Part 2- 'Misgivings and Misdeeds…'
Lord Philip Hartfield had watched his wife leave the ground with a growing anger. She always had this affect on him, ever since their first night together as man and wife. It was a simmering rage that grew at her damned defiance…his fists clenched and he gritted his teeth.
Unbeknownst to her the answers as to why his father had tied her to him had been answered. There had been a letter and he had read it. Though the discovery of it had been entirely accidental, reading every word and imprinting it on his heart and mind was not something he was sorry for.
Old Lord Hartfield had long held a deep rooted dislike of his son, watching him mature into adulthood had merely served to confirm all his suspicions. Philip was not the model child; he was profligate, ruthless and cold, cold beyond comprehension. His father's banishing him first to school and then London when his studies were done served them both well; they were free to despise each other from a distance. Lord Hartfield was happy to provide for his son's extravagances as long as he remained in town, and remained at a distance.
But Lord Hartfield became ill, age and the long sufferance of a sorely tried heart took their toll. And Philip had to come home, for all of the father's enthusiasm he might as well have been inviting the devil himself.
It was around this time that Lord Hartfield heard of the strange death of poor Mr Bennet. He remembered the name and he remembered Lizzy. Further hearing of the financial straits they found themselves in, he sought to put a plan in motion and wrote to his solicitor. As soon as he arrived he spent the whole day locked away with him in his room. No one was allowed admittance, not a single servant and certainly not Philip. But curiosity was a dreadful thing, and Philip was by no means an honourable man.
It was strange when Philip insisted taking that glass of wine to his father and on that particular night, but one look into those cold eyes and Lord Hartfield's valet knew better than to ask questions. Take the wine up to him he did, that night and many nights after that. Those of the household who wished to convince themselves that perhaps the son was finally reconciling with his father in lieu of his illness did just that. As for Lord Hartfield, he knew better and rather than hold out hopes that his son had discovered a heart, attributed the attention to the fact that his solicitor had recently visited, no doubt Philip had concerns as to the will.
But even Lord Hartfield could not know the depths to which his son would sink; yes Philip was taking his wine up to him, but with a singular intention. And yes it was to do with the will, a copy of which his father kept rather foolishly in the locked drawer beside his bed.
Lord Hartfield had always been a light sleeper, which had to change if Philip was ever going to be allowed to see the will. So, a few nights of taking the wine to his father Philip decided to add his own ingredient to the concoction. He poured a hefty dose of laudanum into the glass, not enough to kill him, but enough to ensure a deep sleep. He placed the tray as usual on the table and left. It was not long before the sound of his fathers heavy snoring could be heard through the door.
In went Philip, silent and devious as a shadow. He smiled ruefully as he reached underneath his father's pillow where he knew the key to be kept. There was no hurry; no fear, Lord Hartfield was dead to the world. The papers bound in their red ribbon sat invitingly on the top shelf, Philip wrapped his greedy fingers around them and removing the ties set about opening them. He read with a growing anger and disbelief, yes there was his name, mentioned several times, he was to inherit everything but there was a condition and Lizzy was it.
It was then he noted the letter that had been sat under the will, he reached out for it and looked at it closely. It was addressed to Elizabeth Bennet and in a hand that he recognised as being his father's.
Miss Bennet I beg you would forgive the presumption of a feeling old man in writing to you like this and at a time like this. Please accept my whole hearted condolences for the death of your excellent father. I did not know him personally, but his having fathered a child as resolute and determined as I know you to be could only earn my respect. I have also heard something of the financial troubles you are in, and I believe I may have a solution. Though by the end of it all you may wish to curse my very name. I would not blame you if that is the case.
My son, as it is very well known, is not the sort of man one finds one can be very proud of. I tried over the years as he was growing up, to instil in him something of the honour and responsibility his position required but I have failed miserably. His mother would have done better, had she lived, but I cannot blame my shortcomings as a parent on the sad death of my wife. I alone am to blame.
Forgive me Miss Bennet, for the wrong I am about to do you, may God forgive me. There is only one person in the world I have known who has stood up to my son, and it was you. Though you may not remember, I have it imprinted in my mind, a memory as fresh as if it happened only yesterday.
You were only five years old, yet you showed strength that even as a grown man I envied. For the first time I saw my son cowed. It is your eyes Miss Bennet; they shine with a glow, an ember of a fire that refuses to die. They showed him then that you were not afraid of him, and rather he had reason to fear you. I saw it in him…that defiance about you, he is afraid of it.
I offer you the chance to save your family Miss Bennet, though in doing so you may be condemning yourself. I must beg your forgiveness once more. I give you all the wealth Hartfield Estate affords, but there is a condition. You must marry my son, and soon. The will is adamant in this, if either of you refuse you will receive nothing, Philip loses Hartfield and you, well you lose everything.
However much you wish to curse me on the receipt of this letter Miss Bennet, I assure you it is nothing compared to the words with which I have cursed myself. I know with this action I am condemned, and I can only pray Providence finds a way to cleanse my soul and that in time you may find it in your heart to forgive me.
Lord Hartfield
So absorbed in reading the letter was he that Philip failed to notice the stirrings of his father awakening. It was only when the old man gripped his arm in a tight grasp that he realised that he had perhaps not used enough laudanum. But despite being caught in the most disgraceful act of deceit, the look in Philip's eyes assured Lord Hartfield that it was rather he who had something to fear. 'What are you doing…?' he looked feebly towards the letter, and his eyes widened in horror at the prospect of what his son had read. But his speech was slurred, and his grip on Philips arm was weakening, evidence that the drug was still having some effect.
Philip looked grimly at his father and shook the letter angrily at him, 'Afraid of her? I am not afraid of any woman…!' But the way his voice shook betrayed the fact that maybe he was.
Despite the growing fear and terror within him Lord Hartfield managed a weak smile. It only served to anger Philip more. He drew himself near to his father, and bringing his lips close to his father's ear whispered to him, 'Listen to me old man; if you think this Elizabeth Bennet will ever cow me…you're wrong. I will break her…her spirit, her defiance and her fine fiery eyes; in fact I will take pleasure in doing so…' He gripped his frail father roughly by the collars of his night shirt,
'Change it, change the will and save yourself and her…' he spat the words angrily.
Lord Hartfield merely shook his head resolutely, .
'There is already a copy with the lawyer, if you want this place…if you wish to live in the riches you have become accustomed to you must marry her…' Lord Hartfield surveying the despairing look crossing his son's face could not help but let out a low chuckle.
It cost Philip all composure, letting out a low scream of frustration he suddenly grabbed the pillow lying under his father's head and pressed it over the old man's face. Even if Lord Hartfield still had all his strength, the effect of the laudanum would have still meant he would have put up a poorer fight than he was doing at present.
It took precious little time for Philip to suffocate his father, and when it was done he calmly replaced the pillow beneath his head. The will was put back where it was found, but the letter, well that was for his eyes alone. Gripping it tightly, he replaced it in its envelope and making sure he left no clues as to his presence quietly made his way to the door. He stopped and looking back at his father, was suddenly arrested by a crude moment of tenderness. He went back and lightly bestowed a kiss on his father's cheek. It was unfortunate, he thought seeing him lying there lifeless, but…
Philip shrugging his shoulders in quiet dismissal, quietly slipped out of the room having ascertained there were no servants to observe him.
No, Philips father did not survive long after the demise of Lizzy's, though few suspected the hand Lord Hartfield's son had in hurrying him out of this world. Perhaps some of the servants may have had their suspicions but making such an accusation against one of the most feared and reviled men in England was hardly the way to ensure a happy future. So silent they stayed, and chose instead to live with their guilt and prickling consciousness'.
The old man had not lied, there was indeed a copy of the will with the solicitor, and if Philip was to inherit he had to follow its instructions to the latter, he had to marry Elizabeth Bennet.
In all truth, the prospect was not so very odious to him; he also had a remembrance of young Lizzy Bennet. He had not forgotten the girl who had so boldly chased him to reclaim her ribbon. And he had seen her of late once or twice in the village, with her older sister. His father had been right, there was something about her…and it was in those eyes. She may not have been as conventionally pretty as Jane Bennet, but my God, something about those eyes, the luminosity, the challenge, and the defiance in them was thrilling. They stopped a man in his tracks, a single look, a flutter of those pretty fine eye lashes and a lesser man, more feeling than he, would have committed to her the world.
But he was not feeling, his admiration of those eyes and his pleasure on beholding them rested sorely in the prospect of dimming that light, and extinguishing that fire.
Now six years later, and stood in the window watching her leave for her usual morning walk, he realised he had underestimated how far and how deep that fire burned.Everything elseabout her was cold, indifferent and lethargic, but that light…it shone as bright as the day he had married her.
Though he would never admit to himself, Philip with all the passion an emotionally crippled man like he could muster had fallen in love with his young bride. Her beauty, pale and with raven black hair as she stood next to him in church had left him shaking; she stood resolutely and betrayed nothing of that fear a fifteen year old must feel reading and reciting vows her heart would be reviling and rebelling against. She had spoken steadily, assuredly and utterly without emotion.
Their first night, though by no means the first time Philip had known a woman intimately, it was the first time he had felt anything beyond a depraved lust…and staring into those eyes, he was a man ready to commit to her the world. But, in that moment she was frozen, for all his kisses, caresses she had offered him nothing in return. He had shown his weakness for her, and she had merely shut her eyes against him and the world, and seemed to be praying to be a thousand miles away.
His resolve to break her may have faltered for a moment, had she only offered him something, anything, a mere hint that she was not entirely indifferent to him, and his vow to extinguish that light he would gladly have put away. But she gave him nothing… and he realised he had eaten his heart out, the black withered thing that it was, for nothing.
For that, she had to suffer, and God knows over the past six years he had made her do just that.
Lizzy looked up suddenly and realised just how far she had walked and where to. She was standing outside her home, that darling house she had sacrificed so much to keep for her family. The heart always brings you back, to that place where times were happiest and you felt the safest, she sighed deeply and felt the relief of a small child...here she was, returned to her true home at last.
Familiar sounds wafted over to her and she smiled, Mary on the pianoforte, playing ill as usual. Lydia and Kitty apparently squabbling over a bonnet and Jane, darling Jane, forever acting as the peace maker between them. In times past she might perhaps have also heard the shrill tones of her mother, Mrs Bennet lamenting that all their noise was doing nothing for her poor nerves. But not now, the pain and suffering of a child is never felt more acutely than by a parent, and Mrs Bennet felt for poor Lizzy.
Though she had never been her favourite child, even her heart broke when she saw her wed off to that cold-hearted man. They had never spoken of it, such pain and loss is not wanton or readily put into words. The feelings deepest to us are expressed with the most difficulty to a parent. Lizzy could easily see how it affected her; she was not the same, not truly. Where they could have spoken about the miserable state she was in, Lizzy found to her relief that both her mother and herself found solace in talking about nothing at all. That was easier, expressions regarding pretty dresses, fine lace anything of any degree of inanity was better…better than admitting heartache and sorrow.
It was Jane's prospects of love and impending felicity that occupied them of late. A new suitor, handsome and wealthy had recently taken a house in the neighbourhood, the estate of Netherfield. He had shown more than a fair interest in Jane, and who could be surprised when she was easily five times prettier than any woman within miles.
Falling in love suited Jane, a characteristic blush, an added lustre to the eyes, a smile that would outshine the sun and Lizzy was convinced her sister was very much on the verge of losing her heart to the fortunate Mr Bingley.
Of him she had yet to form an opinion, they had met only a few times, but Lizzy had to admit she had not been impressed. His resolution was weak, he was uniquely shy and withdrawn and his speech was hardly convincing. She doubted if he could make a decision from one day to the next.
But she would wait; Jane valued her opinion she knew, so her judgement of Bingley would have to wait. She was determined to know the state of his heart before she would ever recommend Jane to accept him.
Time always passed remarkably swiftly when one willed it to do otherwise. Lizzy acutely aware of the seconds, minutes and hours passing knew she had to leave this sanctuary. It broke all their hearts, every time Lizzy left, it was as painful as when she had to leave for the church that dreadful morning aged only fifteen.