Speak No Evil （First Person） #3
“Charlotte… Sisters… Aunt… Mr Collins… In the morning, we need to separate and talk to every merchant in town. Let us find out if he has run up debts. A man like that could hardly resist. Let us see how much we have to work with. We need ￡20 to put him in debtor’s prison, so we will need at least ￡30 to ensure he goes.
Let us see how close we come to the mark.
We can pool our pin money to buy the vowels, and then justice will be in our hands. ”
I timidly asked, “If you will not have Mr Darcy, why not invoke your father or Sir William?”
“He targeted me, Mr Collins! He targeted me specifically! He saw a weak, blind girl and set about seducing me within a minute of meeting. He will be seducing every weak or thoughtless girl he finds, and I am certain I am not the first. We must quietly warn the fathers of the village to be on guard. I truly believe misfortune will befall us around this man. He must learn he targeted the wrong woman! I shall not sit by meekly and leave it to the men to deal with the miscreant. They had their chance.”
Miss Elizabeth thought a moment more. “Mr Collins, might you write to your Lady Catherine and see if she has any good advice? She may know of the man and be able to find debts he has run up in other counties, but pray do it quickly. With a man like that, there is not a moment to lose.”
I agreed that such sage advice should be followed with alacrity and set off to pen the missive straightaway while two of the sisters went in search of an express rider.
I was not comfortable omitting her father from the operation, as that seemed improper, but eventually decided I would follow my cousins’ counsel.
Even if that turned out to be improper in the end, I would have guidance from my patroness soon enough.
The very next morning, we descended upon the village, speaking with every shopkeeper.
Miss Elizabeth talked to those who might be recalcitrant, and the rest of us went to those they knew best. I naturally accompanied Miss Mary, much to our mutual delight; it was a pleasure seeing her work with an important outside her sisters’ shadow but part of a greater good.
I must confess something here and now. I do not have the strength of character my cousins possess in abundance, and such was my nervousness with the endeavour that I entirely inappropriately asked for Miss Mary’s hand between two shops, right in the middle of the street.
I wallowed in mortification about the brevity of the proposal, the lack of heartfelt words, the inappropriate location, and the bad timing; my list of errors grew longer by the moment.
She put her hand on my arm and said, “Of course I accept, silly!”
She attached herself more firmly to my arm. I stood up taller and straighter, I liked to think, and we returned to Mrs Phillips’ house to give her our vowels for the day, and immediately left for Longbourn to obtain consent from her father, which was given with alacrity.
It only took two days to accumulate ￡18 worth of debts.
Miss Elizabeth needed ￡20, and judged we should get up to at least ￡30 to ensure he could not just pay his way out.
On a hunch from my Mary, Miss Lydia, bold as brass, asked Lt Sanderson about debts of honour, and there we came to a whole new story.
He had at least ￡40 right there, and we believed our plan would succeed.
We sat calmly in the parlour, planning to engage Sir William at the earliest opportunity, when the sound of a carriage reached us from the drive.
I was most gratified—most gratified indeed—to see my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, alight from the coach and enter the room with the bearing of a queen.
She fixed her gaze upon my cousin. “You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“I am, your ladyship.”
“Come, sit with me. We have much to discuss.”
The great lady, displaying all that sense and decorum for which she is most celebrated, took Miss Elizabeth by the arm.
She steered her to a sofa where they might have ample room to converse, offering polite directions all the while.
Miss Elizabeth clearly appreciated the courtesy of being led about her own parlour, and the discussion began in earnest. None in the room were excluded, yet Miss Elizabeth received Lady Catherine’s particular attention, for I had been quite clear in my missive to identify the ringleader of our little band.
Events following Lady Catherine’s appearance proved anticlimactic.
Sir William received the purchased vowels—debts of both tradesmen and honour.
Mr Wickham could not pay. He was stripped of his uniform and shackled to a cart.
The following day, we shared the pleasure of the Meryton residents in witnessing his removal in chains to meet his fate.
It was some time before we learned, through Lady Catherine, that His Majesty’s army routinely removed soldiers on their way to debtors’ prison, transferring them to a high-risk regiment on the continent to be tamed or killed.
The Prince Regent, in his infinite wisdom, considered that instead of paying the cost of an unknown farm boy to be killed fighting Napoleon, and the cost of maintaining a reprobate in prison, he might economise by swapping the latter for the former.
Thus, several years later, we learned that Mr George Wickham had ended his career face down in the mud in Portugal with a bullet in his back, fleeing his first battle; and one more potential conscript had a chance to live a good life.
The week preceding the Netherfield ball saw Lady Catherine settled in a guest room at Longbourn as though she had lived there all her life.
She engaged everyone in the house, offering sage advice to all and sundry, but devoted the majority of her time to Miss Elizabeth, whom she found uncommonly sensible and much to her liking.
She naturally conversed with my Mary, finding much to approve there as well, and our nuptials were scheduled for six weeks hence, much to Mrs Bennet’s delight.
Lady Catherine declined Mr Bingley’s kind invitation to the ball, indicating a wish to return to her daughter Anne a day or so beforehand.
Mr Bennet intended to announce my engagement to Miss Mary at the upcoming ball.
All looked forward to the excitement, with the odd and inexplicable exception of the two eldest Bennet sisters, who appeared more troubled than anything.