by D. L. Carter
Darcy paused, stunned. Never before had he considered the issue of Mrs. Bennet’s behavior in that light. How her daughters must suffer when their mother appeared in public. At least her elder and more sensible daughters suffered. The younger, with no better guidance than an indifferent father and foolish mother, were exactly as could be expected. But the elder, who had gained sensitivity and sensibility from some source, retreated into their own small circle of companionship and shielded their thoughts and feelings.
“The less Miss Bennet shows, the more she feels?” hazarded Darcy.
“Exactly,” said Elizabeth. “Think how my Mother would behave, if she thought Jane’s heart was engaged? Oh, Jane is suffering now, though she shows it not at all. This is all my fault. It is of everything horrible. Oh, how I wish I’d accepted the fool. All would be well. My family safe and Jane happy!”
As he watched, Darcy saw color passing over Miss Jane’s pale cheeks as she stared at Bingley, and for an instant tears threatened but were resolutely blinked away. Then Jane straightened, a bland, indifferent smile on her face and firmly excused herself from her company despite Mrs. Bennet's efforts to keep her near.
“Please excuse me, Mr. Darcy, I must go to her,” said Elizabeth, and departed without waiting for an acknowledgment from Darcy.
And I should attend to my friend, thought Darcy, following as Bingley, eyes open but unseeing, walked toward the refreshment table.
A few feet away two of the local ladies sniffed and turned away as Elizabeth passed them. Darcy’s hands clenched within his gloves.
“Not wasting time, is she?” observed one gossip that was standing within earshot of Darcy and without bothering to lower her voice.
“Huh. She’ll not get a proposal from that one,” was the reply accompanied by a tilt of a head toward Darcy. “Too high in the instep for her, by half.”
“Might not need to give a proposal,” said the first. “He can have her for less than a ring, now!”
Both old women cackled and walked away, their barb delivered. The question in Darcy’s mind was, had Elizabeth heard?
A flare of anger caught Darcy’s breath in his chest. Rather than attack two women old enough to be his grandmothers Darcy decided Bingley’s idea had merit. Before he or Bingley could reach the tea service, presided over by Mrs. Hill, the Bingley sisters descended.
“We should depart before we overstay our welcome,” Caroline hissed, trying to slip her arm through Darcy’s elbow. “We are not that close sort of friend whose condolence is welcomed. We have greeted those who need greeting and should take ourselves away.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Louisa from the other side as they came up beside Bingley who was methodically laying cakes on a plate. “My head aches from listening to that fool of a parson spoken of as anyone of significance in the world. He was a fool alive and died a fool.”
“Mr. Hurst had the better idea,” said Caroline. “He has gone shooting. Would you not like to take advantage of the good weather and take some sport, brother? Mr. Darcy, do you not agree?”
“I beg you would excuse me,” said Bingley, put the plate down, and pushed his way through the crowd and out into the garden. Darcy followed close on his heels.
“If you are here to persuade me to leave for Netherfield,” snapped Bingley stopping so abruptly that Darcy almost collided with him. “I would beg you not. I am poor company today. Go for one of your long rides, Darcy, and leave me be.”
A nearby noise caught their attention. Only a few yards away, barely visible over a cluster of winterized rose bushes Jane Bennet wept in her sister’s arms. Bingley gasped and took one step toward her before glancing toward Darcy.
“I do not imagine she weeps for her cousin,” said Darcy. “I am so very sorry, Bingley.”
“You think she weeps for me? But I am here! Can she not see me?”
Elizabeth’s gaze met and held Darcy’s until she curved an arm about Jane’s shoulders and gently led her away.
“She sees you, Bingley. I am sorry. I was speaking to Miss Elizabeth earlier. They understand the scandal has rendered them unmarriageable by honorable men with standing in society.”
“No. No, that cannot be so. I will not have it!”
“I am very sorry, Bingley. But it is no less than the truth. As your sisters have stated, the Bennet ladies are quite ruined in the eyes of society.”
***
The morning after the funeral Mrs. Bennet, bored with her own company, descended to harass and weary her daughters. Mary spent her hours at the pianoforte playing religious-themed music, dirges, and tunes in minor keys until her mother shouted at her to stop.
Lydia protested her imprisonment above stairs with periodic loud weeping spells and thumps upon the floor. Mr. Bennet abandoned his bookroom and found relief of his feelings in long walks.
Jane and Elizabeth dedicated themselves to assisting Kitty with the decoration of a new gown in anticipation of being released from mourning and struggled to keep their spirits, if not high, at least from dragging in the mud.
Unable to bear the silence or the calm domesticity Mrs. Bennet crossed the room to strike their work to the floor during a discussion of ribbons.
“What does it matter what Kitty wears, what any of you wear, you are all ruined forever and I shall never see you married. Oh, Jane, is there no hope from Mr. Bingley? Have you written to his sisters?”
Without raising her eyes from the task of threading a needle Jane replied calmly: “My last correspondence from Caroline spoke of her intention to go to London for the Season and she hinted that Mr. Bingley intends to give up the lease.”
Of course what her mother did not know was that Caroline Bingley had written only once after the death of Mr. Collins and not even Jane’s forgiving nature and tendency to look for the good in all things could find anything other than the truth that Caroline wrote only to put period to the acquaintance.
“Perhaps if we were to walk to Meryton we might see him riding by,” suggested Kitty.
“It is too soon,” said Jane before her mother could endorse the idea. “We have a month of mourning to complete.”
Sighing, Mrs. Bennet paced the confines of the room again.
“And your father so disobliging as to keep my poor dear Lydia in her room,” she complained.
Hearing this Mary played louder. Elizabeth winced at the discord and Jane brushed at her face. When Elizabeth tried to detect if it were tears on Jane’s face she turned further away.
“I think,” declared Elizabeth, “I need air.”
She rose and went to quit the room.
“If I cannot go to Meryton I do not see that you can,” protested Kitty.
“I am not going near Meryton if I might avoid it, therefore I am going to Oakham Mount. Jane, dear, shall you come?”
“No!” cried their mother. “Jane will stay. Mr. Bingley might call. Surely he will not quit the neighborhood without making his farewells. I shall not have him visit us and be disappointed.”
Jane said nothing, did nothing to suggest she heard her mother’s words, but continued slowly to sew a straight seam. Elizabeth shut her teeth on a protest and departed the house. As she stalked across the dry winter grass Lydia opened her window.
“Go throw yourself in a river! No one will miss you, Ophelia!” and her laughter echoed over their park.
Chapter Eight
Mrs. Phillips arrived shortly thereafter. Lydia, watching the road, was the first to see her and set up a clamor, demanding to be released.
Expecting Mrs. Bennet to still be keeping to her rooms, Mrs. Phillips entered and went upstairs without looking left or right.
“Sister,” cried Mrs. Bennet, seeing the woman walk past the parlor door. “What have you heard?”
Startled Mrs. Phillips stopped.
“Oh, sister, there is no good news to tell. But, pray, what is Lydia about?”
“Mr. Bennet still has the poor girl locked in her room.”
“Why have
you not released her?”
“He has the key. The servants must fetch it from him to take her meals.”
“We’ll see to that quick enough,” said Mrs. Phillips. “Where is your work basket? I need the swan scissors our grandmother gave you.”
While she worked at Lydia’s lock Mrs. Phillips chattered on.
“Mr. Collins’s death is all anyone can talk about,” said Mrs. Phillips, gleefully. “Oh, I cannot go down the street without hearing Eliza pushed her own father’s heir down the stairs.”
“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes. Why, Mrs. Andrews said as how she cannot understand why Mr. Bennet hasn’t sent her off to Scotland by now. She said the reason they’d quarreled, was that Mr. Collins had refused to marry Lizzy.”
“Refused? Whyever for? He had petitioned me only that morning for assurances that he might have her. He proposed. Surely they know that.”
“I am only saying what I’ve heard.”
Apparently, the longer Mrs. Phillips had listened to her neighbors the worse the speculation became. Long before Lydia was freed Mrs. Bennet was reduced to frantic wailing.
“We are ruined. Oh, if only Lizzy had accepted him as she should.”
“Lizzy is selfish,” declared Lydia through the door and leapt out to embrace her mother and aunt as soon as the door swung open. “Oh, Aunt Phillips, may I stay with you until Papa is more reasonable? Would you believe he has declared I am no longer out? No longer to go into town? No dancing or flirting with officers. I shall die if I am to be denied dancing. If I am with you, then it will not matter what he says. I will be excellent company for you and all the officers will pay calls once they know I am there. We shall have such fun!”
“Then I shall put a lock on that door also,” declared Mr. Bennet, coming up the stairs.
“Mr. Bennet,” cried his wife. “Have you heard the news? How can we walk down the street? It is everything terrible. My sister Phillips said…”
“I think your sister Phillips has said far too much and far too often,” snapped Mr. Bennet pushed beyond his habitual laziness. “There is not a day you come here, Augusta Phillips, not a word you say to my wife that does not disorder her nerves. I think it would be much better if you didn’t visit. In fact, leave now.”
For the first time in his marriage Mr. Bennet had been forced to face what his indolence had caused. As he lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling his thoughts chased each other and none of them were pleasant. There was not one action related to this disaster of which he could be proud. Content to laugh at his family, he had not corrected the misapprehension of his cousin that he might have one of the daughters of the house as his wife, nor had he limited the ambitions of his wife or acted to sooth her nerves and now Elizabeth, and all his daughters, would pay the price. Ostracism! Social ruin! Spinsterhood, poverty, and dependence.
But if they were to suffer he would shake off his indolence and tend to his family as best he could while he yet lived.
First, and foremost, he would not require any of his children to suffer gossip and derision face to face.
He assisted Mrs. Phillips to her feet none too gently while Mrs. Bennet moaned and grieved and Lydia wailed.
Outside Lizzy stopped walking as the noise echoed over her head and near ran back to the house. Jane emerged from the wilderness to the side of the house with the familiar marks of tears on her face.
“What is happening?” demanded Jane.
“I cannot tell,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Bennet came through the door, Mrs. Phillips firmly gripped by the arm and walked her down the path to their gate.
“Do not return without an invitation,” he said, turning and storming back to stop Mrs. Bennet from running after her sister.
“Papa,” cried Jane. “Whatever is toward?”
“Mrs. Phillips has overstayed her welcome,” stated her father.
“But what am I to do for news. For comfort,” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Jane. Lizzy, you girls know. There is nothing like a sister.”
Elizabeth’s private view was that some sisters were better than others but said nothing. A moment, a flash of color, caught her attention. Leaving Jane to mediate between their parents Elizabeth hurried down the side of the house in time to see Lydia running through the side garden gate.
“Lydia!” shouted Elizabeth, but was too late to call her back. Her shout caught her father’s attention.
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“Lydia, have you sent her on an errand?”
“Certainly not. Why?”
“I saw her leave the garden.” Elizabeth pointed to the still open gate.
Mr. Bennet scowled. “Well, I shall not chase her. That would only amuse the child. But we shall see what can be done when she returns.”
“You can't send me away!” protested Mrs. Phillips. “I am the only person who will visit your family. Without me you will be alone.”
“You cannot send my sister away,” complained Mrs. Bennet. “What shall I do without her?”
“It may be, Mrs. Bennet, that you will not have her constant gossip wearing on your nerves. I have observed that not a single visit in all these years has calmed you. With each whisper in your ear she has worn on your sensibilities and unsettled your spirit.”
“No. No, she comforts me.”
“Perhaps, Mrs. Bennet it is time for you to comfort your children. It is Lizzy who suffered. Lizzy who should receive your care.”
“Her? She hasn’t needed me, not from the moment she could walk.”
Jane reached out to Lizzy and the two of them clung together while Mrs. Bennet wailed and complained. With many backward glares Mrs. Phillips walked away down the gravel path. At the gate she turned and cried, “My husband, your lawyer, shall hear of this.”
“And when you speak to your husband please remind him that you both live in a house that is part of the Longbourn estate on which you have not paid any rent for these twenty years and that I am, in this neighborhood, his principal client and the one who pays him with the greatest regularity!”
And with that Mr. Bennet reentered the house.
“I will have words with all of you in the parlor,” he declared and led the way within. When all were settled Mr. Bennet clasped his hands behind his back. “My dear Mrs. Bennet, girls, this is a difficult time for our family. After much thought I realized my own responsibility in this past week’s events. I am so very sorry for how I failed you all.”
“Lizzy…” began Mrs. Bennet.
“No, my dear. Not Lizzy. Me! I am the one to blame and I should feel it. If I had not been prepared to be amused by Mr. Collins' presumption and stupidity, if I had declined to receive him into my home, if I had told you, Mrs. Bennet, quite clearly that I would not have the man as a son-in-law, then all this would have been avoided.”
“But, the entail!” wailed his wife.
Mr. Bennet ignored her.
“While we are in mourning,” he continued. “I wish you to know I shall, going forward, do my best to protect you all. I want the best for you. I always have. But this is a difficult time for our family. Please remember to support each other. In the end, in your lives, there will be none who know you as well as your sisters. Now, Lydia has foolishly run away today. When she comes home her punishment will continue. She is young and requires that her older sisters provide her with guidance and good examples.” He paused. “You will find me, of necessity, more involved in our family life. I hope you will feel that you might call on me, talk to me, in the coming weeks.”
His wife and daughters stared at him in shock. Even more so when he settled himself beside the backgammon table.
“Now, shall someone offer me a game until supper?”
***
The mile long walk to Meryton was not enough to settle the rage that burned in Mrs. Phillips ample breast. How dare her brother-in-law address her in that manner? In all the years Mrs. Phillips had resided down the lane from her sister, Mr. Bennet had been a rather
nebulous, irrelevant figure hidden within his bookroom, who practiced not the slightest ripple of authority over those around him. The man should be grateful to Mrs. Phillips! Had it not been she, all those twenty years ago, who had summoned her youngest sister, the sweet and classically fair, Fanny Gardiner, and contrived to have her meet the shy and retiring Mr. Bennet? Mr. Bennet should be thanking her for the introduction to his wife and in all these twenty years she was certain that he had not.
Ungrateful wretch.
For him to change the practice of twenty years and suddenly involve himself in his family’s activities, auditing who came and went in his house, was beyond Mrs. Phillips understanding.
Now was not the time for him to be depriving Fanny of her sister’s guidance. It was vitally important that Mrs. Phillips continue to visit and advise Fanny Bennet of what was going forward in Meryton - and for balance, provide those interesting tidbits that Mrs. Phillips could take back from Longbourn to be chewed over by the gossips of Meryton!
Today was the day Mrs. Phillips planned to broach the necessity of sending Eliza away. For the sake of her sisters, her family and their standing in the community Eliza Bennet should go away, forever.
Yes, that was necessary. Vital.
But not to London. Not to the Gardiner's! Heaven forfend that Eliza contaminate that pool of potential husbands. Indeed not.
No. It was necessary that Eliza should go away, change her name, and thereafter her name should not be mentioned by any of her relations. In time she would be forgot and the whole matter done and over.
Scotland was the traditional destination for ruined daughters.
How she would live and what she would do was no concern of Mrs. Phillips, only the rapidity of her departure. All the women she had discussed the matter with were in agreement. No one wanted Elizabeth Bennet to remain in Longbourn.
Refusing a suitor was bad enough. No one wanted their daughters to imitate her action and send away a worthy man. And then there was the matter of Mr. Collins’ death. Shocking.
And worse, far worse, now her name was becoming a by-word. Why, one couldn’t walk down the street without hearing Eliza Bennet this, Eliza Bennet that. No young lady should be so forward as to expose herself to gossip. No modest young lady with any sensibility would allow it. It was not to be borne and she should feel the consequences.