Coincidence

by Jann Rowland

  “Where are you going?” demanded Elizabeth, her anger forcing the pitch of her voice higher than she intended. “Speak to me, you stupid girl! What are you doing?”

  “I . . . That is . . .” Lydia pulled herself to her full height, which was taller than Elizabeth’s dainty frame, and attempted to bluster. “It is none of your concern. I merely thought to walk out for a time as I could not sleep.”

  “Do you consider me to be bereft of all wit?” asked Elizabeth. She reached down quickly and grasped the handles of Lydia’s bag, brandishing it before the girl as if it were a sword. “You packed these items simply so that you could walk about the city at night?”

  The sounds of the house, awakened by the girls’ argument sounded above their heads and Lydia looked up with some nervousness. “Please, Lizzy, let me go. I must hurry or all will be lost.”

  “If you step one foot from this house, all will most surely be lost!” cried Elizabeth. “What are you planning? This is not some lark to walk the city at night. You were planning to leave in the dead of night!”

  “Lizzy,” pleaded Lydia again. “Keep your voice down.”

  “I will not. You will tell me what you are doing.”

  “No!” cried Lydia, by now her own ire taking hold of her senses. “I am leaving, Lizzy, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

  “I can stop you,” a voice sounded from the stairs, and to Elizabeth’s vast relief, her father stepped into the vestibule, Elizabeth’s mother and sisters at his heels. Lydia paled at the sight of him and stammered incoherently. Mr. Bennet just looked at her with pitiless gravity.

  “Now, I would like to know what is happening in this house. It is after midnight, and I find two of my daughters arguing loud enough to wake the dead.” Elizabeth could see by his countenance that her father had taken in the situation and the states of their dress, and had undoubtedly come to the correct conclusion.

  For once in her life, Lydia appeared at a loss for what she could say. She looked between Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet, and to Jane and her other sisters—Kitty was missing, but she could sleep through a war, so her absence was not precisely surprising—and finally to her mother. The look of hope which sprung up on her countenance was dashed at her father’s next words.

  “Let us take this to the sitting-room,” muttered he, reaching out to grasp his wayward youngest daughter’s arm and forcing her back into the house. Elizabeth followed closely behind, Lydia’s bag firmly held in her hand.

  “Mary,” said Mr. Bennet, “go and wake Kitty. I wish to know if she was aware of this foolishness.”

  With a nod of her head, Mary turned and climbed the stairs, while the rest of the family entered the sitting-room. Mr. Bennet saw Lydia seated on a sofa, Elizabeth and Jane bracketing her, leaving her no avenue of escape. At his command, Elizabeth surrendered the bag she had carried from the vestibule, and Mr. Bennet opened it and rummaged through it for a moment, his expression darkening as he did.

  Finally, he brandished a dress, removed forcefully from its depths, shaking it at his youngest in his fury. “Dresses, shifts, nightgowns, and some of your personal effects. With whom did you mean to depart tonight, Lydia?”

  “I do not know what you mean,” complained the girl, her eyes brimming with defiance. “It was nothing more than a bit of a lark.”

  “This is not a lark, Lydia!” barked Mr. Bennet. “This is nothing more than the ruination of your family, and perhaps the dissolution of your eldest sister’s engagement and the cessation of the attentions of Lizzy’s suitor. Now, I will ask you again: with whom did you mean to depart?”

  A mutinous scowl came over Lydia’s face and she crossed her arms and directed a mulish look at her father. A gasp was heard from Mrs. Bennet, and Elizabeth could see by the dim light of the few candles she had managed to light that her mother had not understood the significance until that very moment.

  “Lydia meant to elope?”

  Mr. Bennet snorted. “She meant to run away, with one of the officers, unless I miss my guess. But an elopement?” Mr. Bennet’s sardonic sneer spoke volumes as to what he thought of that possibility. “Soldiers who make off with silly young girls in the night have no intention of marrying them. Whoever the man is, it is clear he had nothing more than seduction and abandonment on his mind.”

  “That is not true!” cried Lydia. “He loves me. He will marry me. He said he would!”

  A nod of Mr. Bennet’s head showed his grim satisfaction. “I thought as much. Now, who is he, Lydia?”

  The girl’s mouth clapped shut and she glared at him.

  “Who is it?” roared Mr. Bennet, his patience exhausted.

  “Papa?” a voice called out.

  Mary entered the room, followed closely by Kitty who was rubbing her eyes in exhaustion. As she came close, Elizabeth noted the small slip of paper she held in one outstretched hand, offering it to her father.

  “I found this on Lydia’s pillow.”

  Though he initially looked at the folded page as if it was a live snake, Mr. Bennet reached out and took the missive. He turned a severe eye on Lydia, but the girl only looked down, all fight drained for the moment. Elizabeth doubted such a state would continue for long.

  Receiving no response from his youngest daughter, Mr. Bennet took the folded sheet of paper, opened it, and began to read. It was clear from the darkening of his already furious countenance, that the letter explained much of what had occurred that night. When he had finished reading, his eyes found his youngest daughter, and he looked at her for some time, rage playing about his face. But this was all lost on Lydia, for she refused to look up at him.

  “Do you care to explain what you were about this evening, Lydia?” asked Mr. Bennet. “Or should I read the evidence aloud to the sisters you meant to betray tonight?”

  Lydia looked up sharply at her father’s words. “How is love a betrayal? Why should I wait for my sisters to be married when I have managed to find a handsome man of my own?”

  “Your silliness knows no bounds, if you think this man meant to marry you. We have heard much of him, and little is good, discounting that which he told us himself with the assistance of his own silver tongue.”

  Though she glared at him, Lydia did not speak further. Mr. Bennet held her eyes for a moment longer, before he looked down at the letter yet again and began to read.

  My Dearest Kitty,

  How surprised you shall be when you wake in the morning with nothing more than this note to inform you of my absence. I have found the man I love and mean to marry, and nothing—not the lies of the odious Mr. Darcy nor the prejudice of our family—shall keep me from him.

  Please keep my going a secret as long as you are able tomorrow morning, for I have no doubt that Papa and Mr. Darcy shall marshal their forces to attempt to prevent us. We are making for Gretna Green, and there we shall be married. Then none shall keep us apart.

  I am sorry for keeping secrets from you, Sister, but I could not take the chance that Lizzy or my father would discover that I have continued to see him in defiance of my father’s orders. But my dear Wickham has done everything in his power to assure me of his love, and I do not doubt that we will be happy together.

  Be glad that I have found my heart’s desire, though I know you will be filled with envy. When I am married, you must come and stay with me, so that I can find you a beau as handsome as the one I have found.

  Your dearest sister,

  Lydia Wickham nee Bennet

  As appalled as Elizabeth was at hearing such a note, it was clear that Kitty was even more chagrinned. Her father could see the look of horror on Kitty’s face, but he spoke to her, though more gently than might have been warranted, should the situation have been different.

  “Might I assume, Kitty, that your sister’s letter speaks the truth? Did you know anything of this?”

  Kitty immediately shook her head violently in denial, though it was clear she was unequal to the task of speaking.

  “I thought
not,” replied Mr. Bennet, directing a fond look at his second youngest. Kitty, who was not used to being the focus of attention, smiled at her father, though her uncertainty shone in her countenance.

  “Well, Lydia?” asked Mr. Bennet. “Can you make some explanation for this drivel which would make this entire farce anything less than utter idiocy?”

  “We love each other,” said Lydia, the stubborn light of one convinced of her own justification shining in her eyes. “You will not keep me from him.”

  Mr. Bennet snorted. “There you are wrong. You are underage, and as your father, my authority over you is absolute. As of this moment, you may consider yourself back in the schoolroom. I doubt I will allow you to participate in society again until you are thirty.”

  Shocked, Lydia made to speak, but Mr. Bennet continued right over her, his tone grim and his look flinty. “As for your Mr. Wickham, I am certain Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam would be interested in the latest escapade of their erstwhile friend. Perhaps it is time that Mr. Darcy took the man in hand and ensured he can do no further harm to foolish young women.”

  With Lydia watching, horror etched upon her face, Mr. Bennet called a pair of footmen who had been roused by the commotion in the house. “Go to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s townhouse immediately,” directed he. “Inform him we have a situation which requires his expertise and that of his cousin. And you,” said he, turning to the other man, “will take Miss Lydia to her room and confine her there. She is not to leave it until I allow her to do so.”

  The men both nodded and turned to their tasks. It seemed, however, that Lydia was not about to follow her father’s directives without a fight. She sat on the sofa, refusing to budge, even while her father glared at her and the footman stood ready to escort her away.

  “If you do not wish for me to carry you over my shoulder, you will go to your room,” said Mr. Bennet, his voice low and dangerous. “You are not too old that I am unable to bend you over my knee.”

  Something in his tone must have informed Lydia that he was deadly serious, for she blanched at his words. She sat for a moment longer before she stood and stalked from the room, her head held as high as any queen. For a moment, she reminded Elizabeth of Miss Bingley, or Lady Catherine, though the observation did not amuse Elizabeth as it might have under other circumstances.

  When she was gone, Mr. Bennet sank wearily in a nearby chair, his hand rising to massage his temples. All was silent for several moments, as those left in the room attempted to understand what had just happened.

  “Papa?” asked Kitty after a few moments, uneasiness clear in her manner. “Should I return to my room with Lydia?”

  Mr. Bennet looked up and smiled at Kitty, though it did not reach his eyes. “For tonight, I believe you should stay with Mary, if your elder sister will have you.”

  Nodding, Mary said, “Of course, Papa.”

  “Then perhaps it would be best for you to retire. I believe the benefits of sleep will be far superior to waiting fruitlessly for news.”

  Both girls were clearly reluctant to retire, with matters still far from being resolved. But Mary, seeing her father’s determination, and knowing he was trying to protect them, rose and offered her hand to Kitty.

  “Papa is right, Kitty. Let us return to my room.”

  The two girls said their good nights, and they soon departed, leaving Jane and Elizabeth with their parents. Mr. Bennet turned a look on them, a hint of his sardonic humor evident, though half-hearted at best.

  “I suppose it will do no good to ask you both to retire as well?”

  “No, indeed, Papa,” replied Elizabeth.

  “This might have affected us more than any of our sisters,” added Jane. “I believe both Lizzy and I would prefer to know the resolution of this matter as soon as may be.”

  Mr. Bennet nodded, but before he could speak again, the small voice of his wife interrupted.

  “Might Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have actually withdrawn their attentions had Lydia run away?”

  A sigh escaped Mr. Bennet’s lips, but the smile he directed at his wife was wry. “Given how besotted both men are, they might have been able to overlook the event, and I do not doubt Darcy would have pursued Wickham to the ends of the earth before he allowed the man to disrupt his plans. Whether Wickham’s plan was ruination, or to extort money from Mr. Darcy in exchange for marrying our daughter we might never know. Either way, both girls might have escaped the ignominy of having suitors withdraw their attentions.”

  Mr. Bennet turned to his wife, and in a tone devoid of his usual teasing, he continued: “But both would have been within their rights to have shunned us for Lydia’s folly. They might be within their rights to do so even now.” Mr. Bennet turned a steely eye on his wife. “I must have your pledge of silence concerning this matter, Mrs. Bennet. This is essential. Any hint of Lydia’s attempted flight would damage your daughters’ chances of making good marriages and calling their reputations into question. You must not breathe a word of it to anyone, especially to your sister, who never heard a secret she was not eager to share.”

  “Mrs. Phillips is not that bad,” replied Mrs. Bennet, affronted due to the insult against her sister.

  “Yes, she is,” replied Mr. Bennet, though fondness colored his tone. “You know she loves to gossip, Mrs. Bennet, and she does not always consider the consequences.”

  They all gave their agreement, and Mr. Bennet heaved himself up out of his seat. “I must dress. I suspect Darcy and Fitzwilliam will be here quickly, and I had best be attired properly so that we may plan to apprehend the man before he flees Brighton.”

  And Mr. Bennet left the room. His wife and daughters rose and followed in his wake.

  Elizabeth had never been more nervous in her life. Those few moments spent waiting for the arrival of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed like the longest in her life, and she wondered if she wished for them to arrive at all.

  Her father’s words—the stark reality of his explanation to her mother—had gripped her heart in an icy fist, and she waited for it to clench, destroying the organ, and with it destroy her ability to love forever. Jane, at least, had the protection of an official engagement, which, though it was not impossible to break, as it had not been announced far and wide, still at least protected her to some extent. Elizabeth did not suspect Mr. Bingley would wish to end their agreement, regardless. Elizabeth, for her part, had no such protection, and she could not wonder what might have been if Mr. Darcy had already proposed to her. He had become important to her, his good opinion worth more than all the fortune in the world. She could not bear it if he were now to withdraw his good opinion from her over the thoughtless actions of a foolish sister.

  “It will do no good to fret, Lizzy,” said her father when she had been sitting in this attitude for some time. “I cannot imagine that Mr. Darcy will be anything other than furious with his old nemesis.”

  “But surely he will not wish to risk a scandal,” said Elizabeth, forcing herself to refrain from wringing her hands together.

  “Then if he is such a man,” replied her father, his eyes twinkling in amusement, “he does not deserve you.”

  Elizabeth made to protest, but Mr. Bennet was firm. “If a man cannot withstand a measure of ridiculousness, then you are better off without him. For, as you have often observed, we are a ridiculous family, though I will own that I have seen improvement of late.

  “Lizzy,” said he, compassion overflowing in his tone, “my understanding of Mr. Darcy’s position in society is that something like this would hardly even touch him. We are far more at risk than he would ever be.”

  “But if he should . . . come to the point with me,” said Elizabeth, not wishing to speak of it, even in an oblique manner, “would he not also face censure?”

  “Perhaps he would. But I can assure you that those who would scoff at his choice would not be those whose opinions he would solicit. I think he would rather do anything than allow his foe to dictate his future act
ions and interfere with his happiness.”

  The sound of voices filtered down the corridor outside the sitting-room, and Elizabeth realized the moment of Mr. Darcy’s arrival had come. Jane took her hand and squeezed it in an act of solidarity, and Mr. Bennet gave her a reassuring smile before he rose and greeted the cousins, along with Mr. Bingley, who accompanied them.

  “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Mr. Bennet, shaking each man’s hand in turn. “Thank you for coming so promptly. I have no good tidings for you, though I believe what I have to say will disturb you as much as the event has me.”

  “Are you well, Miss Bennet?” asked Bingley, rushing to Jane’s side. It did Elizabeth’s heart good to know that the man was so solicitous of Jane’s feelings.

  For Mr. Darcy’s part, he strode to Elizabeth, his pace unhurried, though his eyes never left her face. When he was near enough, he reached out and grasped on of her hands, cradling it as if it were the most precious gem he had ever held.

  “I can see you are well, though distressed.”

  “I am, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth meaning to answer both of his assertions. “Neither Jane nor myself have any injuries to resent. But you should listen to what my father has to say.”

  They both turned their attention to Mr. Bennet, noting that he was watching them with some amusement. He caught Elizabeth’s eye, his expression seeming to say “See? Was I not correct?” before his manner turned serious.

  “My Lizzy made a discovery tonight after we had all gone to bed. It seems like my youngest has managed to continue to see George Wickham in secret, and tonight she intended to leave the house and elope with him.”