Chapter 45
Mama Bear
Anxious to turn to another topic, and a little light-headed, Elizabeth resolved to get all the awkwardness with her father out of the way once and for all.
“Father, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course!”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “You strongly suggested I am somewhat—or perhaps downright—manipulative.”
“Here we have a problem with language. The word manipulative is considered derogatory, but it should not be.”
“How so? I have never heard it used any other way.”
Bennet took another careful sip of his brandy, which was decidedly not French, and absolutely not smuggled.
“I do not know how much the word is used, but its general meaning applies to women who are forceful, but subtle about it. Apply the same quality to a man, and it is called leadership. I am not one of those to whom the word is necessarily negative. I believe you are, in fact something of, a leader. If some mean to call that manipulative, I suggest they are mostly trying to assuage their own deficiencies.”
“Their own deficiencies, eh? For example—entirely hypothetical, of course—a parent is supposed to manipulate his children, to make them good citizens by smoothing down their worst characteristics and teaching them to be better. Should one of these children chafe under the bit, and perhaps begin to lead better than he does, he might become angry at being exposed or having his proper role usurped.”
Bennet leaned his head back and laughed as Elizabeth had not heard him laugh in years. He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, muttering, “Own deficiencies… own deficiencies, indeed. I must say, you are a treasure, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth chuckled with him. He was plainly not angry, and perhaps this new adult relationship might begin better than expected.
“Now that we have that out of the way, let me ask another question. Was I the manipulee—is that even a word—instead of the manipulator? Did you guide this discussion towards a preordained goal?”
“A fair question… fair indeed! I confess I wish I had manipulated you, for it would give me a right to boast of my cleverness, even if only in my own head. Alas, it was an honest discussion. I had no notion where it would lead when it started, and the conclusion surprised me.”
Elizabeth nodded, slightly light-headed from the brandy.
“Are you sanguine about my efforts?”
“Of course! The results speak for themselves, though we might want to discuss what happens next!”
“What happens next?”
Bennet chuckled, regarded his empty brandy glass wistfully, and set it on the desk.
“Mrs Jenkinson was more happenstance than design, but all great leaders depend on luck. The best of them make their own. Do you think she could teach your Miss de Bourgh a thing or two?”
“If she can teach Lydia, she could teach a mule. I see no reason Anne should be so difficult. She is not stupid.”
“Except that Miss de Bourgh has already had the woman in her house for years, perhaps decades, yet she is unaccomplished.”
“That was because she did not try!”
“Very well, let us assume she is in a new situation, with a newfound burst of ambition. For the moment, let us hope for the best.”
Elizabeth nodded dubiously.
He changed tack. “At her present level of resilience, do you honestly think she is a match for your mother’s wedding planning?”
“How do you know about that?”
Bennet chuckled and told her to take another small sip while he crossed to another cabinet on the wall and opened a door. Voices drifted from within—very faint, but clear enough if one kept quiet and listened closely.
Anne had just said something, to which Lydia replied, “La, Anne, you would not have believed what happened with Mr Wickham. What a stroke this will be for poor Jane, who would willingly have gone through the world without believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind as was here collected in one individual.”
Bennet closed the door, put his finger to his lips, and whispered, “Woman grown, Elizabeth.”
“I wish you would stop saying that.”
“And I wish you had stopped growing about a year after I handed you that mathematics book. That was the best time of my life. You were quite a fireball. I was prodigiously proud of you, and frustrated that I could not say so, lest I invoke Miss Lucas’ ire.”
Elizabeth shook her head sharply and started to speak, but he forestalled her.
“No need to devise a witty reply. Things are as they should be, though I have another topic to discuss.”
“I do as well. It is high time we did something about Mr Wickham. I have learnt some things about him that make it imperative that someone act.”
“Popular fellow, this Wickham. Everybody wants a piece of him. Lydia wanted her pound of flesh. Your Mr Darcy wanted his chance to challenge him. Now you line up for your turn. I presume you have not been acquainted with the reason it is impossible for you to affect him, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“He is beyond correction, I fear. He is dead.”
Shock gripped Elizabeth, though not as much as it might have a few weeks earlier. “How?”
“It is quite a story. You see, he first tried his hand at flirting with Lydia, and she gave him a right good set-down… publicly. For a moment I thought I was seeing you on one of your more violent tirades. She went on for some time about debts, flirtations, and so forth. It was glorious, I must admit.”
Elizabeth stared, caught between shock, amusement, and consternation. The brandy was not helping her thinking, but she was not convinced it hurt either.
“I presume Lydia did not kill him?”
“No, but he gave her the ‘Et tu, Brute’ look; that was the start of his downfall. After that, the merchants started checking his debts and calling them in. He could not pay, of course, so Colonel Forster garnished his wages and put him on double duty. The ladies all gave him a wide berth, so he started attempting more aggressive methods, culminating in an attempt to steal a kiss from Prudence Brown.”
“Prudence Brown! Had he no sense of self-preservation at all?”
“Apparently not! With a farrier for a father and 2 brothers, she is not one to be trifled with. She dispatched him with a strategically placed knee, which is—”
He broke off, his embarrassment plain.
“Woman grown, remember. She kicked him in a vulnerable area between the legs, which I am informed hurts like the dickens.”
“This business of allowing children to grow up takes some getting used to. Mary and Jane were easy. They left almost as soon as it became difficult.”
Elizabeth tried to see the humour, rather than walking back to the parlour just to get her fan to smack him on the forehead with.
“The man had a death wish. He tried to extort money from Mr Brown, claiming he would hurt her reputation by spreading tales.”
Elizabeth’s annoyance vanished; she leaned forward.
“You know Old Man Mason’s grey stallion?”
“Of course. He is infamously the most ill-tempered horse in the world, or at least England. I have no idea why he has not been put down yet.”
“You do not know Old Man Mason. He was called Old Man Mason when I was a boy, and most think he will live forever. The horse matches his temperament.”
“So?”
“Mr Brown is a very skilled farrier—the best there ever was—but I imagine Wickham’s words made him lose his concentration for a moment, what with the subject being so upsetting.
The old horse somehow escaped his halter and, in an unlucky accident, reared up and came down with his hoof on Wickham’s head. ”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. “Unlucky accident?”
“What else could it be? You cannot believe he would do it deliberately?”
“Of course not!”
“The magistrate called it death by misadventure. He even said it without muttering good riddance under his breath. Seems Wickham was fishing in more than one stream.”
Elizabeth shook her head. If the brandy had not killed her yet, she might have a taste more.
Bennet nodded. “One lesson, Elizabeth. In this new life you are embarking on, there may be times when you need spirits. You might like it. You might hate it. You might love it like Mr Hurst, though that seems unlikely. Remember your mother at a party from time to time. Learn your tolerance with someone you trust; know your limits, and do not exceed them in public. Save your excesses for home.”
“Is that what you would tell a son?”
“No, by your age, a son would have plundered my liquor cabinet too many times to count, and there would not be a thing in the world I could tell him about it, even in the unlikely event he listened to me. Boys are particularly hard-headed creatures. Even and Cecil were not unique.”
Elizabeth laughed, unsure if it was the right sentiment.
“Two days later, your Mr Darcy came looking for him.”
“I see. He must have been disappointed.”
Bennet noticed—of course he did—that she had given up all pretence of denying he was her Mr Darcy, but there was no telling if that was because she was bored with the game or starting to think it was not so unlikely after all.
“I think he was conflicted. It must have been sad to lose a childhood friend his father liked a great deal, regardless of how he turned out. He must have been relieved he would not have to send him to debtors’ prison or get him shipped off to France to take his chances with the army.
He must have been disappointed that he could not perform one noble action to impress his ladylove. ”
Elizabeth let the last bit of teasing slide by; it was not worth the effort of contradiction.
“In the end, he compromised. He settled some of Wickham’s debts.
The honest merchants received part payment, not because he could not afford to make them whole, but because he thought they should own at least some of their naivety to teach them caution.
Of course, the money loaned to finance drunken revelries in the tavern remained unpaid, as did his gambling debts. Then—”
“Do not get missish on me now, Father.”
“He convinced two local girls to give up their virtue, with the expected result.”