Consequences (23 page)

“His will?” Elizabeth asked in confusion.

“Yes, Miss Bennet. In the event he died before you could be married, he directed me to provide you a living from his estate, three thousand pounds a year, so you might be financially secure.”

“Three thousand!” said Elizabeth in amazement, thinking,
Why, my father’s income was only two thousand a year, and he supported a family and a household on that amount!
“I could never spend as much as three thousand a year,” she protested.

“Nevertheless, Darcy directed me, and I shall carry out his directions,” Mr. Hartecourt said seriously. “The other matter I think he would want you to know is related to what he told us several times this week about his friend, Charles Bingley, and your eldest sister. He seemed very affected by learning that both of them, separated by years and many miles, died within hours of each other. And both of them bore a look of utmost peace and wore a smile of contentment. He kept repeating it—he was sure it meant something, and he hoped it meant that God had welcomed them both into his Kingdom. He said several times he hoped the two souls were joined in Heaven, since he had been so mistakenly responsible for keeping them apart on earth.”

“I am not sure I understand your meaning, Mr. Hartecourt,” said Elizabeth in confusion.

“Simply this, Miss Bennet—when I discovered Darcy’s body this morning after he did not answer his sister’s knock, he also bore a smile that I could only describe as one of peace and contentment.”

Elizabeth sat back in amazement, remembering Jane’s last smile. She shook her head slowly. “It is too much for me, sir. I do so hope you are correct and William has found peace.”

Judith Fleming hugged Elizabeth comfortingly. “And it was most generous of Mr. Darcy to provide for you at the very last, Eliza. You can now have an establishment of your own!”

Elizabeth looked over at her friend and employer, and she smiled as she shook her head slowly. “This is my home now, Judith, and your children and your brothers and sisters are all the family I have in the world. I should be lost trying to manage a home of my own, and for what purpose? No, I shall stay here; this is the centre of my life now.”

Georgiana leaned forward and clasped Elizabeth’s hand. “You would be most welcome to come live with us, Elizabeth. With all the children grown and married, we have more than enough room. And, even though William died before he could marry, in my mind we are still sisters.”

Elizabeth smiled and squeezed Georgiana’s hand. “I do thank you for the kind offer, but I should miss the children dreadfully. But if you do not mind, I should like to visit occasionally. William’s gift will allow me to travel, after all, even if I stay here.”

Chapter 13

“For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.”

—George Gordon, Lord Byron,
British poet

Sunday, August 20, 1854

Elizabeth surged up from her bed in total darkness, clutching the left side of her chest against the terrible, clamping pain and pressure that seized it and extended down her left arm. The pain was so terrible it stilled the cry in her throat, and she collapsed back onto the bed, trying desperately to draw a breath. The pain was not her only affliction—her lungs were paralysed, unable to work as the heart pumping blood to them was stilled. Elizabeth felt her consciousness going, but it was welcome, for the pain was going with it. She knew she was dying, and she wondered absently why she felt no terror or despair. The darkness was welcoming, even though it did not bring the forgetfulness she had expected. Instead, she felt loving arms reaching for her, loving arms to embrace and comfort her, and her face, which had been twisted with pain, smoothed as peace swept through her.

***

Tuesday, August 23, 1854

Georgiana Hartecourt thanked the maid who delivered the morning post. Going through several letters, she saw one from Judith Fleming and instantly put the rest of the letters aside. Opening it, she read:

Sunday, August 20, 1854

My dear Georgiana,

My heart is heavy as I write you, for Miss Elizabeth Bennet has gone to live with our Lord this morning. She must have died quietly during the night, for she was lying very peacefully in her bed, with her eyes closed and the most beautiful smile on her face. I could not help remembering your husband’s description of how your dear brother appeared on his deathbed, and I am certain Elizabeth wore the same smile. I do believe she has found that same peace that your brother found and she is living with him and all her friends and relatives in Heaven.

Elizabeth was very happy to have spent Christmas again with you and your family at Pemberley. She described it so very well and enthused on the remarkable beauty of the grounds to such an extent that I had already determined to accept your kind offer to join your family there next Christmas. I am only sorry Elizabeth will not be accompanying us, but I am still encouraged by her manner of passing. She had great tragedies in her life and precious little of the happiness that should have been her due, but, as she so often said, she was not disposed to melancholy. She took as much happiness in my children as my husband and I, and I do wish she might have had a family of her own. But we have to accept the will of God in this, as in so many other things.

One other item bears mentioning. My memory may be playing me false, but it seems as though your brother passed on very close to this same day, ten years ago. Please do write and confirm or deny my faulty memory. The coincidence is too much to believe.

Sincerely, your eternal friend,
Judith Fleming.

Georgiana put down the letter. She was not really surprised, since Elizabeth did indeed appear rather frail at Christmas, though her activity seemed undiminished in every other respect. And Georgiana was not really saddened, for she had come to grips with so much of the tragic connection between William and Elizabeth.

I do hope and pray that Judith has the right of it. She is completely correct about the timing. It really was ten years ago Sunday that William died.

Georgiana got to her feet and left her sitting room to find her husband, taking the letter with her. Adrian had liked Miss Bennet very much, and he would want to know.

Book 2
The Sleeper Wakes

Those who have likened our life to a dream
were more right, by chance, than they realized.
We are awake while sleeping, and waking sleep.

—Michel de Montaigne, French essayist

Chapter 14

“The rule of friendship means there should be
mutual sympathy between them, each supplying
what the other lacks and trying to benefit the
other, always using friendly and sincere words.”

—Buddha, founder of Buddhism

Thursday, April 9, 1812

Elizabeth surged up from her bed in total darkness with a sharp cry, clutching the left side of her chest against the terrible, clamping pain and pressure seizing it and extending down her left arm. Though the pain itself was bad enough, her cry was due in greater part to terror and despair, for she knew she was dying.

Yet, before too many seconds went by, she began to understand it was not
real
pain afflicting her but rather the
memory
of pain, for the agonizing ache eased almost as she focused on it.

Nightmare!
she thought with a shudder, hugging herself with both arms as she rocked back and forth.
I just had a terrible nightmare—one that ended with my death in bed!

Gradually, she felt the vestiges of her terrible dream dissipating. She shivered as she recalled the sudden onslaught of pain and the fall into a deep, dark hole she knew symbolized her death. She trembled again, clutching the quilt about her shoulders as she chased the shreds of her dream. She remembered the pain and despair, but whatever occasioned those dark emotions was not at all clear. She knew she had never before experienced a nightmare so wrenching; it had been more vivid and comprehensive than anything in her experience, even though the exact details eluded her grasp. She did recollect the dream seemed to encompass an entire lifetime, including the very end, and it was that ending with the pain in her chest and the descent into darkness that led to her heart-pounding awakening. Even now, with the wisps fading away, her consciousness swerved sharply away from probing deeper into those memories.

I remember Papa talking about why one never actually dies in a bad dream but awakes right at the point of death,
she thought.
He said some philosophers theorized that if a dreamer really did experience death in a dream, she would actually die.

Such idle thoughts distracted her and drew her even further from any attempt to remember specific events from the nightmare. In fact, as she came more and more fully awake, she was actually happy to find the details fading rapidly, and any attempt at recollection seemed to make the dissipation even more rapid. The pain, which seemed so overwhelming just seconds before, was now gone as if it had never been, leaving only a vague sense of distress. Even her heart, which was pounding in her chest when she awoke, slowed until it seemed almost normal.

However, if the details were fading, the emotions evoked by those details remained crisp and clear: loneliness, despair, hopelessness, guilt, and fear, all intertwined and inseparable. She seemed vaguely aware of being much older, especially just before the dreadful conclusion, and there was an impression that everything in her life had gone wrong in the most painful manner possible. Jane seemed to be involved, as well as her mother and sisters, but the harder she tried to recollect the particulars, the more ephemeral they became.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Elizabeth jumped at the unexpected sound.

“Are you all right, Eliza?” came Charlotte’s soft, dear voice. “I heard you cry out, and I was afraid you might be ill.”

“I am fine now, Charlotte,” Elizabeth called with equal softness. “But do come in. I would be grateful for your company.”

Charlotte opened the door and entered, carrying a candle that she set on the nightstand by Elizabeth’s bed. Charlotte felt Elizabeth’s forehead and exclaimed as her hand came away wet. “Eliza, you are dripping with perspiration! Are you sure you are not feeling ill? Should I send one of the servants for the apothecary?”

“I just had a terribly bad dream, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, rearranging the pillows and quilts so she could sit up in bed. “In fact, it was the worst nightmare I can remember in my whole life. I am sorry I woke you; I did not even realize I had cried out. But it was just a dream and nothing more. I assure you I am fine now.”

Charlotte sat down at the foot of the bed after Elizabeth pulled her knees up to her chest and clasped her arms around them. “Well, if you say you are not ill, I have to believe you,” said Charlotte uncertainly, “but the dreadful cry I heard frightened me, Eliza. I hurried down to your room in fright, not knowing what I would find.”

“When I first woke up, I did not know what I would find either.” Elizabeth tried to laugh lightly, but it came out rather strained. “I thought I was dying,” she continued. “That is the last thing I remember from my dream—that I was dying with this horrible pain in my chest. It was so real that I must have cried out.”

“Mercy,” breathed Charlotte. “I have never known you to be so afflicted. You told me once that you seldom remembered your dreams, except they always seemed to be happy.”

“I believe this dream must have been the worst one I have ever had by a considerable margin,” said Elizabeth shakily. “I cannot remember too much of it. I know I was surprised upon awakening to find myself both alive and young, so I think I was older in the dream. However, I do remember the emotions if not the facts: hopelessness, guilt, despair, fear. I cannot remember why I felt so, but it was certainly not a happy dream.”