Page 36 of The Widower of Pemberley

The doctor smiled. “Even the most justified cynicism can be taken too far. Simply because often what we do causes no beneficial effect, that does not mean everything is useless. That some supposed knowledge is false, does not mean all is.”

The way Mr. Bennet talked made it easy for someone to imagine that he was simple and could no longer understand, but the doctor spoke to him in the same manner he always had.

Elizabeth found it hard to remember not to talk to her father in slow sentences with simple words. The few times that Mr. Collins or her mother had come into the bedroom to see him, they had simply not bothered to try, speaking to him in a poor imitation of his own slurred and halting speech and enunciating like one might with a Frenchman who barely understood the tongue.

“Exercise after two days of rest is unlikely to cause additional harm,” the doctor said, “and it may even have salutary effects.Should you still be alive in a month, my chief prescription will be exercise of the most continual and regular sort. That and a diet which does not permit any of your favourite foods.”

Mr. Bennet laughed in a painful way that was more like a cough. “See…how…I cannot…w-w-walk.”

Elizabeth and Dr. Cliff lifted Mr. Bennet’s legs over the edge of the bed and onto the floor.

He tried to push himself up, but he could not properly do so with the affected arm. So, Dr. Cliff took his elbow on that side, while Elizabeth helped to support his stronger side. With a huff, they hauled him upright.

It was quickly established that he could not bear his own weight on the weaker foot but that he could move it and place it properly down if he concentrated his mind on it while Dr. Cliff and Elizabeth supported him to maintain his balance.

They walked him in a circle to the other side of the bed and back three times before he was too exhausted to continue.

When Dr. Cliff left, he gave Mr. Bennet a cheerful shake of the hand, leaving Elizabeth and her father alone. Mr. Bennet sighed and looked mournful, and Elizabeth smiled weakly at him. Then he held out his strong hand, and she took it and pressed it against her cheek.

“Forgive,” he said. “Hard for you. Hard. Difficult. Better. Wish…better.”

“Oh, Papa, I only look forward to when you have wholly recovered your health.”

He laughed again, a crackling weak laugh. “Should have…better. Wrong.”

“You will feel better soon.”

“No.” He appeared agitated. “Treated you. Better. Apologise.”

Suddenly Elizabeth knew what her father meant.

He was talking about what Mr. Darcy had blamed him for—not economising and not taking good enough care of Jane. From that conversation until his attack, Elizabeth’s resentment towards him had grown. But since he had been so near death, she had not thought once of the matter, not even though she was girding her soul in preparation to face a marriage she did not want to a man she could never love.

“No, no. Papa, no, do not be sad,” Elizabeth said. “I have always loved you. And you have always loved me dearly. I cannot wish for anything better. I never did. Never once. Or only seldom. Just recover.”

He looked at her sadly. “Deserve…better.”

Mary entered the room. “The party from Netherfield has come to call again, the little girl included. She is eager to see you.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth smiled. She pressed her father’s hand again before leaving. “Things are what they are. We must not torment ourselves wishing that they were different.”

Emily greeted her with all the ecstatic glee that a girl of three could manage while keeping to her solemn promise to be quiet. Georgiana’s greeting was far softer and more solemn but equally fond.

Mr. Darcy rose and bowed to her but said nothing. Instead he watched her in an intent manner that was deeply unsettling.

Mr. Collins joined her immediately, taking the seat beside her.

He demanded her smiles. Elizabeth had a mixture of anxiety and desperate hope that her efforts to attract him would be in vain, and that in the end, once her father was dead, he would decide to not offer. However, Mr. Collins’s insistence on calling her‘loveliest cousin’ made it tolerably likely that he merely waited for a favourable moment. Or maybe he wanted Mr. Bennet to be actually dead before he offered.

That scared her.

She had not been able to give Mr. Collins a chance to propose. Or maybe she had avoided doing so. At times she wanted to give him such an opportunity, and at times she was terrified of having her fate settled with him. The bustle of the house had made it easy to delay—and to pretend there was always a good reason for that delay.

Servants ran about, only half managed as Elizabeth was occupied with both her parents and had no head for anything but her own unhappiness. The neighbours constantly visited to offer sympathy and occasionally help. Elizabeth had slept through breakfast each morning after staying up many hours in the night by her father’s bedside.

Mr. Darcy glared at Mr. Collins in a way that made unease run through Elizabeth. That glare made her think once more that Mr. Darcy could be a dangerous man if he took the notion into his head. It reminded her of the rumours so eagerly shared about the death of his first wife.

When Mr. Collins looked towards his patroness’s nephew, he also looked unsettled.