Page 16 of Disarmed

E lizabeth looked up hopefully as Mrs Hill entered the parlour.

It had been a long morning. Her mother had scarcely drawn breath since breakfast, rhapsodising about the number of times Mr Bingley had called on Jane in the past week and speculating on the engagement she was certain would be forthcoming.

The entrance of the housekeeper, whilst unlikely to provide any permanent reprieve, might at least distract Mrs Bennet for a few minutes.

Alas, Mrs Hill simply wished to inform her mistress of her intention to go into Meryton to order the meat for the following day, and their mother merely waved her away as she opened her mouth to no doubt continue her conjectures on the dinner at Netherfield that evening.

However, just as the housekeeper made to withdraw, Lydia rose from her seat.

“I shall go to the butcher’s, Mama.”

Mrs Bennet looked at her youngest daughter with narrowed eyes, but Lydia was not deterred, and she stepped towards the door.

“I can call on the Tomkinses on my way. I promised the little ones I would take them some cakes, and Cook has lots left over after baking so much for Mr Bingley’s visits this week. It would be such a shame if they went to waste.”

Her mother looked too weary to argue. “Very well, child. But do not be too long. We cannot be late to Netherfield this evening. And take one of your sisters with you—not you, Jane,” she warned, raising her hand to prevent her eldest daughter from rising.

“Mr Bingley still might call, you know, and it would not do for you to be out. No, Lizzy can go. She enjoys scampering about the countryside in any case.”

With equal parts relief and trepidation, Elizabeth followed Lydia from the room. They collected their pelisses, as well as a basket of cakes and a list of purchases from the kitchens, and strode out into the crisp winter air.

The sisters set off at a brisk pace towards the Tomkinses’ farm, Lydia swinging the basket from one hand. They soon reached the farm gate, and, spotting Sam feeding the pigs in the yard, Lydia unceremoniously thrust the cakes at Elizabeth as she hailed her friend and ran over to greet him.

With a sigh, Elizabeth turned towards the farmhouse as a gaggle of small children ran out, calling her name and reaching for the sweet treats.

After a brief chat with Mrs Tomkins and politely declining the offer of refreshment, Elizabeth left the house to seek her sister and continue their errand.

She found Lydia in deep conversation with Sam, much like earlier in the week, and her concern was once again raised.

Lydia joined her gaily enough, though, and the pair turned onto the lane towards the town.

“You seem to have a lot to say to Sam these days,” Elizabeth remarked after they had walked for a few minutes in silence.

Lydia shrugged. “He was telling me about his pigs,” she offered.

Elizabeth laughed. “I would not have thought you had any interest in pigs.”

Her sister merely smiled. “Do you know Mr Wickham is scared of them? Pigs, I mean,” she said after a few moments.

“Mr Wickham, frightened of pigs? How strange. How did you come by that information?”

Lydia waved the question away. “It does make one wonder what else he is afraid of. Pigs, Mr Darcy, not being the most interesting man in the room…”

Elizabeth looked at her sister with interest. “I thought Mr Wickham was a favourite of yours.”

“Oh, he was. That was before I realised just how dull he is, though. And stupid.”

“Lydia!”

“Oh, come now, Lizzy. You have seen it too. He must have told everyone the story of how he brought together Colonel Forster and Miss Stewart, even after we all heard it was Watson who arranged it. He even told Maria he was likely to receive a promotion for it! What nonsense!”

“Hmm, yes. I did overhear at least three versions of that story. It certainly does not speak well to Mr Wickham’s character.”

“Well, it did not surprise me. He lies about everything. You can tell he is speaking falsehoods, you know, when he scratches his neck and twists his buttons.”

Elizabeth stopped walking abruptly, and her sister raised her eyebrows at her. “I have noticed that he scratches rather a lot. In fact, that day the officers called at Longbourn, when we were talking about Mr Darcy, he scratched so much I feared he had been bitten—”

A memory unfurled in her head suddenly, cutting off her speech.

It was from the night at her aunt Phillips’s house when Mr Wickham had first told her his sad tale of the much-loved godfather and his cruel and jealous son.

The officer had been twisting the buttons on his uniform, his fingers white with agitation.

Elizabeth had sympathised with him, taking it as further proof of his continued suffering. Now, she looked at it in a new light.

She resumed walking, aware of Lydia’s curious glances but not ready to speak her thoughts aloud as yet. “I think he may not have told us the whole truth about his dealings with Mr Darcy,” she said eventually.

Lydia let out an incredulous bark of laughter. “I thought you were supposed to be the clever one, Lizzy. It is so obvious that Mr Wickham is jealous of Mr Darcy and will say anything to make him look like a villain.”

Elizabeth gave her sister a sharp look. “Did you ask Mr Darcy about it, Lydia?”

Lydia’s expression was a little sheepish. “Not in so many words,” she replied evasively.

“You have been speaking to Mr Darcy a surprising amount lately. Please tell me you have not developed feelings for him.”

Her sister looked horrified. “Faugh! No! He is far too strait-laced for my tastes.” She fell silent, and they continued to walk, the crunching of leaves beneath their boots the only sound.

Lydia picked up a stick and ran it absently through the hedges as they passed.

“He does have a hidden sense of humour, though,” she said eventually, casting a sideways glance at Elizabeth.

“And he is kind and caring, and he does love his sister, and…I really would love to have him as a brother.” She said the last in a rush, and then she stopped, grasping Elizabeth’s arm to stop her too and searching her face.

Elizabeth did not know what to say, and Lydia finally let out a frustrated cry.

“He likes you, Lizzy!” she said. “Mr Darcy likes you . I cannot believe you have missed it. He looks at you all the time, and he wants to talk to you, and dance with you, but all you can think about is that stupid thing he said at the assembly. He is handsome, and disgustingly rich, of course, and you could live in Derbyshire with all that countryside to walk in.” Her eyes were wide, and she seemed to lose all her indignation as she concluded, “Please, Lizzy, marry him so he can be my brother.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to laugh. How on earth had her sister reached such an implausible conclusion?

The thought that Mr Darcy liked her, Elizabeth, was ridiculous.

She could understand that Lydia wished for a brother; the Bennet sisters had often discussed the benefits of having an older brother to defend them, to play with them, and to save them from the dreaded entail.

But why Mr Darcy? It seemed almost settled that Mr Bingley would soon be their brother. Was he not good enough?

She shook off Lydia’s hand and continued down the path. “We would all love to have a brother, Lydia, but you cannot just choose one and then force him to marry one of your sisters. I am certain Mr Darcy has no more wish to marry me than I do him.”

Lydia was still standing where Elizabeth had left her, but as Elizabeth turned to look at her, she let out a half scream and marched forwards, pushing past her sister and striding towards Meryton, her head down in determination and anger.

Elizabeth sighed and followed at a slower pace, her thoughts muddled.

Where had Lydia got the idea from that Mr Darcy was interested in her, the woman he had deemed not handsome enough to tempt him?

And why did the suggestion that it might be true give her a warm feeling inside?

Lydia was far ahead of her as she arrived on the high street, and she saw in the distance her sister slip into the butcher’s shop.

Rather than follow her directly, Elizabeth strolled slowly along the pavement, stopping to peruse the items in the shop windows as she went, giving Lydia time to calm herself.

When she had still not appeared after quarter of an hour, however, Elizabeth became concerned and approached Mr Hodges’ shop.

She was just about to push open the door when Lydia appeared from the alley to the side.

How did she get there? Glancing down the passage, Elizabeth saw Betty Hodges disappearing into a doorway.

She opened her mouth to question her sister about it, but Lydia was already striding off towards Longbourn, clearly still in a fit of pique, and Elizabeth did not even attempt to speak to her again before they arrived home.

Their mother pounced on them the moment they walked through the door.

“Oh, there you are, girls! I was so worried that you would not be back in time to change for dinner. We must all look our best this evening, you know, for Mr Bingley and his family.”

“Mama—” Elizabeth attempted, but Mrs Bennet had not finished.

“He called this afternoon, you know. Even though he would see Jane in just a few hours’ time, he still called!

” She waved her handkerchief. “I sent them out into the garden with Mary as a chaperon. And a very good one she was too. She sat on a bench with a book and paid them little mind. It is good to know the girl is good for something.”

“Mama!” Elizabeth tried again to no avail. She noticed Lydia had slunk off upstairs while her mother had been speaking.

“In any case, Lizzy, hurry up and change,” Mrs Bennet said, looking her up and down. “Your hems are muddy as usual!” She shooed her off with another wave of her handkerchief, and Elizabeth gratefully made her escape.

As she passed the door of the book-room, she was surprised when it opened and her father’s head appeared.

“Ah, Lizzy, you are home just in time, I see. Your mother was about to send John out to search for you.”

Elizabeth smiled. “She is anxious not to be late to Netherfield. I have been sent to change.”

“Good, good,” Mr Bennet said, a curious enigmatic smile on his face. “Do look in on Jane first, will you not?” And with the same smile still in place, he retreated back into the book-room and closed the door.

Elizabeth made her way slowly up the stairs, her father’s strange behaviour playing on her mind, when suddenly she broke into a grin, leaping up the last few steps and banging impatiently on her eldest sister’s door.

The look on the face that opened it confirmed her suspicions. “Jane?” she enquired eagerly as she stepped inside.