Page 16 of Reckless, Headstrong Girl (Pride and Prejudice Variations #5)

LONGBOURN

U pon arriving home from Derbyshire, Elizabeth could not have known that Lydia was making a go of it in Horsham. She and Jane fell together into a sobbing, clutching heap when she arrived home. “Any news?” she asked in a mumble against Jane’s shawl.

“Nothing. Papa writes, in his few letters from London, that he goes out every day to no purpose. But our uncle is there now, Lizzy. He will find Lydia.”

Elizabeth thought the honour of finding Lydia face down in a ditch somewhere would more likely fall to poor Mr Darcy, but she could not say so to Jane.

“Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth said at last, turning to see the poor man fussing anxiously with his gloves, “you remember my sister Jane?”

“I could hardly forget her,” he said. “Miss Bennet. How anxious these days must have been for you.” He had a strong hold on her hands and did not seem aware of it. “ But you will not want to be bothered with me just now. Might I stop in the morning and see how you all fare?”

Jane hesitated long enough to cause Mr Bingley to blanch.

“Of course, Mr Bingley,” she said in a distant voice.

“My aunt and sisters would be happy to receive you.” She turned away and took her aunt Gardiner and Elizabeth inside.

They greeted Mary and Kitty with subdued embraces, and over tea, as the sun went down, Elizabeth heard about the situation at Longbourn.

“I did not want our aunt Philips here,” Jane said apologetically. “I am sure you did not. She would have the whole county know that Lydia is as good as nameless now.”

Jane nodded. “I sent her, Mrs Long, and Lady Lucas notes that Mama was down with an infectious fever and we should not see visitors or leave the house.”

Mary and Kitty sat in silence on the settee.

“That was clever,” said Elizabeth.

“But it did not satisfy. Aunt Philips demands to know why the apothecary has not come to us. I sent a note that it was not as bad as that, but more like a serious cold, and that soon enough she should visit us and bring her bone jelly. I do not know what to do, Lizzy. I can hardly keep her away another day. Yesterday, Lady Lucas came with a basket, intent on forcing her way in, and it was all Hill could do to turn her away.”

“And the servants?” Mrs Gardiner asked gently. “They will not stay silent, my dears.”

Jane shook her head. “No, of course we cannot expect it. Only Mrs Hill has some notion that whatever shame falls on our heads will fall on theirs too, and she has put the fear of God into Molly and Joe.”

“And Mama?”

Jane shook her head again. “Terrible, as you would guess.”

“Have you told her?”

“That Lydia is lost? No.” Jane wiped her eyes. “She only thinks that they have eloped and that our father has gone to fight a duel with Wickham.”

“Is that all?” Elizabeth cried. “My goodness Jane, she must be prostrate with anxiety.”

“Scold all you like, but I could not think what to tell her,” Jane replied testily. “Papa left it all to me, and I did what I thought best.”

“I am sorry, Jane. You have had a very hard time. I should not have said it, but really, our mother should be told, should she not? Lydia is her daughter, and soon we may have to hear the worst of it.”

Kitty put her face into her handkerchief, and Mary bent over her to comfort her.

Mrs Gardiner looked around her and said, “My dearest girls. This is a catastrophe to be sure. But to fall into despair is not the way. Until we hear otherwise, Lydia is only lost, and I think you—each of you—should entertain some notion of where she might safely be.”

“To what purpose, Aunt?” Elizabeth asked.

She was weary to the bone, irritable and quite resentful that Lydia’s situation had both impelled Mr Darcy to speak of love and interrupted him in the midst of what looked to be a renewal of his addresses.

Where was he? He must be enduring the worst places in all of London looking for her sister, paying tramps and thieves for information, and searching out morgues and brothels!

These thoughts caused her to burst into noisy sobs.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Aunt Gardiner said, putting her arm around her shoulders. “You must think of Lydia sheltering with a good farm family somewhere out of the way or with a kindly old vicar’s wife somewhere.”

“But why did she not write?” cried Mary.

“My dears, I am just as prone to think the worst as you. But your mother will be so brought down by this news, you must formulate these little stories to tell her, to spark some hope in her for a few days at least or until we hear otherwise. You must decide that the kindly widow has no funds till quarter day to send Lydia’s letter or that the farmer’s family will send their eldest boy with a message just as soon as he has cut the hay.

Something—anything! You do not want to see your mama fall ill in earnest, do you? ”

In the morning, Mrs Gardiner went up to Mrs Bennet to break the hard news, and she was there for more than two full hours.

The sisters sat in the parlour, quietly dreading the cries from above, which were plainly heard every few minutes or so.

Mary pulled out a shirt she was hemming for the poor box while Kitty sat at the table and began writing .

“What are you writing?” Elizabeth asked, her book of sonnets seeming impossible to read.

“I am writing out little stories of where Lydia is safely kept until we find her. I shall read them to Mama this afternoon.”

“Why, Kitty,” Elizabeth said, “that is the most thoughtful thing anyone could do just now.” Kitty looked far from gratified. In fact, she looked exceedingly sad.

Elizabeth glanced at Jane. “Kitty feels she is to blame, Lizzy. She thought Lydia was in love with Wickham when she went away.”

“Oh, Kitty. You must absolve yourself, my love,” Elizabeth said feelingly.

“I knew in Kent, having spoken to Mr Darcy about the man, that Mr Wickham was a dissipated rake. I should have come directly to Papa and told him what I knew. But I thought I should not meddle with a man’s reputation, and I have suffered such regrets!

You must know you are not to blame, dearest.”

“If that is so, why did Mr Darcy not speak to Papa when he was here?” Mary asked.

This was a reasonable question, and it deserved a much more reasonable response than it earned. Elizabeth rose and paced to the window. “Mr Darcy is not to carry the blame for what George Wickham has done,” she said crisply. “He is in London looking for Wickham as we speak.”

“Mr Darcy knows of our troubles?” Jane asked in a shocked half whisper.

“He came to visit me minutes after I had read your letter. I was weeping too hard to think of anything to tell him, and so I told him the truth. He felt himself liable for the whole of it and swore to me he would find our sister. But really, Jane, Lydia was determined to ruin herself, and we—all of us—indulged her. Not one of us took the trouble to restrain her. If Lydia had been possessed of better principles, this could not have happened, and in that light, I do not see Mr Darcy is at fault for anything!”

This hotly worded speech was interrupted by the arrival of Mr Bingley.

He seemed insensible to the tension in the room—beset by his own tension as he was—and he went directly to Jane with his hat in hand.

Jane was disinclined for once to put the man at ease.

He had hurt her, and in consequence, she looked upon him coolly as he spoke.

“Miss Bennet, tell me whether there is anything—anything in the world—that I can do for you just now. I beg you.”

Jane glanced out the window and saw her aunt Philips coming down the drive with two baskets, one in each hand.

“I hardly know how you could do it, but if you could ensure our privacy for a few more days at least, I would be very grateful.”

He, too, turned to the window and saw to what she referred, and with a crisp bow, he left the room.

The sisters watched as he walked purposefully down the drive and met their aunt.

He spoke to her for some moments, and at last she turned and walked with him back in the direction of Meryton.

Mr Bingley returned a little under an hour later.

He again ignored everyone in the room except Jane, and he again stood before her, refusing a chair.

“I told your aunt that I am sending to London for a doctor, that Mrs Gardiner is with Mrs Bennet, and that she has advised against visitors. Mrs Bennet is finally resting after a very poor night, and she must conserve her strength until the doctor arrives to consult with her. When she asked why Mr Bennet was away, I said he had finally taken advice about the entail with a town solicitor. He is expected to be away for another week at least.”

“But what will she say when no doctor arrives, sir?”

“I have sent for my personal physician. He was sponsored by my father many years ago, and I expect he will post down immediately from town to look at your mother and prescribe for her. She has taken to her bed, has she not? After that, he will return to London. There is no call for him to speak to anyone about his patient, and he is far too professional to do so. I thoroughly trust him, and if you feel he should know the real circumstance that has affected your mother so adversely, you may be assured of his confidence.”

Jane Bennet thawed somewhat, and she looked benevolently at Mr Bingley. “You have been very kind to think of that. How can we thank you?”

“You are all very quiet here, and it is a pleasant day. Shall we not go for a walk? I know you cannot be seen to be enjoying yourselves, but we could stroll to that little wilderness area and look into the spinney, perhaps. The goldfinches must be about in the grasses, and the nuthatches will be tapping at the bark. Surely, we should not sit here if we could be elsewhere.”

Jane melted entirely and took his arm, and off they went together, not really attending to whether anyone was following or not. Elizabeth sent Mary and Kitty after them, and then she went upstairs to her mother’s room.

“Mama,” she said in the gentlest of voices, “Mr Bingley has come.”

“Mr Bingley?” her mother asked in a pitiful whine.

“Charles Bingley. He has sent to London for a doctor for you. And he has taken Jane outside for a walk.”

“We are saved,” she whispered. “He will marry Jane, and Lydia cannot stay away from her sister’s wedding.”

Elizabeth put a cloth of lavender water on her mother’s head.

“You must rest now, Mama. This endless fretting will do you no good. When the doctor comes, I will help you put on that pretty robe with the ruffle and your best lace cap. But first you need to sleep. Later, would you like some cream biscuits with your tea?”

“Yes, Lizzy.” Her mother closed her eyes and patted her hand. “You are a good girl in spite of everything.”