Page 23 of Searching for Elizabeth (A Pride and Prejudice Variation)

—the same morning—

Elizabeth Bennet woke early, as usual. She prepared tea and wrote in her journal, as always. She emptied her chamber pot, and dressed, and unplaited her hair, and brushed it into a simple bun. Just as her morning routine dictated.

But she did not feel normal. She was absurdly excited. She knew that William planned to call on her father at ten, ask permission to marry, and hopefully arrive here at the cottage with good news before noon.

After that…well, her new all-alone lifestyle was surely almost over. If her father gave his permission for William and her to marry, there could be no further danger from Mr. Collins. And she could move back to the comforts of home—

In the middle of making a simple breakfast for herself, Lizzy got stuck on those thoughts. Did she want to move back home until her wedding? Did Longbourn even qualify as her home, now?

She could conceivably move into Netherfield Park, or Lucas Lodge…. Maybe staying at the Phillips house would not be so bad, now?

Or should she just stay here?

She had always considered Blackthorn Cottage as her and Mary’s safe spot, a place to retreat to, like a child’s playhouse or treehouse. She had not thought to live in it full time until that day—not even a week ago!—when she was banished from Longbourn.

But now, if she was about to get married, should she reveal the existence of the cottage to her sisters and parents? Or should she keep it hidden and give the key to Mary?

Lizzy finished cleaning up from the meal and sat down with a fresh stack of paper and a second cup of tea. How much time before—She glanced at the clock and realized that it was still very early. William would not even be riding over to Longbourn, yet!

She wanted to get lost in writing, although she was concerned that getting lost in thoughts of the future was more likely. At that point, she heard a knock on the door.

William! she thought, ecstatic with surprise. She sprang to the door, opened it with a smile—and then tried to fling the door shut, shocked to see Mr. Wickham standing there.

He managed to get his boot wedged in the doorway, and she could not close the door. She thought rapidly, wondering if anything nearby would serve as a weapon.

The axe was outside, tucked under the waterproof tarp, but there was a fairly substantial kitchen knife in a drawer….

She tried to dart to the drawer in question, but Mr. Wickham grabbed her wrist. His grip was shockingly strong, and Lizzy realized that she had never been touched so roughly.

She tried to kick him, to wrench her arm from his grasp, to hit him with her other hand, but Mr. Wickham just laughed at her.

Somehow he twisted his grip on her wrist so that she almost thought he would tear her hand off; her other arm was now behind her back, and Mr. Wickham held her in a grip that felt like iron bands.

He wrestled her over to her cot, and he literally sat on her, straddling her, still gripping that one wrist.

He used his other hand to open her trunk, and although she fought even harder to break away from him, while he was busy using his teeth to rip up one of her petticoats, she could not manage to make even the slightest bit of trouble for him.

He quickly and competently ripped six swaths of cloth.

Did he regularly subdue and tie up people? He seemed way too competent as he bound her ankles together, then her two wrists; he finally made a gag and tied it on as well.

Picking her up as if she was a toy, Mr. Wickham carried her to the chair by the table. He eagerly turned to her food stores, and Lizzy felt silly that the sight of him stealing all of her precious food seemed even worse than him invading her house and tying her up. She wondered what he meant to do with her….

If he kidnapped her, he could likely get William to pay a ransom. On the other hand, would Mr. Wickham know that? Lizzy had, just a few days ago, thought quite well of Mr. Wickham and thought ill of William, so it seemed impossible that he would know of their betrothal and unlikely that he would know of even their mutual regard.

Mr. Wickham was packing all of the food into a bag, and Lizzy thought fast. If he meant to take her, and that seemed likely, she should try to leave clues.

She was able to stand, barely, and she deliberately knocked hard against the table. The teacup and many of the papers fell to the floor, as she had hoped, and although the cup broke, she was very happy that the tea and dregs had spilled out onto one of the pieces of paper. She quickly pretended to fall down, herself, and she was able to grab one piece of paper in her left hand—she had a crazy notion that she could rip up pieces of paper and leave them as a trail to be followed—and then she managed to begin to write on the paper messed with tea leaves. She only wrote the “W” before Mr. Wickham scooped her back off the floor, slapped her hard across the face, and cursed her out using words she had never heard before. She kept her eyes down, as if she were cowed, and she concentrated on keeping the fisted paper hidden.

A few moments later, Mr. Wickham had swung the bag onto his back, grabbed her even more roughly than before, and strode out of the cottage. She recognized the horse he approached; it was one of the Gouldings’ horses, a mare named Lindy. She supposed that her kidnapper had stolen it.

Lizzy was so busy attempting to tear the paper with one hand while keeping the paper hidden in her other hand, she barely noticed Mr. Wickham's actions. Somehow he was up on Lindy’s back, and she was positioned in front of him, her head and arms hanging down on one side and her legs hanging down the other. Still holding her with a vise-like arm, Mr. Wickham nudged the horse into motion.

Finally, Lizzy managed to drop a fragment of paper. She could not see it on the way down, and she worried that it might be too tiny to even be visible. She worked hard to shred another teeny bit of paper and dropped it, too.

Mr. Wickham had set a rather slow pace and guided the horse to what looked to be a deer trail.

Elizabeth’s life narrowed down to ripping paper and dropping bits in what she hoped would be a trail for William. But she knew how unlikely it was that the tiny shreds of paper would remain visible by the time anyone realized that she had been kidnapped. William would not arrive at the cottage for hours; she supposed he would ride off to organize search parties, and he would lead an entire army of men and horses to the cottage to begin the search. Inevitably, the tiny bits of paper she had dropped would be churned into the mud by countless hooves….

But worrying about things she could not control was not helpful. She redirected her mind to the task at hand.

Finally, of course, she ran out of paper. Lizzy tried to think what to do. She saw that they had turned onto a wider trail, and she also realized that the “vise” that pinned her to Mr. Wickham’s body had loosened. She thought she could try to wrench herself off the horse, and then yell so that the horse would rush off, carrying Mr. Wickham away. If she was able to get free of Mr. Wickham’s hold (unlikely), if she did not harm herself badly as she fell (even more unlikely), if Mr. Wickham was a terrible horseman and could not easily turn the steed back to collect her (very unlikely)...then maybe she could at least be where searchers might find her?

As unlikely as success was, she felt strongly that had to try something.

She wrenched herself free of Mr. Wickham shockingly easily. As she fell, she yelled, “Home, Lindy!”

Landing on the ground felt awful, and she could not breathe for several seconds. She saw that Lindy had startled and bucked and then raced away at top speed.

She also saw that Mr. Wickham had been unseated as well. He began to curse her again. It was a constant stream of names, vows that he would harm her, explicit descriptions of the harm he planned, and words she did not know and did not wish to know.

For several moments, she lay in the trail, panting, wondering if there was anything further she could do to better her chances of survival. She thrashed about as much as possible, wondering if stirred-up dirt would be a clue for would-be rescuers.

Of course, Mr. Wickham was able to catch his breath, too. He walked stiffly over to her and then grabbed a hunk of her hair in one hand—her bun seemed to be long gone—and her upper arm in the other hand, and he began to drag her away from the trail. Her feet were touching the ground, and she was glad to see that they made a kind of drag mark. But it would be better to stay closer to the trial, she knew. She tried to let her body sag more, picturing herself being an enormous and heavy bag full of skillets and pots and pans and kettles.

Mr. Wickham started breathing harder, but he still managed to keep up the cursing. Finally, he dropped her to the ground, and again she fell hard, this time on one elbow.

Mr. Wickham was panting quite a bit. Elizabeth allowed herself to rest for just a moment before she gathered up all of her strength, and then in one movement, she pulled up both of her legs toward her chest and then she kicked out to Mr. Wickham’s torso.

She connected with him, and finally the curse words were interrupted by a mighty grunt. Mr. Wickham started to fall, scrabbled for his footing, and then fell harder. He screamed a bit….

She heard an ugly thunking-squishing sound. It sounded like a pumpkin or melon being dropped onto the ground. Lizzy closed her eyes, wondering if a body falling on a rock would make such a sound. Perhaps a head hitting the rock?

Mr. Wickham was surely very badly injured, because he had not said a word since that scream.

He could be dead.

Remembering the sound, Lizzy thought it was very likely that he was, in fact, dead. She shuddered.

No matter what, she still had to try to get back to the trail. She could try to untie the petticoat bindings, or she could try to roll herself along the ground. She breathed deeply, resting her bruised body, and then she continued to try.