Maturing can be daunting; Kitty herself will not remain youthful indefinitely."

"But Jane…" Mary endeavored to remain calm. "Amid this bewilderment, a man emerges—a formidable figure unlike any I have encountered here, or even in London. His broad shoulders slice through the fog as the prow of a ship cleaves the waves. His facial hair is a copper thicket, and his hands are vast, as though shaped to fend off the world. Yet his presence brings a mixture of emotions. I cannot discern if he is a silent protector or perhaps a harbinger of some kind."

Jane was at a loss for words. It was evident that her sister was disturbed by the dreams, which were more than mere nocturnal visions. Thus, Mrs. Bingley remained silent and allowed Miss Mary to proceed.

"And our parents? If it were merely a matter of growing up, I am neither their first nor their last child. So, why do I perceive them in such distress? Their silhouettes twist in the fog, striving for something just out of reach. I cannot identify what it is. Each time I awaken abruptly, expecting the images to persist. They dissipate, yet the emotions remain, a residue of fear and yearning. Could they be a portent of some kind? Or am I, as you suggest, truly that fearful of departing home? I had not considered myself so apprehensive about maturing."

"I am uncertain of what counsel to offer you, Mary." Jane guided her sister to the sofa, and they seated themselves just as Kitty re-entered the room.

"What is amiss?" Upon receiving a short explanation, tailored to what Mary believed her younger sister could comprehend, Miss Bennet responded, "You ought to have confided in me; perhaps discussing it earlier would have aided your slumber."

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Mary placed her hands on both her sisters. "I am convinced something significant has already transpired at Longbourn in our absence, something momentous; and I harbor apprehension about discovering what it is. I fear our family will never be the same."

Jane longed to dispute Mary's assertions, to convince her she was mistaken. Yet, like her father, her sister knew within the family, an unspoken acknowledgment existed that Mary possessed a unique perception, an ability to 'see' beyond what others could. If Mary was sensing an impending shift; if her dreams were harbingers, then indeed, a transformation loomed on the horizon. And it seemed, with a sense of foreboding, that this change had -at the very least- their parents highly agitated and could possibly cause some sort of loss on the girls' part.