Lieutenant Bennet (Pride & Prejudice Variations)

The Gathering Storm

At Longbourn, the Bennet family had gathered at breakfast, the morning light slanting across worn carpets and well-loved furnishings. Captain Bennet was seated at the head of the table. He made a sound in his throat, eyes still on the page.

“Another defeat,” he finally said. “In the Peninsula.”

A hush fell over the table. Even Lydia paused with her spoon midway to her mouth.

“Oh dear,” Mrs Bennet sighed. “What dreadful news!”

Captain Bennet lowered the paper with a dry smile. “Another defeat in Spain, and the Gazette already whispers that Napoleon builds barges at Boulogne once more. We have heard the same for these ten years and still no Frenchman has set foot in Hertfordshire.”

Mrs Bennet fanned herself briskly. “And pray Heaven it stays so. If they cross us, we shall not be spared, and what will happen to us then?”

“And,” Captain Bennet added, flicking the page, “the War Office has issued a new call for volunteers. Every county must raise its share, and the officers in charge of enlistment will start their rounds within the fortnight. A full regiment will quarter in Meryton before the month is out.”

Mrs Bennet gasped. “The militia here in Meryton! What shall become of us? Soldiers trampling the garden paths, boots on the carpets. Oh, Captain Bennet, say it is not true!”

Captain Bennet gave a weak smile. “I doubt they will wheel any cannons into Meryton, my dear. But yes, they are coming.”

“Officers!” Kitty and Lydia squealed in delighted unison.

“Do you think they will bring musicians, Papa?”

“Will they wear red coats?”

“It is war, not a parade,” Mary sniffed, not looking up from her volume of Fordyce. “You might try reading something worthwhile instead of fantasising about uniforms.”

Elizabeth sat back; hands clasped in her lap.

She had gone still at her father’s announcement, though not for the reasons her younger sisters had.

War meant fear, uncertainty, and change.

Even if it did not touch Longbourn directly, it would touch Hertfordshire; and that meant the lives around them would shift.

There would be talk of enlistment, of honour, of duty.

And the burden of anticipation would fall somewhere, on someone.

“What do they want here beyond being quartered?” Jane asked gently.

Captain Bennet unfolded the paper again. “They are seeking volunteers. Each town should provide men for the county’s defence. The recruiting officers will start in the larger towns, St Albans, Hitchin; but they will make their way here in time.”

His gaze drifted toward the hearth, though his eyes seemed fixed on something far beyond it.

“You remember when I served,” he said quietly.

“Back in ‘03, when they said Bonaparte might cross the Channel. We believed it would be quick, glorious.” He tapped his cane lightly against the floor. “It was not.”

He paused, his voice softening. “Christopher would have joined me then, had his regiment not still been posted in Scotland.”

Silence fell. Elizabeth’s hands tightened in her lap. She had been young when Uncle Bennet and his family perished in the devastating fire at Ashcombe.

“Oh, Captain Bennet, pray do not speak of those dreadful times,” cried his wife, fluttering her handkerchief.

“You were off in Kent with the 42th, and I here at Longbourn with all five girls still children. Jane barely fourteen, Lizzy only twelve, and little Lydia no more than seven! I scarcely slept a night that entire year, wondering if I should be widowed, the girls fatherless and us all turned out of the estate.”

Elizabeth’s eyes moved instinctively to her father.

His limp, worsened by the weather, had kept him from riding comfortably for years now.

He had not spoken of his own service since she was a girl, but she remembered flashes: a faded uniform in a trunk in the attic, medals never displayed.

Whatever use the army might have made of Captain Bennet was long past. It would fall on younger shoulders now.

But whose?

She stood and crossed to the window. Outside, the garden was in bloom, the spring wind stirring the daffodils. Nothing looked different. But it was. Everything had changed.

And deep within her, a quiet thought was beginning to form.

She would not speak it aloud. Not yet. Not until she was certain.

* * *

A few days later, the spring wind stirred the hedgerows along the lane, carrying the scent of hawthorn and fresh earth.

Elizabeth and Charlotte walked side by side, the gravel crunching underfoot.

The air was mild, the sky a wash of soft blue, and lambs called from distant fields.

Yet there was a tension in the morning that no pleasant weather could dispel.

As they neared Lucas Lodge, the sound of shouting reached them, childish voices calling orders, sticks clacking against one another.

Rounding the corner of the house, they found Charlotte’s youngest brothers, Robert and Andrew Lucas, in the orchard, playing at soldiers.

Robert wore a cocked paper hat and marched stiffly with a walking stick for a musket.

Andrew, younger and more exuberant, wore a blanket for a cape and brandished a wooden spoon as a sabre.

“Present arms!” Andrew bellowed. “Charge the French!”

Charlotte sighed. “They have been like this all week. Ever since the news from the Gazette.”

Elizabeth watched the boys with a curious mix of amusement and dread. Even in their play, the war crept closer.

Charlotte called out, “Inside, both of you. It is time for your lessons.”

Grumbling, the boys complied, scampering into the house and leaving the orchard quiet once more.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time,” Charlotte said, adjusting her shawl against the breeze. “With the way the news from the Peninsula has been going, Papa said he thought they would start asking for volunteers weeks ago.”

Elizabeth nodded. “We have been lucky that Hertfordshire has remained quiet. But it seems even here the war will make itself known.”

Charlotte cast her a sidelong glance. “Do you think your father will be asked to serve again?”

“No.” Elizabeth shook her head firmly. “He has not said as much, but I doubt it. His limp is worse than it used to be, and they are looking for younger men.”

Charlotte’s silence was thoughtful. “It will be hard on the families. Even if it is voluntary for now.”

They walked a few more steps before Charlotte spoke again, her voice lower. “Henry talks of enlisting, you know.”

Elizabeth stopped short. “Henry?”

“My parents think it is bluster,” Charlotte said, resuming the pace with a little more force in her step.

“But I know my brother. Once he gets an idea into his head, he does not let go of it easily. He has been reading all these wretched papers about Wellington and honour, and now he talks as if marching off to war would be a great lark.”

Elizabeth frowned. “He is not even nineteen yet.”

“I know.” Charlotte pressed her lips together. “And legally, he cannot enlist without permission until he is one and twenty; but you know how easily boys can lie about their age, and how little some officers care to ask questions.”

“Will your parents try to stop him?”

“They say they will reason with him. But reasoning with Henry rarely works.” Charlotte paused. “I have written to William and asked him to speak with Henry; he listens to him more than anyone else.”

“He always has,” Elizabeth agreed. “William can make him see sense, if anyone can.”

Charlotte nodded. “He is due home next month, regardless. But if he hears how seriously Henry is speaking, he may come down sooner.”

They turned the final bend in the lane. Lucas Lodge came into view, its familiar chimneys rising over the budding orchard. The sight brought Elizabeth a moment of comfort, though it was fleeting. Charlotte’s words echoed in her mind.

The war had always been something distant, something that happened in dispatches and faraway lands. But now it was coming closer. To Meryton. To their brothers. To their lives.

And deep within, she still felt the flicker of that thought she had not dared speak aloud.

Not yet.

* * *

A few weeks later, Elizabeth and Jane walked down the lane, their bonnets tugged by the wind and their voices low with speculation.

Kitty and Lydia were ahead of them in the lane, eager to see if the rumours were true.

The road to Meryton was busier than usual, with carts rattling past and pedestrians all seemingly moving in the same direction.

“They have arrived, I am sure of it,” Kitty whispered excitedly. “Did you hear that drumroll just now?”

“I did,” Lydia grinned. “They must be at the Green already. Do you think they brought cavalry?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Elizabeth said, adjusting her shawl. “They are quartering soldiers, not launching an invasion.”

Jane smiled gently. “Papa said they would start with speeches. A recruiting officer always makes his pitch before any real enlistments begin.”

As they rounded the final bend, the commotion ahead confirmed it.

Meryton’s market square was alive with colour and movement.

Scarlet uniforms flashed between the shopfronts, and a small stage had been erected near the steps of the White Hart Inn.

A recruiting sergeant stood atop it, reading from a scroll, while a fifer piped a jaunty tune and two boys beat out a march on drums nearly the size of their torsos.

A cluster of villagers had already gathered. Children stood on tiptoe to peer over shoulders. The Coopers and Haydens were there, along with several tenant farmers and half the shopkeepers. Even Mrs Long had brought her nieces, all three dressed in their newest gowns.

“There they are!” Kitty gasped, pointing. “Look at their coats!”

“They must be so warm,” Lydia added, fanning herself. “I should simply die in all that wool.”