Disappointing though it was, Elizabeth could think of nothing that would move her father to change his opinion. Patient though he was with her, his favorite daughter, Elizabeth knew he would not allow her to push him forever. Thus, she must resign from the field in defeat, though the fear that Lydia would ruin the family remained with her no matter how much she tried to tell herself all would be well. The moment she emerged from her father’s study she heard Lydia carrying on, teasing her sister, and Elizabeth, unwilling to endure her poor behavior for a moment longer than she must, opted to return to her bedroom to exasperate herself against her silly sister and intractable father in solitude.
Had Elizabeth thought he believed his words, she might have taken some comfort in the affair. A truthful woman, however, Elizabeth had always practiced as much truth in her thoughts as she did with others. While her father claimed the lessons Lydia would learn in Brighton would prove invaluable, his manner of expressing himself revealed his motivations to be little more than his comfort. Unable to endure the uproar Lydia would cause if he denied her the amusement, her father was content to allow her to go to Brighton and all the danger that entailed.
Elizabeth was not made for unhappiness, and while she could not help the feeling of dread that accompanied the notion of Lydia going to Brighton, soon she pushed such thoughts away. There was nothing she could do, and little reason to worry it over in her mind. Lydia would go to Brighton, and Elizabeth had no choice but to pray for deliverance.
And then fate intervened.
Elizabeth had no part in the preparations for Lydia’s departure, not that anyone other than Mrs. Bennet concerned herself with Lydia’s going. Jane and Elizabeth comforted Kitty as best they could and protected her from Lydia’s mean-spirited attacks whenever necessary; in this last, a rather heated argument between Elizabeth and Lydia reined in the girl’s unkindness. The time passed swiftly, and soon the day of Lydia’s departure arrived. By that time, Elizabeth was certain even Kitty wished for nothing more than to be free of her obnoxious sister.
There was no sign of any trouble, right up to the point Lydia was to enter the coach that was to carry her away. Colonel Forster’s carriage was not a large conveyance, but as the man had preceded his wife to Brighton with his men, Elizabeth supposed it was more than enough for his silly wife and her ridiculous friend.
“I shall miss all of you!” exclaimed the girl, though her manner spoke of the exact opposite. “And should I come across beaux for any of my sisters, I shall inform you directly!”
Elizabeth did not think it politic to mention that she did not think her sister capable of finding a beau properly, to say nothing of what she might do to interest officers in her sisters. If she would even set aside time to consider such concerns, given her selfishness.
“You must write particularly of everything you do,” said Mrs. Bennet, swiping ineffectually at the tears streaming down her face. “Take every opportunity to enjoy yourself.”
“I shall!”
Elizabeth had no doubt the girl would, to the detriment of all her family. Again, she indulged in silent prayer, hoping the Lord on high would protect her silliest sister from herself.
“Goodbye!” said Lydia as she turned to the coach.
That was when it happened. Lydia lifted her right foot and set it on the step of the coach, but as her weight came down, the heel of her boot buckled to the side, throwing her off balance, and the slick surface of the step did the rest. Had she been holding the rails with both hands, it might have been different, but Lydia, in her eagerness to depart, had thought only of entering the carriage as expeditiously as possible. Lydia attempted to catch herself, flailing about with one hand, but it was all in vain. She pitched forward, her head striking the open door of the carriage. Then she fell into a heap in the dust of the drive.
For a moment, no one moved. The shock of her accident had frozen them all.
“Lydia!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet at last.
The family surged forward to help their fallen member as she lay insensible on the ground. Mrs. Bennet’s loud wails and her attempts to help her daughter to her feet proved fruitless, as it quickly became evident to the family that Lydia’s consciousness had not survived her head’s contact with the door of the carriage. Mr. Bennet turned and summoned Longbourn’s lone footman to attend to his daughter, and John soon lifted the girl effortlessly into his arms and carried her into the house. It was a surprise to no one that Mrs. Bennet followed behind, wailing the entire way.
Now, it is perhaps proper to address the family’s reaction to Lydia’s misfortune. Elizabeth was relieved that Lydia’s mishap would almost certainly prevent her from experiencing the blissful delights at Brighton, thereby saving the family’s reputation for at least a little longer. A glance about at the other members of the family revealed various levels of shock for what had just happened, though Elizabeth glimpsed the satisfaction on Kitty’s face, revealing she appreciated the result of the accident, if not the misfortune itself. Misery loved company, it was said, and Kitty would surely take great satisfaction knowing that while she could not go to Brighton, neither would Lydia. Mr. Bennet revealed only barely suppressed amusement.
Mr. Bennet came to the same conclusion as his second-eldest daughter, for he approached the carriage and peered inside, where a shocked Mrs. Forster sat speechless at what had just occurred. It was in poor taste that the woman had remained inside, watching what was happening but offering no assistance of her own. Surprise was all well and good, but even what happened could not have rendered her unable to move.
“It seems you are not to have a companion for your journey to Brighton after all, Mrs. Forster,” said Mr. Bennet, smirking at the girl before him. “Unless, of course, you mean for my second youngest to take her sister’s place. Shall I instruct Kitty to pack her trunks for an immediate departure?”
Kitty taking Lydia’s place was not a palatable outcome for Elizabeth, though she knew her father was using his typical wit. She might not have worried. Though clearly mystified by Mr. Bennet’s flippant manner, Mrs. Forster did perhaps the only sensible thing Elizabeth had ever seen the woman do: she shook her head.
“I expected you would see sense,” said Mr. Bennet. “If your men will unload my daughter’s trunks from the coach, you can be off.”
So, it was done, and since the youngest Bennet was still unconscious, there was very little fuss or hassle, which certainly would not have been the case had she been present to witness the carriage depart. No doubt she would have insisted on going despite her pain. Elizabeth could only be grateful for the event, regardless of the injuries to her sister.
A moment later, the carriage, its bulk lessened by the absent weight of Lydia’s belongings and the lack of one silly girl, shuddered into motion and departed from Longbourn’s drive. Elizabeth watched it go as she would have if it had carried relations or friends with whom she knew she would not meet in some time. Such nostalgic thoughts were no part of her ruminations; instead, she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing her family’s reputation was safe for the moment. At least until Lydia regained her senses and began lamenting her lost opportunity for amusement and ruin.
Chapter II
It should come as no surprise to the astute reader that Miss Lydia Bennet would not appreciate the sudden change in her plans. As Elizabeth followed her family toward the house once Mrs. Forster’s carriage departed Longbourn’s grounds, a sense of dread filled her at the thought of her sister regaining consciousness and learning her dear friend had left without her. If Lydia was insufferable at the best of times, Elizabeth could not imagine how she would behave when confronted with the knowledge that all her expectations of happiness in the company of the officers were not destined to come to fruition. Perhaps before we delve into the trying summer the Bennets would endure, it would be advisable to visit the events leading up to that fateful day.
When Elizabeth had returned to Longbourn from Kent and London, she had no notion of these future events. Longbourn was, much as she remembered it, the furthest place from a restful haven she could imagine. The ladies attended to their concerns and Mr. Bennet hid behind his stout library door, and if he informed Elizabeth several times of his pleasure for the return of his eldest and most sensible daughters, he was not so pleased as their company would draw him from his room to brave the tumult caused by the less rational elements of the family.
While Elizabeth saw little alteration in any of them, she learned of a certain piece of news germane to what was to come. This news was on the tip of Lydia’s tongue the moment she and Kitty met Elizabeth and Jane, in Maria Lucas’s company, at the coaching inn in Watford.
“The regiment is to depart Meryton?” asked Elizabeth when Lydia had moaned about the regiment’s imminent decampment.
“They are,” said Kitty, her manner a sober counterpoint to Lydia’s histrionics. “Before the end of May, they will retire to their summer encampment in Brighton.”
“I have no notion why they must do so,” pouted Lydia. “They are settled in Meryton and have the welcome of the neighborhood. What need is there to go to Brighton?”
