by D. L. Carter
No. There was nothing else for it. Eliza must go!
Mrs. Phillips halted in the roadway, glaring back over her shoulder toward the distant rooftop of Longbourn.
Fanny must be told these facts, Mr. Bennet’s obstinacy not withstanding. A note must be sent and Eliza’s bags packed as soon as possible.
Chapter Nine
The note was duly sent, and returned unopened. Mrs. Phillips took her outrage to her husband.
“Mr. Phillips. Mr. Phillips. You would not credit what has happened now!”
“Possibly,” murmured Mr. Phillips, who, with Mr. Bennet, had a good experience with his wife’s excitability.
He did not pause in his examination of the many folios and files that littered his office while his wife emptied her budget. It was not until she placed herself, fists on hips, and bosom heaving between him and the next bookshelf that he focused his shortsighted gaze upon her.
“Are you listening?” demanded his spouse.
“And now he has threatened our presence in this house. And was so rude as to remind me we do not own it.” repeated Mr. Phillips, proving that many years of serving as a solicitor gave him advantages in dealing with his wife. He could listen, talk, and write things down all at the same time without paying attention to any. “I should not credit it, my dear. Do not fear for your house. Mr. Bennet says many things he does not mean, intending them as a joke.”
“You did not see the look in his eyes. If ever a man intended harm it was Mr. Bennet. Why, he even took me by the arm and rushed me from the building.”
You probably deserved it, were the words her spouse thought but did not venture aloud.
“They are a house in mourning,” Mr. Phillips reminded her. “In a few days you will be received again.”
“I sent my sister a letter and he intercepted it and sent it back.” She waved the offended piece of parchment. “And he did not frank it!”
“How many times must I tell you, Mr. Bennet is not of a rank to be permitted to frank his missives? And would it not be more efficient to have a footman deliver your note?”
A servant had carried the note there and back again. Mrs. Phillips waved facts away as she always did.
“I must see my sister. She needs my counsel.”
“In a week or so we might venture a small family dinner and invite them,” suggested her husband.
“A week is too long. Eliza must go as soon as possible so that the neighborhood can see that justice is done and begin to forget her!”
“Justice?” that word caught her husband’s attention. “What justice is this?”
“Eliza must be seen to have taken the punishment due her and been sent away in disgrace. That way the shade of that disgrace will leave with her and the rest of the Bennet daughters can reclaim their place in society. And this must be done before Mr. Bingley withdraws his attentions from Jane!”
“What justice is this?” demanded Mr. Phillips again. “Lizzy is innocent of any wrongdoing. A coroner’s court of inquiry found Mr. Collins’ death to be the result of an accident. His shoes are more at fault than our Lizzy!”
“Phoo, Mr. Phillips. You have no understanding. No one wants to hear that it was an accident. They all want a guilty soul to vilify and if we are not careful they will cast out the whole family instead of just that girl. She must go. That is all that can be said on the subject!”
Mr. Phillips turned his back on her.
“And it must be done before the next heir visits,” continued Mrs. Phillips. “What manner of man would want to ally himself to a family in disgrace? If the family have not regained their place when the new heir calls then he is more likely than ever to cast Fanny and her daughters out! He will certainly not marry one of them.”
“On that matter, it may no longer be a concern.”
“What is that you say, Mr. Phillips? Is the next heir already wed? Oh, that girl, what doom she has brought on her mother?”
“Be still, woman. Stop your nonsense. I meant that there may not be another heir.”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Phillips muttered to himself as he sorted through layer after layer of debris.
“I mean that at the time of Mr. Bennet’s marriage there were three male heirs to Longbourn. The family tree was examined quite thoroughly and those three males are all that remained. Mr. Collin’s father, first in line, Mr. Collins himself followed, and after him a distant cousin in a north country - a Mr. Dodge, if I remember correctly. Now, I think I received a notice some years ago of Mr. Dodge dying and now, with the demise of William Collins, without heirs, his branch of the family is defunct. I must find that death notice to be sure there were no male children.”
“Oh no! Poor sister Bennet. What shall she do with no man to marry her daughters?”
“Don’t be more foolish than you must, woman,” said Mr. Phillips waving a faded piece of foolscap aloft. “Here it is. I must write to this lawyer at once to confirm that Mr. Dodge died without male issue, for if he has then the entail is broken, and Longbourn is Mr. Bennet’s to dispose of as he wills!”
***
Mrs. Phillips first impulse was to drag her cautious spouse to Longbourn so they might be the first to bring the good news to the family, but her husband, curses be on his stubborn head, declared that he would not until he had confirmation of Mr. Dodge’s childlessness, and then he would speak to Mr. Bennet only, and alone, since Mrs. Phillips was banned from the house.
Therefore did Mrs. Phillips decide to teach Mr. Bennet a lesson. If he would not permit Mrs. Phillips to speak to her sister then she would get the news to her another way. Mrs. Phillips girded her loins, figuratively, and set out in search of an audience. She did not have to go far to find interested ears.
***
Proof and truth are not useful to a dedicated gossip. Barely had Mrs. Phillips heard the news from her husband that she set out down the main street of Meryton. If she could not have the cries of delight from her sister to reward her for her gossip she would accept any acclamation she could garner.
She came across a cluster of wives in the dry-goods store and into their ears she poured the story anew. But this time there was a telling pause between the fact that Lizzy had present when Mr. Collins fell down the stairs - a pause long enough for Mrs. Phillips to lean closer and glance from left to right before adding in a lower voice - “and now, my husband tells me, with Mr. Collins’s death the entail is broken!”
“Broken? Broken? As if it had never been?” were the various responses.
“Indeed, that is true,” Mrs. Phillips promised them, before venturing out anew leaving a flurry of whispers behind her. “What a strange thing it is, to be sure. The death and the ending of the entail!”
She made no direct accusations but it was entirely unnecessary. Her audience were all experienced and skilled gossips. They knew how to knit nonsense together to make interesting stories.
News travels fast. Bad news travels quickest. Scandalous news does not seem to need the vector of tongues and ears to be borne through the world. Therefore, barely an hour later Lt. George Wickham, seated at his ease beside a mug of the local beer, stared in disbelief at his friend and informant, Lt. John Denny.
“The Longbourn entail is broken? Are you certain?”
“The wife of the family lawyer has said so.”
“Well, now,” said Wickham, fastening his stock and rising. “I believe I am overdue to pay a condolence call.”
“You cannot. We are not that sort of acquaintance.”
“Ah, but we have entry to the house. Do you not see?”
Wickham pointed out of the smudged window. On the footpath outside an unaccompanied Lydia Bennet was laughing up into the face of one officer while another stood behind her, his gaze obviously directed toward where a gentleman did not look. Well, she did wear her skirts thin and tight. What else could be expected?
“Where is Kitty?” inquired Denny. “They are always together.”
“I
f she has lost her companion we, as honorable gentlemen, should see her safely home.”
“Honorable?” Denny snickered and flinched when Wickham backhanded him.
“Show some respect to the bereaved. Up you come, Denny lad, and lend me countenance. I cannot take her home alone. That would not do. Not do at all. We cannot have a scandal!”
Denny could not make out his friends meaning. In the recent past Wickham had demonstrated that alone was the best company for a man with a woman. This change was beyond what the slower-witted soldier could understand, but he came along quickly enough.
Lydia, of course, was delighted to see her favorite.
“Wickham. Oh, how good to see you after so long!”
“Miss Lydia,” said Wickham solemnly, bowing over her outstretched hand. “Do we find you alone today? Surely not!”
“Oh, things are so dull at home,” moaned Lydia. “No one talks, no one laughs, and no one visits. We must stay at home for a month because of that dratted Mr. Collins, and it isn’t as if we liked him.”
“Sadly, the proprieties must be observed.”
There were snickers from the soldiers standing nearby. Wickham was not the highest stickler in the barracks. Indeed, he was best described as the exact opposite. He ignored them and gave Lydia a broad smile. “I think it best that Denny and I walk you safely home.”
“Yes. Yes,” said Lydia tucking her arms through those of both men. “And you must stay to tea. We must have some conversation and you shall cheer us all up.”
“Thank you for that compliment,” said Wickham.
His behavior was that of a perfect gentleman for the entirety of the walk to Longbourn, to the astonishment of Denny. At the door, Lydia’s grip tightened for some reason and she called out her arrival.
“Look! See, mother. Look who has come to call. We shall make a merry party. Wickham has the best jokes and shall tell us all the news.”
“I do not doubt it,” said Mrs. Bennet smiling as she emerged from the parlor. “Lt. Wickham, oh, and Lt. Denny, how good of you to call.”
Before she could invite them in Mr. Bennet entered the hall behind her.
“Lydia Bennet,” he said with a sharp note of command to his voice. “Go to your room, at once.”
“Mama, we must have cakes,” said Lydia, pointedly ignoring her father. “A proper tea. We cannot have the militia saying we don’t know how to host them.”
“Oh, yes,” began Mrs. Bennet.
“Excuse me,” said Mr. Bennet, reaching between the men and taking Lydia by the arm. “You gentlemen will understand when you have daughters of your own that sometimes they must be disciplined for their own protection.”
Lydia gasped, then let out a shriek. “You cannot send me to my room, not when there are young men come to call on me.”
“You will come down in three years, perhaps four,” said her angry father. “It depends on how long it takes you to learn good sense!”
“Mama, make Papa let me go.”
Mrs. Bennet worried at her handkerchief, staring up the stairs after the retreating duo, unable to think of a word to say. Jane opened the door to the parlor wider.
“Good afternoon, Lt. Wickham. Lt. Denny,” said Jane in her soft voice. “If you wish, we shall have a dish of tea in the parlor before you walk back to Meryton.”
“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” said Wickham with a bow. “If it is not an imposition, a spot of refreshment will be welcome.”
“Not at all,” gushed Mrs. Bennet. “Please, both of you come in and pay no mind to Mr. Bennet. It is a silly matter that comes up in families from time to time. I am certain it will all pass away soon and you will be able to dance with my dearest Lydia.”
“When we come out of mourning,” observed Elizabeth.
Mrs. Bennet shot a scowl in that direction before turning her attention to the young, unmarried men.
“Do come in. Sit. Sit. Jane, ring the bell, dear. We must have tea and the gentlemen shall tell us the news from Meryton.”
“It is all very dull,” said Wickham settling, not beside any of the young women, but at Mrs. Bennet’s side. “Without the charming Bennet ladies all entertainments seem flat. But we do hope to see you all again, in the proper time.” His usually cheerful expression faded and he took Mrs. Bennet’s hand in both of his. “Please accept my sincerest condolences on the occasion of this sad event. I am most sorry for your suffering.”
“Oh, Lt. Wickham, how kind.” Mrs. Bennet patted his hand. “No one appreciates how I suffer.”
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a glance and a raised eyebrow before turning bland faces to the militiamen and watched while Lt. Wickham listened to the familiar litany of Mrs. Bennet's fluttering heart and nerves with every appearance of sympathy.
Denny ensconced himself beside Kitty and chatted with her on light subjects.
As soon as the tea was consumed Wickham addressed Mrs. Bennet in a serious voice.
“If I might be excused for a moment, I observed some damage to a bridge between Longbourn and Netherfield while we were riding the other day. The earth has eroded away on one side and I fear, when the spring rains come, there is a risk of collapse. Mr. Bennet might not have noticed it. I believe that it is a section of road that is Mr. Bennet’s responsibility to maintain.”
“Oh, I am certain his steward will sort that out.”
“Indeed, I hope that Mr. Bennet has that sort of steward that my father was, alert to all things needing management. Repairs are always cheaper than replacement, so my father would say.”
“Oh yes, your father was the steward of a grand estate, was he not?” Mrs. Bennet smiled at him. “I remember you saying. Somewhere northward.”
“Indeed. I am proud to say everything I learned on the upkeep of estates I learned at his knee. Truly, he was a great man. Conscientious and learned in the ways of the land.”
“I wish Mr. Bennet had such a steward. I fear ours is not so active. Why, Mr. Bennet is always being called upon to deal with some matter or another. It is quite distracting to his peace.”
“Indeed. Now, if you would excuse me.” Wickham rose.
“I fear, that this might not be the best of times, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth, who had been watching the hall through the open door. “My father is still above stairs dealing with a family matter.”
Wickham shot a look toward the stairs and frowned before his expression cleared.
“Ah. Another time, perhaps.”
“Oh, yes. You and Mr. Denny must come and make a family dinner with us,” declared Mrs. Bennet. “Soon.”
“We would be delighted.” Wickham bowed and with a nod to Denny, indicated it was time to leave.
At the door Wickham paused and glanced back over his shoulder to give Jane a warm smile, before inclining his head to her, then Mrs. Bennet, and turning to go. Barely he was gone from the room that Mrs. Bennet rushed across to seize Jane and haul her to the bay window.
“Quickly Jane, sit on the window seat. Smile, Jane, smile.”
“Mother, what are you about?” protested Jane as her mother pinched her back.
Jane jumped, pushing her bosom out and chin up just as the militiamen passed the window. Mr. Wickham smiled and touched a finger to his hat before walking on. Mrs. Bennet, who had seen the action, settled back on her heels and rubbed her hands in satisfaction.
“Excellent,” she said, returning to her chair.
“Mother?” repeated Jane.
Mrs. Bennet folded her lips and looked as angry as she would permit herself.
“Mr. Bingley has been a disappointment to me. Days and days it has been and he scorns our company. Well, Miss, a half pay officer who is not afraid of work might be the best you can do after Lizzy’s shameful display. While he lives I shall have Mr. Bennet appoint Mr. Wickham as steward. Mr. Hawkins is getting old after all, and his wife is dead. When Mr. Bennet dies, likely the next heir,” here she shot an aggrieved look at Elizabeth, “will keep Mr. Wickham on and you shall at le
ast have a good home. I have seen Mr. Hawkin’s house. It is a snug enough place. Quite fine really, for a mere steward, with a spare bedroom overlooking a garden and a very good sitting room.”
With that she folded her arms and stared off into a future only she could see. It was settled in her mind, and in that of her audience, who should live in that snug spare room and decorate that sitting room. Elizabeth gave Jane’s hand a sympathetic squeeze.
“It is a good enough match, when you consider,” continued Mrs. Bennet. “What a fine young man he is, and such a shame that Mr. Darcy was so disagreeable as to deny him his living. If he were settled with a good living, I would be happy to see him wed to any of my girls. Only think, girls, if Mr. Wickham received the living due to him. Or, if he is given stewardship of Longbourn. The estate would prosper with more modern management. I wonder which would be best?”
Mrs. Bennet smiled to herself and began to hum a dance tune.
Elizabeth leaned closer to Jane.
“You do not have to do any such thing,” she said. “Mother is always making these plans and nothing comes of them.”
“I cannot deny our mother a secure future,” said Jane. “The plan is not altogether bad.”
“Stewards can be discharged on a whim,” whispered Elizabeth. “And she forgets, you love Bingley.”
“I must put him from my mind and meet him, henceforth, as indifferent acquaintances,” returned Jane. “Oh, Lizzy, I do not mean that as a criticism of you. All this was not your fault. No one can deny that you did not suit and Mr. Collins should not have chased you. It is his own fault that he fell.”
“If I regret anything from that day, it is that it has deprived you of the hope of Mr. Bingley. You and he are so well suited.”
“Enough. Have done. I have cast that future from my mind and must be practical. Mother has a point, however clumsily stated. We should look about for men who will accept us as we are despite our lack of dowry and connections.”