Page 31 of A Prudent Engagement

“Oh, Mama, how shall we ever go on without Papa?”

“We must. We have no choice.” Her mother’s stiff face suddenly crumpled. “Oh, oh. I shall miss him! Come, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth and Jane followed their mama into the house, while the younger girls continued to talk with Mrs. Gardiner.

They had laid her papa out in one of the guest rooms as it was generally the coolest place in late spring.

As the door opened, Elizabeth caught sight of his face in the dim light that filtered through the curtains.

Jane gasped and pressed her hand over her mouth.

Elizabeth did not.

Her papa’s face was white and stiff.

He had no expression, no smile.

His eyes were closed; his hands were folded together. He had been dressed by his valet in his favourite dressing robe, the fine silk folds falling over the dead flesh.

His usually happy face. The familiar bushy grey side whiskers; the bald top of his head.

The smell was there, only partly masked by vinegar and camphor.

Flowers had been placed around the body, and candles burned softly on either side.

Elizabeth was surprised that though she felt a catch in her throat at seeing him, she had no impulse to cry.

She had sobbed so much, but now that she looked at her papa’s body, she could not.

He is not here. He is above.

Jane exclaimed, “Oh, oh! Papa!” And then she sobbed and pressed herself into a corner.

Their mother went to Jane and cried with her, but Elizabeth looked back at the body, and her eyes stayed dry.

She could not look away.

White hands. Bloodless. Pale.

Dead. Dead.

No more smiles.

Breathe, Elizabeth.

He was not there, but the voice was Mr. Darcy’s.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. And then another.

She stepped up to her papa’s body and looked at the closed eyes, the pale lips. She put her hand against the frozen cheeks, the cold fingers, and she just looked at him. The tears still did not come.

They stuck in the back of her throat and behind her eyes.

But she could not cry.

Bravery.

That was also Mr. Darcy’s voice.