Thanks for sticking with me even though this story may be following a more circuitous route than you may have expected.
To the reader that had trouble finding my story, FF doesn't have "M" stories automatically listed unless you select for them, so that may have been the problem.
10. My Kindly Meant Interference
After I wrote Miss Elizabeth the letter and then left Kent, I tried to forget her. I had condescended to offer to elevate her to my sphere, against my better notions of what was expected of me, and in being so soundly rejected was this not proof that it had been a bad idea? Should I not praise God himself that I had been protected from my folly?
In an effort to distract myself from my melancholy (and him from his own), I brought Bingley and his sisters to Pemberley. But perhaps that was a mistake. Miss Bingley fussed at Georgiana so that Georgiana was frequently driven to retreat to her rooms, and Bingley seemed to find reminders of the eldest Miss Bennet in the most mundane of things.
Bingley asked me perhaps half a dozen times during the first month of the visit (not before his sisters but when we were alone or just with Hurst) variations of the following: "Did I really act correctly in leaving Netherfield, in leaving Miss Bennet? Surely I raised expectations, surely if you are correct that she did not love me then, love might still have grown. Perhaps it is not too late to seek her out again, fall to my knees and beg for her hand."
I always answered him the same. "We have been over and over this. I saw no particular regard in her. You can find someone better. You owe it to your sisters, your family, to find someone who will help others see you as a true gentleman. With the right mother for them, with the right ties, and then with the purchase of an appropriate estate, your children will be elevated, able to take their place in true society."
Bingley would sigh, his head bowed down in defeat and perhaps resignation too, and say "I know you are right, but she was so very lovely, so very kind, the kind of woman who should have already resigned her maiden name if the men around her were not utter fools. Such a treasure, such a beauty; any man would have been most fortunate to call her wife."
Naturally, I never told him that part of my continued resistance to him following his heart was that I was not sure if I could bear to be in company with him if the new Mrs. Bingley was the sister of one Miss Elizabeth Bennet. It was selfish of me, I know, to deny him the potential for happiness.
While I had tried to appease Miss Elizabeth in the letter by accepting that she must know her sister better than I did, I was still uncertain that Miss Bennet had any true regard for my friend. Too, I had never promised to do anything to change things at this juncture.
Hurst rarely deigned to say aught if he was with us, as usually he would be enjoying himself with my spirits, some Madera, some Port, some Scotch. But I recall one such conversation in which he was not yet too far into his cups and apparently had enough of Bingley's whinging. He asked, sensibly enough, "How many months has it been now? Perhaps she is already married and you are lusting after another man's wife. Should you not attempt to learn the state of things before you waste all your time considering what cannot be?"
"What a capital idea!" Bingley declared and fetched a pen, ink pot and paper. "I shall write to Sir William Lucas. He shall surely know." While Bingley's eyes were brimming with excitement, I noted that he wrote slowly, carefully, more carefully than I had ever seen him write before (or since then). He sanded the paper and trembled in excitement while he checked to see if his letter was ready to send.
"What have you written?" I asked.
Bingley read me the letter, which first asked after Sir William and his family, and then asked if Sir William would be kind enough to tell him how all the the neighborhood fared. He then wrote:
I am a bit ill at ease that I might have raised some expectations that I then dashed in not returning from London. But given all of Miss Bennet's sterling qualities, I should not be surprised if she has already found another and married well. Please give me greetings round; for I do not know if I shall return to Hertfordshire again.
The next morning Bingley sent the letter off. I did not seek to prevent this as I, too, was eager to hear how they all fared at Longbourn. While I attempted to keep Bingley distracted with fishing and the like, we passed a dismal fortnight with him out of sorts while awaiting a reply, seemingly unable to attend to anything once it was soon enough to anticipate a return.
A letter did indeed come, and Bingley snatched it from the salver when it was offered to him. But upon opening it his smile quickly faded and a thick line of worry formed on his brow. "This cannot be so, it is impossible, oh how unfortunate." He paced, stopped to read another line, and then paced again. Whatever he read next made his frown deeper and indeed he stopped pacing to tug upon his hair. "Any chance for us, gone."
"Was I right?" Hurst asked. "Has she married?"
"No," Bingley responded distractedly, sat back down and attended to his letter.
"Then what has upset you so?" I demanded. My heart's tempo had increased and the beat seemed to say "E-liz-a-beth, E-liz-a-beth."
Bingley read the letter through, then began it a second time. When he finished this reading, he handed the letter off to me and announced, "I am going for a ride."
My eyes skimmed past the salutations and inquires and wishes for good health and started reading in earnest at the sentence that began "As for the Bennets":
As for the Bennets, I am afraid I have some rather bad news. The youngest of the Miss Bennets, one Miss Lydia, went to summer in Brighton as the particular friend of Mrs. Forster. While she always seemed a silly girl, we never thought she was so very bad. But it seems we were sorely mistaken in her character, for she has run off with the spendthrift Mr. Wickham whose character it can be no doubt is of the worst sort, for he left for Brighton with many debts yet unpaid.
It was thought at first to be a simple elopement, but however unwise that would be, soon it was learned that something worse likely occurred. It seems there has been no word of them since and she had yet to be recovered, though it has been almost a month complete.
My wife has informed me, learning from one of the maids at Longbourn, that Mr. Bennet sought them in London and Mrs. Bennet was quite distressed, fearing her husband would fight a duel with Mr. Wickham, die and leave them at the mercy of Mr. Collins. However, Mr. Bennet did not stay in London long. Instead he left the search to Mrs. Bennet's brother, a Mr. Gardiner of Gracechurch Street. But apparently he has been no more successful than Mr. Bennet.
Although the Bennets have long been our close neighbors since my knighthood when we settled in Lucas Lodge, we do not receive them. No one does, but their relatives, and not even all of those.
Mr. Collins has instructed, says he was told to do so by his patroness, the most Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, that while he will pray for Miss Lydia's immortal soul, he hopes the infection of her soul did not spread to her sisters, but fearing that it has, we must keep our family away from theirs.
Mr. Bingley, rest assured that whatever expectations you may have feared raised, no one could fault you now for seeing the wisdom in staying away from such a family. Likely all will simply find you had discernment in seeing through them before the rest of us could.
Should you return to Netherfield, I hope you shall call upon us. My Maria is a very proper young woman and Mrs. Lucas and I should like to see her settled near us. It is a hard thing having our eldest daughter so far away, but we take comfort that one day Mrs. Collins shall return to us as the Mistress of Longbourn.
The distress I felt at reading these words cannot be underestimated. I thought little about the effect this had on the rest of the Bennet family. My thoughts were only of Miss Elizabeth, wondering if she had cried upon learning such terribly news, and how she was now feeling. I knew now her marital prospects could hardly sink any lower, but never had I wished for such an evil to befall her family.
Mixed in with this, I must confess, I also felt an inappropriate triumph, a vindication. Had I not attempted to warn Miss Elizabeth about Mr. Wickham? Could not the evil that befell Miss Lydia had been averted, has Miss Elizabeth just listened to me?
After Bingley returned from his ride and attended to his toilet, we conversed for some hours that night. While he clearly felt some despair, it also seemed to me that the news had been good for him, for he told me "At last it is all resolved. I can never marry her. Thank you for warning me off from pursuing Miss Bennet. Had we been engaged of course I would have been obligated to go through with it, despite the blight it would put upon my sister. Now I can freely seek another without regrets."
While I, too, had a narrow escape, and my sister had been spared such an association, I still felt a great conflict within me. For I believed it might yet be in my power to do something to recovery Miss Lydia but as I was fully unconnected with the Bennets, in truth it should not have been my responsibility.
I pondered the matter for half of a day, and finally decided that I must go to London and see if I could discover where they were. Making excuses as to business, I left my guests at Pemberley and rode hard and fast to London, changing horses upon the way.
Once I arrived, I visited several of George Wickham's haunts, flanked by two guards I had hired for my protection (George favored some locations with unsavory reputations), and also paid a call upon Mrs. Younge. It was she that was finally able to direct me to George's current lodgings, but when I located him there, he was alone and deep in his cups.
He paid me little mind as I searched his small room for any place that might conceal a woman but found no one. He cheerfully told me, after draining away the rest of his bottle, "I have no bottles stashed away, if you want a tipple you shall have to buy your own."
I asked, "George, where is Miss Lydia?"
He smiled, laughed and burped. "Miss Lydia, Miss Lydia?" then he laughed again before explaining "there is nothing to miss about her, she's a miss no longer."
I asked "What do you mean? Pray tell me now."
He grinned and burped again, "I enjoyed her for a time, she liked it all, was plenty willing to go again and again, but she talked too much and now she's gone."
I focused on his last statement. "Gone? Gone where?" I had an irrational fear that she had died, perhaps killed by him. But his next words had me half wishing my supposition was correct.
I doubt George would have been so forthcoming without even any renumeration from me had he not been well and truly foxed, for he simply volunteered "She is a flower seller, if you will, sells her own flower night after night. Of course I got at it first and did not even have to pay for the privilege. In fact it was she who had the funds for our journey and a little besides. Such a generous one she was." His eyes became glazed as if remembering some sort of delight.
"Where is she?" I asked again.
"She has gone into a Covenant Garden Nunnery, the Abbess was glad to get her, saw she was quality, paid me well."
"Which one?" I simply asked and he told me. Then I left.
Seeing the opportunity to recover Miss Lydia for her family, still I hesitated. Should I really do so? Perhaps it was better for them if she be left in the brothel, never to be heard from again. But my conscience bothered me, for it was easy enough to picture her being ravaged by the self-same disease that had taken my father. Too, I could imagine Miss Elizabeth crying over her sister.
In the end, I left it in the hand of her uncle to determine what to do, for with some effort I was able to learn the exact location of her uncle in trade, for knowing the street of his abode greatly narrowed the search and the person who informed me of his address also identified his warehouses. Rather than call upon him myself, I simply prepared an anonymous letter to be delivered by one of my trusted servants who tended to my London home even when I was away.
I sent this servant to Mr. Gardiner's warehouse where he should be in residence. The servant was simply to locate Mr. Gardiner in person and inform him, "My master has word about your niece," give him the letter and leave. The letter read:
Dear Mr. Edward Gardiner,
Mr. George Wickham, lately of the Militia summering at Brighton, has informed me that he sold your niece Miss Lydia Bennet to Madame*****. She can be found in the brothel at the corner of Drury Lane and *****. I have enclosed what should be more than sufficient funds to purchase her back, it you think this ought be done. Alternatively, you may use these funds to aid the Bennet family.
Sincerely,
A Friend
Once I was assured that the letter was successfully delivered, I immediately rode for Pemberley and rejoined my guests. I had hoped that my several day absence would return me to a Bingley who was more in spirits, but that was not the case.
Less than a fortnight after I returned from London, Bingley received another letter from Mr. Lucas. He was again mightily distressed and again let me read the missive once he was done. The pertinent portion read as follows:
All of Meryton's residents had well reconciled ourselves to the fact that we should never know what fate had befallen the youngest Bennet daughter, but well we were all surprised to learn that not only did she return to Longbourn, brought by her uncle, Mr. Gardiner, but that the shock of her return caused her father to fall dead.
You may well bless whatever fates prevented you from pursuing Miss Bennet. Now, in truth, their besmirched reputations have fallen further, for that young woman has admitted to her household that she was lately a resident in a brothel.
Too, their life going forward is said to be certain to be one of penury, for while Mrs. Bennet's dowry was to be set aside for her future support, now it has come out that somehow it has all been spent. Had you been duty bound to such a family, they would surely have drained your coffers seeing to their support.
We all believe the Bennet family to be cursed but there is much disagreement as to whether Mr. Bennet's untimely death was simply a matter of bad luck, of being overwrought, or a punishment for not properly tending to his family. I tend to believe the former, but Mr. Collins is certain it is the later, and I should defer to his wisdom in all matters of a spiritual nature.
In either event, Longbourn shall soon have a new master, although the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh condescended to advise Mr. Collins to give the Bennets six months of mourning complete before requiring they leave that abode. The Collinses shall take up residence on April 26th of next year.
I flatter myself that this is more about letting a new member of the Collins household be born and assuring the continued health of my daughter and the hopefully male child who shall be the new heir to Longbourn, than generosity given the Bennets' sin, for they harbor that daughter still, despite the shame she has brought on them all. Mr. Collins would like to make his way there sooner, but properly defers to the judgment of his betters.
The letter might as well have been addressed to me, had Mr. Lucas known of how I, too, had avoided any connection to that family. I had benefited from a narrow escape, for the brush of such sin so widely known as it was likely being communicated to many via my aunt, would have tarnished my sister so.
However, unlike Bingley, I was deeply troubled and upset by what my kindly meant actions had wrought, felt all the responsibility for putting the rest of the family in harms way by allowing the return of Lydia. For while her fortunes had improved by being restored to her family, all the rest had suffered in consequence. Still, there seemed to be nothing to do but let the Bennets' fate take them.
If I still thought of Miss Elizabeth whenever my mind had a chance to wander, I told myself I certainly did not love her any longer.
Although, naturally enough, my sister never heard what had befallen a family so wholly unconnected to ours, she could tell I was not in spirits both during the Bingleys' visit and after they left. Therefore, in her kindness, a kindness that reminded me of our mother, Georgiana frequently sought me out and offered to play the piano forte for me.
The year prior I had told her that when she played it always soothed my soul. In truth, I had done so knowing that her playing would help her feel better. Now when she played, it always put to mind another woman who while far less skilled on the piano forte, had brought delight to me.
But I never told Georgiana not to play, not even when her notes caused my sadness and regret to rise, made my vision blur. I would never do that to my beloved sister. No, I always swallowed the lump away before she was done and praised her performance every time.
