Page 7

--

Elizabeth had two matters to take care of before she left Longbourn forever. She was pre-empted in the first by the arrival of her Uncle Philips. Elizabeth had been a frugal young woman all her life but also knew that her youngest sisters would think nothing of rummaging in her room. Therefore any money that she saved was kept with her Uncle Philips. She had £77, the efforts of more than 10 years.

“Thank you Uncle Paul. I was unsure how to reach you without causing you further embarrassment.”

“You will need this Lizzie. I am sorry that it has come to this but there is no other way.”

Whatever slight conversation she was going to have with him died on her lips. She chose silence rather than telling him what she thought of him. As weak as her father, a pair of milquetoasts who let their wives wear the breeches. She thanked him and ushered him out of her room. There was no parting hug.

Her last act was reckless, and cruel in the extreme. Elizabeth was becoming an expert on cruel behaviour although not through choice. The previously unknown heir, now revealed as the Rev William Collins, had invited himself to stay. During this visit, his letter revealed, he hoped to extend an olive branch to the family and select a Bennet daughter as his bride.

Elizabeth sent a ‘concerned well-wisher’ letter. It was not easy writing even a sanitised version of what had befallen her but she persevered. If she was going to be thrown out into the hedgerows then the rest of the family could join her. She waited until her father’s mail was on the tray to send out and buried her own letter in the midst.

And 10 minutes later managed to retrieve it. She threw it upon the fire immediately. The reason for her change of mind? She realised it was the sort of thing that Caroline Bingley would have done. She had read enough Marcus Aurelius to know this behaviour was not her. There was no way the Bennet family were going to be able to keep the Reverend William Collins in ignorance of her supposed disgrace. She did not need to lower herself to the level of others.

But it had been cathartic in the extreme to write the letter.

As she sat there, alone and about to be thrown from the only home she had ever known, her thoughts were all over the place. She kept coming back to the weak men around her. Her father and uncle, weak men harassed by their wives, happy to think the worst of her. Bingley and Darcy, neither worthy of any title, silent in the face of vicious lies. And the weakest man of them all, the man that had ruined her life. She could not even say his name.

Chapter 3

On the surface, life at Netherfield Park returned to how it was before Jane Bennet took ill. But all five members of the party spent much time in thought about the night of Elizabeth Bennet’s disgrace.

As the instigator of the whole episode Hurst, rather than be remorseful, was full of self-pity. He had to endure a daily scolding from his wife, who thought that he was being unfaithful to her. Now even Hurst himself would admit to some failings, drink most of all, but he took his wedding vows seriously. He had never considered another woman. What he was not self-aware enough to realise is that no woman would consider being the mistress of such a man. Connected to trade, the family estates sufficiently needy that even £20,000 in her reticule made Louisa Bingley a good match, and throughout the north you encountered Bingley carriages in every town. David Hurst was not the sort of man that had anything to encourage a woman to become his mistress, unless she was truly desperate.

But regardless of the reason Hurst was feeling hard done by to be accused of philandering especially to a blue stocking of marginal provenance.

His wife on the other hand did not know what to think. She was trying to forget the whole matter. She would continue to chide her husband but in her heart, she did not believe that he was conducting some illicit assignation with anyone, especially not Eliza Bennet of all people. And if that was not the case then. That was the problem. She could not finish the sentence. Her sister had ruined the woman. Now it was mainly the words and actions of the overly righteous folk of northern Hertfordshire that had ruined Eliza Bennet. But if her husband was not trying to get into her bedroom then it was likely her story was correct. She no more knew why he was there than he did. She had watched him drink himself into insensibility for many nights before the incident, and every night since.

Louisa Hurst did not like Eliza Bennet but did not hate her. What had happened to her, she knew that every woman could suffer the same fate. The worry that all women secretly harboured, knowing they would be seen as guilty until proved innocent. The whole party needed to escape this miserable county and return to London.

Her sister on the other hand was afraid she was going to float away she was so happy. Two sentences, that is all it had taken. The neighbourhood had done the rest, tearing down the reputation of Eliza Bennet with the thoroughness of the Romans at the end of the Punic Wars. There was no danger of her Mr. Darcy continuing to admire Eliza Bennet’s fine eyes. There was nothing fine about red-rimmed eyes leaking tears. She could not wait to return to London to bask in the approbation of her group of like minded vicious cronies. She had hinted of news to share, but had not put anything down on paper.

Her present task was to convince her brother that he need not hold a ball for these country mushrooms. She no longer had to worry about him doing anything reckless or foolish with Jane Bennet, that concern was gone. But she wanted to be shot of this place, back to the refined salons of London, and to present herself as the obvious choice as the next Mrs. Darcy, the next Mistress of Pemberley.

It was the presence of Darcy that was stopping Bingley from seeing if he could sell the lease. Bingley had been a guest at several house parties, spending time totalling close to six months, split across several years. They had been wonderful; endless hunting and fishing, shooting parties, the pleasant company of gentlemen during the day and then ladies in the evening.

What he was not prepared for, were the early starts and the unrelenting nature of being the master of an estate. This year was a chance for him to see if his father’s dream was his own. And after six weeks the unequivocal answer was no. He now understood some of the comments that had mystified him in the past. Darcy was forever writing letters to his man of business and to his steward in Derbyshire. And he had always maintained that being the Master of an estate was hard work. Bingley now agreed this was true. Once Darcy had returned to London then Bingley was not going to be far behind him.

But Charles Bingley was not just going to abandon Netherfield Park. He had too much money invested in it to do such a thing. He might not be a good landowner, at present a poor master of the estate, but he was a shrewd businessman. He had already spoken to the Steward and they had an agreement. Bingley had handed over £50, in fact it was £52 10s as he had paid in golden guineas. That was the Steward’s money regardless of what else happened. But they had also agreed to split the proceeds from the estate that were in excess of the lease amount. A £200 surplus would result in an additional £50 as a bonus for the Steward. And as it was obvious the Steward knew more about running an estate than Bingley, there would not be significant correspondence between them.

He had already authorised the Steward to be generous with the boxes for the tenants and servants. He wanted to ensure that the Bingley name was well thought of in the area. He was also utterly delusion in this regard given the behaviour and words of his sisters. But at least he was trying to do the right thing.

Finally, there was the Master of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy. He was trapped. Having said nothing at the time of Caroline Bingley’s verbal attack on Miss Elizabeth he could hardly raise a fuss in the hours and days that followed. He had been shocked how quickly the neighbourhood had turned on one of its own. They had been worse than a pack of hounds with a cornered fox. It was not like the Bingley Party had been much of an addition to the neighbourhood.

And the shock of Miss Elizabeth’s fall from grace was nothing compared to the terror he felt when one week later he had run into George Wickham in Meryton of all places. He had already been comparing Miss Elizabeth’s situation with that of his own sister. Wickham was his father’s godson and this fact meant he had stayed Richard’s hand from having Wickham dealt with. Darcy did not enquire as to what those words specifically meant, although he had a good idea. Now he was berating himself for this moment of mercy. Well moment of stupidity might be a better way to describe it.

His concern for the fate of Miss Elizabeth with her fine eyes and impertinent opinions faded over the course of November as Wickham established himself in the neighbourhood with typical ease. Within two weeks his valet informed him that there were stories circulating about Darcy in the town. He had to get through the blasted ball and then he was off. He would be happy to wash the dirt of Hertfordshire off his boots.

--

“First of all, we believe you. While we will question you about the incident, you are an innocent victim in all this.”

Elizabeth nodded in gratitude.

“That being said, what do you think happened? Your best guess?”

Elizabeth had thought about this very question every single day.