Page 11 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”

Elizabeth

T he afternoon sun cast long shadows across Longbourn’s drive as Elizabeth and Lydia approached the house, their spirits still buoyant from the pleasant day at Netherfield.

Jane too had much improved, and Lydia and Elizabeth had decided to call on their mother with the news while Jane remained at Netherfield, tended to by Mr Bingley.

The dreamy look in her eyes had told Elizabeth that she and Mr Bingley were getting along rather splendidly while they had played pall mall. Indeed, so pleasant had the afternoon been, Elizabeth almost forgot about their troubles.

Alas, their cheerful mood dimmed the moment they entered the front hall. Hill waited with a look as though the milk had spoilt, holding a letter.

“Miss Elizabeth, a letter arrived this afternoon. Your mother thought you should see it.”

Elizabeth’s heart sank as she recognised the decisive handwriting. James Morton. She accepted the letter with trembling fingers whilst Lydia peered over her shoulder.

“Is it from Cousin James?” Lydia’s voice had lost all its earlier animation.

“Yes.” Elizabeth studied the envelope, feeling its weight like a stone. “Come, let us go to the drawing room.”

They found the room empty, their mother and younger sisters having retired upstairs. Elizabeth unfolded the letter with careful hands whilst Lydia watched anxiously.

“What does he say?” Lydia asked when Elizabeth’s face went pale.

“He is looking for an answer sooner than a month.” Elizabeth’s voice was tight. “He wishes to have the banns read earlier as soon as possible to appease the creditors. He says he is eager to settle matters.”

Lydia erupted. “But even a month is hardly any time at all!”

“Time enough for him,” Elizabeth said bitterly. “He writes as though Jane’s acceptance is assured.”

Lydia paced before the fireplace. “Well, it is not assured! Jane cannot seriously consider marrying that odious toad. Not when she and Mr Bingley are so perfectly suited.”

“Perfectly suited or not, Jane feels she has no choice.”

“But she does have a choice!” Lydia turned to face Elizabeth with blazing eyes. “Anyone with eyes can see that Mr Bingley is besotted with her. The way he hovers about, bringing her tea and books—he is clearly moon-eyed over her.”

Elizabeth sank into a chair. “Even if that were true, it changes nothing. The estate’s debts must be paid.”

Lydia stopped pacing. “What if we told Mr Bingley the truth? What if we explained about the debts and Uncle Morton and James’s horrible proposal? Perhaps he would help us with the debt.”

“Lydia!” Elizabeth looked scandalised. “Jane would never permit such a thing.”

“Why not? He has money in abundance, and if he cares for Jane—”

“Because it would be grasping. Jane will not have him think she sees him as a solution to our financial troubles.”

Lydia resumed her pacing with renewed agitation. “But if Mr Bingley knew what Jane faces, he would want to help. Surely, he would If she has to marry James, it means that they can never be together.”

To say Elizabeth was conflicted was an understatement. Part of her agreed with Lydia’s logic, but she understood Jane’s position as well. “Jane does not wish him to know, Lydia. Unless she changes her mind, we cannot tell Mr Bingley what is happening.”

“But it is madness!” Lydia’s voice rose. “Jane will throw away her chance at happiness to marry that calculating worm, all for the sake of pride!”

“It is not pride. It is principle.”

“What if he wants to help because he loves her?” Lydia demanded. “What if he would choose to rescue her?”

Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “Whatever feelings might exist between them are too new, too uncertain. Jane will not risk trapping him into feeling obligated.”

Lydia stared at Elizabeth with disbelief. “Can you not see how wrong this is? Jane will sacrifice herself whilst we all stand by and watch.”

“Unless Jane changes her mind about telling Mr Bingley, there is nothing we can do. It must be her choice.”

“Her choice?” Lydia’s eyes blazed. “What choice does she have? What choice do any of us have? We are trapped by Papa’s debts and Uncle Morton’s weakness and James’s manipulations, and you call it choice?”

“Lydia—” Elizabeth reached for her sister, but Lydia jerked away.

“No! I am sick of pretending this is acceptable. I am sick of being noble and understanding and grateful for James’s generous offer.” Lydia’s voice cracked with emotion. “Why should Jane sacrifice herself? Why should any of us pay the price for Papa’s failures?”

“Lydia, please—”

“Papa left us with nothing!” The words exploded from Lydia with all the force of months of suppressed grief and anger.

“Nothing but debts and shame and dependency on relatives who see us as burdens to be managed. He knew the estate was entailed. He knew we would be left defenceless. But did he save a single guinea? Did he make any provision for our futures? Why did he not speak to Uncle Morton about breaking the entailment? He is willing to do it for James, surely he would have done it for Papa. But he never tried!”

Tears pricked at Elizabeth’s eyes. “Papa loved us—”

“Did he? Because it seems to me that a man who loved his daughters would have thought beyond his books and his jokes to what would happen to them when he was gone.”

“You must not speak so—”

“Why not? Because it is disrespectful? Because good daughters do not criticise their dead fathers?” Lydia’s face was flushed with fury and pain.

“Well, perhaps good daughters would have had fathers who cared enough to secure their futures! Fathers who did not die all of a sudden without a word of warning!”

Elizabeth moved towards her sister. “Lydia, you are grieving—”

“Yes, I am grieving!” Lydia whirled to face her. “I am grieving the father I thought I had and the security I thought we possessed and the future I thought was mine. I am grieving the illusion that being loved was the same as being protected.”

“You were protected. Papa did love you—”

“Love that left me orphaned and destitute and watching my sister prepare to marry a man she despises to save us all from ruin.” Lydia’s tears came in earnest now. “What use is such love, Lizzy? What comfort is it when the creditors come calling?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I know you are angry—”

“I am furious!” Lydia sobbed. “I am furious with Papa for leaving us like this.”

“Lydia—”

“Do not try to comfort me,” Lydia said, backing away from Elizabeth’s outstretched arms. I do not want to be comforted. I want to rage and weep and curse the unfairness of it all.”

They stood facing each other across the drawing room, both breathing hard from the emotional storm. Elizabeth wanted to comfort her sister, to offer reassurance and hope, but Lydia’s words carried too much truth to be easily dismissed.

“I hate feeling this way,” Lydia whispered finally. “I hate being angry with him when he cannot defend himself. But I cannot help it, Lizzy. I cannot pretend that love is enough when it has left us with nothing.”

Elizabeth sank back into her chair. “You do not have to pretend anything. Your anger is justified.”

“Is it? Sometimes I think I am being ungrateful and horrible.”

“You are being honest. And perhaps that is what we need more of in this family.”

Lydia stared at her for a long moment, then sank into the chair opposite. “What are we going to do, Lizzy? How can we save Jane from this fate?”

“I do not know,” Elizabeth admitted. “But we must find a way. We must.”

Lydia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “There must be another solution. There has to be.”

“Then we shall find it,” Elizabeth said with more confidence than she felt. “Even if we have to turn over every stone in Hertfordshire to do so.”

For the first time since reading James’s letter, Lydia smiled. “Now you sound like the sister I know. The one who never accepts defeat.”

“I have not accepted it yet,” Elizabeth replied. “And I do not intend to start now.”