The Escape
“Hear, hear,” several of the ladies said.
Elizabeth’s strongly held desire never to discuss what happened in Meryton saved her from her family’s inquisition for a few hours, though she knew perfectly well it would not last. The best she could hope for was a slight respite, which she could use to either work out a strategy for her embarrassing predicament, or at least rest for the onslaught—or more likely, just fret.
She had been home less than two hours when the Goulding ladies called with shocking news.
Not only was Mr Wickham dishonourable and despicable; and not only was he to receive his just deserts; but the Bennets had missed the whole show!
The visitors breathlessly described all the events, and they were not in the least bit snide about having the better intelligence to brag about for once—not snide at all.
For the sake of her composure, Elizabeth sat and listened, feigning appropriate reactions at each revelation. Fortunately, Lydia and Kitty made enough noise that nobody paid the slightest attention to her, and even Jane and Mary seemed fascinated.
Mrs Goulding declared, “I thought Mr Kendall and Mr Gulliver might come to blows over who had first choice at what was in his pockets—if anything.”
Lydia laughed. “That would not last long.”
“Oh, you should have seen the look on the man’s face when Tom Kendall dragged him back from his attempted escape. He did not look nearly so handsome or arrogant,” Miss Amy Long ventured.
Elizabeth winced on discovering an uncomfortable fact. While she found Miss Amy to be nearly as silly as Lydia, she had entertained the exact same thought, though she did take some pride that she at least kept her indecorous assertions to herself.
"True happiness lies not in fleeting pleasures or earthly gains acquired through transgression.
For such treasures are built upon shifting sands, and the tide of divine judgment will surely wash them away.
Seek instead the riches of the spirit, the blessings of righteousness, for these alone offer enduring joy and a haven from the storms of earthly retribution," Mary replied into the breach.
Stunned silence met her for a moment, while the gathering tried to work out exactly (or even approximately) what she was trying to say.
Elizabeth, feeling a pang of pity for her most misunderstood sister, added her first comment of the afternoon.
“Well said, Mary. I believe the reverend might be right in this instance.”
“I could not agree more,” Miss Amy said cheerfully, though experience had shown she was likely to agree with just about any statement made forcefully enough.
With that, even Lydia and Kitty were forced to give Mary’s words some slight consequence, much as it pained them; and Mary looked happy with the conversation for the first time in a long while.
That disconcerting observation left Elizabeth wondering if poor Mary was so starved for attention that this would placate her; why were they not able to give her more regularly.
She looked to Jane and suspected her sister’s mind was following the same course.
“What do you think of all these goings-on, Lizzy?” Mrs Bennet asked, since her normally voluble daughter had been listening mostly in silence.
Not quite willing to end her brief respite, Elizabeth said, “At the risk of stealing Mary’s thunder, I shall quote proverbs: Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity.
Based on my slight experience with men of his ilk, I should say that Mr Wickham has probably been sowing for years, and it is finally harvest time. ”
Elizabeth believed she had escaped lightly but drew back nervously when the Lucas ladies joined the discussion.
They were forced to recount, refurbish, and reconsider the entire story, beginning to end.
She was somewhat amused to learn that Tom Kendall was beginning to attain near-mythic proportions, and she did not have the heart to mention what he had likely been up to after judgment had been passed, not knowing if that would enhance or diminish his reputation.
She wondered if the subject of tar and feathers would be an impropriety for discussion among genteel ladies, but that was a forlorn hope.
Nobody had the courage to bring it up directly, but she suspected everyone knew of it by now (if it had indeed happened).
It might be spoken of in whispers, but spoken of, it would be.
The ladies returned to the point where they were dissecting the remains of what had already been said a dozen different ways, and it was certainly approaching dinner, so Elizabeth hoped she might well have escaped unscathed for the day.
She believed so, right up to the moment when the parlour door opened, and she heard the fateful words:
“Lizzy Bennet! I heard you had the best view for the greatest show to visit Meryton in years, and you left without saying a word. I had to hear it from my housekeeper, who knew nothing except that you saw the entire event beginning to end. Why, Mr Wickham was even trying to hide behind your skirts like a snivelling child at the start. I must know it all.”
All the ladies, not excluding Elizabeth, gasped, and Elizabeth finally stammered, “Good afternoon, Aunt Philips,” only to find herself stared at like a poor animal in the menagerie by every pair of eyes in the room, including, disconcertingly, her father’s, who had appeared like a ghost.
“Yes, Lizzy, I should like to know this story. You may recount it in private or in company as you choose, but I will hear it!”
Elizabeth cursed her luck at having chanced upon Mr Bennet’s rare burst of parental involvement. Her hours of solitude had not done much to recommend a strategy, so she had to think quickly.
There was great temptation to take his offered olive branch.
It would certainly be easier, but would it be efficacious?
She might well have done so had she not read Aristotle, who believed nature abhors a vacuum.
Since it was known that she was at least peripherally involved in the altercation, and her name was now linked to the day’s events in the minds of the room’s inhabitants; it would not simply go away.
She had been keeping silent in the face of three of the five greatest gossips in the neighbourhood.
They would say something as they found gossiping as necessary for life as breathing.
This would be her sole opportunity to ensure she changed from a participant in the drama into a mere spectator.
She thought carefully about what she had to use. Mrs Watson had clearly mentioned that Lizzy was in the house, as anything else would likely cause her dismissal, but what else did she say?
Elizabeth had known Mrs Watson for nearly ten years and believed she understood her.
The housekeeper trod a narrow path. She presided over a house that simultaneously hosted the most prolific gossip in the neighbourhood and the most reticent attorney.
She mostly operated on the principle of discretion, so she was confident her aunt knew only the least possible.
Therefore, the obvious course was to fill the conversation with as much noise, bluster, and detail as possible.
She knew her mother and sisters would take whatever morsels she doled out and embellish them until her original words were unrecognisable, but if she were careful, she could shape the narrative to her purpose.
With cautious words, she began her tale while her audience looked at her like a pack of starving wolves eyeing a wounded doe.
“First, I was not involved at all. Mr Wickham happened upon me when I left the haberdashery, and I walked with him for merely twenty yards, speaking nothing but pleasantries. It is true that I did not run away screaming at the first sign of Mr Kendall, but I was far away before anything of significance happened.”
She saw her father nod sagely, although she suspected she would be subject to some private teasing later, since she had been far more enamoured of the officer than she liked to admit. He would, however, not allow his propensity to make sport of his neighbours, to damage her reputation.
With that, she began her tale, from the lucky escape from the scoundrel to her excellent view of the entertainment, to a rather embellished version of the dashing Tom Kendall, to a breathless description of the amount of debt and the suspected punishment.
She even described the boys who fetched the table, the indecent state of the rag stuffed in Mr Wickham’s mouth, the length and likely composition of the leather strap used to tie him to the post, Mr Follet’s gouty ill humour, his labelling the officers as ‘whippersnappers’, and the lads collaborating with Tom Kendall in some detail.
The officers’ nickname produced the exact measure of consternation she predicted, while the mythical exploits of Tom Kendall received such encouragement Elizabeth expected the matchmaking mamas to turn their attention from the Netherfield party to the blacksmith’s.
She was clear that she had no idea if the man had or would receive his just deserts, although Mr Follet seemed inclined to apt punishment when she left.
She made a jest about Mr Follet’s gout and Mr Darcy’s suggestion.
Everyone laughed at her descriptions of the gentlemen, since everyone in the county knew how much she despised him—though Mrs Goulding looked thoughtful.
Since Mr Goulding suffered a milder form of gout, she suspected he would be eating turnips and potatoes three times a day and missing his port for a while.
She was thorough, comprehensive, and entertaining in her descriptions. Nobody could best Lizzy Bennet when it came to describing an entertainment, and she applied all her wits to give her audience the tale of a lifetime in all its glorious and sometimes vivid detail.
Yes, she was thoroughly accurate and comprehensive, with the very minor exception of omitting a very few irrelevant details.
At no point did she mention speaking to anyone with the name of Darcy or Fitzwilliam.