Chapter Fourteen: Longbourn Again
The view of Longbourn unfurled in the distance before Elizabeth's eyes as the carriage neared home. A feeling of relief washed over her, and everything seemed right again, as if she had slipped seamlessly back into her role as Elizabeth Bennet. She turned to Jane and smiled sheepishly.
"We are home again, Ellie." Jane smiled back.
Elizabeth nodded, silently. Something about being called 'Ellie' gnawed at her. It felt like a small crack in the identity she had so carefully constructed. She was Elizabeth Bennet, but now she had allowed a piece of Ellie to creep back into her life. And, disturbingly, it did not feel entirely wrong. She remembered the passion she felt when she spoke her rather unconventional views on Medusa last night. Somehow, that did not feel wrong either.
As the carriage turned into the driveway, Elizabeth saw Mr. Bennet waiting for them by the main entrance, and her heart swelled with different emotions. He had been eagerly waiting for them to return. The carriage came to a gentle stop, and their father approached them to assist them.
He offered his arm to her, and Elizabeth took it happily.
"My dear girls. It is good to have you home again." Mr. Bennet greeted them; his face overwhelmed with relief. He continued, "My dear Jane, it warms my heart to see you healthy again. And you, Lizzy, you look well."
"I am well Papa. Ellie … Elizabeth took good care of me." Elizabeth was happy that Jane seemed intent on calling her Ellie only when they were alone. It made the name even more special.
As they made their way inside, Elizabeth felt the familiar warmth of Longbourn overwhelm her. Mrs. Bennet appeared at the doorway and embraced them both.
"Oh, my dear Jane. Let us go inside, you must tell me everything. Pray, tell me, did Mr. Bingley stay by your side? Ah yes, I am glad that you are healthy now. But Jane, Mr. Bingley! Tell me what did he do? Was he worried? Oh, I cannot wait to get inside. Oh, Lizzy, my girl, I am so glad that you are back. I was so worried my dear." Mrs. Bennet was so excited, that she barely managed to maintain coherence.
Elizabeth chuckled merrily, and made her way inside.
Later that afternoon, Elizabeth made her way to her father's library, intent on resuming her studies. She knocked but no one answered. After some time, she turned the knob and entered. The scent of books and the quiet hum of the room overwhelmed her. The room mirrored Mr. Bennet perfectly. It reflected elegant simplicity and it was stacked with numerous books, even if it did not seem as organized and opulent as the Netherfield library. There was no doubt that her father considered this room as his sanctuary; a place where he could hide from the world and immerse himself in reading.
She wondered whether she should await his arrival. She would ask him where he kept Shakespeare's works. She still needed to finish the fifth and final Act of her play. After getting accustomed to the language used, she genuinely started to enjoy it. It discussed themes of identity, the influence of supernatural forces, the contrast between appearance and reality, loyalty and guilt. She did not seem to notice that these themes seem to be present in her current life.
Unable to contain her excitement, she wandered through the rows of shelves, her fingers trailing over the spines of beautiful editions. But as she turned her gaze, a volume captured her attention. She reached for it: Diderot's Jacques le fataliste et son maître. She examined the carefully embroidered cover and admired it. When she was still Ellie, and before the river incident occurred, she was reading this very book, but she never got to finish it.
The book felt heavy in her hands as she opened it. She truly admired this book as it embodies the French Enlightenment era's intellectual curiosity and grapples with themes of determinism, as well as it addresses the concept of carving one's destiny, all while blending philosophical inquiry with a satirical narrative. She instinctively went to a page that stopped her before and read. 'Est-ce nous qui menons le destin, ou bien est-ce le destin qui nous mène ?' (Do we shape destiny, or does destiny shape us?)
Her eyes scanned more pages, reading more lines. She could feel the two selves inside her battling for dominance – Ellie's longing for her true passion: the sophistication and charm of French literature, and her newly crafter identity; the Elizabeth Bennet who found comfort in English classics.
She did not seem to notice that Mr. Bennet entered the room. She only noticed him when she heard him say "Ah, there you are Lizzy. It is so nice to see you in my library again." His eyes darted to the book in her hand and widened "Not quite your usual taste, is it?"
"How did you acquire this book Papa? It was published …" She paused, mentally calculating the dates, then she resumed, "It was published rather recently."
She felt Mr. Bennet's gaze lingering on her, silently piercing her, as though it carried different questions. She wondered whether Elizabeth read French books, or even spoke French at all. She knew that it was customary for English gentlemen to teach their children French, and that is why she deemed it safe to ask.
Despite the quiet intensity in his gaze, Mr. Bennet replied calmly. "A friend from France gifted it to me. You see my dear, you might not remember the old tales of your poor old father, but back in the day, I travelled to the continent, and I visited France and Italy. I made some friends there, and I even maintained correspondences with some of them. Recently, one of my old acquaintances called on Longbourn when he visited England. He brought with him some French works as a gift. You can find them in that shelf."
Elizabeth was reassured. If something were amiss, Mr. Bennet would not have replied in a calm manner. She smiled and said, "How nice of him. And how nice is it to have loyal friends from other foreign countries." It felt weird calling France as 'the foreign country', especially that she was originally French. Well, she herself did not know that at first. She was born and raised in a New York orphanage. Upon inquiring about her origins, they informed her that all they knew was that her mother was French. Her mother who abandoned her. After knowing this, she studied French extensively, and after graduating high school, she applied for a scholarship in France to study French literature, in a feeble attempt to reconnect with her origins. While she found delight in her studies, she always felt lacking in other regards. But al least she ended up with her PhD in French modern literature. No matter what the job market would say, she would always consider that as an achievement.
Immersed in her thoughts, she did not notice that Mr. Bennet was studying her intently. Reminiscing about her old life reminded her of all the loneliness she felt during it, and how she decided to become Elizabeth Bennet, in every sense of the word. Sighing, she placed the book back in its place and turned towards Mr. Bennet. "Say, Papa, where do you keep the finest works of English authors? I find myself eager to read one of Shakespeare's plays this evening."
Mr. Bennet looked at her over the top of his spectacles, his expression momentarily thoughtful before a smile spread over his face. "I see that nothing much changed after all, Lizzy. Come, my dear, I will show you."
The Bennet household was quiet that evening, but the air seemed thick with unspoken tension. Mr. Collins had arrived, much to Mrs. Bennet's dismay. His presence at Longbourn seemed to irritate her, although she behaved amiably towards him, and Elizabeth did not know why.
She was told then by Lydia about their connection to Mr. Collins, and Longbourn's fate. Understanding the full implications of the entail, she now understood that estate would pass eventually to their cousin, upon Mr. Bennet's demise. She could not help but loathe the presence of the man, as she herself came to love every corner of this place.
To make matters worse for her, the man kept blabbering non-stop about his connection to one Lady Catherine. She remained unimpressed by this. Why should she care about him or her? He kept on droning about his connection, endlessly extolling the virtues of his esteemed benefactor. She wanted to silence him into oblivion. But one glance at her mother stopped her.
She saw her beaming at Mr. Collins with thinly veiled desperation, and her heart ached for her. It was obvious that Mrs. Bennet despised the idea of the entail and probably loathed Mr. Collins' very existence, but she had no other option but flatter him, lest she and her daughters end up in the streets someday. Maybe if she kept flattering him now, he will take mercy upon them, when the dreadful day comes.
Her heart softened. She now understood her mother's obsession with Mr. Bingley, who probably seemed to her as a lifeline in the darkness. How much of Mrs. Bennet' frantic energy was driven by fear? How much of her exasperation to have her daughters securely married was overwhelmed by the knowledge that her daughter's futures would be tied to this man's mercy if they remained unmarried by the time he comes to claim their home? The least she can do for now was to tolerate this man's presence.
Later that night, Elizabeth sought refuge in the library once again. She found her father there, just as she expected. Mr. Bennet looked from his book. His piercing blue gaze had lingered on hers, before his expression softened. "Lizzy, my dear, what brings you here?" He said as he gestured to a seat.
Elizabeth crossed the room and took the seat opposite him. "Papa, I thought that I could retrieve a new book to read before going to bed."
"Done with Macbeth already, my dear? I hope you did not find it boring?"
"Not at all Papa. I enjoyed reading it. Well, I started reading it when I was at Netherfield. I only had the fifth and final Act to finish today."
Mr. Bennet gave a soft sigh, setting his book aside. "Do you want to continue with more of his plays, or would you like to peruse his sonnets? Although, I dare say that you have always enjoyed his sonnets more."
"Well then, maybe I should find my true passion again." She actually wanted to read another play, but her desire to be Elizabeth Bennet was stronger than her literary inclinations.
He smiled and went to fetch her a book before presenting it to her. She glanced at the title, 'The Poems of William Shakespeare' by John Bell. Just as she was about to take her leave, Mr. Bennet stopped her.
"Lizzy, are you enjoying being with us at Longbourn?"
She was momentarily astonished. Had she shown any type of displeasure? She had been nothing but grateful for living with this family. "I am. I have found great joy in Longbourn, a joy that I did not know was possible for me."
Once again, she was met by his contemplative piercing gaze. But he merely nodded, his gaze was still contemplative, but he was smiling. "I am glad, Lizzy. This is your home, and you should be at ease here."
She felt a lump form in her throat as she remembered Mr. Collins and how this estate would pass to him. She felt her tears glistening in her eyes. "I am grateful for everything you have done for me. I am grateful to be a member of this family. It has only been few weeks since I met … since I found myself with you, but I truly came to appreciate this family and this estate. My heart aches to think that Mr. Collins will inherit it. It is so cruel and unfair. Although, I understand now … I saw Mama in a new light today. I dare say that I understand some of her past behavior. She truly is an exceptional woman. I am grateful that she loves us, and wants the best for us. I am particularly grateful that she does not perceive us as … as a burden." Hot tears spilled over from her eyes, tracing burning paths down her cheeks.
She was not a burden to her mother. More tears poured in, brimming with the weight of emotions long held back, as if each drop carried with it the grief, the frustration, and the silent heartache concealed in her different realities.
Mr. Bennet listened intently to her lengthy speech, then to her quiet sobs. He then rose from his seat and approached her to take her into his arms, murmuring comforting words to her ears.
"You do not have to worry about any of that my dear. You are my Lizzy. You are still my Lizzy. I will always make sure that you are happy."