Page 19 of Reckless, Headstrong Girl (Pride and Prejudice Variations #5)

LONGBOURN

P apa was home. He looked bent and beaten down, and Elizabeth rushed towards him.

“Well, Lizzy?” he sighed, handing his hat to Hill.

“I know, Papa. You must be very tired. Let me send a tray to your library.”

“If you would, daughter. Does your mother still keep to her bed?” He went to his library, and Elizabeth followed.

“She truly is not well, Papa.”

“Truly?”

“Mr Hawkins came from London to see her. Mr Bingley asked him to come, thinking his presence could help us continue our little farce about Mama being too ill for visitors.”

“And what is this learned man’s opinion of my wife?”

“Do not be caustic, Papa. He is, in fact, very kind to her. She has worked herself into a state, and no one could wonder at it, but now she really does have a sore throat.”

“She must be delighted to be really ill for once.”

“Papa!”

“Forgive me, Lizzy. I am in a foul temper. If I am lucky, I, too, shall be struck ill and put to bed. Is Mrs Gardiner still here at least? She is occasionally sensible.”

“My aunt left this morning to return to her children. Mr Hawkins said she had better go before she catches what Mama has and takes it home to the nursery.”

“I suppose the neighbourhood now knows that Lydia is lost to us.”

“I would have thought so, but Mr Bingley has been the hero in that regard. He visits the Philips, the Longs, and Sir William and Lady Lucas so often, and with such agreeable cheer, that they are all too distracted by his attention to think of Longbourn. And he gives the ladies very detailed reports of Mama’s throat and such and says he has a licence to visit us—which he does every day without fail—only because Mr Hawkins has known him since his school days and never once seen him fall ill. ”

“Are we to be overrun by encroaching young men? Mr Darcy all but ordered me home. I have never encountered such an officious person in my life.”

Elizabeth could not help but smile just a little. “He is very officious. But he has the irritating habit of being very right about almost everything, so we must indulge him a little. ”

“How accommodating you are. I thought you did not like him at all.”

“Oh, but I like Mr Darcy very well, Papa.”

Mr Bennet looked up at his daughter and shrugged. “Well, I suppose I shall have to like him too, but I do not really want to. He found Wickham, you know.”

“Papa! Why did you not say so? Mr Darcy found Wickham?! But what did you discover?”

“He tried to meddle with Lydia, and she bit him.”

“She what?”

“She bit him. The wound festered, and Wickham is likely already dead.”

“Good God.” Elizabeth felt around behind her for a chair and sat down heavily. “Do we know nothing more?”

“The rascal set her down somewhere past a hamlet called Hickstead after she injured him. She is very lucky he did not strangle her. Well, I say she is lucky, but that may not be true at all. A swift end is sometimes a mercy. Your uncle is searching London—and what a benighted job that is—and your Mr Darcy is travelling through the turnip fields of West Sussex searching for clues.”

He stared at his bookshelf for a moment. “And I am sent home to pretend all is well. Our little house of cards will fall at any moment, Lizzy. I shall almost be glad of an end to this horrible waiting.”