Fate’s Intervention

Chapter I

It is said that something so little as a breath of wind can alter a person’s fate.

While it is not the purpose of this story to examine such dusty philosophical concepts, minor events have the potential to force drastic alterations in life.

In the situation in question, the matter was not nearly so minor, or it did not seem so when a defective shoe coupled with a slippery step conspired to throw the cherished plans of a particular young woman from Hertfordshire into the dustheap of pathways untraveled.

Elizabeth Bennet, knowing her sister was not fit to be out of the nursery, let alone free to run wild in Brighton with only a woman as silly as Mrs. Harriet Forster for a chaperon, had pleaded with her father not to let Lydia leave Longbourn.

Such a wild child would surely find trouble in Brighton, a place rife with flirtatious officers and bereft of any sort of restraining influence.

There were any number of ways in which Lydia might disgrace her family in such an environment.

“Do you not see, Papa?” demanded Elizabeth, invading her father’s sanctum for the express purpose of persuading him of the folly of allowing his daughter to go to Brighton. “The girl is quickly becoming beyond amendment and will surely reach that state if we do not act to curb her wild ways.”

“Yes, I understand your point, Lizzy,” mused her father, not at all put off by his daughter’s insistence.

It was not uncommon for her to speak to him in such a way, for Mr. Bennet was accustomed to asking her opinion.

She was the most sensible of his daughters and his favorite, and he allowed her a great deal of leeway in how she spoke to him.

“Even now,” said Elizabeth, when he did not speak further, “she is in the sitting-room with Mama, lording her supposed superiority over Kitty, doing as much as she can to make her miserable.”

“I cannot imagine it will take much,” chuckled her father. “Kitty is rather irritable and sensitive to all her sister’s barbs.”

“The reason for that,” rejoined Elizabeth, “as you well know, is Mama’s indulgence for her youngest, which often comes at Kitty’s expense.

If she were of a more forceful personality, Kitty might have more success in withstanding her.

In this instance, I cannot but think Kitty has a right to be upset.

Lydia should not even be out of the schoolroom, given her behavior. ”

“I dare say everything you have said on the subject is correct, Lizzy,” replied her father. “Yet, this is an opportunity that does not come often.”

“What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth, afraid she knew exactly what her father meant.

“Why,” said Mr. Bennet, his tone reflecting his amusement and self-satisfaction, “that she be sundered from us for a time with little to no expense or inconvenience on our part.”

“Is the inconvenience all you can consider, Papa?” asked Elizabeth, disappointed.

“When it comes to my youngest daughter,” muttered Mr. Bennet, “one must take the small miracles when they appear.”

Elizabeth looked on, wondering how she could ever persuade him. Then a notion came to her, and she grasped at it without considering the ramifications.

“Do you not suppose that Lydia is a detriment to our respectability as a family? Will having a silly sister intent upon showing herself to the worst possible advantage not affect our ability to hold our heads high, for the rest of us, however unlikely, to attract husbands?”

Mr. Bennet’s eyes swung to her. “I apologize, Lizzy. I was not aware your youngest sister had scared off any of your lovers. For that matter, I have seen no gentlemen loitering about the estate eager to make love to you.”

While her father’s words, little though he intended them with the intent to injure, stung Elizabeth’s vanity, she forced such feelings aside in favor of trying to make him understand.

“You are mistaken, Papa, for Lydia has not injured me. But you have another daughter who has suffered disappointment in recent months.”

“Jane?” asked Mr. Bennet, his interest finally provoked. “Are you speaking of that Bingley fellow going away and not returning?”

“I am, Papa,” said Elizabeth. Hesitantly, not wishing to reveal too much of what passed between herself and Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth said: “As you know, I met Mr. Darcy again in Kent, when he was visiting his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

A snort was Mr. Bennet’s response. “Yes, I recall you speaking of it. Given what little I know of Mr. Darcy coupled with all my cousin has said of the lady, I cannot help but suppose the resemblance between them is striking.”

Again, Elizabeth understood this was unfair with her new understanding of the gentleman. To speak on such a subject would be to invite uncomfortable questions, so Elizabeth allowed her father to think of Mr. Darcy what he would.

“The salient point is what Mr. Darcy revealed to me—the comportment of certain members of the family figured prominently in Mr. Bingley’s failure to return.”

At this, Mr. Bennet frowned. “Is that so? I cannot imagine how such a subject rose between you. As I recall, you and Mr. Darcy were not precisely friendly when he was here last autumn.”

“We were not,” replied Elizabeth. “The circumstances do not matter. What does matter is the information I gained from him. Mr. Bingley’s sisters had no compunction at all about using certain aspects of our situation, especially the behavior of Mama and your youngest daughters, to persuade their brother against Jane. ”

“Does Jane know of this?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Jane is finally recovering from her disappointment. I would not open old wounds.”

“That is likely for the best,” said Mr. Bennet. “Then it is even more imperative for Lydia to learn of her insignificance in the world, and there is no better place for her to do it than in Brighton.

“Consider this, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet when she would have protested, “in Brighton, Lydia will not find the paradise she supposes she will. In a city, the officers must have their pick of vapid young girls vying for their attention. Thus, she will be one among many. If she exposes herself to ridicule, what better place can she do it than where no one will know her, and gossip will not make its way back to Meryton?”

“It would be better if we prevented her from exposing herself altogether.”

“Perhaps it would,” said Mr. Bennet, shrugging as if Elizabeth’s assertion were of no consequence.

“The endeavor, however, would be so draining that I cannot think we would survive unscathed. She wishes to go to Brighton? Let her go, I say, so she may hasten her education. When she returns, we can think of how to go about instructing her to understand what she must learn.”

Disappointing though it was, Elizabeth could think of nothing that would move her father to change his opinion.

Patient though he was with her, his favorite daughter, Elizabeth knew he would not allow her to push him forever.

Thus, she must resign from the field in defeat, though the fear that Lydia would ruin the family remained with her no matter how much she tried to tell herself all would be well.

The moment she emerged from her father’s study she heard Lydia carrying on, teasing her sister, and Elizabeth, unwilling to endure her poor behavior for a moment longer than she must, opted to return to her bedroom to exasperate herself against her silly sister and intractable father in solitude.

Had Elizabeth thought he believed his words, she might have taken some comfort in the affair.

A truthful woman, however, Elizabeth had always practiced as much truth in her thoughts as she did with others.

While her father claimed the lessons Lydia would learn in Brighton would prove invaluable, his manner of expressing himself revealed his motivations to be little more than his comfort.

Unable to endure the uproar Lydia would cause if he denied her the amusement, her father was content to allow her to go to Brighton and all the danger that entailed.

Elizabeth was not made for unhappiness, and while she could not help the feeling of dread that accompanied the notion of Lydia going to Brighton, soon she pushed such thoughts away.

There was nothing she could do, and little reason to worry it over in her mind.

Lydia would go to Brighton, and Elizabeth had no choice but to pray for deliverance.

And then fate intervened.

Elizabeth had no part in the preparations for Lydia’s departure, not that anyone other than Mrs. Bennet concerned herself with Lydia’s going.

Jane and Elizabeth comforted Kitty as best they could and protected her from Lydia’s mean-spirited attacks whenever necessary; in this last, a rather heated argument between Elizabeth and Lydia reined in the girl’s unkindness.

The time passed swiftly, and soon the day of Lydia’s departure arrived.

By that time, Elizabeth was certain even Kitty wished for nothing more than to be free of her obnoxious sister.

There was no sign of any trouble, right up to the point Lydia was to enter the coach that was to carry her away.

Colonel Forster’s carriage was not a large conveyance, but as the man had preceded his wife to Brighton with his men, Elizabeth supposed it was more than enough for his silly wife and her ridiculous friend.

“I shall miss all of you!” exclaimed the girl, though her manner spoke of the exact opposite. “And should I come across beaux for any of my sisters, I shall inform you directly!”

Elizabeth did not think it politic to mention that she did not think her sister capable of finding a beau properly, to say nothing of what she might do to interest officers in her sisters. If she would even set aside time to consider such concerns, given her selfishness.

“You must write particularly of everything you do,” said Mrs. Bennet, swiping ineffectually at the tears streaming down her face. “Take every opportunity to enjoy yourself.”

“I shall!”

Elizabeth had no doubt the girl would, to the detriment of all her family. Again, she indulged in silent prayer, hoping the Lord on high would protect her silliest sister from herself.

“Goodbye!” said Lydia as she turned to the coach.

That was when it happened. Lydia lifted her right foot and set it on the step of the coach, but as her weight came down, the heel of her boot buckled to the side, throwing her off balance, and the slick surface of the step did the rest. Had she been holding the rails with both hands, it might have been different, but Lydia, in her eagerness to depart, had thought only of entering the carriage as expeditiously as possible.

Lydia attempted to catch herself, flailing about with one hand, but it was all in vain.

She pitched forward, her head striking the open door of the carriage.

Then she fell into a heap in the dust of the drive.

For a moment, no one moved. The shock of her accident had frozen them all.

“Lydia!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet at last.

The family surged forward to help their fallen member as she lay insensible on the ground.

Mrs. Bennet’s loud wails and her attempts to help her daughter to her feet proved fruitless, as it quickly became evident to the family that Lydia’s consciousness had not survived her head’s contact with the door of the carriage.

Mr. Bennet turned and summoned Longbourn’s lone footman to attend to his daughter, and John soon lifted the girl effortlessly into his arms and carried her into the house.

It was a surprise to no one that Mrs. Bennet followed behind, wailing the entire way.

Now, it is perhaps proper to address the family’s reaction to Lydia’s misfortune.

Elizabeth was relieved that Lydia’s mishap would almost certainly prevent her from experiencing the blissful delights at Brighton, thereby saving the family’s reputation for at least a little longer.

A glance about at the other members of the family revealed various levels of shock for what had just happened, though Elizabeth glimpsed the satisfaction on Kitty’s face, revealing she appreciated the result of the accident, if not the misfortune itself.

Misery loved company, it was said, and Kitty would surely take great satisfaction knowing that while she could not go to Brighton, neither would Lydia.

Mr. Bennet revealed only barely suppressed amusement.

Mr. Bennet came to the same conclusion as his second-eldest daughter, for he approached the carriage and peered inside, where a shocked Mrs. Forster sat speechless at what had just occurred.

It was in poor taste that the woman had remained inside, watching what was happening but offering no assistance of her own.

Surprise was all well and good, but even what happened could not have rendered her unable to move.

“It seems you are not to have a companion for your journey to Brighton after all, Mrs. Forster,” said Mr. Bennet, smirking at the girl before him. “Unless, of course, you mean for my second youngest to take her sister’s place. Shall I instruct Kitty to pack her trunks for an immediate departure?”

Kitty taking Lydia’s place was not a palatable outcome for Elizabeth, though she knew her father was using his typical wit.

She might not have worried. Though clearly mystified by Mr. Bennet’s flippant manner, Mrs. Forster did perhaps the only sensible thing Elizabeth had ever seen the woman do: she shook her head.

“I expected you would see sense,” said Mr. Bennet. “If your men will unload my daughter’s trunks from the coach, you can be off.”

So, it was done, and since the youngest Bennet was still unconscious, there was very little fuss or hassle, which certainly would not have been the case had she been present to witness the carriage depart.

No doubt she would have insisted on going despite her pain.

Elizabeth could only be grateful for the event, regardless of the injuries to her sister.

A moment later, the carriage, its bulk lessened by the absent weight of Lydia’s belongings and the lack of one silly girl, shuddered into motion and departed from Longbourn’s drive.

Elizabeth watched it go as she would have if it had carried relations or friends with whom she knew she would not meet in some time.

Such nostalgic thoughts were no part of her ruminations; instead, she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing her family’s reputation was safe for the moment.

At least until Lydia regained her senses and began lamenting her lost opportunity for amusement and ruin.