by Alyx Silver
Mr. Bennet looked up from the paper and shot her a bewildered look.
"My consolation is that I'm sure that Mr. Bingley will die of a broken heart, and then Jane will kill herself over his grave. And then your father will be sorry."
Mr. Bennet looked at Lizzy. "Life holds few distinctions, dear Lizzy," he said, by way of conversation. "But I think we can safely say I married one of the silliest women in all of Britain."
Mrs. Bennet stared at him, mouth agape. "You married another woman? Oh. Jane. My smelling salts. Your father is bigamous. Or do I mean bifurcated? I always confuse those."
Before Jane could get the smelling salts, though, or before the stunned Lizzy could decide whether her mother was being sarcastic or just silly, a footman came with a note.
Mr. Bennet opened it and, despite his depressed spirits, guffawed aloud. "Lizzy, you'll never believe this," he said. "Charlotte Lucas is engaged to Mr. Collins."
Mrs. Bennet erupted in loud weeping, from which "starving in the hedgerows" emerged.
Over it, Lizzy could be heard to exclaim, "But I thought there were laws against marrying someone from another species. And an amphibian, yet. Were there no mammals available?"
Her father paused and said, thoughtfully. "I wonder who Kitty truly eloped with. Ah, it doesn't signify. It can't be worse than Wickham or more repulsive than Mr. Collins."
Dragging Their Tails Behind Them
The first ones to return to throw themselves on parental mercy were Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Hurst.
They erupted into the house, two days later, early in the morning, looking like young people whose conscience had ridden them all the way back.
"Where is my father?" Mary asked, coming in the house with Mr. Hurst –who was quickly getting used to the married man's role – trailing behind her, half alarmed at her anxiety. She pushed past Lizzy and Jane. "I must see my father."
And with that, the obviously suicidal lady knocked on her father's library door.
"Yes?" Mr. Bennet asked from within.
"Father, I must talk to you," Mary said, opening the door.
At that they both froze, staring at the other.
Mary because she'd never before seen her father in nightcap and powdering gown and, to own the truth, was having some trouble repressing her laughter.
Her father because Mary had never, that he remembered, in his entire life, spoken directly at him. Not unless it was in a proverb.
And he was fairly sure she hadn't said, "It is a truth universally acknowledged that girls who have eloped must talk to their fathers." So, he stared at her, open mouthed, wondering who this stranger was, and what she'd done with his shy and very silly daughter.
After a while, he recovered enough to push his spectacles back – he would need all his power of vision to examine the new Mary – and say, not without a small edge of fear, "Yes, Mary."
Mary took a deep breath. She was still having trouble not laughing. "Well, father," she said. "Well, father." She took another deep breath. She heard her dearest Stephen step up behind her. Her father might decide to challenge Stevie for a duel. No. It must not be permitted. Stevie was sensitive and delicate and would probably faint at the sight of guns. "Father, I know you probably have said you don't want my name pronounced again in your presence, but do not do anything rash, until we've told you why we decided to take such a shameful step as eloping."
Mr. Bennet still stared at her, then at Stevie. He cackled – a most awful, hollow sound. "Bah," he said. "Elope." He waved his hand carelessly in the air. "Doesn't everyone? I'm amazed there isn't a coach service to Gretna Green." His eyes lit up as though with sudden inspiration. "My word. A coach service to Gretna Green. Express of course. It is a good idea, is it not Mary? I think I'll ask you Uncle Gardiner to join me in the venture."
Mary's wish to laugh had given way to a queasy feeling of guilt and fear. Her poor father had gone insane. Oh, what had she done? She'd never known she was so important to him.
Her voice trembling, she asked, "Papa, may I tell you why I eloped?"
Her father, who'd started scribbling figures on a pad of paper, looked up at her. "You want to tell me," he said. "And I have no objection to hearing it."
And, while her father continued to scribble – pausing occasionally to cackle – Mary told him the reasons she'd chosen to elope.
Afterwards there was a long silence.
"Father?" Mary said.
Mr. Bennet looked up. "Yes, Mary."
"Father, are we forgiven?"
"Forgiven?" He grinned. "Oh, there is no occasion for that, I'm sure. What have you done that other girls haven't? You're welcome home, Mary. And you, son. We'll talk about your financial situation later. If this coach business works out...."
"Father!" Mary screamed, in some distress. Conscious of having violated propriety, she'd expected at least a mild rebuke. This.... This made her feel as if she'd stepped, full body, into a different world. "Father."
This time, when Mr. Bennet looked up there was true annoyance in his gaze. "Yes, yes, child. Go. Go to your mother. Let her have hysterics over you. Can't you see I'm drawing out a business plan?" He cackled. "Coaches to Gretna Green."
Trembling, Mary walked away, to almost run into her mother, who had been alerted to the arrival by Jane.
"Mary!" her mother screamed.
Mary's heart fluttered and she thought. Oh, true reproach at last.
But her mother grinned from ear to ear. "Oh. Mrs. Hurst. Oooooooh. How well that sounds. Mrs. Long will be ever so envious. My Mary is married. And only nineteen. Wait till I tell Lady Lucas." Speaking thus, she put her arm through Mary's and, cackling, led her off towards the door, obviously intending to go on a round of visiting.
Which would have been alarming enough if Mrs. Bennet hadn't been wearing nightgown with an amazing number of ruffles.
"Mother!" Mary said, blushing. "You're not.... We cannot go visiting. I've transgressed. And you're not.... you're not properly attired ."
Her mother looked at her own clothes, then stared at Mary, then gave a short, satisfied cackle. "Transgressed. You're married now, Mary, you must forget that. Married women don’t transgress! They have delicate little peccadillos. And as for my attire.... Well, it's my second-best nightgown. Just wait till Lady Lucas sees it. She'll be ever so envious. She doesn't have one half as good."
It was too much for Mary, who fainted on the spot, and was attended to tenderly by an anxious Mr. Hurst.
The second couple to return to the parental abode was more of a surprise.
Kitty they knew, of course, but both Bennet parents – whose elder daughters had persuaded them to dress in something other than sleeping attire – stared blankly at the gentleman with her.
That he was a gentleman there could be no doubt. Why, his coat alone must cost.... Mrs. Bennet’s eyes glazed over as calculations ran thought her mind. Definitely the coat of a gentleman with at least ten thousand a year. And he was... well, he was.... She stared at his marked masculine features, his black curls just unruly and long enough to touch the back of his neck. She perceived his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, the well–shaped length of him. She felt unaccountably very hot and fanned herself with her hanky.
Meanwhile, Mr. Bennet had put his newspaper down and stared also at the gentleman. Lord, he looked like a politician. Where had Kitty found him?
Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Hurst – who, in the course of the afternoon had received the news that Mr. Hurst would have a job as clerk in Mr. Phillips firm once he graduated, and had, thereby secured that modicum of income that would allow them to purchase a small house in Meryton – looked up from their books in astonishment.
Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet stared, also, as if not sure what could be happening.
The former Miss Kitty strolled into the room, looking just embarrassed and ashamed enough to show her good breeding. But this look was somewhat dimmed by her splendorous attire. It was obvious to one and all that Kitty had stopped at a
dress shop somewhere and that her new husband had bought her the best he could afford – and probably chosen for her, since the dress she wore was expensive, flattering, and lacked a single ruffle or bow.
Like Mary had done, she walked into the room trailing her husband who, eyes downcast, smiled modestly like a debutante at her first ball.
But she did not plead for forgiveness. Instead, she motioned her husband forward peremptorily and, on his obeying and coming to stand beside her, she said, "Mother, Father, this is my husband, Mr. Crawford. We apologize for the manner of our marrying, but hope you'll forgive me, when you know that he has ten thousand a year and a great estate called Everingham, to which you're all invited."
Mrs. Bennet shrieked, "Ten thousand a year," and swooned, in happiness.
Mr. Bennet still stared. He opened his mouth, swallowed. "Ah. Um.... I see, Kitty and where did you and Mr..... uh.... Crawford meet?"
At this, Kitty looked at a loss for the first time.
But now Mr. Crawford spoke, with a visible squeeze of his wife's hand. "Oh, we met ever so long ago," he said. "That I doubt not Kitty can't remember it. In fact ours is an attachment of such long duration we'd have waited longer still except for the events that precipitated our eloping. Ahem. "
Mr. Bennet was slowly recovering the wits that the recent events had shaken. "And those were?" he asked.
Mr. Crawford looked at a loss, and blushed most becomingly. He glanced quickly at Kitty and found no help. "They were.... uh.... I believe they were your threatening to take my beloved to a review."
"Quite so," Mr. Bennet said, grinning wide, his look that of a true connoisseur of human folly who spots a new and prime specimen. "Quite so. Faced with the prospect of a review, who would not, indeed, elope?" He stood up, folding his paper and setting it aside. "Mr. Crawford, if you'll do me the honor of coming to my library, we'll discuss the amount to be settled on my daughter and any children...."
And thus he left, allowing the just revived Mrs. Bennet to grab Kitty's hand and practically eat the expensive diamond wedding ring with her gaze. "Oooooohhhh. I hope you had your hand out of the carriage on the way here, that everyone might see your ring."
And, before Kitty could reply, her mother stood up and put her arm through Kitty's. "Mrs. Crawford. How well that sounds. And you never told me a word about your secret engagement, you sly thing. What a good joke. We must go see Mrs. Long and Lady Lucas. They will be so upset I have two daughters married. And Kitty only seventeen."
The next day, Lizzy got out of the house for tea with Charlotte Lucas. She had to go somewhere where people acted more rationally.
And – she thought – since she'd reached the point at which even the Lucases seemed rational there was little or no help for her.
Besides, she wanted to make sure Charlotte realized what she was about to do.
"Why should you be surprised?" Charlotte asked. "Why shouldn't I marry Mr. Collins?" She took a sip of her tea. "I'm not romantic, you know. All I ask is a comfortable home."
"But Charlotte," Lizzy protested. "There must be laws against marrying amphibians."
Charlotte stole a look at Mr. Collins on the other side of the room and her eyes darted about, nervously. "A law! Don't be silly. A recommendation, at most. And, Lizzy, I'm sure he has a comfortable lily pad, I mean home, and that's all I ask. Besides the patronage of lady Catherine the Bore – I mean de Bourgh – ensures us a good future." The teacup she held trembled alarmingly. "I shall be happy," she said, an edge of hysteria to her voice. "I know I shall." Her eye twitched.
"Charlotte, Charlotte," Lizzy said. "I cannot allow you to do this."
"Oh, Lizzy," Charlotte said, and her voice broke. "He asked in the middle of the night. I was so sleepy I scarce knew what I said.... and then Papa immediately ran down to the paper and had them put out a special edition to announce our engagement. What am I to do? I can't break it now. I shall be disgraced. And my father is so happy."
As Lizzy was about to recommend that Charlotte elope with the first stranger she came across, Mr. Collins oozed across the room from where he'd been boring – we mean talking to – Sir Lucas.
He oozed up to Charlotte and grabbed her hand in his flipper… we mean hand. Truly. We don’t even know where flipper came from. "Cousin Elizabeth, you see before you the happiest of men. I know that you had some hopes and your sister Kitty obviously.... well.... But with the recent elopements and all, as my noble patroness would say, who would connect themselves with such a family? I'm sure all sisters must suffer from the misstep of...." he paused and visibly counted in his head. "Three of them. Which is all the more regrettable, since I have reason to believe it resulted from a faulty degree of indulgence," he looked at Charlotte and explained, didactically. "Nasty things, indulgences," he said. "A papist concept which our church, thank heavens, doesn't have. I'll explain all about it to you someday, my dear."
He drooled all over Charlotte's hand. "You have so much to learn, my dear," he said. "And I have so much to teach you."
Charlotte looked frozen by revulsion.
She turned to stare at Lizzy, and her mouth formed the words "help me."
But Lizzy had no idea what to do. Did everyone expect her to put everything to rights? Who could help her? Where was Mr. Darcy? He'd reveal the bottom of his.... ahem.... heart to her and then vanish? Oh, what was she to do?
"We'll be married Saturday a week," Mr. Collins said. He didn't cackle, but it was implied.
Meanwhile….
Back in London, where he'd followed Wickham's trail, Mr. Darcy had made some progress. He and Mr. Bingley had found where Wickham was living and found that Lydia was living with him.
There didn't seem to be any intention of marrying. However, he was sure the right pressure would achieve a marriage.
Darcy located the Gardiners, whom he knew were related to the Bennet's, and proceeded to explain the situation and how he wanted to pay Wickham to marry Lydia without it appearing that he'd done so.
For one, because he knew Wickham would ask for a lot more if he knew he was dealing with the bottomless Darcy pockets.
In fact, he'd been sponging off the Darcys for so long that Darcy was sure that Wickham had become completely made of sponge, and that if he undressed Wickham – something he couldn't contemplate without revulsion – he'd find that the body of his childhood playmate had become riddled with little holes and would he swell to twice his size when dipped in a liquid. Liquid acid, if Darcy had a choice.
Darcy, who had calmed down and was wearing a full gentleman's attire, including pants and shirt – had Mrs. Gardiner known what she was missing thereby, she would, no doubt, have been grieved – talked to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.
He found them pleasant and rational, though he was disturbed because, misled by Mrs. Bennet's letters they insisted on condoling with him over Lydia's elopement.
But, other than that, they got along famously, and, by the time Darcy left, everything was arranged.
Unfortunately, on coming out, Mr. Darcy ran into Miss Bingley.
"Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley said. "In Cheapside? Might I enquire why?"
She might not, but Darcy couldn't tell her that. Conscious that he'd offended her in the past, and trying to be proper and correct to deserve Miss Lizzy's hand, he bowed, gentleman-like, and said the first thing that crossed his mind, which, since this came in the wake of thoughts of Lizzy was, "Why, to prepare for the wedding, of course."
"The wedding!" Miss Bingley said. "I am all astonishment." She did not ask whose wedding. She looked up at the facade of the house, then at Mr. Darcy. "I see. And when is the happy event to be?"
Mr. Darcy had no idea why she cared, but he sighed. "Saturday a week." He'd agreed with Mr. Gardiner that was the minimum time needed. He wouldn't rest until he saw the scoundrel united to the strumpet. He wanted it done as soon as possible. He needed to sleep after all. And though some hours of rest a night could be achieved by having his valet hit him with a mallet at nighttime, h
e was starting to think the valet enjoyed this occupation too much. It was the mutters of “you insufferable toff” just before the mallet descended that gave him this suspicion. While not conclusive, it was worrying.
Miss Bingley had gone very pale. "I see," she said.
And while she appeared immobilized by shock – Lord alone knew why – Mr. Darcy bowed and made his escape.
Miss Bingley had long since found out that this was the address of the Bennets' uncle. In fact, that was why she prowled just outside it. Hoping for news, though she now hated him.
Did she hate him?
Yes, of course she hated him. Why, he was going to marry Miss Lydia Bennet! The nerve. He preferred her to Caroline. Preposterous.
She heard her own stiff lips say, "Over my dead body. Not if I have to run into the church, interrupt the ceremony and claim I am with child by him."
She grinned at the evil plan and went back home to tell her bewildered sister that they were returning to Netherfield. They must get there before Saturday a week
Meanwhile, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was sure that her sister Catherine had gone insane.
What cemented this belief was that Lizzy had awakened with footsteps in the middle of the night, and – since it might mean Jane was eloping now – had opened her bedroom door.... To see Mrs. Crawford, in dainty nightgown, walking from the backstairs towards her room carrying a rather large horsewhip.
"Kitty!" Lizzy said.
Kitty jumped and made a vain attempt to hide the whip behind herself. "Uh," she said and blushed. "Uh. I wasn't .... I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd go and get–"
"A whip? You thought you'd go and get a whip?" Lizzy asked, shocked.
Kitty looked down at the whip in her hands, as though seeing it for the first time. "Um.... yes. Our pillows are very.... um.... unruly. That's why I couldn't sleep."
Lizzy was about to protest this, but just then her father opened his bedroom door and called out, "What's all the commotion?"