by Jann Rowland
“No, they are completely correct,” replied Mr. Wickham. Then he put a dramatic hand over his heart and said: “I do not know how we shall bear it. To leave such lovely ladies behind will surely break our hearts.”
“I am afraid you will be forced to learn how to bear it, sir,” said Elizabeth. “Unless you can find some way to change your colonel’s mind, of course.”
Mr. Wickham laughed heartily, but Elizabeth only smiled. She had been studying him closely since he had come to her, and her findings disquieted her, to say the least. What she had taken for good humor and amiable manners now seemed feigned, and the hungry way in which he looked at her did not inspire confidence. How she had missed these things before, she could not say, but something in her had altered with the passage of time, and she could now see things she had not noticed before. Or perhaps it was the knowledge of his lies about Georgiana that changed her perception . . .
“I hardly think that he controls our movements,” said Mr. Wickham.
“Perhaps not,” replied Elizabeth. “But it does not change your situation.”
It seemed like Elizabeth’s manner confused the lieutenant, for though he projected every indication of amiable good humor, the looks he darted at her bespoke his uncertainty.
“How was your time in Kent, Miss Elizabeth? I dare say you met the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Was she everything you expected?”
“Oh, aye,” replied Elizabeth, and this time she laughed, thinking of just what she had thought of the lady. “She is certainly a forthright sort of person, unused to being gainsaid.”
“I believe I might have warned you about that,” said Mr. Wickham. “She bears a certain resemblance to her nephew, do you not think?”
Elizabeth frowned, making a great show of thinking about his question. “I would ask to which nephew you refer, Mr. Wickham, for Mr. Darcy’s cousin—Colonel Fitzwilliam—was also visiting Rosings when I was there, as was Mr. Darcy himself.”
A slight shadow passed over Mr. Wickham’s face, but he attempted joviality. “So, you met the colonel, did you? Now that you know him, you can hardly suppose I speak of him. His manners are quite different from his cousin’s, are they not?”
“I suppose they are,” replied Elizabeth, refusing to say any more.
Eyeing her like he was not sure what to make of her, Mr. Wickham remained silent for a few moments. For her part, Elizabeth, given her new insights concerning the man, wished he would just depart and let her be. But it was not to be. Then the possibility of confounding him entered her mind, and she decided to speak concerning the matter which had bothered her now for more than a week.
“I also met another of Mr. Darcy’s family whom I believe is known to you.”
“You did?”
“Yes. For you see, when I returned to London, Mr. Darcy introduced his sister to the acquaintance of both my sister and myself. I believe you are quite familiar with Miss Georgiana?”
“Of course I am,” said he, his eyes lighting up, though Elizabeth could not guess as to his feelings. “How is dear Georgiana?”
Elizabeth looked at him, wondering if he had forgotten what he, himself had told her about the girl. She decided he needed a little reminder. “She is quite well. In fact, I was rather surprised, for I had thought her manners might resemble her brother’s. However, when I came to know her better, it was easy to determine that Miss Darcy is only extremely shy.”
He seemed perplexed by the way she phrased her reply, but then the true import of what she said seemed to hit him and he paled, though he attempted to explain it away.
“Yes, she is. In fact, when she was young, she would hide behind my legs when her brother came into the room. He was always such a great tall fellow, you see, that she was quite intimidated by him.”
Whether that was the truth, Elizabeth did not know, but she had no time to think on the matter, for Mr. Wickham changed the subject.
“It is good to have you returned to us, Miss Elizabeth. I have missed our conversations.” He drew closer to her, and his eyes seemed to take her form in with a hunger which was quite inappropriate, his glance darting down to her décolletage. “I hope we will become even greater friends. I cannot wait to discover what is in our future.”
Only the force of Elizabeth’s will prevented her from recoiling from the naked lust in Mr. Wickham’s eyes. But she stiffened her back, knowing he could do nothing here, and glared at him.
“We are indifferent acquaintances, Mr. Wickham; you should remember that.”
“We are not so indifferent from where I stand.”
Deftly, Elizabeth stepped aside, avoiding him when he stepped forward. “Do not read anything into our brief friendship that you should not, Mr. Wickham. I have no more intention of being wooed by you than I have of going off to fight the French. I would ask you to keep your distance.”
Then Elizabeth left him standing there, and moved to Jane’s side. Mr. Wickham, to his credit, seemed to take her rebuke with good humor. He bowed at her, once he saw that she could see him again, and then he took himself to speak with Lydia and Kitty, who were hanging on something that Captain Carter was saying.
Soon the officers went away, and Elizabeth felt all the relief of their going. The militia were to depart for Brighton, and Elizabeth could not be happier. Perhaps some sanity would return to her life.
Sanity, however, was destined to be the last thing on the mind of anyone at Longbourn. Though Elizabeth eschewed the company of the officers, and when she was not walking, stayed very close to Longbourn, an event soon occurred which returned Longbourn to the uproar in which it usually existed.
“Lizzy! I have something to tell you which shall make you wild with jealousy!”
Startled by her sister’s more than usual exuberance, Elizabeth regarded Lydia, wondering what she was about. Her eyes were wide, and she was giggling with glee, a single piece of paper clutched in the fingers of one hand. By her side, Kitty stood, caught in the grips of equal emotion, but whereas Lydia was ecstatic, Kitty appeared distressed to the point of being near tears.
“I cannot imagine to what you refer,” said Elizabeth.
“Only this,” said Lydia brandishing her piece of paper. “Harriet Forster, the colonel’s wife, has invited me to go to Brighton as her particular companion. I shall go with the regiment to Brighton, and I shall be in the company of a whole camp full of officers, and there shall be balls and parties, and I know not what!”
“Is it not a grand thing, Lizzy?” asked Mrs. Bennet, coming into the room behind her daughters. “That my Lydia would be so singled out by the colonel’s wife is such an honor.”
“But why should I not go too?” wailed Kitty. “I am two years older!”
“Harriet likes me more than any other!” exclaimed Lydia. She made a face and stuck her tongue out at her elder sister. “How could she like you? You are boring and do not have my liveliness—Mama says so.”
“Only because you are so forward with the officers!” spat Kitty. “Sanderson said that you had nothing but a bit of fluff between your ears!”
“He said nothing of the sort!” screeched Lydia.
The two girls started bickering, speaking over each other so that nothing of sense could be made of any of their words. Elizabeth shook her head—her sisters would be the ruin of them all, she was certain.
“Lydia!” said Elizabeth, speaking loudly to get her sister’s attention.
After a few more choice comments for Kitty, Lydia turned to Elizabeth, displaying a wide-eyed innocence she often wore when she thought one of her elder sisters would reprimand her.
“You should attempt to rein in your boasting. Have you consulted Papa regarding this invitation yet?”
“Papa will not stop me from going,” replied Lydia. “Not when Mama supports it and the colonel’s own wife has invited me.”
“Of course he will not,” added Mrs. Bennet. She was looking fondly at her daughter, but her gaze almost seemed to go right through her. No doub
t she was thinking of all the fun Lydia would have in Brighton, and perhaps wishing she was young enough to go and enjoy it herself.
As Lydia and her mother continued to speak in excited tones about what must be done to ready her for her journey to Brighton, Elizabeth watched them, a hint of despair coloring her thoughts. Surely her father could not allow such an ill-advised plan. He must be sensible to the very great danger of allowing Lydia to go into such society where she would have no restraint and little supervision.
But it appeared that Elizabeth underestimated her father’s desire for peace and quiet in his home. When presented with the scheme by his wife and youngest daughter, he made a great show of thinking on the subject, which, of course, sent his wife and youngest daughter into paroxysms of grief and prompted a smug little smile from Kitty.
“But Papa!” screeched Lydia. “You must allow me to go!”
“I must?” asked Mr. Bennet, his tone deceptively mild, though there was a dangerous glitter in his eyes.
Lydia immediately saw that she had made a mistake, and she attempted to reverse her course. “I have been invited as Mrs. Forster’s particular companion, Papa! I must go. What will she think if I do not?”
“I care not what Mrs. Forster thinks,” replied Mr. Bennet, fixing a pointed gaze on his youngest daughter. “It is a father’s prerogative to decide such things, without reference to anyone so unconnected with us.”
The long gaze Mr. Bennet directed at her seemed to chastise her, at least for the moment. Unfortunately, Elizabeth knew that it would not last long, and with her mother leading the charge, Elizabeth’s suspicions proved correct. They both soon started on Mr. Bennet and there was not a moment free of their constant demands for Lydia to be allowed to go.
After some time of this, it was clear to Elizabeth that her father did not—and likely had not—intended to disallow it. Though he expressed his doubts, causing them to increase their appeals in shrill supplication, his countenance often displayed a certain sardonic amusement, as if he was enjoying himself. He usually could not abide the sounds of raised voices, but in this he seemed to be goading them both to newer heights of folly. And thus, when permission was finally given, their subsequent shrieks of joy drove him from the room with hardly a by your leave.
Watching all of this, Elizabeth despaired of her family’s behavior yet again. After their father made his decision, Lydia flitted around the room, crowing about her good fortune, demanding their congratulations. The unfortunate Kitty, upset as she already was about being excluded from the invitation, was the main target of Lydia’s teasing. Elizabeth watched the spectacle, and she soon decided she was not about to put up with this, and though her means of affecting the situation were confined to persuading her father, she knew she must make the attempt.
When Lydia and her mother had finally taken themselves upstairs to her bedroom, speaking in animated voices about the state of her wardrobe, Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye and an understanding passed between them. Jane went to Kitty, attempting to comfort the crying girl, while Elizabeth slipped from the room and made her way to her father’s study. She knocked and after a moment’s hesitation, permission was given to enter.
The room had always been a comforting one to Elizabeth, and her taste for literature had been born and nurtured there. But on that day, she hardly noticed the book shelves groaning with the weight of the collection her father had built over the years. Instead, she focused on her father, attempting to discover the best way to approach him.
“Hello, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet. “I suppose you have come to escape the tumult occasioned by Lydia’s invitation?” He waved lazily at a nearby chair and raised his book. “By all means, have a seat. I judge we shall be required to stay in here for at least two hours, though by all accounts the commotion may persist until Lydia finally leaves.”
“It is not to escape Lydia that I have come, Papa,” said Elizabeth. She did not take a seat, preferring instead to stand and speak with her father, hoping he would take it as a sign that she was truly concerned, rather than just missish, as she knew he might assume.
“Oh?” asked he, keeping his eyes on his book.
“Papa.” The tone of Elizabeth’s voice finally caused her father to look up at her. “You cannot truly mean to allow Lydia to go to Brighton.”
Mr. Bennet frowned. “I cannot? You would prefer her to stay here, to make us all miserable throughout the entire summer?”
“No, Papa. I wish for her to be controlled and taught how to be behave properly, for she has not the slightest sense of propriety.”
A snort told Elizabeth what her father thought of that possibility. “I can see no better method than for Lydia to learn of her own insignificance in the world in a place far removed from Meryton. The officers will not give her nearly the consequence she expects, and it may teach her a valuable lesson.”
“Would you have her ruin our family?” asked Elizabeth. Her tone cracked slightly as she attempted to keep her emotions in, and it made Mr. Bennet sit up and pay more attention to her.
“You are truly concerned about this, Lizzy.”
“Of course I am!” cried Elizabeth. She began to pace in front of her father’s desk, wringing her hands in her agitation. “You know that Lydia is ungoverned and uncontrolled, and she has had no thought in her head these past months than flirting with whatever officer she comes across. And as Kitty follows in everything that Lydia does, we have two on our hands who would ruin us all without a single thought for the consequences.
“Excuse me for speaking in such a fashion, Father, but it is the height of foolishness to send her to Brighton with naught for an escort but a woman who is as young and foolish as Lydia is herself.”
“Colonel Forster is a sensible man.”
Elizabeth huffed in exasperation. “I question his general level of sensibility, Papa, given the fact that he married such a silly woman. Besides, he is the colonel of a company of militia and must have much with which to occupy himself. He will not be present to check my sister; instead, her care will largely fall to Mrs. Forster, and she is completely unsuited for the role.”
“Then what would you have me do? You know our summer will be miserable if I forbid her from going.”
“Again, I beg your pardon for speaking so, but I consider our family’s respectability to be far more important than to have peace in the house.” Elizabeth turned from her pacing and looked at her father, beseeching him to hear her and act. “Just imagine what it will be like if Lydia does something to cause our respectability to come into question, or if she—heaven forbid—experiences a loss of virtue. Her sisters will all share in her ruin, and none of us will ever make a good marriage.
“And I am convinced that Mr. Bingley went away, at least in part, due to the behavior of my younger sisters. I witnessed the way his sisters and his friend watched them, especially their wildness at the ball at Netherfield. Whatever stratagem was devised to induce Mr. Bingley to stay away, Kitty and Lydia played a large part in it.”
Mr. Bennet regarded Elizabeth, concern written upon his brow. “I understand that you met Mr. Darcy in Kent, and again in London. Did the man say something to you to make you believe that such a thing had occurred?”
“No, Papa,” said Elizabeth, shaking her head. “Mr. Darcy could hardly bring up such a subject. It is all suspicion and conjecture, though I cannot but think that it is close to the truth.”
Drawing a deep breath, Elizabeth fought to bring her emotions under regulation. “We met Georgiana Darcy, Papa, and though she is Lydia’s age, the difference between them is striking. It is true she is shy and reticent, but even so, her manners are genteel. One can only help but see the contrast between them, and I doubt that Mr. Darcy—or Mr. Bingley for that matter—could miss it. They would not wish to have a connection with a girl so ungoverned as Lydia. And no other respectable man will wish it either. I fear if we do not act soon, she will be beyond amendment.”
“You are convinced of this,�
� said Mr. Bennet, his brow furrowed in thought.
“I am, father. I am convinced she will be the ruin of us. In truth, she should be in a school at her age, learning how to curb her exuberance.”
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I think you can well understand the clamor which would arise, should I attempt to send her to school.”
“Her future, and the futures of us all, is what should concern us.”
“Hmm . . .” was all Mr. Bennet said. He was silent for a moment, considering all Elizabeth said. Soon, however, he looked at her and indicated a chair in front of his desk. “Sit, Elizabeth. Your pacing is causing my head to ache.”
Her father had rarely spoken to her in such a manner, but Elizabeth decided not to take offense. As strange as the notion seemed, it was completely possible that Mr. Bennet had never truly considered Lydia’s behavior in such a light, and having his eyes opened in such a manner could not be comfortable. Elizabeth sat in the indicated chair, hopeful that she had managed to persuade him.
“Perhaps you are correct, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet, his eyes still distant, indicating his continued consideration. “I had thought that maturity would give her a different perspective, but I am not sure of that conclusion, given what you have said.”
“I do not think Lydia has any thought of changing. She has no interest in any activities which would be considered genteel, and her behavior has become immeasurably worse since the militia arrived. You know that Mama supports her in whatever she does. She will not change while Mama has control of her education.”
Though she knew it was all but an indictment on her mother’s behavior, Elizabeth could not repine having said it. And her father, knowing that she was correct, gave her no more reprimand than an even look.
“Something must be done about her, then, and I must take some time to think on the matter.” When Elizabeth would have spoken, Mr. Bennet held up his hand. “I know what you will say, Elizabeth, but this must be handled with care. Lydia is not only wild and ungoverned, but she also has a will of iron. Simply dictating to her will do nothing but cause her to rebel, which will do none of us any good.”