Sudden Awakenings (The Other Paths Collection)

Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that sleepwalking runs in families. If both parents are afflicted, the odds are two to one that their children will also suffer from some form of somnambulism or other troubled slumbers.

It was a great misfortune then that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire, both suffered such a disorder at some time in their lives.

Mr. Bennet outgrew the condition in his youth, and therefore never thought to mention it to his wife during their courtship.

Mrs. Bennet’s sleepwalking proclivities were well known to her family at the time of her marriage, but her persistent denial of it and her family’s reluctance to speak of it, lest it frighten away her eligible suitor, enabled her condition to be kept secret.

This carefully crafted silence remained unbroken until one fateful night, not long after her marriage, when Mrs. Bennet, lost in her throes of slumber, ambled down to the larder, ate up all the jellies that were prepared for an upcoming dinner party, and returned to bed.

Naturally, she denied having done so, insisting there was a thief among the servants. Mr. Bennet could not have believed it himself, but the hall boy, who had fallen asleep by the fire in the kitchen, reported he had awakened to see her gobbling up the freshly made jellies, which, in turn, caused Mr. Bennet to recall hehad woken slightly when Mrs. Bennet returned to bed, and that she had peculiarly smelled of strawberries.

Their children, except for the eldest, also inherited their parents’ somnambulism. Though the three youngest daughters all outgrew their nocturnal perambulations before their tenth birthdays, Miss Elizabeth Bennet remained afflicted.

Even at the mature age of twenty, she would, from time to time, rise from her slumber during the night and wander the house, performing various tasks, all the while remaining completely unconscious of her actions.

Preventative measures had been taken to ensure her safety. They kept the kitchen knives locked away, the doors and windows secured, and a bell attached to each door to alert them if someone tried to leave the house during the night. Despite these measures, there were occasionally incidents which caused a stir at Longbourn. The occasional misplaced object or a peculiar nighttime disturbance were often a source of amusement, and at times exasperation, for members of the Bennet family.

On one such occasion, shortly before Michaelmas, the household had not been asleep for more than a few hours when one of the bells rang, alerting Mr. Bennet that somebody had managed to open a door. He glanced next to him to ensure his wife still remained abed, her gentle snores undisturbed by this alarm. Concluding it must be his daughter, he rose from his bed and went down the stairs. His other daughters, also awakened by the sounds, followed him.

“Is it Lizzy?” Lydia asked, her soft slippers padding on the polished floorboards. “Has she gone out of doors?”

“It would appear so,” Mr. Bennet answered. “Fetch your shoes, girls, in case you are needed. ”

They obeyed their father. It was not the first time they had needed to go in search of their sister.

By this time, Mr. Hill had also arisen and made his appearance in the hall. Helping his master into a dressing gown and boots, he offered him a lantern and the pair set out in search of Elizabeth.

“She cannot have gone far, sir,” the old butler said. “I will check the gardens if you will search the barns.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, and they separated. Pulling his dressing gown tighter to ward off the cool night air, he tramped through the dewy grass towards the side yards where the barns lay. A faint luminescence gleamed from the doorway of the barn where the livestock were kept. Inside the barn, Elizabeth stood beside the pigpen, feeding an apple to a large pig. Her eyes were glazed over in a trance, and she did not appear to notice the happy snuffles of the animal nibbling from her hand.

Mr. Bennet moved towards her slowly so as not to alarm her. A pungent aroma assailed his nostrils. The foul odors of the pigpen ought to be enough to wake anyone, he mused. Yet Elizabeth did not stir.

Lydia and Kitty, ever the impetuous ones, rushed in, still in their nightdresses, each with a dressing gown hastily thrown over it.

“Lizzy! What are you doing?” Kitty cried, grabbing her sister’s arm away from the pig and causing the remainder of the apple to drop to the ground outside the pen. The pig grunted, trying to reach it with his nose through the slats in his pen.

Lydia jumped back with a shriek, narrowly avoiding stepping in a pile of refuse.

“Hush! Do not wake her,” Mr. Bennet cautioned. “She may become frightened if she awakens here. She is in no immediate danger. Let us lead her back to her bed.” He knew from experience that waking a sleepwalker often caused more harm than good, as the distress sometimes made them lash out in fear, potentially injuring themselves or others, before they could become aware of their surroundings.

Gently, he took his daughter’s shoulders and began guiding her in the direction of the house. “It is time to go to bed, Lizzy,” he whispered. Elizabeth nodded, her feet following the path she was led on, her eyes unblinking. They brought her safely into the confines of the house, sat her on her bed and watched as she instinctively laid down, her eyes slowly shutting.

Jane drew the covers over her and kissed her forehead. “I daresay she will not remember this in the morning,” she murmured, before climbing back into bed next to Elizabeth.

“If my experience tells me anything, no, she will not,” Mr. Bennet agreed.

S

Just as predicted, Elizabeth woke the next morning with no recollection of her nighttime activities. She went about her day as usual, although the uncharacteristic dirt beneath her fingernails and mud on her slippers teased the question of some late-night escapade which her unconscious mind seemed determined to keep from her.

“You were sleepwalking again last night, Lizzy,” Jane remarked casually as the two of them sat in the morning room. Elizabeth was sewing shirts for the parish poor, as she often did, while Jane occupied herself with retrimming a bonnet.

“Was I?” Elizabeth asked. “I had no idea of it. I hope I did not do anything too dreadful.”

“Nothing more dreadful than attempting to fatten up George during the night,” Jane said with a sly smile .

“Oh dear!” Elizabeth laughed. “As he is already a contender for the top prize at this year’s fair, I daresay he needs no further assistance in that!” Her needle flew across the fabric at an increased pace.

Jane astutely changed the subject. “I’ve had a letter from Mary. She writes that she is settling in well at Hunsford Parsonage. The house and parish are to her liking, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh is friendly and obliging. All in all, she appears content, even happy, in her new situation.”

Elizabeth said nothing. She could not imagine anyone feeling happy as the wife of Mr. Collins and she felt it foolish that her sister, only two years younger than herself, had thrown herself away on a marriage of convenience.

The previous spring, Mr. Collins, their cousin who was the newly minted rector of Hunsford, had paid them a visit. He initially expressed an interest in Jane, but Mrs. Bennet, being certain that Jane was destined for a far superior match, steered him towards Elizabeth. Elizabeth found him pompous and tedious.

Mary, however, was not so scrupulous. As the middle child yearning for attention, she readily accepted Collins’ proposal mere hours after Elizabeth’s rejection, gaining the distinction of being the first sister to wed.

Mary’s piousness and eagerness to please exactly suited his desire for a compliant wife. Her talents on the pianoforte, unappreciated by her friends and family, were highly acclaimed by Lady Catherine, who boasted to be a great lover of music. Out of all the Bennet sisters, Mary’s temperament was the best suited for tending to a flock in the capacity of a minister’s wife, and in her new life, she found a measure of contentment.

Elizabeth, however, failed to see this, and only imagined her sister’s misery in such a situation. She herself would never marry except for love, she reasoned. Material charms and the distinction of being wed held no draw for her as it did for her sisters .

Despite her mother’s insistence she would find herself an old maid if she did not make an effort to be agreeable to gentlemen of their acquaintance, Elizabeth felt content with her present situation and was in no hurry to marry. Until some worthy gentleman came along, there was no need to alter her way of life.

Therefore, she was unmoved that afternoon when her mother rushed home to tell them the news.

Mrs. Bennet, a woman whose primary focus in life was the advantageous establishment of her daughters, entered the drawing room all aflutter after her visit with Mrs. Long. The family were scattered about the room, each engaged in their own pursuits, and unperturbed by the matron’s behavior. Mrs. Bennet did not even bother to remove her bonnet but immediately went to her husband, who was in his favorite chair, attempting to find solace in his newspaper.

“My dear, Mr. Bennet,” she began, in a voice so eager it made her husband sigh. “Have you heard? Netherfield Park is let, at last !”

The park had been unoccupied ever since the owners had been forced to retrench.

Mr. Bennet ignored her and continued reading his paper.

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?” Mrs. Bennet rapped her fingers impatiently on the back of his chair.

Mr. Bennet finally graced her with a glance. “As you wish to tell me, my dear, by all means, let us hear it,” he said dryly.

His invitation led her to communicate that a man from the north by the name of Mr. Bingley, whose income was estimated at four or five thousand a year and who was reportedly single, was to be their new neighbor.

Elizabeth listened with some amusement as her father, who found great enjoyment in vexing her mother, insisted he would not go to visit Mr. Bingley to establish the acquaintance. None of Mrs. Bennet’s cries and pleas for the sake of their daughters could stir him to agree otherwise, though his wink towards Elizabeth told her he fully meant to do so.

“Your father is so stubborn, Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet complained to her. “He will not take us to town so you may meet interesting and eligible gentlemen, whom you might marry, and here is a wealthy young gentleman who comes into our very neighborhood, and all your father has to do is cross three miles to meet him, but still, he will not stir! How am I ever to find husbands for you all, with such a father as yours?”

“I do not know, Mamma. Perhaps we shall all have to join a convent,” Elizabeth quipped.

Her remark did not satisfy her mother, who soon left the house to complain about the situation to her sister, Mrs. Phillips, who resided in nearby Meryton.

S

It would be interesting, Elizabeth supposed, to make a new acquaintance. Their circle of acquaintances, circumscribed by geography and limited means, comprised only four and twenty families with whom they had any degree of familiarity, and fewer still with whom they enjoyed the intimacy of regular calls and shared dinners.

A newcomer promised to be a delightful novelty for conversation, and by paying a visit to her particular friend Charlotte Lucas the following day, Elizabeth was able to learn more about their new neighbor.

“My father has already lost no time in calling on Mr. Bingley,” Charlotte told her, with levity, “and he reported him to be a handsome and agreeable fellow. I have not seen him myself,” she clarified, “but I have never known my father to exaggerate. Mr. Bingley has two sisters, one married, who are to join him at the end of the month. I hope they shall be as agreeable as their brother.”

“Their amiability is of no consequence to us, surely,” said Elizabeth. “For we are not dependent on their company, after all. If their brother is as agreeable as has been told, then I daresay he will bring sufficient life to our dull gatherings.”

Charlotte heartily agreed.