Page 31 of The Widower of Pemberley

“He is not dead yet!”

“No, Mama. Please be quiet,” Elizabeth said.

Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins approached the invalid, who had stirred with their shouting. Mr. Bennet looked at them with blurry eyes, his face slack on one side. “Babebue?”

“Papa!” Elizabeth exclaimed at hearing his voice, even though what he had said was entirely nonsense.

Mr. Collins addressed her father solemnly, “Mr. Bennet, it is apparent that you are in great risk of your life. Is there anything you wish to confess or relieve from your soul in such a situation?”

Rather than replying, or even looking at Mr. Collins, Mr. Bennet closed his eyes and slumped back into the sofa.

It was impossible for Elizabeth to not feel a little hope at such a display of alertness, but what the doctor had said rung in her ears. Even if he recovered, he would most likely be taken off by another attack before the week was done.

Every thought stabbed her in the chest.

“I shall wait,” Mr. Collins said seriously, “and if he rouses himself, I shall offer the communion of the sick to him, as advised in John Wren’sThe Clergyman’s Companion.”

“Oh, oh!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “What can we do? Oh, what can we do?”

“Do not despair, madam,” Mr. Collins said. “We must be strong in this time and wait to see what the result may be. But my welcome here has in no way changed my intention to makesome effort, some offer, to ease your lives when your honoured husband should die, whether it be in the next hour or after a period of delay.”

After saying this, Mr. Collins looked at Elizabeth in a way that made her feel as though he pointedly admired her as a woman.

A new, unhappy sensation joined the terror for her father in the pit of her stomach.

Perhaps he meant to marry one of them. It was natural. And of course his interest would fall on her. She was the first in beauty and age since Jane had given up her rightful position.

Elizabeth looked at Jane, who sat next to their mother, whispering to her and holding her hand. Then she looked at Mr. Collins, who smiled at her in such a way as to make her skin crawl at the thought of forcing herself to let him touch her.

She turned her eyes towards her father.

Over the course of the next two hours, he roused himself several more times. Each time he seemed more alert, and the period of sensibility lasted for a little longer before he returned to his stupor. He was surprised to see Mr. Collins, so Elizabeth explained his presence. She thought he understood, but she was not sure.

Every attempt of his to speak came out in grunts or a wholly inarticulate stream of syllables.

When he woke the next time, Mr. Collins pressed him to allow prayers to be said over him, and he assented with an odd jerky nod.

Evening was already falling. It was winter and cold.

Dr. Cliff returned. He once more banished Mrs. Bennet from the room and examined his patient. He declared Mr. Bennet’s pulse to be strong and bled him once more, but only a little.

After he had been bled, Mr. Bennet roused himself and spoke an entirely nonsensical sentence to Dr. Cliff but in a manner that was full of meaning.

The physician replied as though it had been a clear question, saying, “I shall respect what you always said, that you would wish to know your precise situation when in poor health. You have had a serious attack of apoplexy, but the lack of additional attacks since is a promising sign. I do not know whether your ability to speak or walk will ever return, and there is a likelihood you will suffer additional attacks within the next week that could kill you. You have a clergyman present, and you should take this opportunity to settle yourself and prepare to meet the Almighty. It is not certain that such is necessary, but to my grief, the chances are great.”

Mr. Bennet stared at his friend, then he closed his eyes; his breathing was easier, and he fell into what seemed an actual sleep, rather than the stupor of earlier in the day.

It was suggested by the doctor that it was safe to move him to his bedroom for the night rather than keeping him in the drawing room. The sofa would be less comfortable and the room more prone to draughts.

The footmen were called, and they carried Mr. Bennet to his bedroom, followed by Elizabeth, Jane, and Mr. Collins.

When Mr. Collins tried to enter the room, Elizabeth smiled at him and said, “If my father asks for you, I shall send for you, but otherwise, he will only be attended by Mary, Jane, and me while he sleeps.”

“Of course, lovely cousin, but do urge him to think of his soul if he awakens once more before the end.”

“I shall,” Elizabeth promised, hating the man’s words.

What would become of them if Papa died? If he really died?