Chapter 28
The day before the wedding dawned in a flurry of activity.
Mrs. Bennet had risen early and had not sat down since.
Ribbons were inspected, gowns were unfolded and refolded into trunks, trays of cakes were discussed with Hill as though the future of the household depended upon their precise arrangement.
Jane bore it all with gentle patience, smiling whenever her mother clasped her hands and declared that two weddings on the same day would be the triumph of Hertfordshire, if not in the entire kingdom.
Elizabeth endured it somewhat less gracefully.
“Lizzy, stand still—how can I judge the fall of that ribbon if you will not remain in one place?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed for the third time in as many minutes.
“I assure you, Mama, the ribbon will fall very respectably without my supervision,” Elizabeth replied, laughing faintly.
“Respectably! My dear child, this is not a matter of respectability but of perfection.”
Jane’s lips curved in quiet amusement, though she said nothing.
Elizabeth glanced toward the door.
“I believe Hill wished to consult me regarding the flowers,” she said lightly. “I shall return in a moment.”
Mrs. Bennet was already adjusting the lace at Jane’s sleeve and merely waved her away.
Elizabeth slipped from the room with relief.
The corridor beyond was blessedly quiet. She paused for a moment, drawing in a long breath as the muffled sounds of her mother’s bustling faded behind the closed door.
Peace, if only for a moment.
She had scarcely descended halfway down the staircase when she heard another door open behind her.
“Elizabeth.”
The voice was firm.
Elizabeth turned and saw Mary following from behind, her posture rigid and hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“Mary?” Elizabeth said cautiously.
“I must speak with you.” The middle Bennet daughter closed the distance between them.
“Mary, if this is about the wedding arrangements, I assure you—”
“It is not.”
There was something in Mary’s tone that made Elizabeth’s breath catch. She took a step backwards, stopping just in front of the door to their father’s bookroom.
“I can remain silent no longer, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth blinked. “What… what do you mean?”
Mary’s eyes burned with fervor. “You stand upon the brink of grievous sin,” she said in a low, intense voice. “And I would be guilty before God if I allowed you to proceed without warning.”
Elizabeth stared. “Mary—”
“You mean to bind yourself to a papist,” Mary continued, the word sharp upon her tongue. “To unite your life with a man who rejects the true church. To raise children in that corruption.”
Elizabeth glanced uneasily behind her towards the staircase that led to their individual bedrooms upstairs.
“Mary, this is neither the time nor the place for such—”
“You will burn in hell for it. You and your children.”
The words struck like a slap, and Elizabeth recoiled. She backed up a step, but Mary suddenly surged forward and seized her wrist.
The grip was surprisingly strong.
“You must not do this,” Mary said urgently. “You must repent. There is still time to turn away.”
“Mary,” Elizabeth said, struggling to keep her voice calm, “release me.”
“I will not,” Mary replied. “It is my duty to call you back before you damn yourself.”
Elizabeth tried to pull her hand free. “Mary, you are hurting me.”
“You are choosing hell over salvation!”
Elizabeth’s patience snapped. “That is quite enough.”
She attempted again to pull away, but Mary’s fingers tightened painfully around her wrist.
“You must listen!” Mary insisted, her voice rising. “Your soul is in peril and you treat it as though it were nothing!”
“Let me go.”
“Not until you swear you will reconsider!”
Elizabeth twisted sharply, trying to break the hold. “Mary, you are behaving ridiculously.”
“I will not stand by while my sister condemns herself!”
Elizabeth gave a small cry of frustration. “Release me!”
Mary’s expression hardened. “You will regret this,” she said fiercely. “You—and your husband—and the children you intend to raise in error. You will all burn for it!”
“Stop it!”
Elizabeth jerked her arm free at last.
In response, Mary’s arm flashed out.
The sound of the slap echoed sharply through the hallway.
Elizabeth shrieked and held a hand up to her stinging cheek. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, and she realized the blow had caused her to bite her lip.
The study door flew open.
Mr. Bennet stood in the doorway, his book still in one hand. “What on earth,” he demanded sharply, “is going on out here?”
“Mary says—” Elizabeth’s voice trembled slightly despite her effort to steady it. “She says that Darcy, myself, and our children shall all go to hell.”
Mr. Bennet’s gaze shifted slowly to Mary. His expression hardened. “I believe,” he said evenly, “that I made my instructions perfectly clear on this subject.”
Mary lifted her chin. “I fear God more than I fear my father,” she declared with fervor. “If I were to remain silent while my sister binds herself to error, I would answer for it before the judgment seat.”
“Mary—” Elizabeth began.
But Mary pressed on, her voice rising with conviction. “This marriage is wicked. That man will be the destruction of us all!”
“Fitzwilliam is not going to hell!” Elizabeth burst out.
“Silence!”
Mr. Bennet’s voice cracked through the hallway like a whip.
Both sisters fell instantly quiet.
Elizabeth had never heard that tone from him before.
He stood very still in the doorway of his study, the color draining slowly from his face.
Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost eerie, he said, “What did you call Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth blinked. “Fitzwilliam. It is his first name, after a relative.”
“Fitzwilliam.” Mr. Bennet’s eyes narrowed as he repeated the name. “As in the Earl of Matlock?”
Elizabeth frowned in confusion.
“And Catherine Fitzwilliam?” he pressed.
Elizabeth glanced briefly toward Mary, who looked as bewildered as she felt.
“In a way,” Elizabeth said slowly. “His mother’s mother was the daughter of one of the prior Fitzwilliam earls. And his stepmother, Lady Anne, is his late mother’s cousin. She is the younger sister of the current Earl of Matlock. She has another sister named Catherine.”
Mr. Bennet said nothing, his face now chalk white. As the silence stretched on, Elizabeth felt a ripple of unease crawl up her spine.
“What does it matter?” she asked.
“It… it does not. Never you mind.” He turned his gaze to his other daughter. “Mary, release your sister and come into my study.”
Mary hesitated. “Papa, I must protest—”
“Now.” The word fell like iron.
Elizabeth looked between them, alarm rising in her chest. “Papa, what is going on?”
Mr. Bennet did not look at her. “Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “go to your room and place a cool cloth on your face. It is beginning to swell.”
Elizabeth touched her cheek again and winced.
“Do not concern yourself,” he continued in the same controlled tone. “I shall ensure that Mary fully understands the consequences of her behavior.”
He stepped back into the study and beckoned Mary forward.
Elizabeth remained rooted where she stood.
Something felt wrong.
Deeply wrong.
Mr. Bennet noticed her hesitation. “Now, Elizabeth.”
The authority in his voice left no room for argument. Her eyes widened.
Then, as though forcing himself to soften it, he added, “Truly, you do not wish for your face to be swollen for your wedding day.”
Elizabeth swallowed.
Slowly, she turned and began climbing the stairs.
She could feel his gaze on her back the entire way.
When she reached the small landing around the corner, when she knew she could no longer be seen from below, she paused. Then, very deliberately, she marched in place a few times, allowing her shoes to sound upon the boards as though she were still ascending.
Her heart was pounding. Something about her father’s reaction had felt… wrong. She waited until she heard the firm click of the study door closing. Then she turned quietly, descended the stairs once more, and slipped into the small water closet beside the study.
The wall there was thin.
Elizabeth pressed her ear against it, scarcely daring to breathe.
Inside the study, Mary’s voice rose at once. “Papa, I cannot remain silent when—”
“I am not interested,” Mr. Bennet interrupted sharply, “in sermons about fire and brimstone.”
Mary fell quiet.
“I have heard quite enough this morning about heresy and damnation to last me the remainder of the year,” he continued. “What I am interested in is your behavior.”
“My behavior?”
“Yes. Your behavior. You struck your sister.”
Mary’s voice stiffened. “I acted in righteous correction.”
“You acted,” Mr. Bennet said coldly, “with violence in my house.”
There was a pause. Then he added, more quietly, “That was not acceptable.”
Mary seemed to draw breath to defend herself again.
“But,” Mr. Bennet continued, “in one particular point, I find that I agree with you.”
Elizabeth’s heart lurched.
There was a long silence in the study.
“At last,” Mary said reverently. “I prayed you would understand.”
“You misunderstand me already,” Mr. Bennet replied flatly. “My objection has nothing whatever to do with religion.”
“Then… why?” Mary asked, her voice sounding as startled as Elizabeth felt.
“That does not concern you.”
“But Papa—”
“All I require,” Mr. Bennet said firmly, “is your assistance.”
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face.
“We cannot allow this wedding to proceed.”
The words seemed to ring in her ears.
Mary spoke again, cautiously now. “But the settlements have been signed. The license has been purchased.”
“Yes,” Mr. Bennet said grimly. “And that, unfortunately, limits my options considerably. Particularly as your mother would have my head if she suspected the least interference.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“Be quiet, child, and let me think.”
The room fell silent.
Elizabeth’s thoughts whirled in her head like a storm. Why?