More Sport for our Neighbours

by Ronald McGowan

  Lizzie answered me then.

  “We thought you would say as much, papa,” she said, “and so we have a suggestion to put to you. Could we not both be married at the same time? The expense would surely be very little more than for one, and we should both be much happier that way, without dear Jane’s day marred by regrets. I am sure Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley would be much happier, too.”

  I could not help standing up and taking the two of them in my arms.

  “My dears,” I replied, “I made sure that I could rely on you. You two, at least, have never let me down. This is just what I consider to be the best possible solution to our little problem. But the suggestion had to come from you. Had I made the proposal, you would have felt yourselves bound to agree, no matter what your personal feelings.”

  I kissed each one, fondly, wiping away a tear as I did so. I am told old men often become very emotional.

  “Now, get along with you, and try to moderate your mother’s raptures.”

  I had no great hopes of any success in that direction, but at least they could prepare the ground.

  I had a rather shorter wait this time. Mrs. Bennet lost no time in bustling in with cries of

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet, how good you are to us all! How wise, how kind, how forbearing, how ready to take any trouble for your family!”

  “Naturally, my dear,” I put in. It is always worth attempting to stem the flood. It is not unknown for Mrs. Bennet to be distracted by an interruption. “I perfectly agree with your sentiments, but I see no pressing reason for your celebrating them in quite such a way.”

  She stood a while, attempting to think of a rejoinder.

  “I do not understand you, my love,” she said, at last.

  “I would not presume to argue the point with you, just now, my dear,” I replied, “especially as I must now consult Mr. Dawkins on the procedure to be followed for a double wedding.”

  So saying, I called for my hat and cane, and set off for Meryton. There would be no peace or sense in the house for a good while, and at least Mr. Dawkins, the rector, is a man of admirable parts and entertaining conversation, even if he does fail to grasp the true meaning of the henotikon.

  It turned out that he had never conducted a double wedding himself.

  “Save for the baptizing of twin infants,” he said, “multiple ceremonies have, I believe, been done very rarely since the days when tyrant kings would order the baptizing or marriage of all their courtiers on the spot. I can see no objection to it, myself, canonically, that is, but I may have to consult. It may be necessary to adapt the ceremony somewhat, and any deviation from the Book of Common Prayer is not to be undertaken lightly. And there are minor, procedural points that we will have to settle among ourselves, whether there should be one minister or two, whether there should be one, joint ceremony, or two distinct ceremonies following one upon another, and, if the latter, who shall be first. All these things will have to be settled before we may proceed, but the difficulties should not be insuperable. Did you have any particular date in mind, sir? We shall need to call the banns a month before, remember.”

  Chapter Three : Celebrations

  All these, and many other matters fell to be settled before the happy event could take place, but none caused as much trouble as the totally inconsequential matter of who should take the vows first.

  Lizzie, very sensibly, conceded precedence to her sister, both in years and order of engagement, but Jane would not hear of such a thing. It was obvious to all that, with her usual modesty and consideration, she did not wish Lizzie to feel that her celebration was in any way secondary. To give colour to her contention that Lizzie should be first, she cited the much greater consequence of the bridegroom in the match.

  “I am sure that Mr. Bingley would not mind,” she said, “and it would never do, you know, to offend Mr. Darcy, who is so accustomed to being first in his company.”

  “Never you mind about Mr. Darcy, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Mr. Darcy will do just as Lizzie tells him, if he wants to have any hope of a happy marriage.”

  From the viewpoint of twenty-three years of matrimony, my agreement was tacit, but nonetheless heartfelt.

  Still, the discussion went on, and looked like to continue all day.

  “Perhaps we should have both ceremonies conducted concurrently,” I suggested, “with the vows taken in chorus? We should need another clergyman, of course, but I dare say Mr. Collins might be persuaded to do the honours for his fair cousin.”

  This innocent suggestion was not well received, but it sufficed to remind the ladies that some resolution was necessary, and eventually it was settled that there should be one ceremony up to the point of exchanging vows, whereupon the couples should proceed separately, with Jane and Bingley first, and, of course, be pronounced man and wife separately, with Elizabeth and Darcy first this time.

  “All this will have to be agreed with Mr. Dawkins,” I pointed out, “but he is a reasonable man, and I have already discussed the ceremony with him. I think he will raise no objection. Now, since it appears that the only way this simple family discussion will ever reach a conclusion is if I treat it as a committee meeting, let us move on the next item on the agenda. Maids of Honour, or, as the modern jargon would have it, bridesmaids.”

  “We will need at least two each,” said Jane, but I think there need be no call for any more. The expense…”

  “What?” cried Mrs. Bennet, “Only two bridesmaids! But what sort of a procession will that give us? Even Charlotte Lucas had four. How will I ever hold my head up with Lady Lucas?”

  “Ah, but we shall have two brides, remember, and they had but one. Besides, Charlotte Lucas had an abundance of sisters and cousins to choose from, as well as unmarried friends,” put in Lizzie. “Which reminds me, I had always counted on Charlotte as one of mine, but she is no longer eligible. Still, I am sure Miss Darcy would be willing, and of, course, Mary and Kitty go without saying. That only leaves one.”

  “It must be Miss Bingley, must it not?” said Jane, rather reluctantly.

  “I see no help for it, my dear,” I said. “But let us comfort ourselves with the hope that she may decline, or, failing that, with thoughts of the expression on her face when she accepts. Now, any other business?”

  “Clothes, Mr. Bennet, what about wedding clothes?” asked Mrs. Bennet.

  “I must decline to discuss clothes, Mrs. Bennet, however necessary society may have decreed that they may be. I shall leave you to your own deliberations, ladies. You may find me in my library if my assistance is required.”

  In the event, all went gratifyingly well. The visage of suppressed fury and hypocritically feigned delight with which Miss Bingley greeted Jane’s request for her to be her bridesmaid was perfectly satisfactory.

  The actual ceremony passed without the slightest problem. Mrs. Bennet wept throughout, glorying in the double event and her own consequence.

  Mr. Collins was suitably unctuous, while looking over his shoulder every now and then, presumably for Lady Catherine’s spies. The Hursts’ efforts to overlay their customary jealous disdain with assumed pleasure were quite sufficiently entertaining, and Lady Lucas was even heard to admire the procession, to which we had added two little Gardners as page boys.

  Both brides were absolutely, ravishingly, radiantly beautiful. I am become a sentimental old man, and can scarce look back upon that day myself without wiping my eye, but I only barely exaggerate when I say that the sun seemed to shine out of them just as much as upon them.

  But enough! I begin to wax eloquent and that will never do. Let it never be said that a Bennet indulged in so unbecoming a vice as enthusiasm.

  In sum, I believe that the wedding day was as satisfactory as may be to all concerned, even though there were two bouquets thrown, and neither of them caught by either Mary or Kitty.

  Chapter Four : Consultations

  The departure of the two couples on their wedding tours gave me ample time to contemplate at leisure th
e state in which we were left.

  It had not occurred to me that it would be quite so advantageous. I had anticipated spending the rest of my life, enduring long evenings – indeed, whole days – spent listening to Mrs. Bennet lament the absence of her daughters, and demanding action on behalf of those remaining. Yet, after scarcely more than a twelvemonth, however, another face of things was seen.

  Had more suitors appeared, even another Mr. Collins, no doubt Mrs. Bennet would have found her time gainfully occupied, or, at any rate, occupied, in furthering the match with her accustomed subtlety. This would necessarily have involved another round of social activity in which I should have been expected to take my part.

  Instead, an amazing, astounding, blissful level of peace descended upon the household.

  Mary had never given as much trouble as her sisters, and as long as she was left to her books and her music, she was content. She had her own room, furnished with her own books, and had not developed a habit of popping into my library for consultations. I cannot say that her reading was particularly scholarly, but it was certainly worthy, and unlikely to encourage thoughts of romance. Like the music room, it was at the far end of the house, and when she abandoned her books for her music no more than a faint tinkling of the spinet penetrated to my refuge.

  Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, found a ready companion and subject in Kitty. Mary was obviously hopeless, but something might yet be made of Kitty, and she found her new occupation in attempting to transform Kitty into Lydia redivivus. Kitty, being neither so quick nor so exigent as Lydia, did not prove an easy subject, and looked ready to occupy my darling for some time.

  I found myself able, at last, after many years, to resume a serious course of study, and to work on my magnum opus, which had been so sadly neglected for so long. I actually began to think it possible that, with no more than a few years’ more work, I should truly be able to contribute, in however small a way, to the sum of human knowledge on a significant, but all too often ignored, subject.

  This burgeoning pride in my achievements came, quite literally, before a fall.

  It was nothing at all, really, a momentary indisposition, but much was made of it. I had breakfasted rather well that morning, after a brisk walk to work up an appetite, as is my custom, and, rising from the table I felt a slight dizziness, and closed my eyes, only to find, on opening them, that I had somehow been magically transported to a sofa, where I was lying flat on my back.

  I know quite well that I had closed my eyes for but a moment, but Mrs. Bennet would have it that I had been, as she put it, “dead to the world for nigh on an hour”. This could not possibly be true, and Mrs. Bennet is notoriously given to exaggeration, so I did not much credit it, although I had to admit that I had no memory of my arrival upon the sofa, nor of Mary, relishing her role as the new Miss Bennet, sending to Meryton for Doctor Morland, a young man who had recently set up shop there, much to the discomfort of old Simkins the apothecary.

  Yet all this must have happened, for there I was on the sofa, and there was the physician, striding through the door with his black bag in his hand.

  In the past we had sent to St. Albans for our physician, but since he had removed from the area we had had no occasion for medical help. To have a genuine physician so near at hand in Meryton was a great convenience, to be sure, but who knew what such a very energetic young man might prescribe.

  “Oh, Doctor, Doctor!” cried Mrs. Bennet, “I wish you would come and give Mr. Bennet a good talking to, for he will overdo things, poring over his books all the time, scribble, scribble, day and night, and now he is quite fallen into a swoon with it all, and how am I to manage, with two daughters to support and thrown out of house and home by that odious Mr. Collins?”

  “Thank you, my dear,” I said, sitting up, although the effort did induce a slight dizziness. “How gratifying it is to see you showing such concern for my personal well-being! I hope to avoid troubling Mr. Collins for some time yet, and I dare say that now the doctor is here he would be better employed looking into Kitty’s cough than wasting his time upon me.”

  “You must allow me to be the judge of that sir,” said the young man, in his proprietorial, physician’s way. That “I know better than you air” must be one of the first things they teach them at medical school.

  “It is nothing, sir, I replied, “a mere passing indisposition. Once I have my breath back I shall be perfectly well. What concerns me more is the lapse of memory which it seems to have occasioned, for I have no recollection of how I came to be lying upon this sofa. It will be a sad day indeed if I may no longer rely upon my mental faculties.”

  “Allow me, sir,” he replied, taking my arm and feeling my pulse.

  The examination that followed was not quite the normal physician’s consultation, for he looked intently into my eyes, with a magnifying glass, and listened to my chest through a wooden tube, the like of which I had never seen before.

  “Tell me, Mr. Bennet,” he asked, “how do you spend your days? What are your occupations, do you ride, hunt, shoot, fish like most of your neighbours? Do you busy yourself with managing your estate, or with social pursuits?”

  “Oh, Doctor,” cried Mrs. Bennet, “he does nothing but sit in the library all day and late into the night, reading, reading, reading and writing, writing, writing. He is in the course of producing some book of prodigious learning. I do not rightly understand what it is about, myself, but it must be prodigious learned, and prodigious long, for he has been writing it these thirty years and more.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, my dear,” I put in, “but perhaps you would permit me to answer for myself?”

  “Indeed,” said the doctor, “I should prefer to hear from the patient’s own lips. I always find they can describe their symptoms better than anyone else, even their nearest and dearest.”

  He then proceeded to an inquisition upon my daily habits and pastimes, enquiring minutely also into this morning’s events. Had I been eating heavily? Had I felt giddy? How was my breathing? Did I have a pain in my chest?

  When he had finished he stood back.

  “Well, Mr. Bennet,” he said, “it may be no more than a passing syncope, a fainting fit brought on by rising from the table too quickly. But I am not quite happy with your colour, nor with the sound of your heatbeat, nor, indeed, with the agitation of your breathing. You should rest, for now. Do not exert yourself in any way, either physically or mentally. I will call again tomorrow at the same time, when you will be, I hope, calmer and more rested, and we shall see how your symptoms present themselves then.”

  “What?” I replied. “Do I see a Daniel come to judgement, a physician who goes away without inflicting a noxious dose upon his patient? No blue pill? No black draught? No enema, no bolus?”

  “No, sir. And no red meat, rich sauces, cheese or dairy foods either, nor wine nor spirits, except for one glass of Port wine at bedtime. I could give you a black bottle to help you to sleep, but I think you will find the port answers just as well and is rather more palatable. Above all, do not worry. I am convinced there is no immediate danger, and tomorrow we shall be able to judge better.”

  I could hear Mrs. Bennet’s effusive thanks and promises to make sure I did not so much as lift a finger all the way to the front door.

  For the rest of the day I found myself constantly plagued by female attentions, being obliged to refuse possets and broths and tisanes, attended on all sides by my daughters, who were obviously waiting to catch me the moment I showed any sign of falling.

  Mrs. Bennet meanwhile kept up an incessant string of instructions to watch my step, take my ease, do not upset myself, and particularly to think of myself, of my wife and my daughters, who would be left in penury without me. She kept this up to such an extent that at length I was obliged to lock myself in my library to escape.

  I salved my conscience over not following doctor’s orders by putting my writing case away, although my fingers itched for the pen, and selecting a book o
f poetry from the shelves. The girls had recently brought it in from the circulating library in Meryton, and had been pressing me to read it for days.

  It was by Walter Scott, who, I gather, is very much in vogue these days. I flicked through a few pages, and remember thinking, “What tawdry, meretricious doggerel to be so popular!” and then I remember no more until the sound of hammering on the door roused me from my slumber.

  “Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet! Are you there, Mr. Bennet, are you all right?”

  It was, of course, my darling wife’s voice, and even as I blinked my eyes open, the words changed to –

  “Mary, Kitty, fetch Hill at once. Tell him to bring a crowbar, for Mr. Bennet is lying dead or insensible in his library, and will not answer me. The door is locked and we cannot get in to rescue him. Run, run, tell him to come quick, for if your father should die, what should become of us?”

  I shuffled over to the door, and prepared to face the inevitable expostulations. Fortunately, my sleep had been strangely refreshing, and I felt quite restored.

  There was no escape after that, however, and I found myself pinioned by the gaze of one or more of my womenfolk until the doctor returned the following day.

  He examined me much as he had done before.

  “And how do you feel today, Mr. Bennet?” he asked.

  “Oh, Doctor, replied Mrs. Bennet, “I am sure he can be no better, for he would go into his library there and spend hours poring over his old books again. He would not answer the door, and we all thought he had gone, leaving us destitute, and then what should we do?”

  This would not do, and I had to interrupt.