A/N: Hey gang, lots of very long and thoughtful reviews about the letter, which is always great to see. Means it hit a nerve.
There are plenty of good suggestions for what Lizzy can do while in Lambton. None of them are right, but they are all fun and they are all things that could have happened. Bumping into Georgiana or Darcy were commonly suggested, which might have reduced the overall length of the story – but alas, not gonna happen. Running into Darcy in the bookstore was probably tempting, or maybe the Colonel, but alas, none of that. Learning about Darcy's characters from the denizens of Lambton was tempting, but alas, been there done that (see Chapter 10 of Rules of Etiquette). I thought about having her tour Pemberley since Darcy was away in town, and have him run into her by chance on the tour – oh, wait ;(
Lots of readers happy that Lizzy is blasting her parents for being bad parents and taking some responsibility for her own actions. I must admit that I beat up on the Bennet parents pretty regularly, so if you want more of that, see Chapter 28 of The Cliffs of Hertfordshire, Chapter 2 of The Fee Entail, or maybe Chapter 10 of Longbourn Math, or pretty much all of Letters from Cheapside.
Elizabeth is evolving, slowly.
If you're wondering how Darcy will react to the runaway – well, read on and you'll find out – eventually. Don't hold your breath though.
Wade
[Note: Feb 2021 – at the time I wrote this chapter, I planned on maybe 15 more chapters. I ended up with 60 more, but I mostly plan to leave the Author's Notes as they were, even though they're outdated.]
Thu, Dec 5, 1811 – Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Musical Accompaniment: Zdob si Zdub So Lucky Moldova
With the last of her childish things put away, Mr. Bartlet walked Elizabeth back to the coaching inn to have some dinner, while waiting for the night stage that would take her away from the Pemberley region forever. She judged that by the time her father received her letter, a week or two hence, she would be well beyond his reach. Writing to him had been a calculated risk, but she could just not bring herself to say nothing, tempting as the idea was. Since the search radius from Lambton was so vast, and she was certain nobody would think of Manchester, she judged that she was not exposing herself to any undue risk. She only had to stay out of sight for a few months until her twenty-first birthday, at which time she would acquire the right, by English Law, to starve to death all she wanted to.
Mr. Bartlet and Elizabeth said their goodbyes at the door to the coaching inn. The lady thanked him profusely for giving her the best day she had experienced in quite some time and walked in out of the rain. Thinking about the price of meals, and her declining store of coins, Elizabeth wondered if she could afford meat, or if it was to be only vegetables, or even just bread and cheese, for her evening meal. With a sigh, she walked into the coaching inn.
The common room of the inn was populated with what she assumed was a typical crowd, but since she had never been allowed in one before, that was pure speculation. There were two or three tables full of men who obviously worked the fields, drinking wine and ale. They were not overly boisterous, but she had no idea if they might become so given a few more rounds of drink.
Another table had another matron, who could easily pass for Mrs. Hill's long-lost sister. They appeared of similar size (large), similar temperament (not to be sassed), and similar countenance (quietly happy). Elizabeth hoped that she was going North towards Manchester, as she could easily be the ideal traveling companion.
The next table over had a tall and admittedly handsome man who was giving her an odd look. Elizabeth had seen how men look at attractive women often enough. She did not think of herself as overly pretty, but men gave Jane a hungry look from on a regular basis, so she thought she could recognize it easily enough. This was not that look. She knew how bad‑tempered men looked to find fault for their later amusement among their compatriots. Her supposed‑betrothed could easily pass as the archetype of that sort of behavior. This was not that look, (even though the man looked much like Mr. Darcy). She knew how men looked when they genuinely saw someone they wanted to know better. Her Aunt Gardiner attracted those kinds of looks like a loadstone. There was just something about her aunt that screamed that she was kind and worth knowing. This was not that kind of look. She thought she knew how greedy men sized up a potential victim, and while she was certain she would encounter such a creature sooner or later, this was not that look. All in all, the look was pensive, and disturbing, particularly when the man looked at her a couple of times, then glanced at a piece of parchment on the table and returned his eyes to her.
She really did not like it when the man stood up and strode across the room to stand in front of her. He moved with alacrity and a certain kind of greasy smoothness that looked –she could not come up with the word– but violent or dangerous were the closest adjectives she could come up with. The pace was fast enough that one of the rough looking farmhands looked at him carefully, and slid his chair back a few inches, as if he was looking to protect a damsel in distress, or perhaps just to liven up the evening with the entertainment of a fight.
Her heart sank to her knees, when he said, "Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I presume. You will be returning with me to Longbourn. Your father is most displeased."
Elizabeth looked around wildly, but the man calmly continued in a whisper that nobody else could hear. "I know what you are thinking, Miss Bennet. Do not mistake this as my first job of this sort. Do not think to run. You will just end up muddy, wet, bedraggled and returning to your father. Do not think of asking any of these men for help. I have letters for the magistrate, and he will not lift a finger to stop me. Do not think to deny your identity, unless you can convince me you are another young lady, foolishly traveling alone, who exactly matches my detailed description of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who by sheer coincidence, is wearing Miss Elizabeth Bennet's best walking dress, complete with mismatched repairs under the elbows due to her sister Lydia's foolishness."
Stunned, Elizabeth could not think of a response, while the man kept staring at her with a look that a cat used when toying with a mouse.
With a quirk of his eyebrow, the man continued, "I have been doing this a long time, young lady. It makes little difference to me if I am chasing a recalcitrant runaway, a thief, or a murderer – all of which have been my clients at one time or another. You can go quietly, or you can go trussed up like a Christmas goose. You choose."
Elizabeth thought about making a fuss, but there was no chance at all that she could outrun the man, and if he had tracked her this far, he could no doubt track her again. It seemed her luck had run out before it even started, or at least her good luck had. As to bad luck, she seemed to have a surfeit.
She asked, "Do you even know what you are doing, or why?"
"No, ma'am, nor do I care. Your father contracted my services, and the magistrate, Sir William Lucas verified that you are underage. You would be surprised how many times this happens, although nine times out of ten it is an elopement in progress, or more often, what the woman thinks is an elopement, while the man thinks it is a good way to have some fun for a week or two – at least in my experience."
Elizabeth's shoulders slumped again in defeat. "Can I at least have some dinner?"
The man turned back towards the table, and gestured to a chair, saying, "Of course! I am not a beast, Miss Bennet. Your disagreement with your father is not my business. My job is simply to deliver you in one piece, which duty I will perform. Do me the honor of assuming any escape plan you can hatch will do little more than delay the inevitable and cause me to make your journey considerably less comfortable."
He held the chair almost like a gentleman, so Elizabeth sat down in defeat while the man signaled to the maid for dinner.
"If you are to be my jailor, might I at least have your name?"
"Noah Baker, Ma'am."
The serving maid brought along a bowl of beef stew and bread, which was neither terrible nor wonderful. In Elizabeth's admittedly limited experience, it was just the sort of food you got while traveling. Elizabeth had never given the type of the food at an inn very much thought before, but during her brief taste of freedom she had the leisure to think about such things. The inn had to have food that was easy enough to cook to not require a dedicated and specialized cook. They did not know how many guests they might have, or the order or timing for their arrival. That meant the food had to be something simple to cook that could keep for hours or reheat if necessary, supplemented over time. Stews were one of the things that met all the criteria, so it showed up on the menu frequently. She imagined if she ever got stuck traveling as Mrs. Darcy, which seemed increasingly likely, she would probably get something better, and trying to imagine Mr. Darcy eating in a common room with rough laborers made her giggle, which got a glance from Mr. Baker, but nothing more.
The stew was good enough, so she tucked in and enjoyed it while trying to work out a way to escape, but it was easy enough to see that a man who tracked murderers would have no difficulty with a runaway. Her fate was sealed, at least for the moment.
She curiously asked the man, "Where did I go wrong, Mr. Baker? You seemed to have no trouble tracking me. How did you do it – if you do not mind telling me. Is it a trade secret?"
Mr. Baker did not consider himself to be either a good or bad man. He was just a man who worked a trade, supplying a service that needed to be filled. It was no more or less honorable than becoming a soldier to kill people for wearing the wrong color coat, or a mine owner, so he could work his miners to death. It was just a trade. It made little difference to him whether his 'clients' wanted to return to the fold or not. Deciding guilt or innocence, right or wrong, were all well above his station. He simply did what he was paid to do and reckoned that those with the authority to call someone in were taking care of the right and wrong. His experience told him it was more pleasant to haul back someone in a relatively good mood, or as good as it was likely to be, than a hissing, spitting hellcat, although he had seen his share of those as well.
He wiped his mouth with a serviette. "You probably would have pulled it off, Miss Bennet, if not for two events. The first is that your eldest sister", and then he paused to glance at his notes before continuing, "Jane, I think it was –tall blonde– woke up about five o'clock and tried to go 'talk some sense into you', whatever that means. She found your door locked, but something made her suspicious, so she got her own copy of the key, and discovered your absence. That gave your father several hours head start that you probably were not expecting. She at least had sense enough to do it quietly."
Elizabeth sighed, wondering what had been going through her formerly favorite sister's head, aside from raging selfishness. Jane was however the master of misdirection and rationalization. Jane wanted to believe the world was as Jane thought the world was, and she could twist her mind into the most obscure knots to refuse admitting it was not as she believed. By now, she would have convinced herself that she was doing it for Elizabeth's safety within a quarter hour and would have led the hounds herself given the opportunity. Elizabeth frowned, but realized it was probably just bad luck, as the night before or after, Jane might have slept through the night, and she may well have pulled it off.
Mr. Baker watched her chewing on the gristle of betrayal, or whatever emotion she might be feeling towards her sister. If he was a betting man, he would not give good odds on the tall blond getting by unscathed after her sister's return. In his idle moments, he would reflect that anything from a verbal setdown to sneaking into her sister's room with scissors for an impromptu haircut could result.
To give the young lady a minute to reflect on the news, he took a couple more bites of stew and bread, drank a bit of wine, and continued, "That alone probably would not have done you in, though. Your father quickly sent discreet men to all the routes into London, seeing as how that was your most likely destination. It turns out that there are quite a few bottlenecks in the routes into town, and he reckoned that you would turn up instantly. Might have worked too, if you were stupid enough to take a coach there, even if you want a roundabout route. It's nearly impossible to get into London by coach without being easily traced."
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I had a phase a few years ago where I was reading novels and working out elaborate escape plans. London seemed more like a trap than a haven."
"If you know what you are doing, you can disappear forever in London. If you do not, then it is child's play to find you. No offense, but you do not look like the sort of woman who knows how to hide."
"So why are you not searching London right now?"
He just chuckled. "Your father and your friends think you are very clever. Prove it to me."
Elizabeth thought for several minutes, long enough to finish her stew and get a piece of pie. There was no need to pinch pence anymore, after all. She would apparently soon be one of the richest wives in England, and Mr. Baker seemed to have no objection."
It took a few minutes before she exclaimed, "Aha!"
Baker just looked at her with a smirk.
"Charlotte Lucas!"
Baker chuckled. "Thought you would figure it out. She was apparently privy to your plans all those years ago, no? She thinks you are being, and I quote, 'exceedingly selfish and stupid'. She said to tell you she would happily kill to have what you want to throw away."
"I would happily give it to her, but that is not to be, I suppose."
"No ma'am, I suppose not."
Mr. Baker called for tea, and when they finished, he said, "We will have to make best time, Miss Bennet, so we will leave just before dawn. I will knock on your door and have a basket to take with us. Will I find you there, or have to start my day being disagreeable?"
Elizabeth just nodded, reckoning that there was not the slightest chance of escaping the man.
"Believe it or not, your reputation is probably still intact. Your father kept your two youngest sisters from being aware that you were gone. They apparently believe you to be shopping for your trousseau. Two right idiots, those two."
Elizabeth snorted, and nodded in agreement.
"He kept the circle very tight. I happened to be in town just finishing another task that I left to the magistrate, so I was available to hire a few more trustworthy men. It was tight, though. If you had made it to Manchester, and been clever about hiding for a few days, I might not have found you until it was too late."
Elizabeth grumbled. "Lucky you."
Baker was quite used to such, so he said, "I want to keep your reputation pristine, so I will engage a maid to ride with you, and I will ride with the coachman. We leave early, so be ready."
Elizabeth looked at the valise that had all her worldly possessions. "I will be ready."
Baker said, "Wait here", and then walked over to quietly talk with the innkeeper.
He came back a few minutes. "I have arranged for a bath for you, and a maid. The maid will try to brush out your dress tonight – in her own room, if you do not mind."
Elizabeth detested the matter of fact way the man indicated she would have to run in her nigh clothes if she wanted to run at all, but agreed he was being sensible.
"I will bring her and unlock your door a half‑hour before first light. She can help you dress if you need it. Then we will be traveling hard. We need to be back at Longbourn within two days. Your father is doing his best to keep this whole thing quiet until it no longer matters. The intent is for nobody except the half‑dozen people who know about it to become aware. Even your mother is in the dark."
Elizabeth frowned. "Thank goodness for small favors. I must correct you on one particular, though. He wants to keep it quiet until it no longer matters to him."
Baker nodded. "That is what I meant."
Elizabeth sighed. "I suppose we may as well get on with it, Mr. Baker. You win."
