Chapter 3 Ruined
Elizabeth and her father exchanged a glance before hurrying from his study.
Her mother's shriek rang through the house, a sound of horror and grief.
She stood in the hall clutching a piece of paper, her wails echoing through the house.
Jane hurried in from the stillroom, wiping her hands upon her apron, and Elizabeth moved to her mother's other side.
Mrs. Bennet held out the paper. As he took it, he said, “Take her upstairs to her chamber, girls, while I learn what has upset her.”
Kitty stood against the wall, mute and motionless, stunned by her mother's distress.
Jane said, “Come, Mamma. Let us go up to your room so you may rest.”
“Rest? How can I rest when my darling girl has left us to run away with an ingrate? A man we have never even met? A man who had not the decency to call upon her father?”
Jane and Elizabeth looked at one another.
Mr. Bennet lowered the note. “It is from Lydia. She has run off with an officer, a Lieutenant Wickham. They travel to London to visit the theater and Vauxhall Gardens.”
Mrs. Bennet began to tremble.
“Come, Lizzy. Let us take her up to her room, lest she collapse on the floor.”
Then Jane said to her mother, “Mamma, you will lie down, and Hill shall bring up a posset to soothe you. Papa will find Lydia and bring her home.”
Elizabeth added, “And Uncle Edward will help him.”
Thomas Bennet looked at his daughter. “Kitty, what do you know of this? You do not appear alarmed or surprised.”
Mrs. Bennet stopped weeping and rounded upon her daughter.
“Tell me, girl. Where is my darling Lydia?”
When Kitty did not answer, Mr. Bennet took her by the elbow. “Do not trifle with me, Kitty. Tell me what you know. At what hour did your sister leave?”
Kitty lowered her eyes. “She meant to meet him at six this morning, but we both slept too deeply, and she did not awaken until eight o'clock. Then she had not packed, so it was after nine before she slipped out the back door and into the lane to meet him. He meant to hire a gig to take them to St. Albans, where they were to wait for the mail coach. He hoped to hire a chaise, but he had not enough funds.”
“How do you know all this, Kitty? Did Lydia leave you a note?”
Kitty reached into her pocket and handed her father a soiled, crumpled paper. “I found this in the wastebasket in Lydia's bedchamber.”
Thomas Bennet spread the paper upon a nearby table and smoothed it flat. His eyes moved down the page. Elizabeth could not decipher the writing, for the hand was exceedingly poor.
“If this man has done as he proposed in this note, they await the four o'clock mail coach at St. Albans.”
He gestured to Elizabeth. “Run to the stable and have the carriage brought round. Jane, ask Hill to pack a bag for me, and then send an express to Gardiner and explain what has happened. I must collect funds for the journey.”
As they hurried off to complete their tasks, Mrs. Bennet found her voice once more and wailed to Kitty, “My poor dear Lydia. And now here’s Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight this Mr. Wickham, wherever he meets him, and then he will be killed, and what is to become of us all?
Mr. Collins will turn us out before Thomas is cold in his grave; and if my brother is not kind to us, I do not know what we shall do. ”
* * *
Thomas Bennet considered how best to effect the rescue of his youngest daughter. He took out his pistol, loaded it, and slipped it into his pocket. He prayed he would not need it.
At last, they reached St. Albans. The coachman brought the carriage to a halt, and Mr. Bennet stepped down to speak with him.
“Where to, sir?”
“Pull up farther down the street from the White Hart. If this Lieutenant and Lydia are there, I do not wish to be seen. If we find them, I must decide how I shall rescue my daughter, for I seriously doubt she will return with me of her own accord.”
“Yes, sir.”
The coachman climbed back onto the box, Mr. Bennet entered the carriage, and they set off.
* * *
When the carriage came to a halt again, Thomas stepped down.
“I shall walk the street and look for my daughter. Mead, you search behind the buildings. Perhaps they hide there. Let us meet back here at half past twelve.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two men set off in opposite directions. As Thomas passed the shops and vegetable stalls, he searched for Lydia but found no sign of her. He walked nearly to the end of the street before circling behind the buildings to search among the shadows.
There they sat.
Lydia and a handsome gentleman occupied a pair of wooden crates behind a grocer's shop, sharing bread and cheese.
Thomas stood motionless, deciding what to do. Before he could move, Lydia looked up. Her eyes met his, and she cried out a warning.
The lieutenant sprang to his feet. “Run. I shall come for you.”
Lydia fled. She raced down the narrow lane, across the green, around the corner of the coaching inn, and vanished from sight.
Thomas faced the officer.
“Lydia is underage. I know you travel to London, so your intentions toward her are dishonorable. You do not intend marriage.”
The man snorted. “Marriage? Of course not. She is a poor country maid. I must marry money.”
“Then let my daughter go. She has no dowry. Release her and seek your fortune with a woman of means. You have the looks and manners to attract any lady.”
“I need money to dress the part, or I shall never attract an heiress. I also need a horse.”
“I have thirty pounds with me. You may have every penny. Only return my daughter.”
The man snorted again. “Your daughter is worth one hundred pounds to me. An elegant madam in London awaits the delivery of just such a girl as Lydia. She is young, beautiful, healthy, plainly a gentleman's daughter, and, more important still, entirely inexperienced. A virgin.”
Bennet flushed with anger. “You have lured my daughter away from her family and her home to condemn her to a life of prostitution? You are the very devil.”
Wickham drew a pistol from his pocket and fired. Thomas Bennet also drew a pistol and fired.
Lydia screamed.
Mr. Bennet collapsed to the ground, blood spreading from the wound in his chest.
She dropped to her knees. “Papa!”
George Wickham seized her arm and pulled her from her father's side. He thrust her away, and she fell to the ground. Wickham searched the fallen man, who struggled for breath. He took the bundle of banknotes, then caught hold of Lydia again and dragged her away.
Lydia's weeping reached Bennet's ears.
Why had she not run? Now he lay dying from a mortal wound, and Lydia was not saved. Her sisters would be penniless. Her mother would lose her home.
He had sacrificed his very life, but Lydia was not saved.