Chapter 3
Breakfast Parlor
Longbourn
Several Hours Earlier
Jane Bennet was usually blessed with a healthy appetite, but this morning, her stomach was twisting anxiously, so much so that all she could do was drink tea and nibble toast.
When she had entered the room, she was surprised and disheartened to find herself alone.
She was accustomed to coming down to breakfast and finding her next younger sister with a half-empty plate of toast and eggs and ham and her cup of tea nearly gone, having already been at her repast for some several minutes.
Her absence this morning was concerning, if understandable.
It appeared that, in light of the unpleasantness the previous evening, Elizabeth was choosing to remain in her room for as long as feasibly possible.
Jane did not blame her. Her heart had urged her to peek into Lizzy's room before coming downstairs and offer words of comfort to her beleaguered sister.
But what could she say? What could she do?
What trite platitude could she produce to make Elizabeth's lot easier to bear?
How could Jane make such a dire situation better?
Their parents were so rarely united in any purpose, and it was horrifying that this was such a cruel one.
Surely it must be obvious to anyone who knew Lizzy and had met Mr. Collins even once that such a marriage would be doomed to misery.
Lizzy was far too clever to ever be content as the wife of such a pontificating, unintelligent man, despite the eventual promise of being mistress of Longbourn.
Jane could understand her mother's point of view.
The entail had, for many years, loomed large in the back of the collective minds of all the Bennet ladies, a dormant but ever-present threat.
Mrs. Bennet felt it more keenly than did her daughters, who at least had the benefit of the irrepressible optimism of youth, but none of them, except perhaps Lydia, ever truly forgot about it.
For one of the Bennet daughters to marry the heir of Longbourn would, in the abstract, be the best possible solution to a terrifying situation.
The problem lay in real life not being abstract, and the heir of Longbourn being a tiresome, stupid sort of man, and the Bennet parents trying to force their most intelligent daughter into marriage with him.
Bad enough for Mrs. Bennet's fear of losing her home to lead her into pressuring Lizzy, but it was their father who grieved Jane's heart the most. She had always been entirely sensible of the reverence due to his position, and she had held him in honor and affection, but she could no longer be blind to his faults.
As the girls had grown up, Mr. Bennet had never hidden his marked preference for his second daughter.
Of all her sisters, she had most inherited his intellect, and he had not hesitated to make sport of his wife or two youngest daughters, all of whom he openly considered to be lightminded and senseless.
Indeed, his sharp wit had always bothered Jane and Elizabeth far more than it had its targets.
Mrs. Bennet was inclined to dismiss such sallies as teasing, and Lydia cared nothing for her father's low opinion of her as long as she had her pin money, and ribbons, and balls.
As for Kitty, if she minded her father's sarcasm, she rarely gave any sign of it.
So they had all rubbed along tolerably well until only a few years ago.
Then Mr. Bennet's sharp tongue had begun to be turned on his previously favored daughter almost as much as upon the frivolous wife whom he held in such deep contempt.
The worst barbs had always passed right by Mrs. Bennet, who had never been inclined to pay them much heed, but Jane, observing the increasing hurt in her younger sister, knew that each one aimed Elizabeth's way landed true.
Why had that changed, Jane wondered now.
What had happened to turn their father against Lizzy?
She took a sip of tea, casting her mind back through uncomfortable memories.
Mr. Bennet had always been so proud of his Lizzy and her cleverness, the way she had learned from him and kept up to him intellectually in ways that her sisters could not.
He had even been proud the first time Elizabeth had beaten him in chess.
Then it had happened again and again, and then with more regularity, and his pleasure in their games and in his daughter's mental prowess had waned concurrently.
It had been about two years ago, Jane remembered.
His caustic comments had greeted Elizabeth's victories in chess, initially, and then, as her understanding of life and the world continued to grow, his set-downs and verbal barbs had become more common.
Once she was winning their games more often than she was losing, he could no longer be prevailed upon to play her.
For too long had Mr. Bennet been uncontested and acknowledged in his role as the most intelligent member of the family.
He was jealous of Lizzy, Jane realized, and found herself stunned and saddened by this unwelcome epiphany.
Elizabeth was a threat to his position, his very self-image, and was not to be borne any longer, even if Elizabeth's departure came at the cost of her happiness.
To Mr. Bennet, the visit of his heir and Mr. Collins's offer to marry Elizabeth was a windfall he would not ignore.
Here was a chance to get his unsettlingly bright daughter out of the house and harmlessly away, leaving Mr. Bennet secure once more in his cleverness and wit and knowledge.
It did not weigh with him that his heir was a loquacious fool and that Elizabeth would find marriage to him an unbearable grinding agony.
He had decreed that she would marry Mr. Collins and intended to see it done.
The problem was, his intelligence was not the only thing he had passed on to his second daughter.
Elizabeth, too, had a strong will, and plenty of stubbornness when she felt the situation called for it.
The question of her marriage and her future was certainly an issue that called for the exertion of her own will, and Jane concurred wholeheartedly.
Mr. Bennet, however, was not taking this flare of obstinacy well.
The previous evening had been a nightmare, as he had paced the drawing room floor, ranting about disobedient, disrespectful, ungrateful daughters who were too foolish to realize their own good fortune.
Dark and meaningful threats had been made about a long disused attic room and a solid lock and fine dinners being taken for granted and a diet of bread and water being instituted until good sense was restored.
Elizabeth had largely managed to maintain her equanimity through it all, and Jane had concealed her horror and grief and alarm beneath a mask of blank serenity, but the very recollection made her flinch.
Surely their father would not go to such lengths as those, whatever his temper led him to say in an overwrought moment.
The door opened, and Jane jerked nervously. A short time later, the twisting in her stomach transformed into genuine nausea as Mr. Bennet stalked into the room, his face red with fury, with a piece of paper clutched in his right hand.
“Do you know anything about this, Jane?” he barked.
She froze in alarm and said, “About what, sir?”
He threw the paper down in front of her. “Read it.”
She reached out with trembling hands, took the paper, and lifted it to catch the light from the window behind her.
My dear family,
I have left for London. Please do not search for me.
Love,
Elizabeth
Her throat tightened so much that for a moment she could not breathe. She forced herself to straighten her back, to draw in life-giving air, even as she lifted a horrified face on her father.
“I see you know nothing about it,” he said, his expression a trifle calmer. “I thought she would tell you, at least, of her plan to flee.”
Jane’s eyes filled with tears, and she said, “I know nothing at all. Oh Father, where can she be?”
“I suspect she is with the Gardiners,” her father said coolly.
“Oh! Oh, yes, that is … that must be where she is. Will you, that is, are you going to…?”
“Leave for London and search for her?” Mr. Bennet finished. “Of course I am. I will not allow her to defy me in such a way. She is engaged to Mr. Collins, and she will marry him.”
“But Father,” Jane said nervously, “I fear that…”
She trailed off as the Bennet patriarch lifted a restraining hand, his eyes angry again.
“Tell your mother and Mr. Collins that Elizabeth and I were summoned urgently to Town. We will return tomorrow.”
Jane, to her considerable shame, found herself unable to speak.
She did not like lying, but then again, it would be catastrophic if rumors of Elizabeth’s flight spread throughout the neighborhood.
The entire family would suffer under the shame of vicious gossip, and Mr. Collins, oaf that he was, would do nothing to assuage the whispers.
No, it was best that no one knew what truly was happening.
***
Half Moon Street
London
Two Hours After Noon
To a young, gently bred lady whose sensibilities had recently undergone the shock of being subjected to a parlor in a common public house, the simple but elegant taste exhibited in the dining room of the small house in Half Moon Street was a balm.
From the lace doily on the side table, to the white porcelain vase with its bouquet of dried roses, to the fine little carvings on the oak table, it was obvious that someone with an impeccable eye for beauty had furnished and decorated the room.
Elizabeth was seated near to the fire. The grate was not terribly large but was quite enough to warm the entire room, and she was deeply grateful for the heat after the bone-deep chill of the day.
A pot of tea sat near at hand, half empty, alongside a plate of scones in the same condition, while clotted cream and jam completed the service.
The light, familiar repast had done much to restore Elizabeth’s equilibrium, though now her mind had leisure to turn to her own audacity at being here.
Elizabeth and Darcy had arrived at the house to a courteous welcome from the butler, who had explained that his mistress had gone out earlier to visit one of the bookstores a few streets away.
Mrs. Gregson would be back soon, they were assured, and would they care for tea in the meantime?
They would, Darcy had affirmed, and accordingly they had been shown into the dining room.
Scarcely had they sat down at the table when there were the sounds of Mrs. Gregson returning home.
Darcy had cordially invited Elizabeth to eat, smiled at her reassuringly, rose, and exited the room to find and speak to his great-aunt.
He had left the door slightly ajar as he went, and the door of the adjacent sitting or drawing room must also be somewhat open, for Elizabeth could hear indistinct voices.
She recognized Darcy’s deep voice, and the higher one, slightly tremulous with age, must be that of his great-aunt.
The filling of the hollowness in her belly had left room for Elizabeth’s uncertainty to rise again.
It was audacious indeed to foist herself, or at least let Darcy foist her onto a perfect stranger, with the understanding that she would be a companion to the older lady for perhaps several months.
Certainly, that sounded a much better option for her life than to hide in a boarding house of dubious quality until she was of age, but her own presumption left Elizabeth aghast and uneasy.
She could hardly imagine what precisely Mrs. Gregson must think of her.
The door opened, and an older lady of some seventy years, with white hair and brown eyes, and dressed in a woolen green gown, entered the room with Mr. Darcy at her heels.