Standing before him, preparing to dip in a curtsey of farewell, it seemed impossible that she would never see him again. There was no trace of regret in her heart for what they had shared during this spell of blended pain and pleasure, but she pursued no fantastical endings in her imagination. The very notions of running away with him, going to live in a foreign land, abandoning her children and her religion, living forever on the wrong side of all laws of state, society, and God, were not to be countenanced. Her very fantasies had taught her that. She understood that divorce did occur among the rackety aristocratic set, and had heard that remarriage was permitted in some Continental countries, but such impossible adventures were not for the likes of her. Her roots ran too deep into the soil of her native land and familial connections, into the conventions of her class, faith, and education.

All was affability, smiles, and nods abounding. Mr Darcy made his gratitude plain to the man who had played no small part in lifting the spirits of his wife, and was almost jovial in his expressions of appreciation, while Lizzy showed no restraint in her affectionate farewells to the musician. Then came the turn of the Collins family, and Mr Collins was eager to step forward and wring Herr Rosenstein’s hand, with promises of correspondence and earnest thanks for his many kindnesses, his interesting hints on philosophy and literature, his good-natured attentions and service to Mrs Collins and their children.

The girls had requested permission to be present and to say goodbye to the piano man, but now that the moment of parting had come, they were overtaken by shyness, and hung about their mother’s skirts. It remained to Charlotte to offer Jacob her hand, and her thanks – for the gifts he had given them all. She made her way through a speech of gratitude without stumbling, and hoped her eyes and smile would compensate for what she could not say before others. He listened and said public words, and then lifted her hand to his lips with great tenderness, and she felt the brush of his mouth and beard: the last time they would touch.

At the last minute, as the servants trooped out with his belongings, and the jingle of harness could be heard from the drive, Sarah and Laura broke from their mother and ran at Jacob, flinging their arms about his legs, Laura setting up a wail. Charlotte fought tears of her own, but found that in comforting her daughters, she herself caught at fortitude: ‘We shall always be grateful for his kindness, shan’t we? We shall never forget our friend Herr Rosenstein. We will remember him in our prayers every night.’