‘Like we remember our brother Tom?’ asked Sarah, and Charlotte hitched her breath in her throat, glad to have an excuse for wet eyes. ‘Yes, my dearest, exactly like we remember Tom.’ She bent and folded her arms around her daughters as she watched the man she loved walk out the magnificent doors, down the steps, and out of her life.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE COMPANY AT PEMBERLEY WAS gathered for breakfast a few days later. With the return of Mr Darcy, decorum once more marked the rituals of the day, and Charlotte suppressed a twinge at the memory of the easiness of meals with Jacob and the children present.

Mr Darcy made no secret of his predilection for newspapers rather than conversation at this meal, and Mr Collins had learned to remain mostly silent, his habit of prattling with nerves in the presence of great rank mercifully in abeyance. Elizabeth tapped her fingers lightly on the tablecloth, until addressed by Charlotte. The two women engaged in desultory talk concerning their plans for the day; an hour of reading with her daughters for Charlotte; the morning conference with her housekeeper for Lizzy. Elizabeth invited Charlotte to join her in selecting flowers from the conservatory and their customary river walk in the afternoon if the weather continued fine.

A servant entered with the day’s post: on the salver was a black-edged communiqué for Mrs Darcy. Apprehension rippled through the company, and Mr Darcy immediately laid down his broadsheet and went to his wife’s side. He used his own letter-opener, and put the missive into her trembling hands. Lizzy uttered a great cry of distress as she read, then dropped the letter, jumped to her feet, and stumbled from the room. Her husband took a swift look at it, then turned to follow his wife, calling over his shoulder, ‘Read the letter, if you please. It concerns you both.’

Anxious for her friend, yet curious, Charlotte pushed the letter over to her husband, and requested that he convey its contents to her. But although written in a shaking hand, its message was clear and brief: Mr Bennet had died suddenly, after a day or two of illness not thought to be serious. His lady was beside herself with grief and terror, and Mary, who had penned the letter, was herself evidently too overcome by real sorrow to be verbose.