by Jennifer Joy
Father leaned back and sipped from his steaming tea cup, fogging his glasses so that he had to peek over them to see her. “Though I cannot seem to sleep so far into the morning as the fashionable set, I have been considering some of their other habits with the objective of adopting them.”
“Of which habits do you speak?”
“I want to improve Longbourn, so that it may serve as a respite from town. While I will admit that the lures of the club are many and well-suited to my desires, I do not much like the trouble it takes me to get there from here. Even in a carriage, it is a bother. At Longbourn, I only had to walk downstairs and down the hall to my sanctuary.”
“I miss the freedoms I once enjoyed in the country. Do you plan to spend the summer there?”
“Your mother would never be persuaded to allow for more. I would not dream of taking up permanent residence there— at least, not until I see all of my daughters married or otherwise provided for—”
“Like Mary? She is very happy at the orphanage,” said Elizabeth, encouraged to relax by the aroma of her tea, stretched out her legs and sat deeper into her chair.
Father smiled. “Yes, like Mary. I never would have thought in a million years that she would be the first of you to leave. I have always assumed that you would marry first— you or Janey— because parting with you would be the most difficult for me. You and she are my only two daughters to have been blessed with any amount of sense. But Mary has done well for herself, and I should give her proper credit.” He set his teacup down and opened his morning paper. “She can now torment the orphans with her endless recitals on the pianoforte. I daresay they will be as grateful to hear it as I am not to.” Holding one side of the paper open, he picked up his tea cup and saluted her with it.
Elizabeth smiled. She missed Mary. And she envied her. Mary had found a place— a purpose in her life in an occupation she loved. By the time Elizabeth discovered the depths of her feelings toward Mr. Darcy, he was lost to her. Or so it seemed. She, Charlotte, and Jane had gone over every detail, and while her possibilities were obscure, there was still the tiniest glimmer of hope.
Closing her eyes again, she saw him in her mind as he was the day he invited them to the frost fair. His hair looked darker, almost black, against the white backdrop of the snow. He had been the perfect host. His eyes crinkled up at the sides when he smiled, and the indentation in his chin deepened.
The crash of china jolted her out of her dream. Father clenched the paper in his hand, his face the same color as its pages. His tea cup lay in pieces on top of its broken plate. Tea stains spread over the tablecloth, but Father made no move to keep it from spilling over onto his lap.
Elizabeth grabbed her napkin and dabbed it at the table before it burned him. “Father?” she asked, not taking her eyes off him.
"We're ruined," he mumbled, first once, then repeatedly.
She grabbed for the paper he grasped in his hands, but he stood before she could reach it.
Like a man walking in his sleep, he went to the door. "I must see it. I will not believe it until I see it," he mumbled in his stupor.
Elizabeth rushed after him. "Father, I will go with you. You are not well."
He looked at her, his eyes devoid of expression. He shook his head as if aware of it, but he was unable to rid himself of the dread which had overcome him. "Yes, please come with me. I would like for you to be with me in case all that I fear has come to pass." He patted her hands and called for the carriage to be brought around.
In the carriage, he handed her the article. Mr. Andrich’s bank was closed and the gentleman, now considered a criminal, had been caught attempting to flee the country on a ship bound for Australia. His trial was not announced, but it was expected to be a fiery affair.
Elizabeth's knee bounced in her nervous energy. "There is no sense worrying needlessly until we see it for ourselves," she said, to settle her own nerves and encourage Father, who looked more miserable than she had ever seen him.
He bunched his lips together, but the concern in his face remained. There would be no smiles or playful witticisms from him that day.
The carriage slowed to a crawl, and she heard shouts from outside. Elizabeth pasted her face to the window, hoping to see something to tell her what the commotion was about. Some gentlemen in their beaver hats ran by, but there was nothing else to see.
"Stay here, Lizzy. I will see what is about," said Father, opening the door.
She motioned to join him, but once again, he said, "Lizzy, I must insist that you remain inside. It is for your own safety."
He closed the door as she uttered, "But, Father, what about your safety?"
Her concern mounted as the shouts grew louder and the number of gentlemen running by her window grew. The coachman, no doubt at Father's instructions, made to turn around and that was when she saw it. It was still some distance away, but there was an unmistakably large crowd standing in front of a building. Thick chains with padlocks were wrapped around the front gates, but that did not prevent the people from shaking them. Some even tried to climb up the bars. What they hoped to achieve on entering, Elizabeth could only guess. There would be no money inside. It was gone.
Glass windows shattered in the distance, and she searched the crowd for her father. She watched in horror as the crowd became an angry mob before her eyes in the minutes it took the coachman to turn the carriage in the cramped street.
Elizabeth moved to the door. Father may have meant to keep her safe, but in his present mental state, her concern for his safety grew. A man cut in front of her as she stepped out. He held a rock in his hand.
Running toward the mass of people, she searched for Father's gray hair in the sea of black hats.
She swerved through the edges of the crowd, keeping one eye out for Father and another out for flying rocks and bricks. The cries around her were deafening. She gave up shouting for Father. He would not be able to hear her over the roar of angry investors.
A woman with a ragged shawl around her shoulders and a barefoot child hanging onto her leg for dear life nearly struck her when she waved her mangled parasol at the locked gate.
On the woman's other side, she saw Father. He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring blankly at the building which once was a promising bank. It was difficult to imagine that the empty shell of a building could ever have seemed like a secure place where one's money could be protected.
A flame shot through the air, followed by others. They were trying to set the building on fire. It was time for them to leave.
"Father!" She grabbed his hands and pulled him away from the crowd and toward their carriage. "Father, we must leave. It is gone. There is nothing more to see here."
She pulled at him again, and slowly, his pace quickened so that she did not have to struggle so hard. They made it back to the carriage in short time.
Shoving Father into the carriage and hopping in behind him, they set off as quickly as was possible.
Elizabeth checked him for cuts and was grateful to see that Father was unharmed. The image of the woman and her child haunted her. Others would be far worse affected than they would be.
She relaxed some as the shouts dimmed and the pace of their carriage increased, bringing them closer to their home.
“We are ruined,” Father said once again.
Chapter 28
Elizabeth steered him into the drawing room and asked for a fire to be built. The day had not warmed yet, and she hoped that the heat from the fire might bring some color to his cheeks before the other members of the family woke. He was as pale as a bed sheet.
She, too, had to rub her hands together to chase the chill away from her fingers. The cold bit her to the bones, and she stood close by the fire and Father's chair.
When she had warmed sufficiently, she pulled a chair closer to him. Softly, so as not to startle him too badly, she said, "Father, you keep saying that we are ruined."
"We are, my dear Lizzy. Absolutely and irrevocably r
uined," he said, staring into the fire.
"Please tell me how bad it is. Perhaps I can help."
Father scoffed and looked at her. Patting the hand she rested on the arm of his chair, he said, "I love you for thinking that you could help at all, Lizzy. You have gumption. However, I am afraid that this is beyond even you. Our only option is to flee London before the papers catch wind of it and hope that nobody follows us home."
Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. "You would give up without even considering our options?"
"We have no options," he said, again looking into the fire.
Mustering all of her bravado, she stiffened her spine and said, "There is always an option, Father. I want to help you if you will allow me."
Father bowed his head, took off his spectacles and massaged his forehead. "Very well. It is no use hiding anything from you. Maybe some miracle will happen, and we will be able to leave town with our pride intact."
Elizabeth sat patiently while Father sat pensively. He would speak when he was ready.
Finally, after some time waiting, he looked at her with the clarity she had last seen at the breakfast table that morning. It was a welcome sight.
"I put everything we had into that bank. Everything we had gained has been lost."
"What of the money you had in Meryton?" asked Elizabeth. "It would be a small amount, but it is money all the same."
Father smiled weakly. "That is the one positive in this messy business. However, in the desire to be absolutely honest with you, that money is only safe because I was unable to withdraw it to add to the sum at Mr. Andrich’s bank. Otherwise, it too, would be gone."
Elizabeth exhaled deeply. At last, some good news. "It does not matter now, Father. At least we are not completely destitute. Is it enough to pay some of what we owe and see us home?"
Father shook his head. "It is only enough to see us home and reestablish ourselves at Longbourn once again. It is not enough to pay the debts that I am aware of— much less the debts of which I am unaware." He sighed and leaned his head against the back of his chair. "I was certain that I would have time to take care of all of that unpleasant business. I had intended to add a little extra on top of the amount owed for the trouble we had caused in not paying on time. It is easy to be generous when one has an excess to give."
"We must pay what we owe, Father. If we can only manage to stay on for the Season…" What? Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy would pay off her family’s debts? That would make them no better than fortune hunters. She gasped for breath. Even if Mr. Darcy was free, he would never marry her now.
Father’s rested his trembling hand on top of hers. "I am so sorry, my Lizzy. I have made such a mess of things."
The pain in his expression stabbed her heart like a dagger. "Do not say that, Father. You did what you thought best, and there is no sense in lamenting it now. It will not return any of our fortune nor do anything to improve our circumstances. What we must do is think things through thoroughly and make a plan so that we do not need to leave before we have a chance to put things right. We must try! Please do not despair. We can go through the house and the stables and sell what has been paid for. I have some dresses which I doubt that I will be able to use once our situation is found out."
A tear trickled down his cheek, and it was all Elizabeth could do not to join him. She had to be strong for him or else watch him plunge into a deep melancholy which, unfortunately, their family did not have the time nor the resources to manage.
She wiped his cheek with the sleeve of her dress, wishing she could impart some strength and optimism through her fingertips to him. But she had none to spare. Mr. Darcy was lost to her.
Father moved his hand up to cover hers and kissed her palm. "You are the best of daughters. We will see this through. I realize that my indifference has caused much of this, and now I must face the consequences." He rose and requested for his writing materials to be brought in before settling at the chair and table over in the corner of the room.
Elizabeth joined him, offering her support as he scratched his quill over the paper in a list that kept growing in length and added to Elizabeth's astonishment.
Finally, he took a deep breath and set the dry quill down, his list as complete as he could presently make it.
Slapping his hands against his thighs, Father stood. "We need Mrs. Bennet."
Elizabeth looked at the clock ticking next to them. "She might be awake."
Father bunched his cheeks. "If she is not, then I shall wake her." He strode across the carpet to the open door and into the hall.
Mother not being in the hallway, they went upstairs. To Elizabeth's relief, she was awake. She was dressed as if she planned to go out.
"Where are you going, my love?" asked Father from her doorway.
Peeking over his shoulder, Elizabeth saw the guilt on Mother's face.
Shuffling her reticule from one hand to the other, she shrugged her shoulders. "Of what importance is it where I go?"
Father leaned against the frame of the door and crossed his arms. "It is of the utmost importance, Mrs. Bennet. If only you knew what has transpired this morning, you would know how significant."
Alarmed, Mother asked, "What has happened?"
Father ran his hand wearily over his face and through his wiry hair. "We are ruined."
Mother contemplated him, then waved his statement away with a guffaw. "You tease me, Mr. Bennet. How very cruel of you."
Father shook his head solemnly. "I only wish it were all a big joke, but it is not. We are ruined."
Mother's smile melted, and she reached her arms behind her seeking a chair to fall into. Her maid was quick to provide one lest she fall on the ground.
Burying her face in her hands, she said, "It cannot be true!"
Father assured her that, indeed, it was so. He provided no comfort, so Elizabeth stepped forward. Kneeling by Mother's side, she placed an arm around her shoulders. "Everything was lost when our bank closed this morning. We drove to the bank and saw it with our own eyes. However, we have a plan, and we need your help to ascertain how extensive the damage is and what we can do to overcome it. Will you help us?"
Mother answered with a flood of wails and tears. Elizabeth pleaded with Father for help. If Mother's infamous nerves overtook her, they would never get any sense out of her, and she would only frustrate their plans further.
Father stepped forward, and leaning down so that he was eye-level with her, he took both of her hands into his. Elizabeth held her breath as she watched. She had never seen him show any affection to Mother.
Mother hiccupped and looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen.
"My love, we have been through many trials and tribulations together. However, we have enjoyed some wonderful blessings as well. We must do as we have always done and make the best out of it. That is one quality I have always admired in you. No matter how I failed you, you never let it keep you down."
Mother sniffed, and Father handed her his handkerchief, which she accepted to dab her eyes and nose with the one hand she freed from his touch. Elizabeth was pleased to see how her other hand turned to face his, palm to palm, and her fingers intertwined with his.
"I suppose you are right, Mr. Bennet, though I will admit that it is nice to hear you say it. I did not know." Her words choked dry and she fell silent.
Father raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "It is a fault of mine and I apologize. For now, my dear, I am in need of your help. We must write down every bill we owe and every item we own to see how best to pay off our debts. Only then will we know if we can continue in this house or if we will be forced to return to Longbourn."
That certainly got Mother's attention. She sat as straight as a board, and her tears dried in an instant. "I will not have my girls leave before the Season has properly begun! How will they marry if we leave now? No, Mr. Bennet, that would be a disaster."
Helping her to her feet, Father tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her d
ownstairs. "Then I trust you to leave out no detail, no matter how insignificant or shameful you deem it to be."
Mother huffed, but she agreed.
The rest of the family was up by now, as well as Charlotte. Father called them downstairs, saying that they could continue their discussion in the breakfast room. Not that anyone would have an appetite after he revealed their new circumstances. Elizabeth asked for a tray to be sent up to Charlotte, who discerned that she had best remain in her room.
The cries and wails proceeding from Lydia and the blank silence from Kitty made any progress with the list difficult, but Father was determined. And Mother equally so. She would do anything to give her daughters a Season.
Mother's gambling was worse than they had thought. She had won a goodly sum upon first arriving in town, but she had lost every bit of it over the last weeks. Her gambling debts amounted to five hundred pounds.
To his credit, Father did not react other than a loud sucking in of breath. Lydia and Kitty seemed to have known about it already, a fact which prompted Father to ask if they had any debts to add to their list, which now covered an entire page so that Father had to turn it over and write on the back.
"We only have our dresses and a few trinkets to account for," said Kitty, who served as Lydia's spokesman.
Mother chimed in. "I did not allow the girls to join me, preferring to encourage them to adorn themselves how best they saw fit for the Season."
Lydia pouted, saying through a sob, "And now we are ruined and I shall never have that silk gown I meant to have made."
Jane said in her soothing voice, "We have greater problems than that of gowns, Lydia. Please calm yourself so that you might be of assistance."
The untouched dishes were cleared and a dullness settled over the room. Sobs quieted, and the numb acceptance of their situation overcame them.