Page 34 of A Prudent Engagement

Did she really expect him to ask her?

The certainty of the morning seemed like a mirage, or rather her certainty was thought rather than felt.

What Elizabeth truly felt was that if Mr. Darcy were there, she would be protected and nothing of a material nature could go badly. Oddly, she wished that he were there in the house.

The lead-lined coffin was brought in by the carpenter, and her father was dressed one last time.

Elizabeth went down to see him placed in the coffin. He now was in full state, lying in his final bed.

If Mr. Darcy were there, he would have said something to her that would have made her feel better, and able to either laugh or cry.

Poor, poor Papa.

When Elizabeth returned to the drawing room, the haberdasher had come, with prices and quantities for the gloves to be given away at the funeral.

Her mother frowned at the tradesman, who looked suitably sombre and sad—all the proper emotions and expressions for a man who meant to offer sympathy and high prices to the better sort of gentry in their time of grief.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Bennet said after hearing the sum quoted. “That is a great deal. I hardly know. I do not know.”

“Madam,” the haberdasher replied, “I only wish to offer you the best pieces. Anything less would not give due honour to the memory of your husband. He was a man whom we all respected. He was one of the best gentlemen in the neighbourhood.”

“The very best,” her mama replied tearily. “I must—I know I must… You can surely see that I do not have the resources now that my dear Mr. Bennet is gone. My funds must go to my daughters.” She wrung her hands. “But we shall find a way to pay for it. We must. Mr. Bennet deserved that—”

“Let me put forward the sum,” Charlotte said. “Mr. Collins wishes to see his cousin buried with all proper pomp and ceremony. As the heir it is his place to see that it is done in a fitting manner.”

“We certainly can pay for the funeral ourselves,” Mrs. Bennet said in such a manner that it was clear to Elizabeth, and also Charlotte, that she had merely demurred so far out of politeness, and it was also clear that she was truly anxious about the expenditure.

“I insist,” Charlotte said. “It is our place.”

Mrs. Bennet did not demur when this offer was made. “If you insist, then very well. It is the least Mr. Collins can do. The important point is that Mr. Bennet is buried in a fitting manner and that everyone agrees it was a properly done funeral. Which of us pays is of no matter.”

“I quite agree. We have already established that we shall not quibble over trivialities.” Charlotte turned to the haberdasher and smiled. “Give the bill to my father, and my husband will settle it with him—you see, there is no concern about the matter.”

The haberdasher was quite pleased with this solution, and he smilingly bowed to them all and said once more, “Deepest condolences to you, Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Bennet was a great man, and he will be sorely missed.”

As evening fell, most of the visitors left. Charlotte embraced Elizabeth tightly and promised to see her on the morrow.

Elizabeth thought of going back to the room in which her papa had been laid out, but instead she begged fatigue and went to her bedroom, where she stared at the ceiling for a long time before she could sleep.

Chapter Seven

The morning on which Mr. Bennet was to be buried dawned damp and grey.

It had rained during the night, which ended the spell of unseasonable warmth, and come morning there was a fresh smell, every leaf was covered in raindrops, and the squirrels ran up and down their boughs, chittering at each other. Birds sang in their morning chorus before they left off the mighty twittering and went about to hunt for insects and seeds.

A heavy breeze blew through the rooms of Longbourn, rattled the windows, and whistled through a gap in the plaster in the guest bedroom they had laid Elizabeth’s papa out in.

It seemed that the whole neighbourhood had joined them for breakfast, which was served with strong coffee, sausages, bread, and much butter.

Elizabeth’s heart jumped when Mr. Darcy arrived to be part of the funeral procession.

He looked at her with those eyes that understood; he took her hand and, without saying anything, squeezed it.

The tightness and anxiety she had been carrying immediately eased at this mark of affection. “I am glad to see you.”

“I wished to accompany your father on this final journey. When—” He hesitated. “Would it be unpleasant, presumptuous, or premature if I were to call upon you tomorrow morning in hopes of an interview?”

Elizabeth’s composure deserted her at the question.