Chapter 33 - A Most Beloved Father
Elizabeth did not leave his side that fateful night. His breathing was heavy and laboured, each breath a struggle that seemed to cost him dearly. She drew what comfort she could from knowing he still lived, though there was very little of him left now - his skin ghostly white against the pillow, dark rings shadowing his sunken eyes.
She must have slipped into a fitful sleep in those dark hours before dawn. When she woke, the first thing she noticed was the silence - not the peaceful quiet of a sleeping household, but something deeper, more final. The fire had burned out hours ago, leaving the room cold and still. Jane was curled up in a chair nearby, her face peaceful in sleep, while Doctor Russell dozed in his seat by the hearth.
Elizabeth's eyes moved slowly around the room, delaying the moment she would have to look at her father. Through the window, she could see the garden lying quiet and empty, the first pale light of dawn beginning to touch the church roof. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, the sound echoing mournfully across the grounds. The day promised to be beautiful, though no one at Longbourn would notice its glory.
Her father's silence filled the room. Strange, how the absence of sound could be so heavy, so complete. Elizabeth felt an unexpected peace settle over her - not happiness, certainly, but a kind of acceptance. The frantic preparations for yesterday's wedding, the dress she still wore, all of it seemed utterly meaningless now, swept away by this deeper, more fundamental loss.
Her fingers still entwined with her father's, she became aware of how cold and stiff his hand had grown. Drawing a deep breath, she steeled herself for what she knew she must do. Another breath, and then slowly, so slowly, she raised her eyes to his face. The face she had loved all her life, the face that had smiled at her wit, frowned at her impertinence, brightened at her presence in his book-room.
His face held more peace than she had expected to find there. The lines of pain that had marked his features these past weeks had smoothed away, leaving him looking as if he had simply drifted into a gentle sleep. His eyes were closed, his weathered face serene at last. Elizabeth smiled through her tears, surprising herself with the gesture.
She had dreaded this moment above all others, had imagined it would break her completely. Yet now that it was here, she felt something unexpected - not relief at his death, never that, but relief that his suffering had ended. He was beyond pain now, beyond worry, beyond the cares that had weighed so heavily upon him. Free at last. Some small part of her, the part still trapped in her wedding dress with all its implications, almost envied him that freedom.
A gentle pressure on her free hand made her aware she was no longer alone. Someone had settled beside her on the bed, offering silent support. She couldn't look away from her father's face just yet - this last chance to memorize his features, knowing she would never again see his eyes crinkle with amusement at her wit, never feel his protective embrace after a quarrel with her mother, never hear his voice calling her his Lizzy.
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks now, and she made no effort to check them. She could almost hear his gentle mockery: "Acting more like Jane or Kitty than my Lizzy," he would have said, insisting he wasn't worth such tears. But he was wrong about that. He had been everything a father should be, and more.
When she finally turned to see who sat beside her, she expected to find Jane. Instead, she found Mr Darcy's steady presence. He hadn't spoken, hadn't tried to offer empty comfort - he had simply been there, his hand warm around hers. The depth of feeling in his eyes when they met hers made her breath catch. All the emotions she had been trying so desperately to suppress these past weeks threatened to overwhelm her. But this wasn't the moment for such revelations. There would be time later. Now, there was only her father, and her grief.
The grief she had been holding at bay finally broke through. A sob tore from her throat, and then another, until she was weeping uncontrollably. She felt Darcy's arms wrap around her, drawing her against his chest, his voice murmuring gentle words she couldn't quite make out. In that moment, she didn't care who might see them, what anyone might think. Her beloved father was gone, and nothing in this world could bring him back.
She wept into Darcy's shirt until she had no tears left, his steady heartbeat beneath her ear anchoring her to the present. It might have been minutes or hours later when she became aware that he was trying to get her attention, his voice gentle but insistent.
"Elizabeth." Her name on his lips was barely more than a whisper. "Your mother and sisters - they must be told."
He was right, of course - he seemed to be the only one thinking clearly. Elizabeth brushed the tears from her face with trembling fingers, her gaze moving to where Jane slept peacefully, unaware that their world had changed forever. Doctor Russell remained equally oblivious in his chair.
"It doesn't seem right to wake her," Elizabeth whispered, reluctant to shatter her sister's last moments of innocence. "To make her face this."
"It has to be done, and soon."
"I know." Her voice was barely audible.
They sat in shared silence, both watching Mr Bennet's still face. After several moments, Elizabeth whispered, "He looks so peaceful."
"He does."
"At least he isn't in pain any more."
"He was a great man," Darcy said softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her hand. "He will always be with you. He loved you so deeply - any man could see that."
She managed a wan smile, though it held no joy. "I'm glad that you're here."
When she tried to stand, her legs betrayed her - one had gone completely numb from sitting so long. Darcy caught her elbow, steadying her, though he seemed reluctant to let go. She knew why; once the rest of the family knew, these moments of intimacy would be impossible. As she regained her balance, she found herself close enough to notice a dark bruise beneath his left eye. She was certain it hadn't been there at their last encounter, though admittedly, that felt like a lifetime ago.
"Would you mind waking Doctor Russell?" she asked softly, her eyes still lingering on the bruise beneath his eye. There would be time later to ask about that - about everything.
Darcy nodded and moved away from her with obvious reluctance. At his touch, Doctor Russell came instantly alert, years of medical training evident in his swift transition from sleep to wakefulness. One glance at their faces told him all he needed to know, and he moved immediately to Mr Bennet's bedside, his manner shifting from friend to physician.
"Jane, dear Jane." Elizabeth's voice trembled as she touched her sister's shoulder. Jane stirred slowly, still caught in the peaceful realm between sleep and waking. But when her eyes finally focused on Elizabeth's face, all traces of drowsiness vanished instantly.
"Is he-" Jane couldn't finish the question, her voice catching as she read the truth in her sister's tears.
Doctor Russell turned from Mr Bennet's bedside, his professional demeanour softening with genuine sympathy. "I'm very sorry, Miss Bennet. Your father has left us."
Jane stood frozen, her mind refusing to accept his words. Elizabeth moved closer, her own tears falling freely again.
"No," Jane whispered, shaking her head in desperate denial. "No, you must be mistaken." But even as she spoke, she knew it was true.
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her sister just as Jane's composure finally broke. The two sisters clung to each other, sharing their grief as they had always shared everything else.
ooOoo
Darcy watched helplessly as Elizabeth comforted her sister, his heart aching at the sight. Even in her own grief, she found the strength to support Jane. He marvelled at her resilience - how she could set aside her own pain to ease another's, even now. It was so quintessentially Elizabeth that it made his chest tighten with emotion.
Doctor Russell turned to Darcy. "If you would accompany me, sir. I must inform the rest of the family."
Darcy glanced back at Elizabeth and her sister, reluctant to leave them. Doctor Russell noticed his hesitation and spoke gently. "They will be all right. They have each other and they will give each other strength."
Over Jane's bowed head, Darcy's eyes met Elizabeth's. Her sister had buried her face against her shoulder, weeping silently as Elizabeth held her, just as he had held Elizabeth moments before. Elizabeth gave him a sad smile, understanding and gratitude mingling in her expression as she nodded, giving him leave to go.
They found the rest of the family waiting in the sitting room, the air heavy with anxious anticipation. The younger girls were still in their nightclothes and dressing gowns, curled up asleep in various chairs. Mr Collins sat rigidly in one corner, while Mr Bingley maintained his vigil beside Mrs Bennet. At their entrance, Bingley stirred first, instantly alert. A brief exchange of glances with Darcy told him all he needed to know, and with a quick nod, he went to find Jane, leaving Darcy and Doctor Russell the grim task of informing the others.
Doctor Russell gathered the family's attention with gentle authority. His manner was impeccably kind as he delivered the news, his years of experience evident in every carefully chosen word. "Mr Bennet passed peacefully in his sleep," he explained softly. "He did not suffer at the end. We did everything that could be done."
Darcy watched the scene unfold, his own memories surfacing unbidden. He remembered all too clearly the day Doctor Cornell had come to London to tell him of his father's death. Doctor Russell - then just Mr Russell - had accompanied his mentor that day, still in training. The parallels were not lost on him as he observed the younger Bennet girls' faces crumple with grief, their innocence shattering just as his had.
At first, he had refused to believe it, convinced there must be some mistake, some cruel jest he didn't quite understand. He had waited for them to laugh, to explain the misunderstanding, but they hadn't. Doctor Cornell had withdrawn, leaving the younger Russell to deal with Darcy's rage. He had said things then, terrible things that he still regretted to this day.
Now, watching the Bennets receive their own devastating news, he saw grief manifest in so many different ways. Mrs Bennet, usually so vocal, sat in uncharacteristic silence. Mary fled the room at the first opportunity, though not before Darcy caught sight of her tears. Kitty moved instantly to her mother's side, taking her hand and blinking back her own tears as she tried to offer comfort. Lydia had collapsed into a corner, her face buried in a cushion as she wailed loudly. And Mr Collins sat frozen, his face as white as paper, clearly at a loss for his usual pompous phrases.
Darcy could not shake the feeling that he was intruding on the family's private grief. Though his heart ached to return to Elizabeth's side, he knew his presence would only complicate matters now. With quiet dignity, he addressed Mrs Bennet.
"I am deeply sorry for your loss, madam. If you need anything - anything at all - you have only to send word. I will do everything in my power to assist."
Bingley echoed his offer of help, but both gentlemen knew it was time to withdraw. At least Bingley, with his claim to Jane's hand, would have reason to return soon. Darcy had no such right, despite the intimate moments he had just shared with Elizabeth. As he left Longbourn, every step felt like it was taking him further from his heart.
ooOoo
The hours that followed passed in that strange way peculiar to days of loss - both endless and fleeting at once. The household divided itself naturally into two camps: those who processed their grief through constant activity, and those who could do nothing but give in to their sorrow.
Mary, Jane, and Elizabeth fell into the first category, keeping themselves occupied with the thousand small tasks death demands. Kitty hovered between the two groups, trying to help where she could while also attempting to comfort her younger sister.
Lydia had locked herself in her room, refusing all comfort. Jane and Kitty spent two hours trying to coax her out, or at least persuade her to take some food, but to no avail.
Mrs Bennet maintained her uncharacteristic silence for several hours after Doctor Russell's news. When she finally broke down, it was with a torrent of accusations. "How could he do this to me?" she wailed. "Five daughters left unmarried - yes, yes, two engaged, but what of the others? And Elizabeth's wedding ruined! What if Mr Collins changes his mind? Had your father no regard for my feelings at all? How am I to cope? What am I to do without him?"
Elizabeth and Mary quickly removed their mother to her room, away from Mr Collins and Doctor Russell and gave her some tea that would help calm her.
Amidst the chaos and sorrow, the Gardiners prepared to take their leave. They had come for a wedding, not a funeral, and with Mr Bennet's passing, they felt their presence in the house with small children might be an additional burden on the grieving family.
"We'll return for the funeral, of course," Mrs. Gardiner assured Elizabeth as they embraced. "And please, my dear, send word if you need anything at all."
Elizabeth nodded, grateful for her aunt's support but too overwhelmed to fully express her appreciation. As she watched the Gardiners' carriage disappear down the lane, she felt a renewed sense of loss. Their departure seemed to mark the final end of the life she had known, leaving her to face an uncertain future without her father's guidance or her aunt and uncle's steady presence.
Neither Mr Bingley nor Mr Darcy returned to Longbourn that day, although a note did arrive for Jane later that afternoon. Mr Collins had disappeared for most of the day. He returned just as Lizzy was coming down from her mother's room, with a hardly touched tea-tray.
"Elizabeth, allow me to assist you with that." He said taking the tray from her.
She curtseyed politely, "thank you Mr Collins. You are most kind."
He took the tray from her, setting it down on the hall table and took her cold hands in his.
"Elizabeth, my dear. Surely you can call me William?" He smiled at her, pulling her closer until he was almost whispering in her ear. "We should have been married yesterday, and leaving to go Hunsford this morning as a wedded couple." He kissed her, gently, if a little stiffly on the cheek.
"Please Mr Collins, William if you prefer, I would rather-" She was prevented from finishing her sentence by Mr Collins interrupting.
"I do my dear. We are man and wife. And since your father's untimely death, Longbourn passes to me. But that his death had been delayed a day. Then we would be happily married now. But alas, as Lady Catherine herself has often said, at time such as these, the best thing is not to delay longer than necessary."
"Longer than necessary?" Elizabeth repeated, not sure if he was referring to taking possession of Longbourn or to something else.
"Yes, I already have everything confirmed with Mr Thomas. It's all quite settled."
"I am very glad, Sir, that Mr Thomas has been so helpful. May I inquire what is settled?"
"Your father's funeral will take place tomorrow, and we will be wed the day after that. Which means we can return to Hunsford, for perhaps this year. I believe you could not fail to benefit from Lady Catherine's influence. After a year, god willing, we will have a child of our own. And we should return to Longbourn. That should give your mother and remaining sisters enough time to have found accommodation elsewhere. Cousin Jane will be married by then. Cousin Mary might be useful in attending to the children, so we might consider asking her to stay. Your Mother and the youngest two can stay with Mr and Mrs Philips or the Gardiners. We need not be concerned for them."
Her blood ran cold as he began laying out his plans for their future, speaking of children and arrangements while her father lay not yet cold. By the time he had finished, speaking so callously of displacing her mother and sisters, her blood was boiling.