by Anne Morris
She, her sister Philips, and Mrs. Gardiner had been to Scarborough years before when the Bennet daughters were girls, so she badgered and cajoled him until he tacitly agreed to a sort of holiday for Mrs. Bennet and one or two or the girls, "but not all," he insisted "and Lydia and Simon, you know, need to stay here at their studies." He would not change his mind about the two in the nursery, no matter how much she attacked him about that point.
• • •
Mr. Darcy did his best to stave off Georgiana seeing or hearing any of the news of the 'Horrid Murder' that was detailed in the paper every day. There had been enough grievous news within their own family with his cousin Radbourne's wife, Lady Veronica, giving birth to another stillborn child, this time a son. Darcy had his hands full with consoling his cousin over his loss. This news, this second stillborn child, did not seem to affect Georgiana as much, as though she thought they could but try again the following year.
She was her usual cheerful, calm, and collected self, intent on her social events—those she was permitted to attend—as the holiday season was a busy one with Mrs. Younge, her companion, at her side when he was unable to escort her. Darcy worried that one day the news about the murders would be shared with her, and wondered how it would affect her, but he had been distracted with more immediate and grievous family news.
Georgiana was not a big walker, preferring to ride on horseback if she could. She had, so far, avoided any young gentleman wishing to escort her through the park, but then, she was not out formally. That was to be their big hurdle in the future, and one he would tackle with the aid of his aunts. For now, she was mostly content with the smaller social events that did not require such a distinction. Though she was like an anxious colt, wishing to try her legs.
Darcy had watched her at some family events, when a cousin brought a friend along—a male friend—and noticed how much Georgiana lit up at the prospect of speaking with the gentleman. He had already had to tell one young gentleman, the younger son of a lord too, that Georgiana could not yet receive callers. He feared she would marry her first Season in London, be gone from him at seventeen without time to mature her thoughts, perhaps study some more, and decide what she truly wished for her future.
In some ways, they were alike, attempting to use logic in situations to explain their point of view, but Georgiana was more passionate than he; as though filling a void, by seeking out and clinging onto others. He wondered sometimes if losing their father five years ago had affected her more than him. Darcy felt she often misjudged people because of this more passionate side. She had been at school, but all of her friends and acquaintance there seemed to overbearing, enjoying Georgiana's company only so far as they could direct her actions, or valuing her for her status; she had come away from school with no friendships of true value. He worried, and that worry often meant he gave into her requests too easily. Lady Catherine, an aunt on their mother's side, had said Georgiana still needed the strong guidance of a governess, and in fact she was rather spoiled, but Darcy could not take any instruction from this aunt to heart.
It was no surprise to him that she returned from her friend's house, an older friend, Beatrice Springer, with worry lines and signs of tears as she threw open the library door.
"We need to leave London immediately!" she cried. Georgiana had not even removed her bonnet or gloves, and Partridge the footman hovered just outside the door.
"Whatever is the matter, dearest?" asked Darcy as he stood up from his seat at the desk.
"Have you not heard about these horrid…attacks?" She put her hand up to her mouth and bit down on the end of her gloved fingers. Darcy frowned at the hand in her mouth; she always bit her nails when she was nervous.
"The attack at the draper's shop, yes, I know. I have been keeping an eye on the newspapers since it was first reported," he came from behind his desk to come stand before her. She had shed a few tears since her entrance but likely because she was biting her hand so hard. "You are perfectly safe, dearest; you always go out in the day with a footman or two. And we live miles away; it is in an entirely different part of London."
"I want to go home," she pulled the hand from her mouth, and he could see the indentations and wetness where her teeth had made marks on the leather. He wondered if the marks would ever come out, or if the glove was to ever be worn again.
"It seems rather extreme to travel home to escape a situation that does not affect us. There really is nothing to worry about; the Thames River Police are working extra hard to catch the murderer," he noticed Georgiana shiver at the mention of the word 'murderer,' but continued, "and we shall all feel safe and have a rational explanation for these deeds when they do," he said.
"Fitzwilliam, please take me home," she grabbed his coat which made him wince. Darcy hated anything affecting the line of his clothing. He would have to change before dinner. Georgiana tilted her head up so she could peer up at him, the better to catch his eyes at this angle but with the brim of her bonnet in the way. "Please," she begged, "please."
"Georgiana," he began, and glanced over to ensure that Partridge was not still waiting for her bonnet and gloves. The door had been discreetly shut.
"How about if we go on holiday to Ramsgate or to Brighton…or to Scarborough?" she brightened, and released his coat. He unconsciously brought his hand up to smooth out any wrinkles. "Yes, let us go to Scarborough. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst speak so much about it; I have always wished to see it. We could dip our feet in the sea, and it would improve my spirits and my health."
"In winter?" he scoffed. He tried to direct her to sit down, but she stood her ground and would not move.
"How am I to know about sea bathing if I have never been?" She tilted her head back to look at him again around the ridge of her bonnet. Georgiana smiled at her brother, it was a smile that sparkled with a certain delight and assurance that she would certainly wear him down and win her point in the end.
"If you do not run up, you shall not have enough time to change for dinner," he said.
"Truly, a trip to the sea will wipe away all the bad memories of these…attacks," and she pouted, pursing her lips out in an exaggerated fashion, then turned to leave, opening the study door herself, and running with light footsteps up the main staircase. She never did stop to remove her bonnet or gloves and hand them to the waiting footman.
• • •
"Caroline," said Mr. Bingley to his sister, "I was wondering if you would like to travel to Scarborough after Christmas, visit Leticia, and see Aunt Porter?"
"Not at all," replied his sister, "why would you suggest such a thing? You know I detest Aunt Porter's society and avoid her if I can help it. Besides, I have accepted ever so many engagements into Christmas. I hear there is to be a special ball on New Year's Eve at Lady Complin's, and I have that soiree to look forward to on Epiphany at the Swan's." Caroline Bingley put her hands on her hips, a gesture she did not often resort to, as it left wrinkles in her silk or muslin. "I have already sent my thanks to them for that; it is expected to be a crush."
"I am sorry I suggested the idea," said Charles Bingley. "Is Louisa to go with you?"
"Yes, of course," answered his sister. "I have no plans or desire to leave London anytime soon now that we are finally free of country life, Charles. Do not suggest going anywhere in a hurry anytime soon."
"I will not," he answered, and turned to retreat to his study.
• • •
The day before the Gardiners were due to arrive at Longbourn, Mr. Bennet read of a second gruesome attack against three people which had similar characteristics of the first. He could only sit and shake his head as he squinted at the small print of the London Gazette, and frown at another set of equally ghastly murders. This time there was possibly a small motive as a watch had been taken, but it still made no sense to him that three people had again been viciously murdered.
"Papa," cried Elizabeth, "more news?" She eyed the sheet in his hand. He looked over at her and assumed, given ho
w the news had spread before, that he could not contain it. All his daughters were at the table that morning, even Lydia had come downstairs; she could take the news back up to Miss Simnel then.
"There has been another attack in London," he began with as much of an distracted note to his voice as he could. Jane's breath hissed as she took in a great swallow of air. Lydia clasped a hand to the table edge. "A publican, an elderly man who apparently closed his establishment early to go to bed, his wife, and their servant, all of them well past fifty have been found brutally murdered at their place of business."
"This is too awful!" cried Jane who brought her hands up before her mouth as if to stave off crying or further emotional displays. The rest of his daughters sat in shock.
"Mamma will be in hysterics," said his practical daughter. "We should tell her now before the Gardiners arrive, and let her work through them."
He turned to look at Elizabeth fully. "Perhaps you are right. I was going to ask how to conceal this from her, but she will, no doubt, find out somehow or other. Mrs. Philips is probably on her way in that dilapidated carriage of hers, right now."
"It will certainly put a damper on Christmas," said Catherine. "Mamma in hysterics; she will not let us go anywhere, or visit anyone. There shall be no officers, no friends, no visiting. I doubt if we shall even be permitted to all travel in the carriage together at night, for fear of some ungodly disaster." He thought this speech was mostly about her not being permitted to go to Meryton to see the officers, though she did make a point that Mrs. Bennet would likely not allow anyone to leave—and they would be six more on the morrow. He was not certain if he could keep people out of his library.
"We shall somehow convince her that we shall be safe if we go to the Lucases for dinner as planned, and dine with the Philipses, and engage in all the other little entertainments she had so happily planned for us before this news," said Mr. Bennet. "Lizzy, could you and Jane or Mary go up and break the news to her while I consider how to allow us to have our Christmas festivities without your mother fearing for our lives?"
"Of course, Papa," said Elizabeth. She and Mary went to break the news to their mother whose nerves, as expected, took a blow and who declared her heart beat fiercely, and who called immediately for Mr. Jones. She took to her bed, only arising when she heard that her visitors had arrived and been comfortably settled in their various rooms the following day.
She never truly recovered her spirits. Even with celebrations and others in a festive mood around her, Mrs. Bennet did not ever quite recover her happy, matronly smile, and talkative nature. After all, Mr. Bingley had gone away without proposing marriage to Jane, and seemingly now had no intention of returning. On top of having lost Mr. Bingley, all these worries about their safety meant she moved about Longbourn, or in her neighbor's halls, with a glassy-eyed stare, and a weak smile.
• • •
Mrs. Bennet's idea of taking the entire family away was often discussed with the Gardiners. She also appealed to her friends and neighbors to shore up her position that their lives were in danger, and she extolled the virtues to her failing health of seeking the benefits afforded to them by being taken from the unhealthy environs of Meryton. While many in the neighborhood were just as shocked over the news that came from London, not as many held the extreme views of Mrs. Bennet about their lives being so much in danger that they needed to leave their homes. And not so many of them could afford such a trip, few could afford to be hysterical. There were not many neighbors who could afford the time to be nervous, and let such distractions disrupt the daily machinations of their lives. To give over constantly to nerves, and then to consider such a thing as a three or a five or an eight week stay at a watering hole, the cost of such a scheme, was beyond most of the households in Meryton.
It was tentatively agreed to by Mr. Bennet that he would whisk his wife and the entire family away to Scarborough. There was the advantage of some familiarity with the place which made it both comforting yet exciting as a destination. The newspapers continued to cover the investigation of both the Marr and the Kings' Arms murders, and there was some relief with the arrest of a suspect though the River Thames Police worked diligently to find evidence that linked this suspect, Mr. John Murphy, to both crimes.
Elizabeth felt that her aunt and uncle had far more right to be concerned than her mother. The Gardiners lived only a mile away from the site of the first murder, and the publication house, The King's Arms, was only a few more streets beyond. She could tell that her aunt was worried about her children's safety, spending more time in the nursery than she usually did during her visits to Longbourn.
Normally, the Christmas holiday visits were a time where their aunt, who was a good deal younger than Mrs. Bennet, was a devoted companion and confidant to her nieces, especially to the three oldest. This visit had a different tenor, and Elizabeth found that she was called into that same care-taking role with her aunt that she had with her own sisters.
Mrs. Gardiner was concerned about returning to her house and was, like her sister-in-law, considering a holiday outside of London rather than returning directly to Gracechurch Street. She had an aunt, still living but widowed, who lived on the southern coast of England in a town called Christchurch with whom she occasionally stayed. Aunt Gardiner considered contacting Mrs. Perkins and asking her if she and the children could come for a visit.
"I have always been invited, though, Elizabeth," said Mrs. Gardiner to her as they strolled in the shelter of the gardens. "I fear it is such an imposition to write and ask to come. I can tell that your mother has been less than pleased that I brought the children, though I have no qualms about doing so. I could not have left them behind." She looked over at her niece, "I know I can say such things to you and that you understand me."
"I believe we need to ask for—or write about—what we need in life, aunt," said Elizabeth. "You have spoken a number of times about your devoted aunt, Mrs. Perkins; I think she will welcome you and the children. Consider if I wrote to you with such a request, what would you say?"
"You are correct, Lizzy, I would be pleased to have you come; I would always welcome a similar visit from you and your children," and Mrs. Gardiner hugged her niece, and went inside to sit down and compose her letter.
The answer to the letter came at the end of the week. Mrs. Perkins invited Mrs. Gardiner and her children into her home warmly and enthusiastically, just as Elizabeth had predicted. She even went so far as to suggest that Mrs. Gardiner bring some of the Bennet daughters with her to get them away from the situation. There was the added benefit that Christchurch was quite near a little watering hole with the indifferent name of 'Mudeford.' It was not the most fashionable watering hole, but the Prince Regent had apparently stayed there once. Mrs. Perkins wrote that two or three of the young ladies might come as there was always the chance that they might meet some handsome young man while they were away.
Christmas celebrations were almost overshadowed by the discussion of such a visit. Mrs. Bennet wished for all of her daughters to be able to go, but knew, somehow, that to insist on such a point meant that she would never gain her own point of getting away—and her nerves needed soothing, and to soothe them, she, herself, needed to be spirited away from Longbourn, from Meryton, and even from Hertfordshire itself.
Mr. Bennet assumed that such an offer of accommodations for his daughters meant that he no longer needed to consider caring for his family, and argued vehemently against going anywhere. But the Gardiners could not take all of his daughters, and Mrs. Bennet argued with equal vehemence that she would not change her mind; quite like a terrier assured of landing her prey from its hole.
In the end, Mrs. Gardiner suggested taking Jane, Mary and Catherine with her since those were the three Mrs. Bennet was the most interested in seeing married, given her general disappointment in Elizabeth. The notion that one of them might come back with a marriage proposal excited their mother a great deal.
That Mrs. Bennet was indifferent t
o Mary's going was evident, but if Catherine was to go, Mary, being two years older, was to certainly go. Mrs. Gardiner also knew that the level-headed Elizabeth would be the best companion to Mrs. Bennet for their own trip north to Scarborough with the remaining Bennet children. Mr. Bennet would now agree only to escort them in the carriage, and set them up in a little house, letting them seek their amusements until such time as Mrs. Bennet missed her neighbors and had gathered enough stories to come home to brag; he was not to stay.
Monday came and the Gardiners, their children, and three of the Bennet daughters left. They had to hire a carriage to take them all to Christchurch, for they were to go there directly. Mr. Gardiner was to escort the drop off his wife, his children, and his nieces, before returning to London and his business. Mrs. Bennet said goodbye with many assurances that the girls would enjoy themselves as much as possible, especially since there was that watering hole so nearby.
The rest of the Bennet family prepared for their trip to Scarborough, but the day after the Gardiners' exodus came more news about the case in London. Thankfully, not in the form of another attack, but that the suspect in the case—who had been taken into custody a few days before—had hung himself in his jail cell, a sure sign that he was guilty. There seemed to be a conviction in everybody's mind that despite his having protested his innocence, this must be a sure sign of his guilt. This did not allay everyone's fears, however.
There were those who could not believe that one man could perpetrate all of these crimes by himself, and many people were still uneasy thinking that there must be a second assailant. There had been a few witnesses who had seen a tall, thin man—that was John Murphy's description—and another who walked with a slight limp on that first evening. As this pair had been seen walking together along a road just about eleven o'clock near the Marr family residence, many thought this a sure sign that Murphy was in cahoots with someone else.