Sat, Dec 8, 1811 – Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Musical Accompaniment: Desperado Eagles
"Lizzy, when are you going to tell us about your adventure? How far did you get?"
Everyone at the dinner table gasped and stared at Lydia in surprise and varying degrees of consternation.
Lydia was unphased and said, "Do not stare at me like that. I may be a nick-ninny, and of course, you all know Kitty and I are two of the silliest girls in the country, but I am not completely stupid. I made sure the servants were gone before I said anything."
Elizabeth said not a thing, but just stared at her sister in shock.
Mrs. Bennet started speaking, but Mr. Bennet overspoke her quite violently. "Lydia, what are you talking about. Your sister was …"
Before he could even get his excuse out, Lydia huffed. "All right! Pretend we did not figure it out, but do you seriously expect me believe that Lizzy went on a trousseau shopping excursion for the better part of a week, but went without Mama or any of her sisters, not even Jane?"
Bennet grumbled. "Her mother, her sisters and even my own self, are quite in her brown books, just now, Lydia. It is perfectly sensible."
"Ha! So where is whatever she purchased?"
Bennet snapped back, "Where any sensible person would put it – away from prying eyes and grasping fingers."
Lydia just huffed and replied in a bit of an impertinent singsong tone. "All right, Papa – I will play your game and tell everyone in the world that Lizzy was trousseau shopping." to which she rolled her eyes violently, but continued, "They will believe me, mostly because everyone thinks I'm too dumb to lie successfully, but …"
Bennet growled. "No buts …"
Lydia, without even slowing down or paying the slightest attention to her father, added, "But, really, why is it so terrible if Lizzy ran away. I do not blame her one whit. It is not as if she likes dour Mr. Darcy. Even if he is rich, he does not hold a candle to a red coat, and if she wants to run away from this silly family, she should run away. You are all worse than Mary – all worried about our reputations, as if that will make the slightest difference in our prospects. There are no marriageable men in this village anyway."
Everyone was struck dumb by the reply, and Elizabeth wondered just what kind of mayhem was going to ensue when her letter arrived in a few days or a week.
She had taken dinner in her room the previous evening when Mr. Baker returned her to Longbourn, not even bothering to speak to anyone at all after the tremendous row with her father. Most of her sisters had either been instructed to leave her alone, or they had enough sense to avoid walking into a room full of gunpowder carrying a burning torch. The next day, she breakfasted very early, but then retired to her room again.
The day passed miserably, and she would have called for a tray yet again, but her father put his foot down, for once in his life, and insisted she eat with the family to try to preserve whatever was left of her standing among the servants. He reckoned that there was entirely too much gossip floating around already and was praying that his complete fabrications would hold over the much more rational explanation that his stubbornest daughter just did not want to marry Darcy.
Elizabeth had been keeping silent, not speaking a word other than asking for things to be passed, or the barest of civilities. Mrs. Bennet kept trying to speak to her, but so far, she had not answered her mother with even a single word. She tried to imagine the rest of the time waiting for the dreaded event and was just making an estimate of how long she would hold out before throwing a screaming fit over her mother's silliness.
Lydia's comment snapped her out of that downward spiral, and she stared at her sister for a minute, waiting for the small row between her father and her youngest sister to subside.
When Lydia paused to scoop more food onto her plate, Elizabeth said, "Thank you, Lydia. Those are the first supporting words I have heard in this entire debacle. I confess that I, like our indolent father, previously did consider you quite silly, but I can see you do at least have a head on your shoulders, and I thank you for your support."
Lydia's head snapped around to stare at her sister, somewhat surprised by the statement. It might have qualified as the nicest thing anybody other than her mother had said to her. She smiled, and began to speak, but Elizabeth held her hand to silence her.
"Yes, Lydia, I do appreciate it, but let me ask you one thing, if I may."
Lydia looked at her suspiciously, but then giggled, "Of course, Lizzy."
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and looked threatening at his second daughter, but she ignored him. His recent bout of familial authority notwithstanding, she thought she could hold her own.
Elizabeth said, "Are you aware that nobody in Meryton is surprised that a Bennet damaged the family reputation – they were only surprised by which Bennet got thrown to the wolves. Most assumed it would be you or Kitty."
Lydia started standing up abruptly, but Elizabeth just said, "Please, sit and listen, Lydia. In less than a fortnight, I will not be here to advise you, so please just listen. Your behavior could very well put you in the same position I am in, and I can assure you of one thing: You do not want that! I beg you, Lydia – find a way to enjoy yourself without putting yourself and your family at risk. You do not have to become Mary, but somewhere between the two of you would be to everyone's benefit, most especially your own."
Then she turned back to her plate, sat her fork down gently, and asked, "May I be excused."
Mr. Bennet grunted assent, and Elizabeth fled the table.
That evening, Elizabeth spent half the night trying to work out a way out of the debacle. She was locked in at night and watched like a hawk in the day. She had no money at all, and she furthermore had been forced to endure the humiliation of having her father search her belongings and her room to insure she did not have any hidden away. Mr. Bennet knew that Elizabeth was a climber, so when he noticed a tree outside the window, he even nailed it shut. Lastly, but most humiliatingly, he had openly gloated that she need not go hunting for an extra key, nor waste her time trying to pick the lock, because he tied the doorknob closed with rope when he went to bed.
For two days, Elizabeth endured this humiliation, spending nearly all her time in her room, or rather in the guest room lately occupied by Mr. Collins. She did go into the gardens, but her father went with her, or sent his valet, Nathaniel. Neither of the men were exactly spring chickens, and so Elizabeth did not bother with any sort of real ramble. It all seemed so pointless.
It was in the middle of her third night locked in the guest chamber, in what she estimated to be only a few days before her letter to Mr. Bennet arrived, that she had an epiphany. When she worked it all the way back to basic principles, she reckoned that it was all a matter of reputation – Mr. Darcy's and hers. It seemed to her that Mr. Darcy was probably working under the assumption that she was desirous of marriage, and she would put up a fuss if one did not occur. Perhaps, if she could convince him otherwise, or better yet –
In the end, Elizabeth thought it funny that the entire enterprise would turn on a file. That had been the only bit of steel she could acquire that seemed sufficient for the job at hand. She had noticed an old one laying around from a workman's forgotten project a few months earlier, so she contrived to have a boot crisis right over the top of it lasting long enough to fool old Nathaniel. She had been prepared with several alternate strategies including indigestion from dinner, injured ankle, or if she got desperate, vague female problems. The latter was sufficiently terrifying to send nearly any man running, or at least blushing and looking away.
Her epiphany had occurred the night previously, when her father came by to wish her 'good night', with a nasty smirk that she could not like.
"Good night, Miss Bennet. Remember, just in case you get any ideas about the lock, that it will be tied from the outside. If you wish to beat your head against the wall with a clever escape plan, feel free."
The smirking, condescending way he said it had made her blood boil for a while, until she worked out that anger was doing nobody any good, least of all her. She needed to think.
In the end, the answer was obvious. He could rope the door from the outside because the door swung in. That meant the hinges were inside, which meant she had a chance. Perhaps it was not a good chance, but it was a chance. She was fully prepared to simply throw a chair through the window and take her chances with fast flight down the tree, but a bit more time would not be amiss.
The file seemed like a noisy contraption, but during the day, Elizabeth had politely requested the loan of one of her father's favorite books. It was of good hefty size, not too big and not too small. Elizabeth thought it was a particularly vile piece of literature herself, and even though it was a good fifty years old, she had not the slightest guilt about using it to beat on the file and drive the pins out of the hinges. She even gave serious consideration to throwing it in the fire when she was finished, but eventually decided that would be a step too far into vindictiveness (or half a step, at least).
Much to her relief, the pins came out relatively easily. Mrs. Bennet's nerves were quite driven to distraction by any unwanted squeals or squeaks, so the servants kept all the hinges in the house well lubricated. She had been afraid the hinge pins might be sealed at the bottom, but she had seen a different door taken off for repair earlier and saw no reason this one should not work the same.
Trying her best to be quiet, she started in the dead of the night, around one o'clock. It took all of twenty minutes to remove the hinge pins, and then the door came off its hinges with a small thunk, so she could just slide it open. She saw the rope tied around the handle and briefly considered using the leverage of the door to break the handle just to be vindictive but abandoned the idea immediately. She just as quickly abandoned the idea of tying her father into his room in revenge, and instead just went about her business.
This time she did not take a valise, as this operation would succeed or fail in a matter of days, and more clothing would not be of any benefit, since she had no money for lodging either.
In her stockinged feet, carrying her best outdoor boots, she crept down the stairs, to the ground floor, then down into the kitchen, and continued all the way to the storeroom, listening intently and stepping carefully every step of the way. The pickings there were slim. None of the meat was cooked, and Mrs. Hill kept sausages and the like in a locked cupboard. The housekeeper had done so ever since a groom was caught pilfering it a few years earlier. Elizabeth managed to get a bag full of a dozen apples, a few onions, a bit of bread and sausage, and a water bladder. With that secured, she took her father's biggest and best winter coat, and left through the servant's entrance.
Four days later, Elizabeth was tired and dirty, but not as tired and dirty as she would have expected. Nobody she had ever heard of would even conceive of doing what she had done. She had been told by a reasonable authority that it was nearly impossible to get into London by coach or horseback without being seen, but nobody ever mentioned walking. She remembered quite well the journey to Cheapside was twenty-four miles. At three miles per hour, simple arithmetic said the journey would be eight hours if she took the same route as the coach, did not stop or pause, and could maintain a reasonable pace. Nobody in their right mind would walk that far, so she did not expect anybody to be specifically looking for her. Nevertheless, it seemed sensible to walk slowly and carefully, only in the dead of night, and hide herself away during the day.
She acquired a stout walking stick which, by a great coincidence, could easily pass as an exact replica of her father's, just in case she encountered any dogs like she had the first trip. She also assumed it might be handy if she met any inebriated men as well, but fortunately, neither theory was put to the test.
She slept for a few hours during the day, sometimes in sight of the carriageway, but mostly in barns. Having grown up on a farm, she knew that every farm had a few hidden places, and so long as they did not have noisy dogs, it was easy enough to find them. She saw what looked like they might be men searching for her once or twice, but then no more.
She arrived in London in plenty of time, and then worked her way to her target. She would only get one chance to make her approach, and since her food was down to just the onions, she was doubtful she was set to make a good first impression, but she had to try.
At last, three hours after she entered her blind, she saw her quarry leaving his house, and rose to intercept him. She had been reflecting that her entire life might hinge on the next quarter hour. If she could make her case adequately, she might have some options, and if not –
She was walking quickly, almost within hailing distance of her quarry, when she felt an arm go around her waist and lift her off her feet. She started to scream, but found a gloved hand clapped over her mouth. She kicked and screamed, even managing to land a good solid blow with her bootheel to the top of the miscreant's foot, that made him utter an entire string of words she had never heard before, but his grip did not slacken, and she was gradually carried backwards.
She heard the man shout in a very rough, lower class accent. "No daughter of mine is going to –", while still dragging her back.
He kept dragging her back, and a moment later they crossed a hedge, and went around it out of sight of her quarry. She then heard the words she was half‑expecting, but definitely not in the same lower-class accent.
"Another valiant effort, Miss Bennet. Had you made your approach yesterday or tomorrow, I probably would have missed you. I was just playing a hunch. I bow to your skills, ma'am. You could be very good at this game with just a bit more practice."
Sagging her shoulders in defeat, she said, "Mr. Baker."
"At your service, ma'am."
Elizabeth snorted. "If you wish to be at my service you can let me go, or better yet, help me meet that gentleman over there. A quarter‑hour conversation with him might resolve all of life's difficulties."
Baker laughed. "I meant the figurative type of 'at your service', not the literal. If I start negotiating with my quarries, what would happen to my reputation?"
Elizabeth sighed. "I expected as much. I do not have any money this time, so I suppose a bribe is out of the question. I do have one onion left, if that will help."
Baker chuckled. "I suppose since I won this round, the least I can do is buy you a hot meal."
Elizabeth shrugged. "As you will."
"Miss Bennet – since you seem comfortable traveling in places ladies usually do not frequent, if you will trust me, I can get you an excellent meal with no questions asked."
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow, and asked, "No maid this time?"
"No, I am afraid your friend will have to await your arrival in Derbyshire. I did call in a favor and got her a position at Pemberley if that helps. She will be the lowest of the low, the newest scullery maid in the house, but it is something."
Elizabeth grumbled, but allowed the man to take her arm and direct her to an establishment that was absolutely definitely not the type of place a lady usually frequented, or at least her particular definition of 'lady', but the meal was excellent, and she made no complaint.
As they left the establishment, Mr. Baker said, "Your presence is rather urgently desired at Longbourn, Miss Bennet, so we will be making speed when we finish eating. This time, it will just be you and I in the carriage."
Elizabeth snorted. "Once you have manhandled me behind a bush in Hyde Park, it seems like riding in a carriage with you will do no harm."
"Nobody will ever know, Miss Bennet."
Elizabeth just shrugged, feeling like her reputation was the least of her concerns.
When the meal was finished, they climbed into another carriage nearly identical to the one she had returned from Lambton in, and they were off. They would be there well before supper, and Elizabeth was fresh out of ideas for how to make another attempt.
Baker said, "You almost pulled it off, Miss Bennet. I thought you would be making for Darcy House. Did you know you were only a few hundred yards from it?"
"I have seen all I wish to see of Mr. Darcy, and then some. No, I was at the right house."
Baker asked the obvious. "In what way did you think the Earl of Matlock could help you?"
Elizabeth sighed. "I thought to let him know that I had not entrapped his nephew, and that I might be quite accommodating to some alternative solution to our problem. I imagine that Mr. Darcy is operating under the assumption that I will make a fuss if the marriage does not happen, but as it turns out, I can be quite reasonable."
Baker, surprised, asked, "What type of 'alternative' were you thinking of?"
Elizabeth sighed. "That I do not know. I just thought that if he was aware that I was willing and able to entertain a different idea, he might be able to do something. He is an Earl, after all. When young girls actually 'get in trouble', they are sent away. Maybe I could be sent away to live somewhere else where I could marry someone who is not Mr. Darcy. Perhaps he knows someone who would want to marry me, and I could wed someone who was not ready to murder me in my sleep."
Baker nodded. "It was a good idea, but I do not believe any of those would do. It seems like the Earl's house is, shall we say, not quite in order. I very strongly suspect that he knows all about Darcy's trouble, and is complicit in the solution, because it helps him with his own family's problems, which I understand to be extensive. I suppose if you were willing to become his mistress, he might go along with that, but I do not suppose that idea has much appeal. It would not be a forever obligation, but it would not solve the problem of your reputation."
Elizabeth shivered at the idea. "No, I think not. I suppose I will just have to marry the lunkhead."
"I suppose so, Miss Bennet – I suppose so."
Feeling exhausted, and anticipating a horrible reunion at Longbourn, Elizabeth did her best to get an hour or two of sleep. She was at that point completely out of ideas, and for the first time, really contemplated that the dreaded event was most likely to go forward.
