The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy (55 page)

Grégoire had largely returned to his good humor, but kept to himself, and his thoughts seemed elsewhere—and with good reason. Only Elizabeth knew the whole story.

The next morning, many carriages set out from Derbyshire for Longbourn. The weather was good (if a little hot), so there were no delays, and they were the last ones to arrive, completing the set of former Bennet daughters. There would be no Mrs. Bennet again until Joseph married. He looked the saddest of all the grandchildren, having had his grandmother as a constant presence since he was born. Mary and Kitty had mourned together before their other sisters even arrived.

As for Mr. Bennet, he had retired to his study and said he would receive their condolences after the burial. That he was beside himself was apparent, and they had no choice but to respect his wishes.

The Collinses arrived just in time, with their four daughters in tow. If Mr. Collins had been disappointed about hearing
which
Bennet had expired, he showed none of his emotions in that regard. There was only a moment of awkwardness when he assumed that he would be giving the sermon, only to discover that Mr. Bennet had already asked the local rector.

The next morning, a somber, large crowd gathered to pay their respects to the husband and five daughters of Mrs. Bennet. In age order and all in black gowns sat Mrs. Jane Bingley, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, Mrs. Mary Bertrand, Mrs. Catherine Townsend, and Mrs. Lydia Bradley. Mrs. Bennet's life work was complete. Her five daughters were all married (happily, even!) and all provided for by their husbands (to varying degrees, all acceptably).

“She outpaced me in everything we did together,” Mr. Bennet said after the rector had finished his sermon. “She was always the more active one.” He paused before continuing. “By circumstance, the happiest years of my life were our first year of marriage and our last year of marriage.”

He seemed to have more to say, but he could no longer stay standing, even with the help of a cane, and several of his sonsin-law helped him back to his seat, where he collapsed in tears. Mercifully, the remainder of the service was short and the sobs of the various Bennet sisters (with the exception of Lydia and Kitty) were muted as all five sons filled in the grave.

The reception was almost as brutal as the funeral. Mr. Bennet, never a fan of public gatherings, was uncomfortable as much of Hertfordshire came to pay tribute to Mrs. Bennet. All of Hertfordshire knew her and her daughters, and of course her newly wealthy husband, who had come into a great fortune only a few years earlier.

“I just had a thought,” Bingley said to Darcy as they stood at the back of the reception while their wives received condolences. “Of all of us, Dr. Bertrand is the only one with both living parents, and he's much younger than us. When Mr. Bennet dies, we'll be… the old people.”

“I prefer
distinguished,
” Darcy replied. “You can call yourself ‘old.'”

At last, the reception came to a close, and those who were not family said their good-byes. Everyone who was not necessary made themselves scarce—except Mr. Collins, who barged in on Mr. Bennet in his study when he was sitting with his favorite daughter, pouring himself a glass of wine, his first real peace of the day. “Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Darcy. I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

“No,” Mr. Bennet said. “However, it is very late and I am very tired, Mr. Collins. If you would be brief.”

“I thought perhaps now, while I am in Hertfordshire, we might discuss matters of the estate—”

If Mr. Bennet did not have the will to intervene, Elizabeth would. “Mr. Collins, this is not the best time—”

“Indeed,” her father said, capping the bottle of wine. “Come back when the correct Bennet has died, Mr. Collins, to discuss matters of the estate.” More lightly, he added, “And you cannot inherit Longbourn just yet, sir.You are one daughter short.”

Taking a glare from Elizabeth as his cue (she was, after all, his patroness), Mr. Collins most politely excused himself. Then he rattled on about how sorry he was to lose such a wonderful woman as Mrs. Bennet until he finally did shut up and actually take his leave.

“With all of my daughters settled and Mrs. Bennet now… settled, he has no concerns except waiting for me to die, which he has been doing for years,” he said, and then immediately changed topics. “Your mother did talk of having a place in Meryton. Or Brighton, perhaps. Or she would stay with Kitty—she has always admired Netherfield. It's nothing compared with Pemberley, but it has its charms.”

“She was being brave about the prospect of being tossed from her own home, Papa,” she said. “Now she does not have to suffer that.”

He nodded. They sat in silence for some time before he spoke again. “Did you see Lady Lucas?”

“Yes, I received her.”

“I mean, did you see her with
me?
” He shook his head. “She could have been a bit more subtle.”

“You are an eligible bachelor now, Papa. She was mercenary before her husband died, and now I fear it is worse.”

“On the day of the burial! She's not cold in her grave…” he said and trailed off, leaning on his hand. Elizabeth rose and hugged her dear father, who was crying again. “There will never be another Mrs. Bennet. For all of the years I complained of my marriage, I could never imagine having any other.”

“Papa,” she said.

“This is my happy ending,” he said. “My daughters are all married to good men and have children of their own I am most proud of. My wife will not have to worry about a place to live after I die. Poor Mr. Collins will have to contend with raising at least four daughters under the roof of Longbourn—the perfect irony. There is no better way this could have happened. And yet, why am I so miserable?”

“You are
sad.
We are all sad because we had not the wit to know a truly great thing until it was gone,” she said.

“Perhaps we cannot be faulted for that,” he said. “For many years, she cleverly disguised it.” His wistful laughter seemed to settle him a bit—and her. “There will never be another Mrs. Bennet.”

“That I think we can safely say is true,” she said with a somber smile.

When all the guests had departed and it was just family—still a large crowd—there was one final matter to attend do. Not so serious, but in many ways, still a blow to them all. Mr. Bennet announced that he did not wish to live at Longbourn without his wife rattling on and on, and because the Bertrands had more business in Town than in the country, they had decided to buy their own townhouse, and would lodge with the Bingleys while they searched for one. Longbourn would be closed until Mr. Bennet wished it reopened or his death.
He said he would travel to see all his daughters, but they knew he detested traveling and would likely just stay at Pemberley once he reached it. The former Bennet sisters reluctantly agreed—although they could not stand the idea of Longbourn being closed up, they could not imagine keeping it open for nothing but memories.

All the arrangements were made, and with final good-byes to his southern-living daughters, Mr. Bennet departed with the Darcys for Derbyshire.The Bingleys briefly delayed their departure to Kirkland to help the Bertrands choose a suitable place. Darcy said to Dr. Bertrand in private, “I hope Bingley has learned to make that kind of decision.”

“He is just giving advice.”

“Well, it cannot
all
be praise.”

Mr. Bennet insisted on riding in the carriage with Grégoire, whom he had not had a chance to grill about his adventures in Ireland. He had heard only through gossip that he had met someone there.

“Tread lightly, Papa,” Elizabeth said. “The end result was reached only through the most painful circumstances.”

“Is there any other path to true love?” he replied, smiling for the first time since his wife's death.

“Mugin-san! Mugin-san!”

But Mugin-san was not outside, where he usually was when Georgiana Bingley made one of her visits, no matter how unannounced. He always just knew. Sometimes he sat on the porch of the Japanese wing of the Maddox house and smoked a long pipe, but today, there was no pipe and his geta shoes were just outside the door, meaning he was inside.

“Mugin-san? What are you doing?”

He was sorting through his small bag. Mugin always traveled lightly. He had no house to put things in; he was a nomad. “Leaving.”

“But you weren't supposed to leave until September!”

He did not look up from what he was doing. “I am leaving tomorrow instead. So sorry, little ookami. I have business at home, and this is not my home. I will always be a stranger here.”

She grabbed his hand and tugged him away from his packing, which only happened because he allowed it to. “For a thief and a criminal you're no good at lying.”

He smiled. “I have—how do you say—overstayed my welcome.”

“Did you gamble all of Uncle Brian's money away?”

“No.”

“Did you get into too many fights?”

“No.”

“Did you kill someone important?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep with every prostitute and now you're bored?”

Mugin laughed. She was now too big for him to casually pick up, the way he had in the old days. Instead, he just walked around her and slumped onto his bed mat. “See, this is why I go. I am a bad influence on you.”

Georgie could not comprehend him. “
Why
are you leaving?”

He picked up his pipe from the nightstand—more of a low stool—and began to pack it with tobacco. “I just told you. Weren't you listening?” He took the matchbox she handed him and struck a light. “I told him everything.”

“Who? Papa?”

“Not so bad. Brian-chan.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” Her surprise and confusion quickly turned to horror.

“Because I was drunk, Jorgi-chan. Very, very drunk. Like you say, in the drink.”

“In the cups.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. I was drunk and he asked. Maybe he is not as dumb as he looks.”

“And he's making you leave?”

He inhaled and then exhaled a long stream of smoke, not in her direction, as he rose and stepped out on the porch. She followed
him. “He is very mad. He thinks he's a samurai but he's gaijin at heart, with all of this—how do you call—propriety. You are supposed to be a good little girl who is to be a good little lady, not a warrior. He knows your father will be very angry if he finds out. He is very mad that I was teaching you otherwise, and I do not like being around angry armed samurai whom I am not allowed to kill. It is a tricky situation.”

“But Mugin-san—”

“He wants to strike the wall. I do not want to be the wall,” he said.

“Will you come back? When he's not as angry?”

He looked in her eyes. That was all it took.

Georgie abandoned all pretense and hugged him, grabbing hold of his waist and burying herself in his silk jacket. “You can't leave me! I won't let you!”

“You could try to make me stay,” he said, “but you're not that good.Yet.”

“That's why you can't go.”

He tried to smooth it over as he forced her to release him. “There are things I cannot teach you, Jorgi-chan. There are things I do not know, or do not know how to express.You have to find your own way.” He chuckled. “Besides, if I stay, we might have to get married—”

“
Mugin!
Don't say that!”

“And then
everyone
would be upset at me,” he said. “There is a trunk in the corner of my room. After I go, it is yours.”

“Can I see it now?”

“No. When you need it,” he replied.