Scotch and Sirens - Lizzy and Darcy - Scotch and Sirens

While the return to Longbourn from Lambdon had seemed never ending it was nothing to the tense situation Elizabeth found awaiting her at home. Mixed in with the worry she held in her heart for her family due to Lydia’s rash behaviour, she found her mind was also occupied much against her will on her situation, or more the lack of one, with Mr. Darcy. She knew in her heart that she would never see him again, and she silently berated the circumstances that had put an end to what had promised to be a beginning. Yet she could not solely blame her sister’s unthinking actions, nor even Mr. Wickham alone for her current circumstances, for she had had a culpable hand in placing herself where she now stood, and before long she began to place the blame squarely where she felt it should rest – on her own shoulders. Had she not been so quick to judge him because of her own vanity and prejudice in the beginning, things might have gone quite differently, and she knew it only too well.

Still, she could not keep from remembering with alacrity their recent time together, and how she had begun to grow sure that his previously professed feelings for her had not been dashed away by her harsh words to him that day at Hunsford, or certainly, if they had been changed or damaged, his regard had at least seemed to be renewed with each passing moment they spent together. Having had begun to assure herself of his feelings for her then, those same lovely memories now cut her deeply, knowing it impossible to have any more such moments with him. He would never consider her now, even if she had begun to think he might have then, and she could not rightfully expect or hope that he would. Yet, no matter how fruitless the thought, she was even more certain than ever that he was the man that would suit her best.

She was able to push such thoughts from her mind during the short flurry of activity that occurred intermittently at home, what with her mother’s need of reassurance and attention, daily visits from Mrs. Phillips carrying gossip of Mr. Wickham from town, and the few other visitors who deemed it safe to call and seemingly offer sympathy, such as Mrs. Lucas and Mr. Collins. But the rest of the time, when there was little else to do except await news, she found it increasingly difficult to avoid reliving events that regarded him over and over again in her memory.

In such times as those, she turned to any activity that would give her temporary distraction, and one such was her correspondence with her father’s sister Arabella Tournier and that lady’s daughter, her cousin Holly. Yet even in seeking such diversion from the turmoil of her mind, she found she must have inadvertently sought solace as well, letting some hint of her unsettledness slip through in her written words even as she struggled with it internally. She must have done so, because the last letter from her Aunt Tournier was filled with the sort of admonishments to herself that only that fiercely independent and outspoken widow would impart.

She picked up the response she had received from her aunt a few days ago and began to read it in preparation of writing a reply of her own.

Rosefarm Cottage,
Clanough,
Scotland

My Dear Lizzy,

The reason I correspond with you and not your sweet sister Jane is not because you have more sense but because my over-bearing disposition is not met with soothing sentiments and observations of a general nature. Your letters are welcome to me and are always answered promptly (as I hope you have noticed) because they are indeed “so strong in their ideas, judgments and decisions”. This, dear Lizzy, is a requirement well wrapped up as a compliment, or possibly the other way around. I do not suffer fools gladly, even less if they are of the female variety, and instead of asking forgiveness for it, I take pride in it. It is no sin, my child, to know what you want. Neither is it a shameful thing to speak your informed mind and refuse to be fitted into a mould so wholly undesigned by yourself or suitable to your character. Indeed, that is twice as true if you are a woman. Never apologise for your temper, Lizzy!

Convictions are worth nothing if they are not open to examination by yourself and others. On that score, you have in your one letter shown yourself far more intelligent than what can be expected. Not to err is impossible. Conviction of the opposite is furthermore most dangerous. I do not know what has forced you to re-examine your opinions and actions, but even though it causes you pain, you should be grateful for the emergence of facts and circumstances that can support your efforts to a better understanding. A better understanding is, after all, what you are striving for in your eagerness for intelligence and observation, is it not...

“ Lizzy, am I disturbing you?”

Elizabeth looked up from her letter to find Jane poking her head through the door. She met her sister’s gaze. “Not at all, Jane. I am always happy to see you. Please tell me you have word from my father.”

“Yes, I have news, Lizzy. The post has just come. He is to return home tomorrow.” Her face fell a bit then at Lizzy’s hopeful look, yet she forged on, “They have not been found. Our uncle has persuaded Papa to return home and will continue the search on his behalf.”

She stepped toward Elizabeth and squeezed her shoulder in understanding of what she must be feeling, while handing her a letter. “This came for you as well.”

Jane went to the door and paused with her hand on the knob. Turning to look at Lizzy, she earnestly murmured, “Perhaps it is for the best. At least Mama will stop worrying he will duel Wickham.”

“Yes. I am sure it is so, Jane. Mr. Gardiner knows London well. He will find them if anyone will.”

“It is exactly what I was thinking,” Jane brightened at the confirmation and stepped quietly out of the room.

The letter she had been reading now quite forgotten, Elizabeth sat for some time fearing exactly the opposite. Mr. Wickham likely knew parts of Town that her uncle would not, and knowing what kind of man he was, he would probably stay hidden quite easily enough. She was terribly worried for Lydia and what would happen to her once Mr. Wickham did decide to move on, for surely marriage was not his intent. She thought that would be the point in time when her errant sister would finally show herself at her uncle’s door demanding aid.

“And what would happen then?” she whispered. Sighing heavily, for she could now hear the distressed voice of her mother being raised once again in some alarm or other, she left her sanctuary to see of what help she might be to ease the most current dire emergency.

Some time later, she gratefully returned to her room. Sitting, on the edge of the bed, she spied something lying on the floor near the desk and now belatedly recalled the letter Jane had brought her. She must have dropped it before in her distraction and went now to recover it. Seeing it was from her cousin Holly and hoping it might take her mind away from things she had no control over, she began to read it eagerly, smiling to herself at her cousin’s descriptions of her life as a governess at a girl’s boarding school in Edinburgh. However, her stomach took a lurch at the postscript Holly had added.

P. S.: You will notice I have left the difficult question for last. Is everything well at Longbourn? I do not wish to pry, but among the girls here there are families who know families and talk and rumour do get around.

So the news of Lydia had escaped beyond the confines of their small family and village and the hope that there had seemed to be some small chance of making things at least appear outwardly correct had been lost. Lizzy was disheartened, indeed.

After pacing the room for a time she thought to at least ensure that Holly heard the information in its true, unadulterated form and not the distorted facts that were likely making the rounds of gossip and to possibly discover the true extent of the damage for herself. Sitting down at her desk, she began by first addressing the other portions of her cousin’s letter before writing what was really upper most in her heart and concerns.

…I think that to address your query now about how things are at Longbourn would be to end the anticipation and worry that you may be feeling on our behalf. Nothing more but my concern for you, dear Holly, would persuade me to speak on this subject at any length otherwise. I am at a loss to tell you what has lately occurred with our branch of the family. I am indeed appalled and saddened that possible news of us, and such disparaging news at that, could have travelled so far and so fast to you. I ask myself what you could possibly know, so that I may save myself some pain. Yet I know I only torture myself with the vain hope that your knowledge must be small and inaccurate.

In short, dear cousin, my sister Lydia has left the care and comfort of her family and has run off in a most disagreeable way. My only consolation is that she believed her situation to be soon brought to a happy closure, intending herself to be settled by now. Needless to say, she is now being searched for in London, and we hope to hear word soon that she will be found. I cannot say more, for I fear I have no unreasonable hope that things will sort themselves out to everyone's happy satisfaction, as our dear Jane does. Instead, I fear I must learn to live with the consequences of such a rash and unthinking action taken by another.

That is the sad and solemn truth. I have been in no humour to recommend myself to anyone of late. Thank goodness that I still have you and your mother to correspond with, as I know any other correspondents I may have might no longer wish to associate with such a family…

Several days later a letter finally arrived from Mr. Gardiner telling her father that Lydia had been found. As saddened as she was for her unfortunate sister’s fate when her father had shared it with Jane and herself – she had understood all too well that a marriage was the best that could be hoped for. Still, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart, for that crisis was over at least.

As the rest of that day passed she began to wonder if Mr. Darcy might come back to the neighbourhood. Wanting him to so very much, she assured herself that it would take only a little time for the news to reach him, and she was certain it would. He did read the papers after all, and there was also the chance that he might hear from his aunt who had direct access into their family affairs through Mr. Collins. So her hopes were surely not unreasonable that she might see him again.

She found herself listening closely to any conversation she might be near, in the hopes of hearing some word of Netherfield being readied for occupation by Mr. Bingley, or perhaps some word of Mr. Darcy himself. Yet, much to her disappointment, no news came her way.

While the news of Lydia had changed the outward view of things at Longbourn, it did not alter the tempo of the days. Her mother, no longer in turmoil about what would become of them, now had the house in uproar as to her inability to be involved in the wedding plans. Mr. Wickham was quickly reborn as a “fine specimen for a son-in-law” in her mother’s eyes, who made a fuss at any attempt made to remind her of the necessity of the event being held in London rather than at home. She revelled in the fact that she would have a daughter married, “and at only sixteen,” and would brook no one interfering with her telling the news to anyone who would listen.

Once Mrs. Bennet found herself getting nowhere with this particular complaint, it was not long before she found a new topic to occupy herself with, namely trying to persuade her husband that he should allow Lydia and her new husband to come home for a visit after the wedding. Mr. Bennet usually responded rather dryly, if at all to his wife’s efforts to convince him, but this did not deter Mrs. Bennet from making the attempt as frequently as she could fit it in.

Of course, Elizabeth took every opportunity to avoid these spectacles by escaping the house on whatever pretext possible. However, while various errands or long walks took her from such unpleasant situations at home, it also served to put her squarely into another, for she could find no escape from the torment of her own thoughts when she had nothing to occupy them except the putting of one foot in front of the other.

The air was still and oppressive under the trees. Not that there was a breeze to be found out from under them either, but at least here she found some relief from the heat of the sun. It felt as if a storm were coming, and yet no sign of it showed in the sky at present. Was it only the calm before a storm, similar to the one she felt was coming inside of her?

Elizabeth might have been taken for part of the forest. Sitting quietly in her pale green frock on a log just off the path, she could not easily be seen unless she waved her bonnet in an effort to make a small breeze of her own. This she did only periodically, when the hope that it actually might bring her some relief finally overcame her inertia, and she would make the effort. She was not sure how she had come three miles to this spot only to find herself staring out from the tree line at Netherfield, especially on such a hot day as this. Yet here she sat, lost in her thoughts, staring blankly at the big house in the distance as her thoughts swirled around about her, acting as replacement for the nonexistent wind.

She recalled each encounter she had ever had with Mr. Darcy, watching each as an objective observer might have viewed them, trying to glean something new as the events reeled past her mind’s eye. The early memories floated by her like ghosts, haunting her for past errors in judgement, unrelenting and unforgiving. Those from Pemberley washed over her like a soothing balm, exorcising the demons that had come before.

She came to their last meeting together just as the wind of the coming storm began to kick up, her inner calm becoming as disturbed as the limbs and the leaves on the trees under which she sat. Her bonnet blew from her hand and yet she did not notice its loss, but only wondered instead why fate had delivered both the letters from Jane and the man himself to her door in the same hour? It now seemed the height of unfairness. Had she had a few more hours, she would have been gone from the inn and not divulged what had befallen Lydia. She trusted him with her honour, and her family’s reputation, but was disheartened that she had shared a thing that was now fully and respectfully resolved. Was it too much to ask that having possibly been able to surpass all that had come before it, that he could now transcend this as well? Surely the man she now thought him to be could.

Would he come? She thought he would.

Another letter had arrived from Holly in answer to her last, and she sat down to read it, fearful now of what news it might hold within.

Hockdown School,
Edinburgh,
Scotland

My Dearest Lizzy,

I am daring to oppose authority and keep my candle lit after lights out so I may endeavour to put your mind somewhat at ease. Though given your letter I am not completely sure I am in a state of mind that will allow me to do so. I will own that it caused me a night or two of interrupted sleep. I was so upset at myself for causing you pain, and even now I suspect you are understating your feelings on the subject. I can well imagine the state of things at Longbourn.

I am distressed in two differing directions and hardly know which to address first. I did not relate the particulars of what I had heard in order to spare you pain, however, I believe I have done just the opposite of my intent.

Let me put your mind at rest and assure you that no report of Lydia’s actions have reached their way to me. What I alluded to concerned my aunt, Mrs. Bennet. The story I overheard was this: Either you or Jane had rejected a proposal of marriage from a handsome young Bishop, and my aunt went mad with disappointment, I mean, literally mad, and my uncle had gone to town to secure a physician to treat her. I see now that your father is in London for quite different reasons, and that your mother’s distress is exaggerated. I would not worry overmuch about this account. All it will take is for somebody to see her home and well, and the talk will die out.

As for my cousin Lydia—well, I do not know what to say. I am inclined to be more of your mind than of Jane’s. I hope and pray she will be found soon and in such condition that will allow her to return home. I recommend that you occupy yourself and do not dwell on that which cannot be changed. In other words, dearest cousin, Practice Your Music!

There, have I made you smile?

I must close now, as I hear footsteps coming down the hall. The matron will be investigating the light she spies from under my door. Please let me know that I have alleviated some of your troubles.

Your loving,
Holly.

Elizabeth laughed bitterly at the rumour her cousin had heard. While she was happy that the news of her sister’s elopement had not reached as far as Scotland, she could not help but wonder when her own numerous humiliation would be at an end. Sighing heavily, she thought she might at least alleviate Holly’s concerns somewhat, if she could not relieve her own.

Longbourn,
Hertfordshire,
England

Dear Cousin,

Do you not know the trick of putting a cloth across the bottom of the door to hide the light from the hall? I used to do this when I was young so that I might read late into the night! I am surprised you have not thought of it yourself.

Do not worry that I am pained by my unnecessary disclosure, dear Holly. Had I realised to what you referred, instead of what I related, I would most likely have been disappointed not to be able to display my skills at relaying angst and worry. Was I not showing great talent in that area? I will think myself most ill used if you do not write immediately to tell me how wondrous a display I made!

Well, Dear Holly, if you had lost a night or two of sleep, imagine how much was lost by me since I received the news? Please do not trouble yourself further on my account, or feel responsible for any of the pain I may have felt at relaying it to you. It was a relief to speak the dread tragedy out to someone whose intent was only our best interest. However, all angst is long since forgot! I now have good news to impart to further soothe you, as I have been myself. My father has had a letter from my Uncle Gardiner, and we have learnt that Lydia has been found. She is to be united in matrimony very soon in London and all will be as well as can be expected. That she is to marry to such a man is regretful to say the least, but there is nothing else for it. What must be - must be.

I will say this about the other rumour. My mother decidedly did not go mad! She instead favoured me, the disavowed one, with much judicious company. So much in fact as to make one wish to be less noticed by one’s loving and well-intentioned mother. As to the man being a handsome young Bishop, I must correct the facts. He was indeed a man of the Church. Fortunately for me, and much to almost everyone's satisfaction, his interests took a different turn. Incidentally, have I told you of my friend Charlotte Lucas? She was recently married and has removed to the parish at Hunsford with her new husband, the rector there.

Be assured that I have, and still continue to encourage your mother to take exercise. I am using all of the wits at my disposal to nag her with my good advice. I have even threatened a visit, to which she replied that if either of us were to show ourselves there to further cajole her, she would not feed us for a fortnight!

Tell me, did the matron spy your candle burning? If this was the case, what was her admonishment?

Your loving,
Lizzy.

After folding, sealing, and addressing the letter, she went to collect her coat and walked into Meryton to post it.

“No, I do not see how it is right at all that Lydia will not come to Longbourn! Mr. Bennet, you must do something about it!” Her mother’s shrill voice rang out over the dinner table. “After all, I have been deprived of two weddings now,” and she sent a sharp glance to Lizzy, “no thanks to you, Missy,” before turning her eyes back to her husband, “and even after you finally relented in allowing my Lydia to come home before she goes off to the North, you now tell me she will not come after all! How can that be right, Mr. Bennet?”

When her father did not respond, Elizabeth, knowing that her mother would not stay silent on the subject if someone did not remind her of the facts until she absorbed them in whatever way she finally would, spoke up.

“Mama, you know my uncle wrote explaining that Mr. Wickham’s commander required him to report immediately and that there is not time enough for a visit.”

“Yes, yes, I am not a simpleton, Lizzy! I heard what your father said, but I feel that if he were to write the colonel he would see reason. The man would allow them more time. I know he would, for surely he has a family of his own and knows how important their welfare is,” she paused and then added with a measure of contempt in her voice, “unlike some people I could mention.

“Not that it is any concern to you, Lizzy. If I did not know better I would think you were happy not to have your dear sister come home to her family with her new husband, and I believe it was you who kept saying it was right that your father should not allow the visit to begin with.”

Unable to let the subject drop when she felt herself so ill-used, Mrs. Bennet continued, now warming to her subject. “Well, at least my Lydia has her heart in the right place and will do what is expected of her and accompany her husband, even though she will be very sorry to disappoint her family.”

Elizabeth thought how ironic it was that her mother seemed to forget all about the fact that Lydia certainly did not have her family’s best interest in her heart when she had left with Wickham to begin with. Her own thoughts must have shown on her face, for when she looked up she found her mother looking at her with what seemed to be pity in her eyes, obviously misreading her daughter’s thoughts.

“Do not fret child,” Mrs. Bennet said soothingly, “and do not regret that you are not as lucky as your sister, for I know that Wickham was once a favourite of yours, but you know you only have yourself to blame. You should have married Mr. Collins when you had the chance. You are not so young as your sisters, you know, and not so beautiful as our dear Jane. There is no room to fuss about when your chances are so limited.”

No one spoke then, not Elizabeth, for there was certainly nothing she could say, and not her father, who looked up at her with a slight smile on his face, assuming that she found it all as amusing as he did, before he continued eating as if nothing was amiss.

Finally, Jane began a conversation with her mother, which allowed Elizabeth to stare blindly at her plate, pushing her food around on the pretence of seeming to partake of it so as not to have to participate in the talk. That she would envy Lydia, the one responsible for a loss to her that her mother could never begin to guess at, was simply too much to take in, but it did not keep her from contemplating what was so horribly clear to her now at this moment. He would not come.

Knowing she should have seen it all along, she could fool herself no longer, for surely that was what her hopes had been – self-delusions in their finest form. Even with any other obstacle that may have been in the way, he would certainly not align himself with someone who was to be related to Mr. Wickham, or, and as difficult as it was for her, she could not avoid the next thought coming to her now – to connect himself with such a family. She inwardly winced at how easily justified his defence had truly been when he had confessed his concerns about them in his letter to her at Hunsford. She felt a great deal of guilt for even thinking it, but the thought and the guilt did serve to finally put an end to her own folly.

She knew he would not come.

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