Chapter 2 If I Had a Hammer
“I WILL NOT MARRY THAT MAN!”
The statement, shouted loud enough to be heard throughout the house, caused Elizabeth Bennet’s two youngest sisters to giggle, her eldest sister to frown ferociously, her middle sister to open her mouth for some platitudes, and her mother to screech like a banshee.
Equally determined, Mrs Bennet stridently screamed back, “You will marry him, you ungrateful child! He has ten thousand a year and likely more. You will save your entire family. It is your duty, and you will do it if I need to drag you to the alter bound and gagged. Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces. Make no mistake, missy… you will marry him. The die is cast.”
Elizabeth spoke in a low and menacing voice with a hard stare. “I will not!”
“You will! What do you think, Lizzy, that you get to pick and choose? Do you think we can keep you forever? You are lucky I am looking out for you, as you are quite the spinster in the making, and likely to end up starving in the hedgerows with Charlotte Lucas.”
Elizabeth marched up to the offending matron, stood toe to toe and stared eye to eye.
“If I am doomed, which I strongly dispute, it is your fault.
How many suitors have been warned off by a loud and vulgar mother?
How many local boys can afford to support five extra mouths?
John Lucas is the best prospect in this village, and he can barely support Charlotte, let alone another gaggle of undowered daughters.
“You are the one that has prevented Jane and I from attaching tradesmen in town. You are the one that spends every farthing on fripperies and your own comforts instead of things that might attract a husband. You are the one that disparages three-fifths of your daughters’ appearances to everyone who will listen, and many who will not.
You are the one that thinks Jane must catch a rich husband, instead of a good one.
You are the one that has two of your daughters out when they should be in the schoolroom or chained up in the yard.
“Your husband is the one that did not take you in hand to teach you some sense. Your husband has refused to control your offspring and your spending. The pair of you are the ones that did not save a penny for your daughter’s education or advancement.
“Now you expect me to pay for your laziness for the rest of my life. No, I repeat. I. will. not. do. it! Even if that cretin does return from town to ask for my hand, which after a week, seems increasingly unlikely.”
By that point, Elizabeth was practically spitting at her mother, while Mrs Bennet looked like she was winding herself up for a scorching reply.
Elizabeth stepped back and threw her last barb. “Face it, Mother! You played a poor hand very badly, and our current pitiable state is entirely your own doing.”
“You will CEASE this incessant caterwauling at once!”
The entire house went silent in shock, as Mr Bennet had not yelled with such force even once in living memory.
As everyone paused, the patriarch continued, “Elizabeth, you will attend me in my library. Your mother is right for once. You will marry him. If he does not come voluntarily, I will drag him back. The rest of you shall remain silent, or better yet, absent!”
Being absent from the house was not easily done, since the Bennets were being mildly shunned by Meryton society while it waited to see what would happen.
Since most of the denizens of the village assumed Mr Darcy would eventually be brought to the point, the ostracization was not in full effect just yet.
Mrs Bennet had doubled down on her large bet by telling all and sundry that she fully expected both Mr Darcy to return with an offer for her daughter Lizzy, and Mr Bingley to return for Jane as well.
Nobody believed the latter, and almost nobody believed the former, but they were willing to give it a few more days to see.
The entire debacle was entertaining if nothing else.
Elizabeth said, “I repeat myself, Father. I will not marry that man. I will not spend the rest of my life paying for my parents’ indolence. The gossip will die down eventually if we quit throwing fuel on the fire.”
“You will, but—”
Whatever Mr Bennet was planning to say was interrupted by the parlour door opening.
Mrs Hill stepped in gingerly. She was not afraid per-se, since anyone who survived a decade of Fanny Bennet had to be resilient.
That said, she wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible so she would have enough time to prepare for whatever self-induced crisis would follow.
She handed the patriarch a card. “Mr Darcy to see Mr Bennet.”
Bennet glanced at the card and snapped at his family. “You will all cease this nattering at once! I can only hope he did not hear the last five minutes of yelling and screeching, though that amounts to hoping he is stone deaf.”
Mrs Hill said, “I saw him alight and come in, sir. He looks terribly angry, but I do not believe he heard anything out of the ordinary. It is down one flight and quite a distance to the front door, even for—”
With that, she quit while she was well enough ahead, glancing at Elizabeth and Mrs Bennet, neither of whom had been quiet or subtle in their recriminations.
Mr Bennet said, “Thank you, Hill. I have always lamented the lack of sensible people in this house, but I was just looking in the wrong place.”
Hill gave a small nod. “Shall I see him to the library, sir?”
“Yes, pray do. As to the rest of you—” and he looked around at his brood with an intense stare.
“Elizabeth, you will wait in the white parlour until I ring for you. Keep in mind that you are still my daughter and subject to my rules, like them or not. The rest of you are not to leave this room until I return.”
With a hard stare at his wife, followed by another at his offspring, ending with a stern warning complete with finger wag at Elizabeth, he left to meet his future son-in-law.
Half an hour later, Elizabeth was sitting nervously fingering the bruise on her arm, shaking in trepidation and fear.
She believed Mr Darcy had hold of her arm when her mother started caterwauling, or perhaps he grabbed her reflexively.
Either way, he ended up squeezing hard enough to raise a rather nasty bruise.
Mr Bennet did not know about the incident, but Elizabeth had seen a farmer’s wife beat black and blue by her husband, ending with a broken arm, when she was twelve years old.
The image haunted her for months. The farmer was not prosecuted for the assault, and was not even overly chastised by local society, as he was considered within his rights.
Later, the young lady had overheard a discussion about the legal aspects of such abuse.
Apparently, the rule of thumb was that a man could beat his wife as much as he chose, so long as the rod was no larger than his thumb and he did not kill her.
She had no idea if that were true or an old tale, but the fact that someone could even suppose such a thing was terrible enough.
Now, the ‘gentleman’ her parents proposed as husband could raise a bruise that was still present a week later without even thinking about it.
What would happen if he became truly angry, or decided to use a rod or fists?
She had no reason to believe he acted that way ordinarily, but little evidence against the thesis either.
The bruise could easily be an accident, caused by the shock of Mrs Bennet’s subterfuge or just the way the man acted normally.
Perhaps Mr Wickham was right, and Mr Darcy was a proud and cruel man.
If true, it would explain nearly everything she had ever seen.
Elizabeth had no idea if that was to be her lot, but she was also in no hurry to find out.
The half-hour of sitting alone in the dismal parlour, waiting for the two men who had control of her life to finish their conference, shook her to the bone.
She could hear the shouting even through the thick library door, which was certainly a bad sign.
She was only glad Mr Bennet had kept the rest of the family upstairs where they were not likely to hear.
She only hoped her father had been equally careful with the servants, not that she expected to escape the gossip anyway.
Whatever her prospective groom and her father were arguing about was quite violent, as she had now heard all the shouts that gentleman had ever said in her life in a single half-hour.
There seemed a vigorous dispute about something, but Elizabeth had no idea what.
She startled out of worrying her bottom lip and chewing her nails when the library door slammed open. Elizabeth stared up to see Mr Darcy striding out of the room with an even fiercer than usual scowl and her father trailing behind matching him frown for frown.
Mr Darcy and her father bowed to each other like two men made of stone, and Mr Bennet said, “Join me now, Elizabeth. First though, perhaps, Mr Darcy would like a moment with you.”
Mr Bennet turned and walked back to the library, while Elizabeth came into the hall. She nervously curtsied but had no idea why, nor any concept of what to say.
Mr Darcy nodded his head so slightly it was barely detectable, then spoke in a threatening whisper that was more frightening than shouting would have been. “You win this round, Miss Bennet. Good luck with the next!”
Elizabeth gasped, realising that her proposed husband thought that she was a participant in the debacle.
She shouted angrily, “Mr Darcy, I was not a part of—” but by that time, she was talking to empty air, as the gentleman had turned abruptly before she started speaking and was already halfway through the door.
He turned at the last moment and spoke menacingly. “Never deny it again, Miss Bennet. I may be in a family position where I can be worked, and I will do my duty to protect my family’s reputation—but I am not stupid.”
He was out the door and gone too soon to hear her voice voice trail off to, “—this debacle.”
The door slammed like a harbinger of doom, and the next phase of her miserable existence began.
Elizabeth stared at the closed door and started shaking in fear. She stood rooted to the spot for a moment but deciding her courage must rise to this challenge as it never had before. She straightened up, turned, and marched into the library to start the battle for her soul.