Longbourn's Songbird

by Beau North

  Life with its sorrow, life with its tear

  Fades into dreams when I feel you are near

  For I love you truly, truly dear.”

  ***

  Lydia was enjoying her new status as the first married Bennet sister, and while Jane’s nuptials would soon overshadow her own, she was determined to get as much out of it as she could.

  “Isn’t my husband divine?” Lydia said, gazing through the window at Wickham, who was outside washing his car with his shirt off. His tanned skin seemed to glow in the hot sun. Elizabeth shook her head and turned away, amazed she ever felt an attraction to him. He was too lean, too bronzed, too jovial. He’s no Will Darcy.

  “Mercy, but I’m tired,” Lydia cried in a perfect imitation of her mother, throwing herself down onto the sofa. “I knew being a newlywed would keep me busy, but I never expected this.”

  “Hmm, maybe you should lie down, then,” Mary said without looking up from her book, making Elizabeth and Kitty chortle.

  Lydia grabbed Jane’s hand as she was walking by. “You’ll see soon enough, sister mine.”

  A most becoming blush spread over Jane’s porcelain features. She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, I’m sure you’re right.”

  Lydia and Elizabeth gasped in unison. “You haven’t!” Lydia exclaimed. Jane went from blushing prettily to beet red.

  “Jane, you sly dog,” said Elizabeth chuckling.

  “It wasn’t quite…that…but… Oh for heaven’s sake! I’m going to go see what Charlotte’s doing.” Fully flustered, Jane quickly exited the room with her sisters’ laughter trailing behind her.

  “We shouldn’t tease her,” Elizabeth said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “I’m sure she’s already nervous enough.”

  Lydia gave her a shrewd look. “Very well, Lizzie. How about I tease you instead?”

  “Fire your first volley, then!” Elizabeth said with gusto. “I’ve given you no ammunition!”

  “Oh no?” Lydia’s brow rose. She turned to Kitty. “I wonder how dear Lizzie will react when she hears that Mr. Darcy was in my room in New Orleans. Unchaperoned, no less.”

  Her words had the desired effect. Elizabeth recoiled as if she’d been stung.

  “Mr. Darcy! Why on earth would he have been there? Why him of all people?”

  “Oh, don’t you know? I was sure he was there on your orders. He tried to get me to leave. Offered me a scandalous amount of money to do it, too. But I’d not be parted with my George for all his millions,” she said, sighing happily.

  Elizabeth reeled at this new information. She didn’t know why it came as a surprise to her. Darcy had more than proven his devotion. Was the envelope in her pocket not proof of that? She thought of the trouble and expense he must have gone through to find her sister and wondered what she had ever done to inspire such love.

  She turned to her sister, clearing her throat. “Lydia, I want you to tell me everything.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  John Lucas stood at the front door to Longbourn for a long time, worrying the brim of the hat he held in his hands. He was tired. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. At first, the weeping in the next room had kept him awake. The weeping had soon subsided to eerie silence that had him tiptoeing to his sister’s door every night, his hand poised over the bolt that kept her locked inside.

  He tried appealing to his father. “This is Charlotte. She’s your daughter!”

  But his father was weak-willed and went along with his pious wife. John loved his family, but he knew that it was already broken. Even if he walked away and let events play out as planned, they would never be the same. If he were in a better position, he would have taken Charlotte himself the day he removed her from Camden. But he could hardly support himself; he had no way of supporting his sister too. It was little Maria that had decided him on this course of action. He couldn’t let his youngest sister grow up thinking it was acceptable to treat anyone in such a way, much less family.

  And maybe I can’t live with the guilt, he thought. That was enough to make him take the final step forward and knock. The door swung open. He was glad to see Elizabeth standing in her robe, the signs of a restless night still evident on her own face.

  “John! It’s seven in the morning! Is everything all right?” She stood aside, holding the screen door open for him. “Please, come in. It’s damp and chilly out there.”

  “Did I wake you, Lizzie?”

  “Not at all, we were up early to see Lydia off. Come in, come in.”

  John shook his head. He didn’t want to go inside Longbourn. The Bennets’ happy home would only put his own family’s shortcomings into sharper contrast.

  “What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked again. “Is someone hurt?”

  “Not yet.” All his breath seemed to leave him in a rush. “I need your help, Lizzie.”

  ***

  Charlotte was in her favorite place: that space between waking and sleeping, floating weightless but aware. It reminded her of the first time Anne had brought her to climax. Charlotte was saddened that she had lived twenty-six years without having an experience so complex and wonderful.

  Wonderful wasn’t exactly what she felt now. There was a feeling of empty relief as she half-slept in the still, silent room behind a locked door.

  Maybe not so silent, she thought, hearing voices at the door. She sat up, heart racing. She thought she heard Mr. Bennet’s voice, all piss and vinegar, arguing with her father. Charlotte launched herself off the bed and pressed an ear to the door.

  “You have no right, Tom! This is nothing to do with you or your family.”

  “That girl is as much a part of my family as any of my own daughters, and I won’t stand for this,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice raised. Fresh tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes. The sound of the lock on the other side of the door startled her, and she backed away hastily.

  Elizabeth poked her head in, her hair still wrapped in its kerchief. Her face hardened at the sight of Charlotte, the bruises still fading on her increasingly gaunt face. Charlotte felt suddenly ashamed of her appearance. She attempted to smooth her hair back with trembling hands.

  Elizabeth held her hand out. “We’re here to spring you,” she whispered. “Do you need to take anything?”

  Charlotte shook her head and put her hand in Elizabeth’s. “There’s nothing here I want.” Elizabeth nodded and pulled her into a brief, tight hug before leading her out of her now-hated room. Charlotte started to see Will Darcy standing in the hallway, looming behind Elizabeth.

  “Help me, Will. She can barely stand,” Elizabeth said to him, still whispering. Charlotte was about to protest when Darcy stepped forward lightly and scooped her up in his arms, holding her as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour.

  He nodded at Charlotte in a way that was almost businesslike. Just when she thought the moment couldn’t get any stranger, Darcy leaned over to Elizabeth and whispered, “What now, Captain?”

  “Out the way we came—and quick.”

  They moved towards the back of the house, going for the kitchen door, when Mrs. Lucas appeared in the hall, blocking them.

  “Young man, you put my daughter down this minute, or I will call the sheriff!”

  “Go ahead,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe you can tell them why there’s a lock on the outside of your daughter’s door.”

  “You stupid girl!” Mrs. Lucas spat. “Do you think they’d see anything wrong with it considering her proclivities? I don’t know what I expected, letting her spend day and night with the lot of you heathens. Between Lydia getting knocked up at seventeen and you after this one like a cat in heat, I shouldn’t be surprised my own child turned out to be a pervert.”

  Charlotte wasn’t sure who shook more, her or the man holding her.

  “Get out of my way,” Darcy said growling. “I’m not as good as your neighbors. I’d have no problem marching down to the Herald and telling them everything. The cops might not care, but the press sure as he
ll would. If you don’t believe me, think about which one of us is personal friends with Edward R. Murrow. I’d like to see how well your husband’s next election goes after that.”

  Mrs. Lucas’s face looked strangely satisfied—as if Darcy had just confirmed every notion she’d ever had of him. “I’m going to pray for you tonight, young man. I’ll pray that the Lord sends a cleansing fire to burn the wickedness from your soul.”

  “Mother, that’s enough!” John said from the kitchen entry. “Let them go.”

  Charlotte was glad that Darcy didn’t wait for her mother to move aside and barreled past Mrs. Lucas on his way out of the house. She peeked over her shoulder to see Elizabeth following close on his heels. John stopped her at the door, taking her hand.

  “God bless you, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice more emotional than Charlotte had ever heard it. Elizabeth nodded and looked away, hiding her face from him. Charlotte clearly saw that their old friend was too ashamed of him to even look him in the eye. He looked up at his sister and said, “I’m sorry,” just as Charlotte was whisked out the door.

  They hurried out to the sleek green car in the driveway. Jane sat behind the wheel, wearing a coat over her nightgown. Darcy waited until Elizabeth was in before sliding in beside her, still holding Charlotte. A red-faced Mr. Bennet climbed into the front seat with Jane, biting off a string of curses.

  Tears leaked down Charlotte’s face as Elizabeth reached over and took her hand. Mr. Bennet had been right of course. This was her family. The women exchanged an understanding look—all forgiveness and gratitude and simple, sisterly love—before Elizabeth turned her eyes to Darcy and gave him a grateful smile.

  “Are you really friends with Edward R. Murrow?”

  He smiled at her. “Never met the guy.”

  ***

  Bingley had been only too happy to run the errand Darcy had tasked him: to report Leland Collins to the Camden authorities. The undertaking had been frustrating as the small town sheriff’s deputy seemed reluctant to get involved in a marital dispute. Bingley wondered (not for the first time) why grown men were given all the power in the world, and those who needed protection the most—like women and children—didn’t have a leg to stand on, not even from someone as depraved as Leland Collins.

  He hadn’t been master of himself since Jane showed up on his doorstep that morning with her father and sister. The whole situation with Charlotte had brought a lot of long-buried unpleasantness bubbling to the top.

  He hadn’t shared his family history with Jane, and he didn’t know whether he ever could. And yet, he wanted to have no secrets from her. She deserved to know what she was marrying into and why he tolerated Caroline and Louisa when even at their worst. Darcy knew a little. On some occasions, they’d get maudlin with drink and spill their secrets. For Bingley, it was always like lancing a boil.

  He rapped his knuckles on Longbourn’s kitchen door, hoping a few minutes alone with Jane might help calm him. He was restless and punchy and wanted nothing more than some peace and quiet in her company.

  To his surprise, it was Darcy who answered the door. He stood aside to let Bingley enter.

  “Jane’s through there.” He nodded towards the family room. “They ran me out, but maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  Bingley walked over and peered into the room. Jane and Elizabeth flanked Charlotte, who was now cleaned and fed and wearing one of Mary’s dresses. She spoke haltingly while quiet tears coursed down her face. It cut him to see the pain in Jane’s eyes, but when she looked up and saw him, the ache melted into a look so loving, some of the tension eased from his shoulders. He left the women to their talk. Mr. Bennet joined the men in the kitchen, hard lines etched into his face. He opened bottles of beer for them, and Bingley took his gratefully despite the early hour.

  “This has all been a little too much excitement for my wife,” Mr. Bennet said. “Such ups and downs.”

  Bingley wondered whether any of it had been “ups” for his future father-in-law. He tried to imagine a daughter of his marrying a slimy bastard like Wickham and couldn’t.

  “And the day isn’t over yet,” Bingley said.

  “Collins.” Darcy’s gravity put a lot of weight in one word.

  Mr. Bennet nodded. “Young John told us that their shrew of a mother phoned Collins last night and told him Charlotte was recovered enough to come home.”

  Bingley gripped his bottle so tight he was sure it would shatter in his hand.

  “Appalling woman,” Darcy said, glancing at his friend from the corner of his eye. “We’ll just have to wait and see if Collins decides to show his face.”

  The wait wasn’t long. They were on their third (and final, Mr. Bennet swore) bottle of beer when they heard the sound of Collins’s truck puttering up the driveway.

  Collins was yelling for his wife before he even got out of the truck. Darcy seemed not surprised to see Elizabeth storm out and meet him in the yard, hands on her hips. His heart swelled. She was like Boadicea marching into battle. So fearless! Bingley followed hot on her heels, and Darcy hurried after them.

  “—a lot of nerve showing up here,” Elizabeth was saying, her voice shaking with fury. “You’re lucky I’m unarmed right now.”

  “I’m here for my wife, Cousin. Now if you’ll just—” Collins caught sight of Darcy, who loomed protectively near Elizabeth. “So that’s still working out for you.” Collins sneered. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Everyone turned at the sound of gravel crunching behind them to see Charlotte coming out of the house with Jane close at her heels.

  “There you are.” Collins’s tone became reasonable. “Come on then. Grab your things. I’m taking you home.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Charlotte said, her voice quaking. “Not now, not ever again.”

  “Charlotte,” he said her name like a warning. “You’re coming with me, and we can discuss your manners later.” He caressed his belt buckle, a hungry light gleaming in his eyes.

  As he darted towards her, three things happened at once like a set of dominos falling.

  Elizabeth threw herself in front of her friend, shielding Charlotte with her body. Then Mr. Bennet emerged from the house, calmly loading buckshot into his shotgun as if he was about to chase off a coyote.

  But no one was prepared for Bingley, who stepped between Collins and Elizabeth, his face purple with rage.

  “You want to give her the belt, do you?”

  Elizabeth’s mouth fell open at seeing her sister’s gentle, mild-mannered fiancé suddenly fumbling with his own belt buckle. Mr. Bennet continued to ignore everyone as he kept loading his gun.

  Bingley’s belt flew out in front of him like a whip, snapping the air. He advanced towards Collins with a snarl on his face.

  “Buckle in or buckle out?” he said between clenched teeth. Collins’s mouth fell open as he backed away.

  “Mr. Bingley, this is between me and my wi—”

  The belt snapped against Collins’s face, cutting him off. Elizabeth turned and wrapped her arms around Charlotte.

  “Don’t look,” she whispered.

  Charlotte tightened her arms around her friend. “But Lizzie, I want to.”

  Bingley didn’t seem to hear any of them, as he was a man lost in memories. He’d taken the belt for his sisters often enough as a boy but not every time. Sometimes the old bastard had locked Bingley in his room, and he could hear Caroline and Louisa screaming down the hall. He’d go to them afterwards with ice wrapped in towels for their bruises. Louisa would cry on his shoulder while Caroline would look at him accusingly as if it were his fault. He would do his best to comfort them both, promising he’d take care of them, that he’d always take care of them.

  The sight of Charlotte’s yellowing bruises triggered these unpleasant memories in Bingley, who preferred to let the past live in the past. As a grown man, he never had the chance to convey his real feelings to his father. For the moment, however, Bingley was mo
re than happy to express himself to Collins.

  The muscles in his arms stood out as he raised the belt again and again, bringing it down on the minister, who tried unsuccessfully to dodge around him, holding his arms up to cover his face. Each hit made an audible snap of leather meeting flesh.

  “You never” (snap) “lay hands” (snap) “on a woman!” (snap)

  “This is none of your business!” Collins managed to shout the one trump card in the deck of Southern manners. It was the one hard and fast rule, no matter who you were. Rich or poor, you didn’t stick your nose where it didn’t belong. This merely enraged Bingley more, and the belt rained down on Collins with alarming speed. Only then did Darcy step in and grab Bingley’s arm before another hit could land.

  “That’s enough, Charles.”

  Bingley’s chest rose and fell in rapid gasps, his eyes glazed with pain and anger.

  “Mr. Darcy…thank you,” Collins said, wiping snot from his nose with his sleeve. “Your aunt will be glad to hear you still have some decency in you.”

  Darcy’s fist flashed so fast Collins never saw it coming. The minister fell back in the dirt with a thud.

  Mr. Bennet walked calmly over to where they stood, shotgun in hand. He pointed the gun at his nephew.

  “Son, you’re trespassing. I’m going to give you to the count of ten to get your ass off my land. One. Two. Three—” Collins scrambled up and made for his truck. Mr. Bennet following with the gun, still counting.

  Darcy turned to Elizabeth, his blood still boiling. Their eyes met, and he felt a brute instinct flare to life inside him, an animal need that astonished him in its ferocity. From the way she gripped Charlotte’s shoulders even tighter, he thought she might have sensed it too.

  Still holding Bingley’s arm, Darcy led his friend away, knowing it would be better to cool down away from the women. They walked through the dust that flew up in Collins’s flight.

  He turned back to see all three women staring after them, Elizabeth and Jane wearing nearly identical expressions, their color high and mouths slightly parted.