Page 4 of The Crown’s Gift

The King would not continue until Thomas was brought before him. His Majesty had recovered his color, though the physician hovered at his elbow and Queen Charlotte had not released his arm.

"Mr Bennet," the King said. "Who taught you to do that?"

"A choking stable boy, Your Majesty. Or rather, the man who saved him."

The King's mouth twitched. "Then England is indebted to two stable yards."

A nervous laugh passed through the room.

Thomas bowed. "I am only glad I was near enough to be of service."

"Near enough, and willing enough. There were many nearer."

The words fell heavily. Several noble gentlemen discovered an interest in the floor.

The King studied Thomas's torn coat, his bent spectacles, and perhaps the wife still gripping his sleeve. "We shall speak again before I leave Hertfordshire. A service to the Crown is not forgotten."

Thomas bowed once more. He wanted only to take his family home.

That desire was not granted until evening. Depositions were taken. The guards apologized with military misery. Mr Lucas repeated the event so often that in his final account Thomas had crossed the room in a single bound. The King rested in private chambers and sent two separate messages assuring the company of his recovery.

In the carriage, Mrs Bennet held Thomas's hand.

She did it without speaking, which frightened him more than anything that had occurred.

Jane sat very straight, tears drying upon her cheeks. Mary had fallen asleep against Nurse. Kitty and Lydia, too young to comprehend the danger, whispered about the swords. Elizabeth sat opposite her father.

"You might have died," she said at last.

Mrs Bennet's fingers tightened around his.

Thomas attempted a smile. "The guards were persuaded otherwise."

"Before the King spoke, they might have killed you."

"Yes."

The single word silenced the carriage.

He had made jokes all his adult life because a joke put unpleasant truths at a manageable distance. He could not find one now. He looked at his daughters: Jane's gentle fear, Elizabeth's angry one, Mary's sleeping trust, Kitty's untidy curls, Lydia's jam-stained sleeve. He knew almost nothing of the two youngest beyond their noise. He knew Mary's solemnity better than her pleasures. He relied upon Jane's goodness and Elizabeth's wit as if those qualities had grown without tending.

He had run toward a dying stranger and spent years withdrawing from his own family one quiet hour at a time.

The realization humiliated him.

Three days later, a royal messenger came to Longbourn.

Within a fortnight, Thomas knelt before the King and rose Sir Thomas Bennet. The knighthood astonished Hertfordshire. The greater astonishment followed: by letters patent, His Majesty granted Sir Thomas the house, park, farms, and revenues of Netherfield, a Crown property without a private heir and lately returned to royal possession after years of disputed management.

"Five thousand a year," Lady Bennet whispered when the solicitor finished. "Netherfield is five thousand a year."

Sir Thomas looked across the library at the five daughters who would not inherit Longbourn.

"Perhaps more," the solicitor said. "With attention."

Attention. The word seemed directed at him.

That evening, Thomas closed his book before Elizabeth entered the library.