Ruined Forever

by D. L. Carter

  At this point, Bingley realized that he was conducting the majority of the conversation. “Darcy? Are you listening?”

  His friend turned. “Yes.”

  “Shall you come with me to pay a call tomorrow?”

  “On whom?”

  “On the Bennets, of course.”

  “We are not family,” said Darcy. “Condolence under these circumstances, as you have pointed out, is insufferable. The family will not welcome our presence to remind them of our part in today’s events.”

  “Despite everything, the man was their cousin,” said Bingley. “Some notice must be made. And we have been guests in their house many times and owe them condolence.”

  “We shall attend the funeral. No doubt it shall be in a day or so.”

  “But the ladies, they shall not be there.”

  “Of course not. At least, not at the graveside.”

  “Then what is to be done? If I wait until the wake to speak to her there will be other visitors demanding her attention. And then the family go into mourning. My angel shall look very well in blacks but am I to be prevented from seeking her company under the circumstances? When shall I be permitted to seek her out?”

  “Collins might not be sincerely mourned but the conventions must be observed. Since Collins is a mere cousin they will not be required to put on blacks for more than a month. In that time there shall be no socializing, in the common way.”

  “I do not want to think that it shall be a month before I might see Miss Bennet again, and we have not yet reached an understanding whereby I might explain my absence in a letter.”

  “I sympathize Bingley, but Miss Bennet will be much occupied with her sister at this time. Miss Elizabeth will need her.”

  “Yes, poor Miss Elizabeth. I have never seen her so shocked and pale. One is accustomed to seeing a smile on her face. To see her cast down is heartbreaking.”

  Darcy could agree with that. At least he had the comfort of seeing her rally, of giving her what little advice would aid her. She was of everything admirable and now, fallen completely out of his reach. The horror of the day’s events clenched his breath in his throat.

  “One month,” Bingley considered. “He hardly seems worthy.”

  “Society has its rules and cares not for what sort of person you are, for which consideration many should be grateful.”

  “I do not want Miss Bennet to think I have abandoned her.”

  “But, sadly, my friend, I suspect you shall have to.”

  Darcy pressed a hand against his chest. Sad did not adequately express the pain he felt. With his place in society to consider, with his sister’s own fragile position, he could not see Elizabeth again. It was impossible.

  It was, of everything, horrible.

  And his duty was not yet done. It was necessary to explain to his otherwise oblivious friend why he must cast off his current flirt!

  Fortunately Bingley was prone to falling in and out of love. He would recover as soon as another pretty face came his way. Darcy was not so certain of his own fate. He had never been in love. Never desired a woman the way he desired Elizabeth Bennet. When he had described his ideal woman each word had been chosen to describe some aspect of her heart, her spirit, her form. She was a constant delight to him and he had let his opportunities to know her better slip away. Now she, herself, had slipped. When the news became common knowledge … he closed his eyes against the pain.

  “What? What do you mean?” pressed Bingley.

  “Bingley, my friend, consider what has happened today. How it will be perceived. Your own position in society is but recently won. Your father was in trade. You are the first of your family to graduate from university and begin the climb to gentry. You have achieved much, and yet, not enough. It is, you tell me, your father’s ambition that you should take a place in society. To do so you must hold yourself separate from scandal and marry well.”

  “I would have thought that by taking the daughter of a gentleman to wife I would have achieved that aim. Mr. Bennet is an established gentleman. The family has held Longbourn for two hundred years.”

  “Granted, although their own connections are not the best, the Bennets are gentry and not too far above you that you could not aspire … until now.” Darcy’s voice faded away.

  The dining bell echoed through the house. Bingley startled.

  “Luncheon and we are still standing about in all our dirt,” said Bingley. “We must prepare to dine. If you would do me a favor, Darcy, please do not discuss today’s events with my sisters.”

  Darcy said nothing.

  “And I shall have an explanation out of you,” continued Bingley. “You shall not put that eloquence of yours away until you have satisfied my curiosity!”

  ***

  Arriving late in the dining room, Darcy was not surprised to find everyone else seated and the only available chair was the one beside Caroline Bingley. Mr. Bingley gave a sympathetic shrug, but as his elder sister was in the habit of overriding Bingley’s opinions it was not surprising when he made no attempt to rescue Darcy.

  It had been Darcy’s private opinion that if petite, pale Caroline had added a pleasant manner to her education and other accomplishments (and dowry) then she would be a person worth knowing. But ambition had narrowed her outlook and petulance added lines to the sides of her mouth and bitterness to her conversation. The worst part of her outlook was that Darcy was her ideal partner in life, and marriage to him would be the fulfillment of her father’s ambition for his daughter.

  Sadly, Darcy did not share her opinion.

  Caroline would be horrified to know that she shared important characteristics with Mrs. Bennet.

  Mr. Darcy found that both set a good table, and both were insufferable company.

  They were addressing the superior soup when Caroline looked around the table, smiling broadly.

  “Have you heard? No, you cannot have, for you have been gone from home today. Mr. Hurst returned from the hunt with the most fascinating news.”

  Both Bingley and Darcy turned to stare at the silent Mr. Hurst, who shrugged.

  “What have you heard?” inquired Louisa Hurst.

  Darcy took another mouthful of soup. It was as well that Louisa did not have to make her living as an actress. The woman had no Thespian skills.

  Since no one else expressed interest it was necessary for Caroline to address herself to her sister.

  “He informed me that the magistrate and the coroner were summoned to Longbourn today,” declaimed Caroline in tones of deepest astonishment.

  “Indeed,” said Darcy, without inflection.

  “Of course, since our own safety in this savage county might be at risk I immediately spoke to the housekeeper, who is local, to inquire as to the reason.”

  Bingley sighed.

  When neither of them spoke Caroline continued. “You must admit, you did drag us from London to this heathen spot with no friends and no society. I hold you entirely responsible for all that follows, Charles.”

  “You have friends here. Miss Jane Bennet is your friend,” said Bingley. “Miss Elizabeth, as well.”

  “Oh, but it is the Bennet family who have managed to embroil themselves in the very worst of scandals, brother. You must take us back to London at once. Give up this lease and hope that no one remembers we were coming here.”

  “This is not necessary, surely.” Bingley looked, not toward his sister, but to Darcy. “There is no need to depart!”

  “But you do not know,” cried Caroline. “Miss Eliza Bennet has murdered her suitor, that dreadful vicar, Mr. Collins. The scandal cannot be described!”

  “No!” Said Bingley coming to his feet. “I will not have it. You will not speak of our neighbors in this manner! There was no murder.”

  “But Charles,” said Caroline, with patently false empathy. “I am just now telling you. The news is all over Meryton. I have it from the housekeeper who is cousin to Mr. Honeywell’s wife. Mr. Honeywell examined the body, hims
elf. Mr. Collins is dead and the person responsible is none other than Eliza Bennet. Apparently they quarreled. I do not know if it was after they became engaged or because the man came to his senses and declined to take Miss Eliza to wife, but the truth is quite clear.”

  “Enough,” roared Bingley, slamming his hand on the table, shocking everyone in the room who had never seen Bingley so much as raise his voice before, let alone his hand. “I will not have these lies repeated in this house. Darcy and I are just now returned from Longbourn. I was one of the jury for the inquest and Mr. Darcy, having read law, was advocate and adviser to Miss Elizabeth. The determination of the Mr. Jeffers’ inquest was, death by misadventure. An accident, Caroline. An accident! Mr. Collins slipped and fell because he was wearing loose, ill fitting shoes. That, sister, is the truth!”

  “Oh, I see,” said Caroline in an arch tone and cut a glance toward her sister. “An accident they call it. Well, they could hardly do otherwise.”

  She smirked and giggled. Mrs. Hurst sniffed and sneered.

  “Caroline Bingley, if I hear you are passing along vicious gossip I shall…” Bingley paused as he considered an adequate threat. “I shall send you to spend a year with Aunt Greta.”

  “Charles!” Caroline Bingley paled.

  “Let me be clear,” continued Bingley. “I will not endure you displaying such lack of manners as you are by attacking a friend when her family is in need. Oh, Darcy, help me. You know that the Bennet family needs their friends to stay near, to support them.”

  All eyes turned to Darcy, who finally put down his spoon.

  “Yes, that is true, Bingley. The Bennet family would benefit from the trust and public support of their friends.”

  “There,” cried Bingley to his sister. “You see.”

  “However,” continued Darcy turning his attention to Caroline Bingley, “those who would only go to stare and judge and deliver themselves of cleverly phrased setdowns, snubs and subtle disdain, should stay at home.”

  There were matching indrawn breaths from the other side of the table. Mr. Hurst gave a grunt that could have been agreement or could be a signal for more wine. The ladies of the company were deeply outraged once they worked out the degree of the insult.

  “Of course we wish dear Jane well,” said Caroline. “She cannot be held responsible for her outrageous family. The younger sisters, of course, are impossible. And while some have thought so well of Miss Eliza as to to admire her eyes, I have never seen anything to qualify her to others. Only consider her wildness. Walking out without chaperone or companion. Her manners are not at all genteel. Even her mother complains of her way of going on. Her free speech and ungoverned manner exposes her basic vulgarity. The whole family engages in flirtations with the officers. I would not be surprised if the accident was brought about by her flirtations with her fiancé going too forward. I cannot think, under the circumstances, that she shall ever recover her good name.”

  “I might say her younger sisters are flirts,” said Darcy, retrieving his spoon. “But Miss Elizabeth is as well mannered as to be expected as a country raised gentlewoman.”

  “But country manners are so uncivilized,” declared Caroline. “But we shall think on her no longer. She is quite cast out of good society and her family with her. Now we should think of our own family name and our responsibilities to it, and that means we must cut the acquaintance, immediately!”

  “You cannot say so,” said Bingley, deeply shocked.

  Caroline’s manner was that of a patient teacher.

  “Brother, you are too kind. Surely even you must realize Miss Eliza’s reputation is in shreds. Alone with a man, her dress torn, her body exposed. Shocking! She is ruined. Quite, quite ruined.”

  “You cannot deny,” chimed in Louisa, “the marks of his hands on her body prove she granted him liberties. Do not forget that! Quite, quite ruined. I agree.”

  “Ladies, before you gloat too much over the fall of a gentlewoman,” Darcy’s chill voice silenced the room. “I should remind you, your brother and I were present during the inquest. We know the truth of the matter. Now, we have explained the results of the inquest. The facts are presented and hereafter you shall speak of the Longbourn family with consideration and respect because Miss Elizabeth Bennet is quite innocent in these events. There was no impropriety. She acted at all times as the gentlewoman that she is.”

  “But the scandal,” protested Caroline. “We cannot associate with such as they!”

  “As landed gentry the Bennet family outranks yours!” added Darcy. “Scandal or no scandal! You display your lack of breeding by taking joy at their pain!”

  “Exactly,” said Bingley. “I do not want to hear of you speaking ill of the Bennet ladies. You know what I shall do if you persist!”

  Both Caroline and Louisa stared across at their brother, who had not spoken so firmly on any subject in their experience.

  Bingley stared back at them, then stood, and threw down his implements. “I have no appetite.” And so saying Bingley departed the room.

  Darcy, however, made a good meal but did not respond to any conversational gambits from the ladies and eventually the meal was completed in silence, sullen on one side and preoccupied on the other.

  When the ladies repaired alone to the drawing room for coffee, Caroline could barely restrain her ire.

  “We must cut the acquaintance, at once!” she declared to her sister. “We have no choice. It is not to be borne that Charles requires us to give notice to such a family.”

  “I agree,” said Louisa. “But there is a danger attendant to protesting too much. We might force him to make a decision to our disadvantage.”

  That thought set Caroline back on her heels.

  “You would think that Darcy would support us,” Caroline protested. “I do not understand his preoccupation with the family. Unbelievable.”

  “Impossible.”

  “We must think. Plan. It would be best for us to return to London as soon as possible. Christmas and the Little Season will be upon us soon. If we encourage our correspondents to issue invitations we might suggest to Charles that we spend the Bennet family's month of mourning in London and, if we manage to find another flirt for him Charles will not want to return.”

  Chapter Six

  A strange pall hung over the Bennet household the next morning. Mrs. Bennet refused to leave her chamber, increasing the labor of the servants by having them run up and down stairs fetching her meals, then sending the food away uneaten and demanding fresh.

  Jane would have spent the morning tending to her mother, only she was aware that her mother’s nerves were not as important as her sister’s suffering.

  Elizabeth had not taken her usual morning walk and had made her morning ablutions without calling on their shared maid, and preferring to have her sister do up the row of tiny buttons of her dress. It wasn’t until Jane attempted to take her sister’s arm to walk downstairs that Jane was reminded Lizzy’s injuries were to more than her spirit.

  Elizabeth recoiled, pulling her arm close to her body and biting her lip to hold in a cry of pain.

  “Dear Lizzy, what is the matter?” Jane peered down at her sister’s arm.

  “It is nothing, I assure you.”

  “No, it is something. Your arm! Are the bruises bothering you?”

  “I suspect,” Lizzy shifted uncomfortably. “I think I have wrenched my shoulder and my elbow does not bend well and has swollen a little.”

  “Oh, Lizzy, you should have said. Mr. Honeywell spent so much time with Mother last night and you were the one truly wounded.”

  “It is nothing and, in truth, I would prefer to keep the matter to myself. If he is sent for to call upon me the story will be around the county in the hour.”

  “But we cannot let your injuries go untreated.”

  Before Elizabeth could respond a familiar voice echoed through the house.

  “Where is my sister?” demanded Mrs. Phillips, wife of the local solicitor and
younger sister to Mrs. Bennet. “Oh, where is she?”

  So common were Mrs. Phillips visits to Longbourn that she no longer knocked on any door, excluding Mr. Bennet’s bookroom. She entered, and examined, and directed the servants as if the house were her own home.

  “Oh, there you are,” cried Mrs. Phillips, charging up the stairs and throwing both arms about Lizzy. “Poor dear girl. How you must be suffering? Tell me all!”

  Immediately Mrs. Phillips said that, Elizabeth straightened, wiped all sign of the discomfort the embrace caused from her face, and regarded her Aunt, calmly.

  “I am quite well, Aunt Phillips. Thank you for inquiring. As for my Mother, she is resting.”

  The polite response did not please her Aunt; therefore, she turned away in search of a more welcoming audience and better gossip.

  “Well, wake her up, girl. There is nothing good to hear in all of this but she will want to know it.”

  “Perhaps you should wait,” suggested Jane. “Mother did not sleep well last night and her rest should not be imposed upon.”

  “Of course not,” said Mrs. Phillips, latching onto those words that pleased her and ignoring the rest. “Your Mother’s sensibility is acute.”

  And with that Mrs. Phillips pushed her nieces aside, and entered Mrs. Bennet’s bedchamber with a shout.

  “One. Two. Three,” said Elizabeth, and Jane raised her brows.

  “What?” Jane began and then came the shriek.

  “Oh, sister,” Mrs. Bennet’s voice echoed through the house. “We are all ruined forever!”

  For the first time since the accident Elizabeth giggled and took Jane by the arm.

  “I would wish my aunt Phillips would be a little less punctilious in bringing the local gossip to our mother,” said Elizabeth sobering as they entered the breakfast room. “I cannot think of a single occasion when she has improved our Mother’s mood.”

  “She is her sister. Of course they would want to condole together.”

  “That does not sound like condolence.”

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows as the shrieks continued above. Her father emerged from his bookroom, looked up the stairs toward the noise, and sighed.