Page 21 of The Meddling Matlocks (Pride & Prejudice Variations)

Chapter Twenty-One

The carriage rattled along the well-worn road, the countryside unfurling in a patchwork of winter-brown fields and hedgerows. Elizabeth sat with her gloved hands clasped tightly in her lap. Beside her, Jane wore a pensive expression, though she occasionally glanced towards their eldest travelling companion, Lady Matlock, whose regal composure seemed impervious to the tension that hung in the air like the overcast sky.

When the carriage came to a halt at Lucas Lodge, Charlotte alighted with her usual calm demeanour, offering parting pleasantries with all the grace of a woman accustomed to managing awkward situations. Elizabeth bid her friend farewell with a tight smile, her own cheer dampened by the grim prospect of what awaited them at Longbourn.

“Do not fret, Elizabeth,” Lady Matlock said as they resumed their journey, her tone brisk but not unkind. “Matters such as these are best handled with a clear head and a firm hand. Your family will recover; it is only a question of time and fortitude.”

“Time and fortitude,” Elizabeth echoed under her breath, the words tasting bitter despite their sensible ring. She turned her gaze back to the window, unwilling to betray her doubts, even as her mind churned with foreboding thoughts.

Longbourn soon came into view, its familiar facade offering little comfort. As the carriage rolled to a stop, Elizabeth braced herself, stepping down with the poise of someone determined to face calamity head-on. The door was flung open before they had even reached the threshold, revealing Lydia, who stood in the doorway with her chin defiantly tilted and a look of supreme unconcern plastered across her face.

“Well, you’re back at last!” Lydia declared, her voice carrying the careless gaiety of someone entirely unaware, or perhaps wilfully ignorant, of the storm she had unleashed. “I hope you’ve brought something interesting with you. It has been intolerably dull here without a bit of excitement.”

“Excitement?” Elizabeth repeated, her brow arching so sharply that it could have cut glass. “I suppose it would be unreasonable to expect remorse from you, Lydia, but must you compound your folly with flippancy?”

“Folly?” Lydia scoffed, tossing her curls over her shoulder. “Really, Lizzy, you make too much of things. No one minds half so much as you think they do.” She added this with the air of someone delivering a profound truth, utterly oblivious to the catastrophe her actions had wrought upon her family’s reputation.

“That girl!” Lady Matlock muttered under her breath, her sharp eyes narrowing. With a swift gesture, she signalled for Jane to follow as she swept past Lydia and into the house. “Mrs Bennet shall require all our attention. Come, girls, we must see to her at once.”

Elizabeth hesitated, her gaze lingering on Lydia with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “You may yet learn, Lydia,” she said quietly, “that actions have consequences, and some cannot be laughed away.” With that, she followed Lady Matlock inside, leaving Lydia to pout in the doorway.

Once within, the scene that greeted them was no less disheartening. Mrs Bennet was seated in the parlour, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief and lamenting loudly about the ruination of her daughters; a performance that grew more operatic with each passing moment. Lady Matlock wasted no time in taking command, settling beside Mrs Bennet and speaking in soothing tones that brooked no argument. Jane, ever the dutiful daughter, knelt at her mother’s side, lending her quiet strength to the effort.

“Elizabeth, my dear, would you…” began Lady Matlock, but Elizabeth had already anticipated the request. She nodded, excusing herself from the parlour just the second carriage rolled up and disgorged the gentleman.

“Ah, there you are,” Mr Bennet said, his tone dry but laced with weariness.

“Papa…” Elizabeth began, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“There will be time enough for recriminations later, Lizzy. I am well aware that my lax parenting has led to this present calamity, but for now, pray allow me to consult with these good gentlemen on a way in which we might possibly extricate ourselves from it.”

He gestured for the gentlemen to follow him into his study, shutting the door firmly behind them.

Elizabeth stood alone in the hallway now, the sound of muffled voices emanating from the parlour and the study alike. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to lean against the wall, closing her eyes as the enormity of the situation pressed upon her. Then, with a deep breath and a lift of her chin, she straightened and moved towards the door that led to the kitchens. Tea must be provided, and perhaps a generous spoon or two of brandy in it might help to soothe Mrs Bennet’s nerves a little.

It was over an hour later when the study door opened again, releasing Mr Bennet and his three companions into the hallway. Their faces were grave, though not alarmingly so, and she felt her breath catch in her chest as Darcy’s gaze immediately sought hers. She had slipped out of the parlour again, unable to remain still, needing to know what actions were to be taken.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said softly, approaching with measured steps that seemed to echo against the floorboards. His voice, low and steady, held a quiet promise, though it pained her that she could not fully believe it. Stopping just before her, he reached for her hand; an action so deliberate, it sent an unexpected warmth coursing through her. The clasp of his hand around hers was firm yet gentle, his skin cool against her own.

“Do not worry,” he murmured, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “All will be resolved.”

For a moment, time seemed suspended, the weight of his words hanging between them like a fine thread just waiting to be tested. Then, as if sensing the enormity of what had passed unsaid, Darcy released her hand and stepped back, his expression unreadable once more. He inclined his head briefly before following Bingley, Viscount Highton and Lord Matlock out of the house, leaving Elizabeth standing motionless, her heart inexplicably heavier than it had been moments before.

“Resolved?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible amidst the soft creak of the settling floorboards. How could such a thing be resolved? Her thoughts swirled like autumn leaves caught in a sudden gust, each one more troubling than the last. Yes, Jane would be safe; Bingley’s devotion left little room for doubt on that score. His cheerful determination to do right by her sister shone brighter with every interaction, and Elizabeth could not imagine him retreating now, even under the shadow of disgrace.

But then there was Lydia. Foolish, heedless Lydia, whose actions had placed the entire family in jeopardy. Elizabeth winced as she recalled her mother’s earlier confession, delivered between sobs and lamentations. “Found in Wickham’s room !“ Mrs Bennet had cried, her voice rising to a pitch that threatened to crack the very panes of glass. There could be no misunderstanding the implication, and worse still, no way to hide the truth. A scandal so unrestrained could not simply be swept under the rug; all Meryton would know of it by now.

“Ruined,” Elizabeth muttered, her tone bitter despite her efforts to maintain composure. It was not merely Lydia who bore the brunt of this disaster; it was all of them—the remaining Bennet sisters, their futures tarnished by association. Who would look twice at Mary, or Kitty, or even herself, knowing the shame that clung to their name like an unwelcome guest?

Yet, even as despair threatened to overwhelm her, Darcy’s parting words lingered in her mind, their sincerity both comforting and maddening. All will be resolved.

“How?” she asked aloud, but no answer came. The house had fallen quiet at last; Lady Matlock and Jane had persuaded Mrs Bennet upstairs, Lydia had retreated to her room when nobody would listen to her crowing, Mr Bennet was sequestered in his study and Mary was nowhere to be found.

“Well.” Elizabeth squared her shoulders. Kitty sat curled in the corner of the settee in the parlour, her sketchbook abandoned in her lap as she gazed wistfully out of the window. The sight sparked a flicker of irritation in Elizabeth. How anyone could find the leisure for daydreaming amidst such chaos escaped her entirely.

“Kitty,” Elizabeth began, her tone brisk enough to draw her sister’s attention away from the dreary grey sky. “I must ask you something, and I require an honest answer.”

“Whatever is the matter now?” Kitty replied, with a sigh that was both weary and defensive, though her fingers fidgeted with her neglected pencil—a sure sign of guilt if ever Elizabeth saw one.

“Do not play coy with me,” Elizabeth said, seating herself beside her sister and clasping her hands firmly together. “What do you know of Lydia’s adventures? You have ever been her confidante; surely you noticed something amiss?”

“Noticed something?” Kitty repeated, blinking at her as if the question were absurd. “How should I have noticed anything? Lydia has hardly spoken to me of late, ever since I said I thought it would perhaps be quite nice to go to school. She just went out on her own. I assumed she was meeting Maria or something, and, to be frank, I didn’t mind. It was peaceful without her yammering on.”

“Peaceful!” Elizabeth echoed, her voice rising despite herself. “Kitty, you might have guessed that such uncharacteristic behaviour warranted concern!”

“Why should I?” Kitty shot back, bristling under her sister’s reproach. “Lydia has always done as she pleased, whether anyone approved or not. And besides,” her tone turned faintly aggrieved, “I had my own matters to think of. I was preparing for school, you know, and rather looking forward to it.”

“Well, forgive me for interrupting your scholarly aspirations,” Elizabeth said with a touch of sarcasm, “but while you were dreaming of books and lessons, our family was teetering on the brink of ruin. Lydia’s disgrace is now all of ours, whether we deserve it or not.”

Kitty’s lower lip trembled slightly, and Elizabeth immediately regretted her sharpness. However infuriating Kitty’s lack of foresight might be, blaming her would serve no purpose now.

“Never mind,” Elizabeth sighed, rising to her feet and smoothing her skirts. “What’s done is done. Let us hope that whatever plans the gentlemen are devising will make some headway in mitigating this disaster.”

But as she paced the parlour late into the following morning, Elizabeth found her hopes dwindling with every passing hour. No word had come from Darcy or Lord Matlock, and Lady Matlock had not come back today. Mr Bennet would not even speak to them, and had left very early that morning on who knew what errand. Even Jane, usually the picture of calm composure, had begun to twist her handkerchief into knots, her anxious glances towards the door mirroring Elizabeth’s own. Kitty and Mary sat silently on the settee, both too agitated even to attempt to read or embroider; Lydia had finally been confined to her room. Mrs Bennet had finally ordered Hill to lock the door when Lydia repeatedly threatened to run away with Wickham. Lydia had shouted and banged on her door half the previous night, but had mercifully fallen silent at last.

“Why does no one come?” Elizabeth muttered to herself, her gaze darting between the clock on the mantel and the drive beyond the parlour window. The house seemed unnaturally still, as though holding its breath in anticipation of some great calamity, or perhaps merely awaiting the confirmation of one already unfolding.

At last, the distant rumble of carriage wheels broke the oppressive quiet. Elizabeth froze, her heart leaping in spite of itself, before hurrying to the window. But the moment she caught sight of the vehicle, her fleeting relief gave way to dread.

“Of course,” she murmured bitterly, gripping the windowsill as the familiar conveyance came to a halt before Longbourn’s front door. “Because this is precisely what we need to improve matters.”

“Who is it?” Jane asked, appearing at her shoulder with a worried frown.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Elizabeth replied, unable to keep the dryness from her tone as she watched the grand dame alight from the carriage with all the pomp of a reigning monarch inspecting a particularly disappointing province. Close behind her followed Mr Collins, his obsequious figure practically radiating self-importance as he assisted his patroness down the steps.

“Lady Catherine and Mr Collins,“ Elizabeth continued grimly. “This promises to be a most delightful morning indeed.”

“Good heavens!” Jane clutched Elizabeth’s arm, her wide blue eyes fixed on the approaching figures. “What are they doing here? How can they possibly know?” The disapproval on both faces as the new arrivals made their way towards Longbourn’s front door said that they most certainly did already know of the family’s disgrace.

“An excellent question,” Elizabeth replied, her tone dry even as her brow furrowed with unease. “Perhaps Lady Catherine has developed a sixth sense for scandal; one imagines it would be quite useful to her.”

A small cough sounded behind them, and both sisters turned to see Mary sitting on the settee, her hands clasped in her lap. Her expression was pinched, her face pale, and yet there was something almost defiant in the way she at last met Elizabeth’s gaze.

“I wrote to Mr Collins,” she admitted in a voice so small it barely reached them. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her gown as if attempting to anchor herself against the storm she clearly expected to follow. “I thought... I hoped he might offer advice.”

“Advice?” Elizabeth repeated, blinking rapidly as the words settled over her like an unexpected frost. For a moment, incredulity warred with irritation, but then comprehension dawned, along with a wave of reluctant sympathy that softened her expression.

“Ah,” she murmured, stepping closer to her sister. “Mary, you hoped for more than advice, did you not?”

Mary’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. Her shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of Elizabeth’s gentle observation, and she cast her eyes downward, staring intently at the pattern of the rug. It was all the answer Elizabeth needed.

“Mary...” Jane ventured hesitantly, her kind heart clearly torn between concern and confusion. “Surely you did not think...”

“Of course she did,” Elizabeth interjected, though her voice remained calm, lacking any trace of censure. She reached out and took one of Mary’s trembling hands in her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It is hardly surprising. Mr Collins has never been shy about reminding us all of his future claim to Longbourn. You hoped to secure your position, and perhaps his regard, by appealing to him now, before...” She trailed off, unwilling to voice the conclusion that hung unspoken between them.

“Before our disgrace becomes insurmountable,” Mary finished quietly, her throat tightening around the words. There was no bitterness in her tone, only resignation. “But it was already too late, wasn’t it? It was foolish of me. I see that now.” Her gaze lifted, wet with unshed tears, and she added in a whisper, “I have made everything worse.”

“Not irreparably,” Elizabeth assured her, her grip firm and steady. “We cannot change what has been done, but we can decide how to face it. Together.“ She glanced pointedly towards the window, where the unmistakable silhouette of Lady Catherine loomed ever closer. A wry smile tugged at her lips. “And I daresay we shall need every ounce of composure and courage we can muster.”

“Together,” Mary echoed, her voice wavering but gaining strength as she straightened her back, drawing herself up with quiet determination.

“Yes, together,” Jane added softly, taking Mary’s other hand in hers. Though the shadows of worry still lingered in her serene features, her touch was warm and encouraging. “We will show them what it means to be Bennet sisters.”

“Precisely,” Elizabeth said with a decisive nod. Her dark eyes sparkled with defiance and just a hint of mischief as she released Mary’s hands and turned towards the door. “Let us meet our esteemed guests. If Lady Catherine wishes to see a family in ruins, we shall at least ensure we do so with impeccable manners.”

“Well,” Kitty said with a grim set to her mouth, “as long as our mother stays upstairs and Lydia does not begin banging and shrieking like a fishwife again, there may yet be hope for us.” Her tone betrayed a distinct lack of faith in this possibility, and Elizabeth could hardly blame her.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth murmured, casting a sidelong glance at Mary, who still sat stiffly on the settee beside her. Though her sister’s hands were now folded primly in her lap, her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her handkerchief, betraying her nerves. Elizabeth gave Mary’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze as they heard the front door open and Hill greet the new arrivals.

“Let us hope they leave their tempers outside along with their hats.” Elizabeth rose gracefully from her seat, projecting more confidence than she felt. She glanced once more at Mary, whose complexion had taken on a rather pallid hue. “Come, Mary. We shall meet them together.”

“Yes,” Mary whispered, though her voice trembled. She squared her shoulders nevertheless, her chin lifting ever so slightly, and Elizabeth was proud of her for it.

The parlour door burst open a moment later, as if propelled by the sheer force of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s indignant will. The lady herself followed immediately, sweeping into the room like a gale-force wind, her grey silk gown rustling with every imperious step. Behind her shuffled Mr Collins, his obsequious smile firmly affixed to his round face, though his perspiring brow suggested he would have preferred to scuttle back into the safety of his parsonage.

“Well!” Lady Catherine proclaimed, her voice carrying the weight of judgement upon it as she levelled her gaze at the assembled Bennet sisters. “I scarcely know where to begin! It is worse than I imagined.” She swept a disdainful look around the room, as if the furniture itself might have been involved in some scandalous impropriety.

“Madam,” Elizabeth began, but Lady Catherine cut her off with a dramatic wave of her hand.

“Do not speak to me, Miss Bennet! Your family’s disgrace is beyond words. Beyond words ! And yet, as a duty-bound woman of rank and moral rectitude, I feel compelled to articulate my horror.“ She turned sharply to Mr Collins, as if inviting him to share in her righteous indignation.

“Y-yes, your ladyship,” Mr Collins stammered, his hands wringing together like a washerwoman’s. “The… the impropriety of it all is most shocking. Most shocking indeed! Why, it reflects poorly upon the entire neighbourhood, nay, even the clergy! And…” He hesitated, his eyes darting nervously towards Elizabeth before settling on Mary, who he seemed to consider the safer target. “And, of course, such misfortunes must serve as a lesson to others, lest they fall prey to similar folly!”

“Mr Collins,” Mary interrupted, her voice firm despite the flush creeping up her cheeks. She stood then, and Elizabeth blinked in surprise at the quiet dignity that radiated from her usually self-effacing sister. “It is un-Christian to gloat over the misfortune of one’s neighbours. You would do well to remember that.” Her gaze did not waver as Mr Collins’s jaw dropped, his expression somewhere between affront and confusion.

“Furthermore,” Mary continued, her tone steady but tinged with a note of unexpected steel, “when eventually you come to live at Longbourn,” Elizabeth noted with amusement how Mr Collins visibly puffed up at this acknowledgment of his future inheritance, “you may find that your neighbours do not care much for such a trait.” She clasped her hands before her, her posture as resolute as her words, and Elizabeth found herself suppressing a grin.

“Bravo, Mary,” Elizabeth whispered under her breath, feeling no small amount of pride in her sister’s boldness. Perhaps the confrontation would not be entirely dreadful after all.

“Hold your tongue, Miss Mary!” Mr Collins bellowed after a brief moment of shocked silence, his voice echoing through the parlour with all the subtlety of a cannon blast. His face had now achieved the hue of an overripe plum, and his eyes bulged as though he feared her audacity might cause the very foundations of Longbourn to collapse beneath him. “Such impertinence! It is not for young ladies of modest circumstances to lecture their betters on Christian conduct!”

Mary flinched at his words, the faintest quiver betraying her lips, but she did not retreat. Elizabeth, however, needed no further provocation. Her sister’s unshed tears gleamed like tiny, crystalline accusations, and Elizabeth felt her own indignation rise to meet the affront.

“Enough,” she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. She reached out and took Mary’s trembling hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Mr Collins,” she began, her tone as sweet as honey laced with arsenic, “might I remind you that Longbourn is not yet yours? Until such time as my father departs this mortal coil,” she ignored his audible gasp at her forthrightness, “the inhabitants of this house remain under his protection and not subject to your unsolicited reprimands.”

“Miss Elizabeth!” He positively sputtered, like a kettle too long left on the boil. “I must protest! Such language! Such disrespect…”

“Disrespect?” Elizabeth interrupted smoothly, still holding Mary’s hand as she kept her gaze on him, unwavering and unyielding. “Forgive me, sir, but is it not disrespectful to bring insult and condescension into the home of one’s cousins? To speak so harshly to a young lady whose only crime has been to remind you of a principle you claim to value highly?”

“How dare you…” Lady Catherine’s voice cut through the air like a blade, and Elizabeth barely spared her a glance. The older woman’s fan snapped shut with a venomous flick, and her grey eyes narrowed into slits of indignation.

“How dare I ?“ Elizabeth echoed lightly, her expression one of mock curiosity. “Quite easily, I assure you. Though I find myself puzzled, Lady Catherine. I was under the impression that Lord Matlock expressly ordered you to remain in Kent less than a week ago? Surely you would not wish to disregard such a prudent suggestion, particularly as we expect him here shortly with my father. I daresay his arrival may complicate matters... for some.”

Lady Catherine stilled, her mouth slightly ajar, the colour draining from her face. For a moment, the room held its collective breath, waiting to see whether the grand dame of Rosings Park would explode or retreat.

“Well, I never!” she finally snapped, her voice pitched high with outrage. But Elizabeth raised her brows in silent challenge, her chin tilting ever so slightly upwards in a gesture that spoke volumes.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth murmured, unshaken. “Perhaps now would be an excellent opportunity to begin.”

Lady Catherine, her pallor now matching the alabaster bust of some long-forgotten Roman senator perched disdainfully in the corner, did not immediately reply. The room seemed to shrink around her towering figure, her considerable hauteur deflating ever so slightly under Elizabeth’s unyielding gaze. Her gloved hands twitched against the carved head of her cane, a restless staccato of irritation that betrayed her faltering composure.

“Come, Mr Collins,” she snapped at last, her voice brittle as a frostbitten twig. “We have wasted quite enough time here.” With an imperious sweep of her skirts, she turned towards the door, but not before fixing Elizabeth with a look so pointed it might have skewered less resolute prey.

Elizabeth remained steadfast, her own expression coolly polite, though the corners of her lips threatened a smile, a hint of amusement unbowed by Lady Catherine's fury. She stood her ground, hands clasped lightly in front of her, the picture of unperturbed civility.

“Your ladyship,” Elizabeth said sweetly, inclining her head in mock deference, “a safe journey, I hope.” The words were innocuous, yet delivered with the precision of a surgeon’s blade.

“Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine intoned, her voice dropping low, like a thundercloud pregnant with storm. She stepped closer, the rustle of her gown filling the space between them.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear,” she hissed, leaning in so close that Elizabeth felt the warmth of her breath, laced with the acrid tang of suppressed outrage. “Mr Darcy will never…” her voice cracked like a whip, though pitched for Elizabeth’s ears alone, “… never marry into a family mired in such disgrace.”

The words hung in the air, venomous and coiled like a viper ready to strike again. But Elizabeth did not flinch. If Lady Catherine hoped to elicit shock or despair, she would find herself sorely disappointed. Instead, Elizabeth’s eyes widened ever so slightly—not in alarm, but in something perilously close to mischief.

“How fortunate,” she replied lightly, her tone as crisp as a spring morning, “that Mr Darcy is entirely capable of deciding such matters for himself.”

Lady Catherine recoiled as if struck, her lips pressed into a bloodless line. For a fleeting moment, she looked almost uncertain, her composure cracking further beneath the weight of Elizabeth’s quiet confidence. But she recovered quickly, spinning on her heel in a flurry of silk and suppressed fury.

“Mr Collins!” she barked, the force of her command nearly causing the poor man to trip over his own feet in his eagerness to obey. “We are leaving. Now.”

Elizabeth watched them go, her shoulders relaxing only once the heavy oak door had closed behind them with a resounding thud. The silence that followed was almost reverent, broken only by Mary’s soft sniffle and Kitty’s muttered observation from the corner:

“Good riddance.”

Elizabeth allowed herself a small, satisfied smile, though her chest still fluttered with the remnants of tension. Lady Catherine’s parting shot echoed faintly in her mind, but she dismissed it with a shake of her head. There were still battles ahead, no doubt, but for now, she had won this skirmish—and perhaps, just perhaps, she had enjoyed it more than she ought.