Chapter Two
It was as he was debating whether or not Mrs. Bennet would need to call her salts that such an event occurred as to safely put the matter to rest – one of the young boys that ran errands in the kitchen came running into the hall through the front door, yelling Mrs. Hill's name.
"Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill! I found her, I found her!" he shouted. Mrs. Hill came running from the kitchen, clearly alarmed and not yet aware of the family lurking by the breakfast room door.
"Whatever do you mean, boy? Where is she?"
"Dead," he gasped, hands on his knees. "Miss Lydia is murdered!"
Mrs. Bennet didn't even have time to call her salts – she fainted on the spot, dropping straight to the hall floor, and Kitty wasn't far behind – she pressed against the wall and slowly sank to the ground as her legs proved unable to sustain her weight. Mr. Bennet put a hand to the wall and stood silently, his other hand going to his heart as though to grab it and pull it out. Elizabeth, having just opened the door to see what the fuss was about, took a step back and paled before realizing that Jane was quite close to swooning as well, so stepped forward again to grasp her elbow. Mary covered her mouth with her hand. Mr. Collins observed their countenances with a high degree of bemusement.
Mrs. Hill, although similarly shocked, now noticed the family. She paled even further.
"Where Johnny? Where?"
"On the side of the road to Meryton, just behind the trees by Farley Grove. Lord, ma'am, but she looked …"
"Johnny," she whispered. "Go to the Lucases and bring Sir William. Run! Quick as you can!"
The boy disappeared, his face set determinedly in spite of his wheezing breaths.
"Mr. Hill!" she called directly. She disappeared into the kitchen, seeking her husband. The Bennets could distantly hear her directing her husband to go immediately to Farley's Grove, and to bring a sheet to cover the body. The Bennet family remained stationary in the hall, unable to move. The shock was written on all of their faces. No one moved, not even to make Mrs. Bennet more comfortable.
Mr. Collins shifted uncomfortably.
Mr. Hill entered the hall with his coat on, collar turned up, a sheet hanging over one arm and Mr. Bennet's work coat hanging over the other.
"Mr. Bennet, sir," he said quietly, putting a hand on the elderly gentleman's elbow. "I must ask you to come with me."
Mr. Bennet looked up at him, seeming to realize for the first time that there were other people in the area. His eyes were wide, and his mouth gaping sadly.
"Of course," he mustered hoarsely, "of course. Let me get my – oh, thank you, John. Thank you." He shrugged into his overcoat, seemingly stooped from the weight of it on his shoulders. "Girls …" he paused, unable to bring either words of comfort or instruction. He sighed heavily, instead, and gave Mary's arm a squeeze as he walked by, leaving the ladies of the house and Mr. Collins in the door of the breakfast room as he shuffled out into the frosty November air to go and see his dead daughter.
This movement, however, seemed to rouse Elizabeth, who quickly took stock of the situation. Her mother, unconscious on the floor. Kitty, barely less so. Jane, pale with fright and grief. Mary, shocked and ramrod straight. And Mr. Collins. That detestable Mr. Collins.
"Mr. Collins," Elizabeth addressed him at last, bitter to have to ask any favors of such a man, "please fetch a few of the groomsmen to come attend to my mother."
Surprisingly, he needed no further encouragement or instruction. He stumbled a bit on his way out, but he made not a sound.
"Mary, please help Kitty to your room," she instructed gently, placing a gentle hand on her arm to gain her attention. "I will send up some tea for the two of you shortly."
Mary seemed to want to ask why she should go to her room rather than to Kitty's own room, but Elizabeth watched cogs begin working … soon Mary's realization of the fact that Kitty and Lydia shared a room showed in her eyes. She nodded her understanding solemnly, assisted Kitty to her feet, and disappeared upstairs with one arm wrapped in a surprisingly tender fashion around her younger sister. Elizabeth then turned to Jane, whose hand was now at her head. She opened her mouth to say something to her older sister, but was interrupted by a footman from Netherfield. He came into the hall from the kitchen, clearly looking for someone to whom he could deliver a message.
"Begging your pardon, Miss, but there was no one in the kitchen, and I was told to see that you got this immediately," he said bashfully. Jane dashed forward to take the letter, relief written all over her face. She opened it quickly and began to read voraciously. As she read, all of the blood drained from her face. She stumbled, and the footman reached forward to grasp her elbow and help steady her.
"Oh, Lizzy! Lizzy!" she cried, distraught. "It is too much! Lydia dead, and Charles gone! Oh, Lizzy!"
Her sister burst into tears and crumpled, with the footman still supporting her in spite of the shock on his face. Elizabeth rushed to grab Jane's other elbow, truly concerned now that nothing would spare Jane from fainting. Two such awful shocks at once were surely too much for anyone.
"Would you please assist me in helping my sister upstairs?" she requested of the footman. "There is no one else in the house at the moment with the time."
The footman assented. Together, they got Jane up the stairs and into her bed, where the young woman curled up and sobbed uncontrollably. Elizabeth escorted the footman out.
"The Bingleys have left Netherfield?" she asked him for clarification, as the note was still crumpled tightly in Jane's white-knuckled fist.
"They have," he confirmed uncomfortably. "Just this morning. I'm to ride to London this evening with the last of their particulars."
"So gone for good," Elizabeth spoke softly, stunned at the sudden break. How could Bingley do this to Jane? What did it mean? What could be his motivation?
Realizing the footman was feeling particularly uncomfortable, Elizabeth apologized and led him to the door. "Thank you for your assistance. I apologize for the scene. We have just discovered … my sister … my youngest sister … has been … murdered." Elizabeth gasped even as the words escaped her throat, tears burning her eyes as the words made it seem such a reality. "Please forgive our dissemble. I am afraid such news for dear Jane of her belov – of our friends was one shock too many this morning."
"I – I'm so sorry to hear, Miss Bennet," said the footman, stunned at the news. "May I assist you in any way? May I call someone for you?"
"No, no, thank you," she demurred. "Although … you say you are to London? Today?"
"Yes, ma'am, this evening."
"I wonder if it would be too much trouble for you to bear a message for me? Our dearest relatives live in London, in Cheapside, and we must send word to them."
"I should be happy to be of any service to you, ma'am."
"Please, wait here just a moment!"
Elizabeth dashed into her father's study quickly to write a hasty note to her aunt and uncle, notifying them of Lydia's death and begging their immediate assistance. Once the note had been signed, sanded, and sealed, she addressed the front with the address and rushed back to the hallway.
In the hallway, she found the footman assisting Mr. Collins and one of their own footmen in carrying Mrs. Bennet upstairs. She followed them silently. Once Mrs. Bennet had been deposited on her bed, Elizabeth turned with further instructions.
Firstly, she handed the note to the footman along with a few coins from her father's desk and sent him on his way. Secondly, she asked about the state of the house staff – the footman informed her that every able bodied man was combing the woods for the murderer, and that he himself was only on loan to help Mrs. Bennet and must return immediately. Elizabeth granted this easily, and encouraged Mr. Collins to join the men. He looked as if he would protest, but Elizabeth's face was very grave, and the footman grabbed his arm and dragged him off before he could get a word in edgewise.
Finding herself again alone, Elizabeth returned downstairs to the kitchen. The only people there were two of the maids, Sarah and Emma, both of whom were sobbing into their aprons.
"Sarah! Emma!" Elizabeth called them when she entered. Her tone was sharp but quiet – just enough to start them out of their sobs. "I need your help, immediately."
The girls jumped to their feet.
"We," Elizabeth took a deep breath, "must make tea. Mary and Kitty are in Mary's room, they will need tea and some scones, please. Mama is abed and will need tea, and please send up her salts as well. For Jane and myself, please deliver tea and scones to Jane's room. Whatever you do, do not disturb Kitty and Lydia's room."
The girls nodded their understanding, eyes downcast and swollen.
"Sarah? Emma?"
The girls looked up slowly.
"Once you have served tea upstairs, please begin brewing as much tea as you can, and keep it hot. I imagine that it will be wanted when the men return from the search. And please help yourselves to as much tea as you need. I think … I think we will all need it."
The girls nodded and curtsied. Elizabeth offered them a small smile before departing the kitchen once more. She meant to go up to Jane's room and offer comfort. She could have gone to her mother's room to see if she was awake. She could even have checked in on Mary and Kitty. But she couldn't. Instead, Elizabeth sat down on a small settee in the hall, curled her legs up to her chest, and buried her face in her skirts.
It felt like she couldn't breathe. Because of the skirts or because of grief, she could not say. She couldn't breathe, and she wondered if Lydia had been strangled. Had she not been able to breathe? Either way, she would never breathe again. That thought dragged Elizabeth's face up from her knees, and she looked the ceiling with tears streaming down her face and her chest heaving with deep breaths. How could she be dead? How? The little girl that was so full of life and vivacity – too much of it, sometimes! The girl that only last night had flirted and danced and humiliated her family but had so much fun doing it! In a way, it was comforting to Elizabeth that Lydia's last night had been so delightful. Much as Elizabeth had been embarrassed … Lydia had spent her last night on earth having the time of her life. Surely that thought could help to carry them through.
But the thought of never seeing Lydia again – never hearing her raucous laughter, never hearing her footsteps on the stair, never hearing her complain about her bonnets, never arguing with her over her reputation or chastising her for her flirtatious ways …
Elizabeth was lost to herself for several long minutes, heaving and sobbing silently. Her mouth was open in a silent wail, a wail which could not break free from her throat. The only sound she could make was a high keening noise and the occasional gasp. She had never imagined … no one had ever imagined …
At long last, Elizabeth heard the creak of the kitchen door, and she jumped to her feet, wiping her face with her sleeve to dispose of the evidence of her breakdown. Sarah and Emma, coming out of the kitchen each with a tea tray, spotted her and nodded quietly, keeping their eyes down. They carried on without a word. Realizing there would be one more tray in the kitchen, Elizabeth returned there to pick it up. Relieved, she noted that it was the tray prepared for her and Jane – Jane's favorite apple scones were there, as well as the lemon Elizabeth preferred in her tea. Grateful, Elizabeth picked up the tray and carried it upstairs. She ducked into Jane's room, finding her sister unmoved although now crying quietly rather than sobbing. She set down the tray on the table by the fire and then went to her sister's bed.
Climbing up onto the bed with her sister, Elizabeth lay down with a heavy sigh. The two sisters looked at each other for a moment, each with grief in their eyes. At last, Jane reached out and wrapped her arms around her sister, curling her body to Elizabeth's side and tucking a sodden cheek onto Elizabeth's shoulder. Elizabeth embraced her in return, allowing quiet tears to slip down her face – some into her sister's hair, and others dripping down the side of her face, tickling her ears and dropping onto the pillow with soft thwumps.
They lay there for a long moment, grieving together for their annoying, beautiful, exuberant sister.
"I can't believe she's gone, Lizzy," said Jane at last, sniffling through the sentence. "How is this possible? Who could do such a thing? To poor Lyddie?"
"I don't know, Jane." Elizabeth's voice broke for a moment. "I don't know. I can't even … imagine. It's too awful."
"I wish …" Jane sighed, "I wish Charles were here. I know that sounds selfish, and I know that I don't have the right, but I can't believe he's gone when I need him."
Jane's tears began again, and Elizabeth comforted her as best she could.
"Jane, dear, come sit by the fire and have a cup of tea with me," she said at last, pulling her sister upright and pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe their faces. They moved to the chairs by the fire, poured the tea, and slowly sipped at their drinks together. The peaceful scene did not well reflect their inner turmoil – the fire's light created shadows in their eyes which echoed their grief, but no words could be spoken until they were each on their second cup.
"Mama was very … disconcerted," Jane said at last. "I'm sorry I wasn't any help. Is she well?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "As well as I expect she can be. As far as I am aware, she has not yet woken, and I am not eager to hasten that event. We have never … none of us have ever experienced such a tragedy, and I know not how she will fare."
Jane nodded. "And poor Papa. I thought … I must confess, I thought that we would lose him today as well when I saw his face."
Elizabeth's eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Yes. I thought so as well. He was not well. I worry for him, out in the cold air when he has been so distressed."
"Mary seemed to hold herself together very well."
"I expect she is still shocked, as we all were."
"And poor Kitty…"
"Yes, poor Kitty. I do not think … I do not think it would be wise for her to return to her room, for the moment. I may ask one of the maids to go in and remove a few of Kitty's personal items to Mary's room or mine. I do not think she will be able to sleep there again for a long time."
"Oh! I hadn't even thought! I suppose we still have one guest room available – mightn't we move Kitty there?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "No. I have sent a message to Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. I expect they will arrive within the week."
"Oh, good," said Jane, relief written all over her features. "I am so glad. Lizzy, you have thought of everything! You are being so strong, so brave!"
"No, Jane," Elizabeth smiled sadly, "I am being busy, to avoid facing what we all must. I am a coward of the worst sort."
"No, Lizzy," Jane insisted in return, her voice gentle but determined. "You are very brave, and you are very good. You are the best of sisters, and the best of friends, and my greatest source of comfort. Family fails us, friends …" she took a deep breath, "friends falter, but you, my dearest Lizzy, you have ever been my rock."
They shared a warm, pained smile, and then each returned to their tea, staring into the fireplace unseeingly as they whiled away the time until … they knew not what.
