Chapter 10
The remainder of the afternoon brought no reprieve. If anything, the city hummed with a renewed appetite for the Bennets’ disgrace.
Jane endured it with her usual gentleness, but the strain showed in small, betraying ways: the hesitation before she spoke, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, and the manner in which her smile appeared to cost her more effort than before.
“It will pass,” Jane placated when Elizabeth burst into their shared sitting room with cheeks flushed and temper near boiling. “These things always do.”
Elizabeth stopped short. “If by ‘pass’ you mean ‘ruin us entirely before it grows tiresome,’ then, yes. I am sure it shall pass very quickly.”
Jane looked at her with quiet reproach. “Lizzie,” she said softly.
“I beg your pardon,” Elizabeth said, instantly repentant. She had not meant to wound her sister. “I do not mean to rail at you. It is only that this is intolerable.”
The word did not begin to cover it.
“I know you meant no harm,” Jane said, quick as ever to find forgiveness.
Elizabeth pressed a palm to her forehead and sighed. “If we stay inside for the remainder of our lives, I shall go mad. Come walking with me.”
Jane reluctantly agreed. Rather than sit inside ruminating on thoughts that circled one another into a tangle of worry and frustration, the Bennet sisters ventured out to the shops.
To remain hidden felt too much like surrender, yet each step into the public eye seemed to confirm the depth of their peril.
A formerly cordial acquaintance crossed the street rather than acknowledge them.
A matron who had once praised Jane’s manners now inclined her head with stiff reluctance.
Elizabeth caught fragments of conversation as they passed.
Half-whispered conjectures and pointed laughter trailed on the air behind them.
“Poor Mr Bingley…”
“…so artful, the whole family…”
“…one cannot be too cautious…”
Elizabeth felt as though she were walking through a hall of mirrors, every surface reflecting a distorted version of herself and her sister. The worst of it was not the cruelty, but the certainty with which others pronounced judgment on matters they could not possibly understand.
Jane bore it all in silence, but when they returned home, her composure faltered.
“I should not have come to London at all,” she said, sitting heavily upon the sofa. “If my presence only harms those I care for, then perhaps a retreat is best, as Miss Bingley once advised.”
Elizabeth crossed the room at once and sat beside her. “Do not say such a thing. You are not to blame for the malice of others. And I think it would be foolish to take the advice of Caroline Bingley.”
Jane attempted a smile. “I fear malice is stronger than innocence.”
Elizabeth could not argue with that.
The Gardiners, too, felt the tremor of public opinion. After supper, when the children were put to bed, they came to speak with Elizabeth and Jane, their concern written plainly upon their faces.
Mrs Gardiner embraced them both with affectionate warmth, but her brow was knit with worry. “My darling girls.”
Elizabeth braced herself.
“There is no doubt,” Mr Gardiner began, “that the present situation is delicate. Your good name is dear to us, and we would never think of withdrawing our support. Yet we must consider what arrangement might best preserve your comfort and your future.”
Jane listened with perfect civility, but Elizabeth saw her hands tighten in her lap.
Mrs Gardiner spoke then, her voice full of regret. “You know how fondly we cherish you both. Still, there are those who might misconstrue your staying with us in town. It could invite further speculation. We wonder whether a quieter situation might be kinder, at least for the present.”
Elizabeth understood at once what was being suggested. Exile in all but name.
Her first instinct was to bristle. “You mean we should remove ourselves like guilty parties, as though we had anything to hide?” She fought for calm, not wanting to direct her ire at the people whom she loved and who had supported them thus far.
“No, my dear,” Mrs Gardiner said quickly.
“Not in guilt, but in prudence. We would spare you further unkindness if we could. These rumours are reluctant to fade. The author of such gossip has shown themselves to be determined to keep you at the forefront of their speculations. We only suggest that removing yourselves from their influence might spare you further sorrow. The distraction we sought to offer to cheer you, Jane, has not unfolded as we had hoped. For that, I am deeply sorry, my dear girl.”
Jane looked at Elizabeth with gentle appeal.
“They mean it kindly,” she murmured to Elizabeth, tempering her sister’s offense.
She turned to her aunt and uncle, who had shown her utmost compassion and whom she held in such high regard.
“It is no fault of yours that we have been the subjects of this gossip. It is I who should apologise for dragging you into so distasteful a situation.”
Elizabeth drew a slow breath. The injustice of the entire situation pressed upon her chest until it ached.
The Gardiners spoke out of affection. Their concern was genuine, and their hesitation born not of a doubt in Elizabeth or Jane, but of fear for their welfare in a world so eager to wound.
Still, the suggestion felt like a quiet admission that the tide of opinion had turned too strongly against them to resist. “Of course,” Elizabeth said with careful restraint, “we shall consider whatever you believe best.”
After they had gone, Elizabeth paced the length of the room, unable to remain still.
“They are preparing to give us up,” she said bitterly.
Jane rose and took her hand. “Lizzie, they are trying to protect us.”
“From what?” Elizabeth demanded. “From lies and gossip? Must we surrender every inch of our dignity because someone chose to invent a story?”
Jane’s expression turned sad. “We must live in the world as it is, not as we wish it to be. We should spare them from further harm.”
Elizabeth had no answer for that.
∞∞∞
That night, sleep was impossible. As she lay awake, Elizabeth felt the weight of their situation settle heavily on her.
The rumours had multiplied faster than they could be dispelled.
She felt cornered, like a rabbit hiding in its warren, surrounded by foxes and with no allies to call upon.
She had not yet felt the chill of genuine fear thus far, but as she lay awake, watching the candle flame flicker on her nightstand, the icy dread of panic coursed through her.
How much easier it would have been if she only needed to fear the embarrassment brought about by such rumours!
But if her unseen adversary won the day, humiliation would be the least of her problems. Elizabeth’s heart raced as she thought of the irreversible consequences of public disgrace and the impact it would have upon her family.
If she and Jane saw their reputations destroyed, what hope could their younger sisters have?
Elizabeth stared at the ceiling of her bedchamber in the dark, her mind looping over the same ground of disaster and consequences. Her ruin did not feel dramatic, as she had imagined it would. It was a gradual decline, an inevitable fall, and that made it all the more terrifying.