by Don Jacobson
She of the china-blue eyes…
His fourth, but not ever the least…
Come, Papa, your work is done. Walk with me for a bit.
Kitty
Chapter LVI
Longbourn Estate, Meryton, October 9, 1817
We'll meet again
Don't know where
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day
Keep smiling through
Just like you always do
'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away[cxxvi]
Three years is an eternity when one is alone in this world.
And, Thomas had left her side nearly three years ago. Oh, Fanny had done her best to carry on. She was successful most of the time. True, she did slip once-in-a-while and fall back into her old ways, especially when Tom’s absence imposed itself most cruelly. For the most part, she continued to be a woman of good sense and probity—except when she was not.
Mrs. Bennet recalled with chagrin that sad day when General Fitzwilliam had accompanied Mary and Lizzy to bring the news of Wickham’s martyrdom at Waterloo. T’was then that the old demons arose, even though she had exorcised them, or so she thought, during her sessions with Miss Freud. She had embarrassed herself and her daughters—and even Charlotte—with her effusions about Lydie’s future. Oddly, t’was at moments like that when she forgot much of what she had learned all those years down the timeline.
Mayhap her knowledge that Lydia and Fitzwilliam were destined to be together, that he would succeed as Earl, and she would become his Countess, had led her to speculate on Richard’s glorious red coat that June day. Mayhap t’was the Old One reaching out from its wooden shell to toy with her.
The Wardrobe, ancient and eldritch creature that it is, does play fast and loose with one’s mind, clouding some items and casting others into stark relief.
Now, after another autumn had browned her beloved rose garden, Fanny sat in in front of the west-facing parlor window. The late afternoon sun’s golden beams flowed from behind the Chiltern Uplift and through the oak sentinels marching along the margins of Longbourn Lane. Sol’s rays had always made Longbourn’s front parlor uninhabitable in the summer months. Now, however, the warmth was welcome and seeped into her bones, weary now after soldiering on without him for far too long.
Her visits north to Thornhill, Kympton, and Pemberley had become rarer as her health had declined. She was content to snuggle into her Longbourn burrow like a well-pampered coney, plump and furry. She had her roses, little Eddie and Maria Rose, and many of her old friends. Charlotte tenderly treated her as the Dowager mistress of Longbourn.
Life, such as it was, was good to her.
Recently, though, she had been finding it more and more difficult to rouse herself. Her world had devolved into a circuit defined by her chambers, the dining room, and the front parlor. Now, with the first coolish nights having taken hold of the wilderness which sheltered her plantings, Mrs. Bennet had little incentive to do more than sit in her chair and maybe attend to a bit of sewing from the poor basket.
She suspected that Charlotte had used some of the household budget to dispatch express letters to Lizzy, Jane, Mary, and Lydia. The house once again rang with the sounds of children as the three broods from Pemberley, Thornhill, and Kympton descended to fill Longbourn. Lydia, for her part, had departed from her rooms at Pemberley and brought with her Mrs. Wilson from Hedgebrook House, the Sergeant being otherwise employed with General Fitzwilliam.
All who loved Fanny were there to offer her the consolation of time with all her children and grandchildren.
Now, as the afternoon waned, Mary sat at the pianoforte playing Fanny’s beloved We’ll Meet Again using sheet music that the good lady had somehow managed to tuck into her foundation garments before she and Tom had translated back from 1951. When Fanny had asked her to perform, Mary simply raised an eyebrow and muttered beneath her breath ‘You would think we were Hatchard’s given all the sheet music we are importing.’ But, she gladly launched into the anthem.
Mary’s husband, the Rt. Rev. Edward Benton was filling the room with his mellow baritone. Fanny closed her eyes and smiled at how well he looked for a man who was older than her Tom. Of course, she knew him from his youth, and he had changed little since those days. Tom had clearly advised Mary that her Mama was fully read into the secrets of the Wardrobe…and Edward’s unusual nature. Thus, Edward was here rather than being unavailable because of parish duties.
She opened her eyes and watched the man who reminded her so much of Tom as a young man. Benton…no, Bennet…had eyes only for his Mary. Fanny knew the love Edward poured into that look, for she had seen it in her own Mr. Bennet’s eyes so many times during the years after Lizzy and Jane married. She was happy for them.
And that was the truest blessing of her life—of any mother’s existence. Her girls had married well, laying to rest her fears of their poverty and privation. Even Lydia…whom she knew would marry well for a second time.
There was little need for her to remain in this here/now. Her work was done.
With the speed of that thought flashing through her mind, Fanny suddenly felt as though she was being lifted atop a wave. Yet, she did not worry, did not sense that she was being tumbled dangerously in the comber.
T’was more like the gentle surf in front of The Beach House, sweeping in from the Channel to part its current against her shins while sweeping the sand from beneath her bare feet. The pull toward deeper waters was imperceptible, but none-the-less potent.
She stood alone, exposed to the skies, with the morning star peeping over the dunes behind her; its twinkling light sparkled off the three monuments in the tiny cemetery above which three flags rustled in dawn’s breeze. Soon enough, the rosy haze which grew ever brighter above the House’s slate roof would blossom from ruddy red to delicate tangerine, from blush to yellow followed by the white of another glorious day.
The sound of the waters roared in her ears. An exhibition, worthy of cher Pierre-Auguste, began to flash before her eyes: her life, rich and fully formed!
Then he was where he had always been, off to her left and slightly behind. His hand dropped to her shoulder as the two of them watched the tableau, oddly receding into unaccountable mists, of their family gamboling about the parlor as they had for all those years.
Fanny chuckled as Bingley raged around the room like Mrs. Shelley’s monster, Eddie Bennet wrapped around one ankle, George William Darcy on the other. Lizzy had Bridget Benton on her knee while Jane gripped Rory’s waistband to keep the terrible two from inserting himself into his uncle and cousins’ fun. Lydia and Laura kept a watchful eye on the Bingley girls: those youngsters were clearly torn about whether to act the hoyden or serenely rest like their mama.
T’is a beautiful scene, is it not, my love? Tom asked.
Fanny sighed, It is, Tom. We did do well. I worried so much that it would have been otherwise. I must own that there were times when I was unsure how t’would all turn out.
Bennet replied, Once we passed by our fears and learned to live…and to love…again, it could not have been anything but successful.
Yes…love…Fanny mused, We did find redemption because we learned to forgive ourselves our weaknesses.
His baritone laughter overrode the rushing current.
Mr. Lewis positively grumbled around his pipe stem when I told him of your formulation of the Fifth and Sixth Loves. He had only perceived four, Tom added.
Well, I imagine he was only seeing the world through a man’s eyes. Oh my! I do hope Mr. Lewis is willing to offer a foolish old woman a bit of Christian charity, Fanny worried.
You need only ask him. We are invited to a salon welcoming you Home, my dear.
A salon? What could I possibly wear?
Ah, ever my Frances Lorinda! Consider your gown.
And, so she did. T’was the sheerest golden silk with delicate spider’s-web lace ribbons highlighting her bodice. She gently
stroked the dress. Multi-hued sparks fired off her fingertips, illuminating a kaleidoscope of colors that chased throughout the material before they subtly dissolved.
Confusion nearly overset her, and she tilted her head back toward his.
Tom?
Yes, my rose. T’is time. We have been waiting for you to learn that all was well.
And it is?
Yes.
Another was there, bringing that peace that Fanny knew only when in the company of her girls.
She of the china-blue eyes.
Mama? You have come!
Kitty!
So will you please say hello
To the folks that I know
Tell them I won't be long
They'll be happy to know
That as you saw me go
I was singing this song
We'll meet again
Don't know where
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again some sunny day
Fin
Dear reader: if you have read an e-book version of “The Avenger: Thomas Bennet and a Father’s Lament” and do not wish to read the back material, please skim or advance to the end of the book where you will be taken to a page where you may rate the book and leave a review. As readers of my other books will attest, I “go to school” on reviews and use them to improve subsequent books. If you have purchased a print version of the book (bless you for allowing the full-fledged cover art to reach out), please search the title on www.amazon.com and leave a review.
Afterword
The Bennet Wardrobe is an alternative history in the Jane Austen Universe. While the characters are familiar, I have endeavored to provide each of them with an opportunity to grow into three-dimensional personalities, although not necessarily in the Regency period. If they were shaped or stifled by the conventions of the time, the Wardrobe helped solve their problems, make penance and learn lessons by giving them a chance to escape that era.
Astute readers may also note that I have peppered the Bennet Wardrobe stories with characters created by authors other than Ms. Austen. That is because I subscribe to the idea that imagining characters and their foibles brings them into reality. Ms. Austen, through the act of writing Pride and Prejudice, created the universe in which, I like to believe, all subsequent Regency/Napoleonic/Victorian novels exist as reality. Likewise, I have sought to place the nominally fictional characters within historical contexts that dictate that they interact with real-world persons. Thus, Sir Winston Churchill and Ian Fleming have made their Bennet Wardrobe bows in The Avenger: Thomas Bennet and A Father’s Lament.
The speculative fiction master Robert A. Heinlein employed this approach in his majestic work The Number of the Beast (1980).
“As in many of his later works, Heinlein refers to the idea of solipsism, but in this book develops it into an idea he called "World as Myth" — the idea that universes are created by the act of imagining them, so that all fictional worlds are in fact real and all real worlds are figments of fictional figures' fancy…”[cxxvii]
As a result, you will find characters in The Bennet Wardrobe who were created by Patrick O’Brien, Winston Graham, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Virginia Woolf, Julian Fellowes, and Bernard Cornwell. Their characters populated the Regency, Victorian, and Edwardian worlds envisaged by their originators much as the Bennets, Darcys, and Fitzwilliams resided in a universe established by Jane Austen and, later, The Wardrobe.
You will note with interest that those who served the Darcys in P&P (and Bingleys, Cecils, and Fitzwilliams in The Bennet Wardrobe Series) continue to serve, albeit in different capacities sometimes high in the ranks of the Bennet Family Trust. Readers will discover Hills, Reynolds, Annesleys, Wilsons, Andertons, and Tomkinses (I feel a bit like Gollum here) working in various capacities throughout the Bennet Wardrobe stories. Some have married into the families themselves (Annie Reynolds m. Lord Thomas Fitzwilliam). Other characters (Alois Schiller and Lizzy Cecil-Darcy for instance) have been created from the whole cloth in my effort to build the strongest context for the work. Likewise, character names and places which have been created in my other Bennet Wardrobe novels and Pride & Prejudice Variations have been re-tasked. As always, there is a Dr. Campbell to save the day.
There will be a point where I create a full genealogy to detail all the Families and their relationships from the 1690s to the 1980s. Until then, please bear with me as old characters mature and depart and new ones arrive on stage.
Any work of the scope of The Bennet Wardrobe stories could not be created without a network of supporters…in this case spanning the globe. I would offer particular notice to my writing sprint comrades, Marion Kummerow, Nicole Clarkston, and Joy King. Your encouragement made getting up at 4:45 AM a worthwhile experience.
Another specific nod goes to two great Austenesque Authors—Joana Starnes and Lory Lilian—without whom I would have begun gibbering like a maniac when the plot threatened to throttle me. Another shout-out goes to the managers and employees of various Starbucks in both Issaquah, WA and Las Vegas, NV. I would wish to note my gratitude to the team at store #5561—Trails Village Center—in the Summerlin section of that Nevada metropolis.
For an author, beta readers are angels. They firmly grasp one by the lapels and gently shake while crying out, “What were you thinking?” Nicole Clarkston is a wonderful Austenesque author in her own right. Her notes and pointers as well as being a willing accomplice in a joyful correspondence have made The Avenger: Thomas Bennet and A Father’s Lament inestimably better. Carole Steinhardt, an advocate of Goodreads.com and a willing beta reader, has offered clear, sometimes pithy, comments about plot development and narrative…as well as keeping me honest with that wonderful 250,000+ word thing called English (no teenagers! All right!).[cxxviii] She also offers one other benefit…a living, breathing German dictionary in the form of her husband, Bert.
There is another force in my life, one I have never specifically acknowledged throughout all my years as a teacher and a writer. That man, Richard W. Leopold, PhD, was a distinguished Professor of History—American Foreign Relations, to be specific—at Northwestern University. He shaped three (or more) generations of historians during his tenure in Evanston, IL. I still marvel that this giant plucked a confused journalism student from the obscurity of an aimless education and installed him as the Chief Justice of History C41’s Supreme Court from 1973 to 1974. His academic rigor insisted that I/we be better than we ever imagined. Although Professor Leopold has been gone from this earth since 2012, his legacy lives on in the form of Senators, Admirals, Congressmen, Judges, and distinguished Deans. My gratitude for him is boundless. I hope that he would find my inclusion of him in this work to be a fitting tribute to his legacy.
I cannot leave you without another nod to my own muse. My wife Pam, who possesses a telling insight and an equally powerful way of cutting to the meat of the matter, urged me over 40 years ago to be a writer. I always found ways to skirt around the edges of this admonition. Yet, her persistence and continuing support finally led me home. I am a writer. I can only pray that you, dear readers, see me as an author.
There you have it. Thank you for exploring the Bennet Wardrobe Novels.
Don Jacobson
Las Vegas, NV/Issaquah, WA
December 2018
About the Author
Don Jacobson has written professionally for forty years. His output has ranged from news and features to advertising, television and radio. His work has been nominated for Emmys and other awards. He has previously published five books, all non-fiction. In 2016, he published the first volume of The Bennet Wardrobe Series—The Keeper: Mary Bennet’s Extraordinary. The Exile (Parts 1 and 2) is the second volume of The Bennet Wardrobe Series. The series has grown to include four full novels (with two more planned) and several novellas. Other JAFF P&P Variations include Lessers and Betters, Of Fortune’s Reversal and The Maid and The Footman. All his works are available in audiobook format.
J
acobson holds an advanced degree in History with a specialty in American Foreign Relations. As a college instructor, Don teaches United States History, World History, the History of Western Civilization, and Research Writing.
He is a member of JASNA-Puget Sound. Likewise, Don is a member of the Austen Authors collective (see the internet, Facebook and Twitter).
He divides his time between homes in Las Vegas, NV and the Seattle, WA area with his wife and co-author, Pam, a woman Ms. Austen would have been hard-pressed to categorize, and their rather assertive four-and-twenty-pound cat, Bear. Besides thoroughly immersing himself in the JAFF world, Don also enjoys cooking; dining out, fine wine and well-aged scotch whiskey.
His other passion is cycling. Most days from April through October will find him “putting in the miles” around the Seattle area (yes there are hills). He has ridden several “centuries” (100-mile days). Don is especially proud that he successfully completed the AIDS Ride—Midwest (500 miles from Minneapolis to Chicago) and the Make-A-Wish Miracle Ride (300 miles from Traverse City, MI to Brooklyn, MI).
Interested readers may contact Don through his website at
http://donjacobsonauthor.com/contact/
He is also a Goodreads author. Like and follow his blog at
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15235321.Don_Jacobson
Or you can like and follow him at Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/Don-Jacobson/e/B001IQZ7GC/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1488067251&sr=1-2-ent
Other Works by Don Jacobson
If you are interested in reading other Kindle-friendly works by Don Jacobson, please consider these titles:
Miss Bennet’s First Christmas (a Bennet Wardrobe novella)
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B019NZ4YYK/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i11
