Page 12 of The Long Road Back to Yesterday

“He should feel less pain now.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“I am sorry, Miss Bennet.”

* * *

Hill escorted the physician out, but the three sisters remained at their father's side.

Mary asked, “What did Papa tell you, Lizzy? Did he find Lydia?”

Elizabeth sighed heavily. “Yes, he found her. Lieutenant Wickham means to sell her to a brothel somewhere in London. Papa says he shot Wickham, but the wound was not fatal.”

Mary bowed her head. “I hope he dies of the wound as Papa shall.”

Elizabeth said, “We may never know what becomes of him, or of our sister.”

The three women kept vigil beside their father's bed, weeping silently as the hours slipped away. From time to time, Elizabeth offered him water, and he drank a few sips.

At one point, he whispered, “She is lost. Lizzy, say she died when I was shot. It will spare you, girls, from ruin.”

Elizabeth said, “We will, Papa. We shall tell Mamma that Lydia, too, was shot and died where she fell.”

“Warn Mead, Lizzy. He will keep silent about her ruination.”

“Yes, Papa. I will ask Mead to keep our secret.”

He pressed Elizabeth’s hand.

“Goodbye, my girl.”

“Goodbye, Papa. I love you.” Elizabeth bent over his hand as it lay on the bed and wept.

Jane and Mary rose, bent over him, and spoke their farewells.

Elizabeth looked to Jane. “He wishes us to say Lydia died as well. But what of her body? What will people say when there is no body to bury?”

Mary said, “We can say Papa was taking Lydia to Uncle Edward's to help care for our nephew. Our uncle can then tell Mamma that Lydia was also shot, died of her injuries, and was buried in a pauper's grave. It will be the kindest thing we can do for our mother.”

* * *

Elizabeth was grateful that in the end, that particular deception proved unnecessary. The three eldest sisters remained beside their father's bed until he drew his last breath. Then, together, they went to their mother's bedchamber.

Jane spoke. “Mamma, our father has passed. Do you wish to see him?”

Frances Bennet sat upright in bed and let out a low, mournful wail.

“Thomas is dead? What is to become of us now?”

She pressed both hands to her temples and moaned.

“Jane, my head pains me.”

Elizabeth hurried to her side while Jane offered her a glass of wine.

“Mamma, drink this. It will settle your nerves.”

But Frances Bennet slumped back against the pillows and did not answer.