The Zephyr

Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE LIBERTY OF COMPASSION

M y father, observing me over the top of his spectacles with a lifted brow, had not invited me to sit down.

“Well, what is it? You are obviously in a lather over something.”

“You will never guess, Papa. I came across Miss Mary King, who is now Mrs Wickham, wandering on the road, and so I took her up, only to discover that she is running for her life!” Under the weight of his increasingly heavy stare, I babbled on for a spell about the horrors she had endured, the money-lender, and her husband’s plan to remarry an even more pitiful specimen.

After an ominously lengthy pause, he said. “Unsurprisingly, I am dreading the conclusion of this tale, Elizabeth. What have you done?”

“What could I do? It is winter, she was hungry, destitute, and fleeing from that man because he means to murder her! ”

He blinked balefully at me, took off his spectacles, and said—very quietly, “And so you thought to bring her here. ”

“But where else would she be welcome?”

“How have you come to decide that Mrs Wickham is welcome at Longbourn?”

I was much taken aback by my father’s strong disapproval.

“She is in fear for her life! Could I simply leave her to her fate? Besides,” I said, with flagging confidence, “Mama does not know she is here.”

“Nor will she. I do not demand you publicly throw the woman out of this house, but my God, Elizabeth, did you not stop and consider that Wickham will unfailingly follow his nose straight to our door? And how is his arrival to strike your mother, hmm? The image of her youngest daughter lying lifeless as a corpse on the bed haunts her still to this day.”

“Can we not involve the law in her defence?”

“The law!” he demanded. “Have you never heard of the Common Law, whereby husband and wife become a single entity? What court would hear her and decide in her favour? What judge would consider the hearsay of a woman unhappily married? And even if that husband arrives here and pulls her out of this house by her hair, who do you suppose carries the predominance of legal jeopardy?”

I stared at him with a slightly open mouth.

“I do!” he bellowed. “She is for all practical purposes his property! Now, do whatever you must, for you have already stepped with both feet into the cesspit, and you must get yourself out of it. But for my part, I do not want to know anything about how you help her to leave, so I might rightfully plead both my own ignorance and the stupidity of kindness on the part of my daughter.”

There was so much to be digested in all he said that for a moment I was rendered fully speechless.

“How is it ever stupid to be kind?” I asked, much bewildered.

“Life is not quite so simple as you have always considered it to be.”

“And-and,” I stammered in disbelief, “her legal testimony of overhearing plans for her murder would be considered hearsay?”

“Unfortunately, yes, particularly if she cannot conjure a credible witness.”

“Such as a man?”

“Do not glare daggers at me , Elizabeth. Consider that this Mrs Whomever , who is his cohort, would swear against any claim Mrs Wickham makes. And besides that, by what rights could she expect to be believed? She ran away with him, left the protection of her uncle and a comfortable situation to put herself in the power of a man who is legally in possession of all her worldly goods. Even her independence is forfeit.” He stood up so abruptly his chair scraped the floor. “Do not rave at me about the injustice of it, for I did not write the law, nor do I disbelieve her. The fact is, however,” he said stabbing his desk with his finger and ending upon something close to a roar, “that she should not be here .”

I pondered how like my father it was to quit a fight before it began. While I was deeply disappointed by his response, I then saw my way forwards, for he had, in fact, given me the freedom to act so long as my mother did not know, and Mr Wickham did not come to Longbourn.

“Do you suppose Mr King would shelter her? ”

“Very unlikely.”

“Might I at least have something with which to send her on her way?”

He dug around in his desk drawer and handed me a pound note, then he said in a much calmer tone of voice, “You think me a heartless brute just now. I know you saw Lydia in this poor woman’s plight, and I commend you for your sense of justice. Unlike you, however, I do not always have the liberty of compassion.”

“And I have your leave to solve this problem howsoever I may?”

He looked at me with his customary irony, and simply said, “What problem do you mean?”