by D. L. Carter
“When did she arrive?” he inquired of Jane.
“Just this moment.”
“Oh well.” Mr. Bennet was about to return to his solitude when Jane intercepted him.
“Father, we should send for a physician for Lizzy. Her arm, her elbow and shoulder are painful.”
That caught his attention and he was beside them in an instant.
“Where, Lizzy? Why did you not say?”
“I had no wish to add to the gossip.”
Mr. Bennet gave a slow nod. “You are correct, but fortunately after she has been comforted by her caring, loving sister, your Mother will require the apothecary be summoned to tend to her nerves. We might as well anticipate, and he shall attend to you..”
“I…” began Elizabeth, then caught her father’s concerned frown, and nodded. “ Yes, papa, I would welcome Mr. Honeywell’s advice.”
“Excellent. I shall leave you to your breakfast.”
Before he could depart Lydia and Kitty appeared.
“Oh, Lizzy,” cried Lydia, “do you know, Maria Lucas has insulted me utterly. I cannot bear her manner and that bonnet she wore last week offended my eyes. Would you push her downstairs for me when next she comes?”
Kitty giggled furiously.
“No. No,” cried Kitty. “That great oaf Mr. Patterson stood on my hem at the ball and lost me a dance with Mr. Denny while it was mended. He deserves a good pushing.”
“Girls. Stop this instant,” scolded Jane.
“Oh, please,” Lydia slipped by them into the breakfast room to take her usual seat and dismissed Jane with a flip of her hand. “Mr. Collins was a toad and I’m glad he’s dead. Lizzy was cleverer than usual to push him down.” Lydia cast her sister a wicked look. “Was he trying to kiss you? Ugh, what a thought!”
“Lydia, that is quite enough,” her father warned but Lydia continued on, bold, fearless and completely lacking in tact.
“Wait until I tell Mr. Denny. Oh, what a joke. We shall all laugh for a week. Why, the only person less likely to murder a man is our Mary, who would probably rather kill a man as kiss him.”
“Enough.” Mr. Bennet seized his youngest child and pulled her from her chair. “I warned you last night, Lydia Bennet, and now I speak plainly. You are no longer to be considered out. Until you can speak two words of sense you are not the leave the house or grounds without me. You may not call on your friends, you will not dance, and you will take your meals above stairs as is proper for a child!”
“Papa, no!” cried Lydia, struggling vainly in the angry man’s grip. “Tis only a joke!”
“No, it is not. It is a very serious business and I will not have you insulting and abusing the elder sister that you should respect. Never in my life have I been as ashamed of you as I was yesterday.”
He pulled Lydia from the room just as Mary descended followed by Mrs. Phillips and Mrs. Bennet.
“Mama. Mama,” cried Lydia. “Papa says I may not pay calls. He has forbidden me to dance. I cannot see that I have done anything terribly wrong. I was not the one who killed him!”
“So you have not, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet assured her. “Husband, what is this? Lizzy is the one who pushed…”
“Enough of this all of you. You included, dear wife. All of you be still and listen! Lizzy pushed no one. It was an accident. Lydia is not being punished. She is being treated as the foolish child that she is. Until her manners are more mature and her speech civilized she will be confined to the house. Kitty…”
Kitty recoiled. “I have done nothing wrong,” she whined.
“See to it that condition continues. Hand over the extra key you have to Lydia’s door. At once, girl, or the restrictions placed on Lydia will land at your door as well.”
Kitty ran for the key.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Lydia, shaking herself free and snapping her fingers at her father. “I have a bonnet that needs making up and I was planning on spending the morning in my room to tend to it.”
It might have been the snapped fingers were the last straw. Mr. Bennet was before her to the upper floor. He entered Lydia’s chamber for the first time since she’d left the nursery, seized all the bonnets from their places along all the shelves, and carried them to his own chamber, throwing them in a closet and slamming the door on trailing ribbons. Lydia shrieked to see her treasures borne away.
“It is all Lizzy’s fault,” cried Lydia. “She is your favorite. You always take her part!”
“Favorite? I would like to think I would do the same in defense of any of my daughters.” He took the book from under Mary’s arm and thrust it at Lydia. “Occupy yourself with solemn reading. It may be you will gain sense.”
And with that he slammed the door on his daughter’s face and turned the key in the lock.
“Papa,” protested Mary. “That was mine! What am I to read?”
“Read a novel,” said her father, and as he entered his bookroom he called after himself. “It might make you smile for once in your life!”
And that door was firmly shut in Mary’s face.
“Oh, that is hardly fair,” murmured Mary, to no one in particular. “The good book warns…”
“Mary, dear,” said Elizabeth. “Today is not the day for moralizing. Come to breakfast, please, and after I shall work with you on that Mozart piece you are struggling with.”
Mary hesitated, pulling her arm free. “Am I supposed to associate with you? If Mr. Collins were here I would ask his advice. Is an accidental murderer the same as a murderer? Are you not tarred with the same brush as Cain? I am certain that good Christian persons should disdain your company henceforth.”
Elizabeth winced as she turned away. The words that reflected the opinions of greater Meryton society were very hard to hear from her sister’s lips. Jane, near to tears, stayed to scold Mary.
***
Upstairs Mrs. Bennet bent down to murmur reassurances through Lydia’s door.
“What shall we do?” whimpered Mrs. Bennet when Mrs. Phillips joined her. “Not even my Lydia will marry now and we shall all starve in the hedgerows.”
“Oh, sister, do not fear. I shall convince my husband to take you all in when Mr. Bennet dies. I am sure we shall manage, somehow.”
Mrs. Bennet wept on.
“Have you any idea on whom the entail falls now?” continued Mrs. Phillips eagerly.
“No, I do not,” said Mrs. Bennet, destroying another lace kerchief in her distress. “We should write to him immediately, whoever he is. Ask him to visit and insist he marry one of my girls. Jane is the prettiest but he might like Lydia best.”
“Oh, but what if he is already married?” asked Mrs. Phillips.
And the hysterics started again.
“Mrs. Bennet,” called Mr. Bennet, swinging open his door. “Might you not give the neighbors some rest? They may have wearied of the noise.”
“There are no neighbors but cows,” his wife called back.
“Even they can become weary!”
“You have no consideration of my nerves,” cried Mrs. Bennet.
Mrs. Phillips put her arm around her sister and led her back to her chamber. Distantly those below could hear the ongoing complaints.
“Oh, sister, we are all ruined forever. It is all Lizzy’s fault. If only she had agreed to marry Mr. Collins. How much more comfortable I would feel. But she has ruined us all, uncaring girl. Oh. Oh. Oh.”
***
The next interruption to Mr. Bennet’s peace was Mary knocking on his door.
“Papa,” she complained. “Lydia has thrown my book out onto the lawn.”
“It did not rain last night, did it?” inquired Mr. Bennet. “Go and fetch it back.”
“That is not the point, papa. She has not respected my property. No one respects my studies.”
“Mary, if I have not told you before then I have failed you as a father, but there are more things to exercise your interest in reading upon than Fordyce’s Sermons. I would sincerely suggest you ex
plore my library and find something else to read. Anything else.”
Mary stared at him in shock, then retreated to rescue her precious book from the lawn and tut tut over the bent spine and wounded pages.
Finally alone Mr. Bennet stared blankly into space for some unmeasured time. Eventually he shook himself and, seeking distraction, looked about for the novel he was currently reading. His gaze fell upon the letter than had originally heralded the invasion of that ridiculous cousin who caused so much trouble.
He winced as he recalled a responsibility that could not be delayed. Someone, and that someone was he, owed Lady Catherine de Bourgh - Mr. Collins much lauded patroness - notification of the death and the fact that her parson would not return as scheduled.
Chapter Seven
The funeral took place two days later on a chill, overcast morning. Not knowing whom else might want to claim the earthly remains of Mr. Collins, and lacking any communication from Lady Catherine, the heir of Longbourn was laid to rest in the Bennet family section of the Meryton cemetery. Mr. Prescott presided and delivered an ambiguous eulogy for a man he barely knew and who hadn’t impressed those he met.
The congregation positioned themselves so they might view the Bennet family in the church. If anyone expected Miss Elizabeth to suddenly rise up, declare her guilt, and fling herself across the coffin sobbing as it sat before the altar, they left disappointed.
Only Mrs. Bennet sobbed into a black lace handkerchief. The remainder of the family watched the proceedings calmly. When the men left to accompany the coffin to the cemetery the ladies returned home to await the mourners. For the twenty minutes that it took for the first of the women to arrive Mrs. Bennet paced the house, weeping and bemoaning their future starving in the hedgerow. Once the women of Meryton arrived Mrs. Bennet poured her nerves and flutterings into their willing, waiting ears without let or limit, no matter how hard her eldest daughters tried to restrain her.
Mr. Bennet, uncharacteristically for him, remained in the parlor with his family, watching as his neighbors walked through the house, eyes darting about as they compared notes and gossip.
Certainly, the gossips reported, pointing, that must be the stair he slipped on. That is the square of polished wood on which the body had lain. Nothing this interesting had happened in Meryton since the Prince had passed through and patiently listened to a speech by the then-mayor William Lucas, now baronet.
Elizabeth endured the stares and whispers as well she could until a disturbance at the door drew all attention. The Bingley sisters, significantly absent from the funeral, entered each wearing the highest of London mourning fashion. The three black feathers in Miss Caroline Bingley’s hair bobbed and swayed as she gave her greetings to Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet’s tears dried the instant she laid eyes on their brother.
“Mr. Bingley. Oh, how good to see you. Why, we had quite given you up. Come in. Come in. Do. Jane, look, Mr. Bingley has come.”
Elizabeth swallowed a groan and Jane blushed. Across the room they could see Mrs. Phillips observe the arrivals and her eyes lit with acquisitive glee as she came to stand beside her sister.
“Oh, and to think I did not believe you, sister,” declared Mrs. Phillips. “But here, he has come. Mr. Bingley, how good to see you.”
Mrs. Bennet took up position on one side of the couple and Mrs. Phillips on the other and with Jane and Bingley trapped between proceeded to humiliate them in loud voices.
“Dear heaven,” whispered Elizabeth, and, unable to bear the embarrassment, slipped away to a sheltered corner.
She was not the first to seek this sanctuary. She was concentrating so intently on her Mother’s conversation that she near to walked into Darcy hidden in the shelter of the drapes staring out into the winter garden.
“Mr. Darcy. I am sorry. I did not see you enter.”
“My apologies, Miss Elizabeth. You were occupied with your family at the time and I did not wish to impose. Believe me, I do not wish to express any sentiment that will require your thanks when we both know your cousin did more damage than delivered blessings to you and your family.”
“That is true,” murmured Elizabeth. “Although you are one of the few people outside my family to whom I would dare express that sentiment.”
She sighed and stepped further into the concealment of the curtains.
“When does your party depart?” she inquired when the silence stretched too long.
“Depart? I have no fixed plans. Why do you ask?”
“Only because the condolence letter that Jane received from Caroline Bingley suggested the whole party was removing to London quite soon,” Elizabeth’s voice faded. “But, perhaps, she was speaking of her family.”
“I do know it is Miss Bingley’s wish to take part what remains of the Season, but as for Charles, he has expressed no wish that I am aware of. Perhaps he might. I am not yet certain.”
“Where shall you go?” Elizabeth looked down at her folded hands. “You did imply a lack of interest in the London social events. Shall you go with them?”
“The weather is still good enough that a trip home, to Derbyshire, would be pleasant. It is possible I will go there, but as yet I am undecided.”
“So much uncertainty,” said Elizabeth. “You do not know if you shall go home. Mr. Bingley’s intentions, I suspect, if his sisters’ will prevails, shall be to leave.”
Her manner was so calm, so indifferent that Darcy’s heart clenched.
“Please know, Miss Elizabeth, that if anything could be done to ease your present suffering I would. I sincerely wish there was something to be done.”
“It is very kind of you to sympathize, Mr. Darcy, but as you said, you would spare me the task of issuing empty thanks. I know the world in which we live. I know my dearest sister shall suffer disappointment through no fault of her own.”
She hung her head and wrapped her arms about her body. For the first time Darcy’s attention was drawn to a bandage showing in the gap beneath the long sleeves of her gown.
“Or yours,” broke in Darcy. “You are entirely innocent in these circumstances. And you have your own wounding to heal.”
Elizabeth ignored his sympathy.
“But there is nothing to be done,” she continued. “No hope. It is a disaster and all my sisters shall share in it.”
Elizabeth brushed away a tear then straightened her spine lest one of the other guests notice.
“I wish circumstances were different,” repeated Darcy.
“True. As do I, but when we left the church this afternoon the curate shook our hands, all of us, and wished us well - except mine. He was so pointed in his action I am certain all those present took note. Certainly Mr. Prescott was put out but he did nothing to correct the impression Mr. Fitz Wallace gave.”
“Unconscionable,” snapped Darcy. “He should not have done so.”
Elizabeth gave a faint shrug and winced as her shoulder moved. “It was his decision and many will support him.”
“How says your father? Will he reprimand the curate on your behalf? Shall the bishop be notified?”
“He may, or he might let the matter lie expecting the gossip to crest and fade. There is some virtue in his plan.”
While Darcy watched, the younger sister, Mary, entered the room, looked about until she saw where Elizabeth stood, then sniffed and pointedly turned her back, crossing to shake hands again with the vicar.
“What is this?” Darcy blinked and glanced toward Elizabeth in time to see a pained expression cross her pale face. “Do not be troubled. Your sister cannot have seen you.”
“Of course she did. Mary is angry with me. All of my younger sisters are less than pleased now they understand the consequences. We already were poor choices for brides, lacking significant connections and dowries, and now we do not have a good name, and it is my fault.”
“It is Mr. Collins’ fault.”
“In truth, Mr. Darcy, I see their point. What did Mr. Collins do that was so wrong? He was a man
in line for a respectable inheritance. A worthy suitor, no matter that he was a fool. For a woman to refuse him would be beyond general understanding. You said so yourself. Viewed impartially it was a good offer. For him to die in the attempt of a proposal offends all sensibility. That is how society will view the matter, and my sisters agree.”
“Then society is wrong. Your sisters are wrong. At the very least all young women should have at least the assurance of a sensible husband.”
“I had hoped to love my husband, but that option is no longer available to me. Who will ally themselves to a scandal-ridden family such as ours?”
There were tears in her voice but not her eyes.
“We can only hope that the gossip will fade in time and your good sense and wit be valued again,” said Darcy.
Her lips turned up and she gave him a weak smile.
“My only hope, well, it is a futile one, but my hopes are for my sisters now. I hope they will not be judged ill by my actions.”
She cast a glance across the room to where her Mother and Aunt were still humiliating Jane with their attentions to Bingley. Darcy frowned. There was nothing in Miss Jane’s manner to suggest she favored Bingley, but if her mother had her way the two would be wed. Well, that was one benefit of this scandal. Bingley was safe from an imprudent, loveless marriage.
“Poor Jane,” said Elizabeth. “Can you imagine how much worse this would be if she had permitted her attachment to your friend to show? All the neighborhood would be laughing up their sleeves to see how his sisters treat her now. Her disappointment will be acute when he leaves.”
“Your sister is fond of him?” That was astonishing and sad news.
Elizabeth nodded. “Despite our friend Charlotte Lucas’ advice that we should show more emotion than we feel, Jane and I have always had our mother’s excessive example before us and done the opposite. Forgive me, I should not speak so, but, what a futile labor. I have always striven for gentility, but Jane, Jane is everything ladylike, beautiful and kind. That she should suffer a broken heart for my sake is unendurable.”