Ruined Forever

by D. L. Carter

  Elizabeth shivered and looked away. The thought was a common one from her past but now, with all that had occurred, she dared not look closely at her options. They were worse. So very much worse.

  Chapter Ten

  Sunday morning began with raised voice, nerves, flutterings, and beatings of both hearts and breasts, all caused when Mr. Bennet declared that Lydia Bennet might not attend church.

  “It is holy services, Mr. Bennet,” protested his wife. “Surely Lydia cannot but benefit from it.”

  “I have witnessed your daughter’s behavior within those hallowed halls and cannot describe her twisting about, winking and fluttering of handkerchiefs and whispering as proper reverential behavior. And as for her conduct after services, flirting and shrieking and running about, no, it is not to be borne. I am determined. Lydia Bennet will stay at home. Besides, given her conduct the last few days, I am convinced that as soon as your eye is not on her she shall accidentally run away again and not come home for hours.”

  “Papa, that is not fair,” cried Lydia, and was ignored.

  “Mary shall stay and keep her company since Mary has long since memorized both Fordyce's Sermons and the Bible.”

  “No, Papa,” cried both Mary and Lydia.

  “Mary is so very dull,” added Lydia.

  “Papa, I cannot think that is fair, or wise,” said Elizabeth.

  “What can you have to say on any matter, Miss?” demanded Mrs. Bennet. “There would be no questioning what Lydia said and did if you had married Mr. Collins as you should.”

  No one responded to this all too familiar complaint. Instead Elizabeth said to her father: “It is not fair to Mary to put her in authority over Lydia. You know that Lydia will not heed her and it will only result in a lack of sisterly affection and quarrels.”

  “I cannot see that it is fair to prevent my attending the only outing of the week that I anticipate,” added Mary.

  “Sadly, Mary,” said her father, “I cannot leave Lydia and Kitty home together for fear of finding the place burned down on my return.”

  “Oh, I should not do anything so foolish,” protested Kitty.

  Her father sniffed.

  “Elizabeth must stay home if anyone must,” said Mrs. Bennet. “No one in town will want to see her.”

  “Mrs. Bennet, let me be clear. Of the household the most important person to be seen at church - as if the day is no different from any other Sunday for the last twenty years - is our Lizzy. Very well. Lydia shall spend the morning in the parlor reading improving tracts. Jane, Lizzy, Mary, and Kitty are for church with their mother and I shall stay home. Let me be clear, Miss Lydia, if I hear any more complaints it will be a month of Sundays before you leave this house again. Am I rightly understood?”

  Ignoring the threat, Lydia pouted and complained until the whole family was in danger of being late to church. Eventually her father aided the balance of his family to the carriage and returned to keep watch over his youngest.

  ***

  Knowing that his brother-in-law was disinclined to attend morning services at the best of times, Mr. Phillips sent his wife off to have her soul restored before making the journey to Longbourn. He spent some little time dawdling along, enjoying the silence and solitude and was rather surprised to enter Longbourn and hear low-voiced squabbling coming from the parlor. One of the reasons Mr. Bennet encouraged devotion in his family was for the hours of silence it granted him of a Sunday. Apparently some of the family was still at home.

  Mr. Phillips entered the house without alerting any of the servants of his presence and was soon knocking on Mr. Bennet’s door. The sound caught Mr. Bennet’s attention and he emerged from the parlor to exclaim his surprise over his visitor.

  The explanation of the reason for Mr. Phillips visit had the most remarkable effect upon the master of Longbourn.

  “Broken? The entail is broken?” repeated Mr. Bennet, white as a ghost and trembling. “Dear God, man, are you certain?”

  “As I said, I am waiting for confirmation from Stoke on Trent. Once I have that then, well, then the entail is history.”

  “Oh, thank you, heaven,” breathed Mr. Bennet and rested his head on his hands.

  “Brother? Is there a problem?” inquired Mr. Phillips.

  “You have no idea,” sighed Mr. Bennet, straightening and permitting his lips to stretch in a smile for the first time in very many days. “Mrs. Bennet is not the only one to worry about the character of the heir of Longbourn. I have no choice but to entrust the health and happiness of my wife and daughters to this unknown person, and would have done so quite reluctantly when it came to Mr. Collins but this … oh, brother Phillips, I hope you have sent the letter express!”

  “Yes, in fact. I thought it an urgent matter requiring immediate attention.”

  “Thank you. This quite relieves my mind.” Mr. Bennet led the way into his bookroom and crossed to the locked cupboard where he kept the best of his liquor. He held the bottle out toward his guest and received his nod. “Now I must give serious thought toward the future. I have been an indifferent landlord, since diligence gained my family nothing, but that will have to change. And investments. I am free to increase the amount that our brother Gardiner invests for me. Take a little risk with hope of greater returns as he has so often urged me. With luck, and a little time, I might be able to improve what my daughters receive.”

  “Yes, brother Gardiner has always done well with his investments.”

  Shrieks and shouts announced the return of the church party. Lydia burst out of the parlor to add her complaints and demands for attention to the noise. After exchanging a startled glance Mr. Phillips and Mr. Bennet quit the bookroom for the hall.

  “Upstairs, Miss Lizzy,” shrieked Mrs. Bennet pushing that daughter into the house before her. “Take yourself upstairs and pack this instant. I do not know where Mr. Bennet shall send you but I will not see you again. Never, I tell you. You are dead to me from this moment.” Spotting her husband Mrs. Bennet flung out her arms. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, we are all in an uproar.”

  “So I hear,” shouted Mr. Bennet, shocking his wife into silence before embracing his daughter and lowering his voice. “Lizzy, my dear, what has happened?”

  “I shall tell you…”

  “But I did not ask you, Mrs. Bennet. Pray be silent, if you cannot be sensible!”

  His wife stared at him, helpless and silent. Elizabeth, pale but proud, addressed her father with only the faintest quiver in her voice.

  “It began when the curate began reading the first lesson,” she said. “He chose the story of Cain and Abel. The first murderer, he said, and went on to lecture on the evil of inflicting death upon another person.”

  “Damn him,” murmured Mr. Bennet.

  “I think he was displeased that a fellow clergyman was dead,” continued Elizabeth, “even though he personally did not know him well. Mr. Prescott did not appear too pleased with the reading either but when he did the second reading he spoke of the special privileges and responsibility attendant on being the voice of God. A vicar, and the special respect that should be offered to them. He recited a story wherein a clergyman walked unharmed through a battlefield as an example of the consideration owed them.”

  “I shall speak to them both,” declared Mr. Bennet.

  “It is too late for that,” said Elizabeth, shaking her head. “There were already whispers when we entered the church and …”

  “No one would return our greetings,” moaned Mrs. Bennet. “No one would say good morning to me. We are being shunned, Mr. Bennet. Shunned. And it is all Miss Lizzy’s fault. I insist she must leave here. I managed to speak to my sister and she agrees with me. Lizzy must leave today! I asked you to send her away when this all happened and you would not. Now see what your stubbornness has wrought. I will not have her under this roof, Mr. Bennet. I tell you that!”

  “Enough! Mrs. Bennet, I shall not permit you to abuse any of our children. Lizzy stays, for to send her away would be to
declare that we believe her guilty, and, as you know, she is completely innocent! You must reach deep into your soul, Mrs. Bennet, and find some dignity, some strength, some means by which you can face your neighbors and tell them that you will stand up for Lizzy just as you would for any child of ours. Am I clear?”

  “But Mr. Bennet, what are we to do?” wailed Mrs. Bennet. “What is to become of us if no one will speak to us. We are being ostracized.”

  Mr. Bennet hesitated, looking down the hall at all that he loved. It might be believed that he did not love his children, his wife, but while he did not respect all of them he did love them. He opened his mouth to announce the end of the entail and glanced first toward Mr. Phillips. He could not say it yet. There might be some son waiting in the wings as yet unidentified. Sighing, Mr. Bennet faced his family.

  “We shall stand together against the foolishness of our neighbors, Mrs. Bennet, for what are we but entertainment. Our scandals shall warm their tongues and their firesides for a season and then it shall be someone else’s turn.”

  “We should pour into each others wounded bosoms the solace of sisterly affection,” declared Mary.

  Lydia rolled her eyes and Kitty coughed.

  “Well, we should,” said Mary, with some heat. “It is likely we shall be each other’s companions for life and have no other family. We should set our sights upon the Kingdom of Heaven and be by our example proof of God’s mercy.”

  Lydia snorted, then laughed outright.

  “You may be maiden to your grave, Mary,” said Lydia, “but I shall wed.”

  Before Mary could respond Elizabeth took her arm.

  “Mary, I know you mean well, but you are not helping.”

  Mary shook free of Elizabeth’s grip.

  “You? Of all of us, you have the greatest need of God’s mercy. You killed a clergyman. A man of God. How can you bear to face your reflection?”

  “Mary,” cried Mr. Bennet. “Have done. Mr. Collins was no more a man of God as one of my pigs. Put away your Bible, I beg you, and read a novel. It might give you a better understanding and sympathy for the rest of humanity.”

  “But we cannot show our faces in church again,” mourned Mary.

  “Do you not think so? Mr. Phillips, on your way home might you stop at the vicarage and inform Mr. Prescott that I require his attendance immediately, and drag that curate of his along as well.”

  There was silence, as they knew that the living of Meryton was not in Mr. Bennet’s gift. There was little Mr. Bennet could do but complain to the Bishop about the behavior of both vicar and curate.

  “I believe that I shall disturb the Squire’s and the Mr. Jeffers’ dinners as well,” continued Mr. Bennet. “Have you, my dear wife, a good dinner today that we might share with the local legal authority? I think it is time to explain to the vicar his role in society is not to cast stones at the innocent.”

  With that Mr. Bennet departed to speak to his servants, Mr. Phillips left to seek his own dinner and Elizabeth sat with her sisters as commanded, with her hands clenched in her lap until the knuckles showed white, and she did not flinch, no matter how shrill her mother’s voice or how unjust her comments.

  It was an earned punishment, of sorts, to sit and be with her family. Her mother. Her sisters.

  Her father had retreated for the moment. Restoring himself in the silence of his bookroom before the burdens of socializing.

  Elizabeth had no idea what action her father would take on her behalf, nor how effective it could be given the public manner in which the vicar had insulted her.

  Even if Mr. Prescott and Mr. Fitzwallace were to apologize next Sunday that was seven whole days away. Seven days with the tongues of the four and twenty families of local society clacking away, spreading gossip. There was no hope of recovering her standing. It was of all things horrible. She bit her lip but found it made the threatening tears more likely.

  What was she to do? What other horror would descend upon the family next?

  Oh, if only she could turn back the days. Not that she would consent with Mr. Collins but if she’d been less lady-like, more determined, she would have turned the man’s attention away as soon as the first hint of interest was shown. She would have walked away that morning instead of obeying her mother.

  She would have done something differently and Mr. Collins would still be alive.

  Despite her father’s injunction that she should read a novel, Mary sat on the other side of the room loudly reading what she thought was an improving tract.

  Waiting until her mother excused herself to attend the withdrawing room Elizabeth rose and slipped down the hall to tap lightly on her father’s door.

  “Come in, Lizzy,” came his tired voice.

  She went in, closing the door softly behind her. Instead being seated in his familiar old chair, book in one hand, glass of brandy in the other; he was working his way through an ancient folio of letters. He picked up a note and tucked it under a book as she entered.

  “Papa?”

  “Come in, dearest girl,” he said, holding out one arm. When she reached his side he drew her closer. Over the years he had embraced his daughters less and less preferring to laugh at them from a distance.

  “Papa, I have been thinking.”

  “Usually an exercise I encourage, but under the circumstances I suspect your thoughts have more in common with your mother’s will than mine or your own.”

  “How can you say that, papa? You do not know what I am thinking.”

  “You are thinking how you have, indeed, been selfish. That our family would recover their standing if you were not here as a daily reminder of the manner of Mr. Collins’ passing. That if you were to go away for a while the gossip would die down the faster. All these are foolish thoughts your mother has put in your head. But I will forgive you, for this is only because you love your family.”

  Elizabeth nodded slowly.

  “But, my dear, I regret having to bring another pain to you, but gossip will always descend becoming by its very nature, worse!”

  “What do you mean, papa?”

  “That if you think the accusation of murder is the worst one to be leveled against you, you have not heard the latest.”

  Elizabeth hid her face against his shoulder and he patted her absently. “Dear girl, I only tell you so you might be prepared. I received a note this morning. Anonymous, but given the content I do not blame the writer for not putting his name to it. There is a suggestion being promoted that you and Mr. Collins’ had anticipated your vows…”

  “Anticipated? With him? With Mr. Collins?” cried Elizabeth in disgust and her father laughed.

  “Yes, ridiculous I know, but it is suggested that you found yourself in the family way and he refused to do his duty by you, thereafter you fought and pushed him down the stairs.”

  Elizabeth regarded him quizzically for a moment.

  “It is a rather advanced anticipation when I have known him a fortnight only. Surely it takes more time to develop that sort of problem.”

  Mr. Bennet laughed and waved his daughter to her usual chair.

  “You have a more logical mind than our neighbors, my dear. You are correct and they are fools. But what are they but to provide entertainment? They laugh at us today and we shall have our turn next.”

  “It is not funny now, papa,” scolded his daughter.

  “That I will grant you. I do not know when I was last this distressed at the ignorance of men. But, my dear, because of this dreadful rumor it is necessary for you to be seen. To walk the streets of Meryton going about your business in your usual way. To appear at card parties and dinners and most definitely not to be ill at any time. You must be seen in this neighborhood for a year complete to prove you do not have a natural child to conceal. That is why your mother is wrong, and why I shall not send you away.”

  This news was enough to raise Elizabeth’s chin and set her jaw. “What nonsense! How can they think I would be so lost to propriety with … wi
th him! Ugh!”

  She shuddered and pursed her lips then joined her father in the first laugh she had since the accident.

  “Oh, papa, what shall we do?”

  “Endure, my dear. Endure.” He paused, considering taking her into his confidence regarding the changed status of the entail but until he was confident silence served him best. “I hope for better news soon. Now, my dear, rejoin your sisters and for pity sake, keep Mary away from the dirges.”

  ***

  Unfortunately for the Bennet family's calm and happiness, the message they received later that day was that all those summoned to attend upon Mr. Bennet were busy and therefore declined. Mr. Bennet sighed. Mrs. Bennet mourned and Lizzy sought privacy so that she might weep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Darcy descended in search of sustenance Monday morning and paused outside the breakfast room to assess the lay of the land. From the voices within Darcy determined that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were present, discussing with excessive and impolitic glee the fall of the Bennet females. Darcy rolled his eyes, wondering if the first cup of coffee of the day was worth enduring the presence of Bingley’s sisters. Though he waited for five minutes complete he did not hear Bingley speak. A footman, emerging in search of fresh hot water hesitated when he observed Darcy in the hall. Instead of speaking the servant placed one gloved finger over his lips and beckoned Darcy to follow.

  The footman guided him to the rarely used study wherein Bingley was breaking his fast in solitary state.

  “Another tray for my friend,” requested Bingley of the footman. “And fresh coffee. From the look of things you need it, Darcy.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bingley studied his friend’s face. “I know why I could get no rest, Darcy, but why are you afflicted?”

  “I hardly know,” said Darcy, settling in a chair facing the fire and staring into its depths much the same way as he had spent staring into the dark night.