Chapter Eight

Elizabeth

E lizabeth hurried into Jane’s chamber, Maggie quietly sobbing beside her. Jane had been staring out of the window in a futile attempt to calm herself, now turned towards them, her eyes red-rimmed but alert. “Lizzy,” she whispered, her voice laden with concern, “what is happening? What has brought the poor child to such a state?”

Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal, but the gravity of the situation left no room for prevarication. “There is a man downstairs, Jane,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care. “He claims to be Maggie’s father, but… I suspect otherwise, as does Mama.”

Jane’s eyes widened in horror. “He claims?” She cast a fearful glance at Maggie, who had buried her face in Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Oh, Lizzy, why do you not think he is her father? Has she said so?”

“Yes, she confirmed he was not her father and she does not know him. Also he said that he lost her four weeks ago, Maggie has been with us for six weeks.”

“There must be some mistake then,” Jane said at once.

“There is, but I am concerned as to this man’s motives. Especially as Papa is not at home,” Elizabeth replied. She turned her gaze to the little girl, her heart aching at the sight of Maggie’s tear-streaked face. “Maggie, I shall ask you again. You saw the man downstairs, is he your father?”

Maggie shook her head.

Jane, with all the gentleness of a devoted sister, knelt before Maggie, taking the child’s cold hand in her own. “Do you recognise him?” she asked in a tone barely above a whisper. Maggie nodded, her eyes wide and fearful.

Maggie pressed her lips together as if she were trying to think of how to convey her thoughts. She settled on swaying her head from one side to the other.

“You do not know him but you have seen him before,” Jane guessed and Maggie nodded.

Jane’s expression grew more troubled, and she cast a brief, stricken glance at Elizabeth. “Is he a bad man?” she asked cautiously.

Tears welled afresh in Maggie’s eyes, and she nodded once more, her chin trembling with the effort of holding back her fright. Jane’s breath hitched, but she continued, compelled to understand, to offer what protection she could. “Did—did he harm you?”

For a moment, Maggie seemed paralysed by the question, but then, with a courage that was heart-rending to witness, she pointed to her own arms. With slow, deliberate movements, she wrapped her small hands around Elizabeth’s wrist, pressing down with enough force to mimic a grip far harsher, far crueller. Elizabeth felt a chill run down her spine, her heart breaking for the child’s silent confession.

“Maggie,” Elizabeth asked, her voice tight with controlled emotion, “Was he responsible for how you came to be alone by the roadside.”

Maggie gave a single, desolate nod, and Elizabeth felt a surge of anger and protectiveness that nearly took her breath away. Jane, meanwhile, had turned as pale as the snow beyond the windowpane, one hand pressed to her mouth in horrified disbelief.

Before either sister could speak another word, the door burst open, and Mrs Bennet swept into the room, her eyes wide with agitation. “Did you overhear the conversation with that man?” she demanded.

Elizabeth nodded, her face grave. “Yes, Mama, I did. He claimed to be her father, but his story was full of inconsistencies. I do not believe him.”

“Nor do I,” Mrs Bennet declared, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and resolve. “There is something about him—something not right. He does not look the sort to be a father to a child such as Maggie.” As if to confirm this, Maggie began to cry, shaking her head fervently, her small frame quivering in Elizabeth’s embrace.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane whispered, her own eyes welling up with tears, “what are we to do?”

Mrs Bennet moved to the bed and sat beside Maggie, pulling the girl into her arms with uncharacteristic tenderness. “Hush now, my little one,” she murmured, stroking Maggie’s tangled hair. “We shan’t let that horrid man near you. Not if I have any say in the matter.” There was a rawness to her voice that betrayed her fear, and Elizabeth could see that, despite her usual bluster, her mother was at a loss.

Jane gathered her courage. “What if the constable comes and says we must give her up to him? What are we to do then?”

Mrs Bennet’s mouth set in a hard line, her brow furrowed. “I do not think the constable would force us to hand her over without proof,” she replied. “But one can never be sure. If he has forged papers or claims to be respectable—oh, curse the constable for putting up those blasted posters! Why, he may have led that wretch straight to us!”

Elizabeth interjected gently, “Mama, the posters were intended to help find Maggie’s real parents. It was the only course of action.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Mrs Bennet snapped, though there was no real anger in her tone, only despair. “But now that man is here, and I do not know what to do.”

Suddenly, the sound of quick, light footsteps approached, and Lydia appeared at the threshold, her face alight with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Mama, he’s asking to see Mr Bennet or this ‘Cecilia,’ whoever she is,” she reported, her eyes shifting to Maggie. “He’s growing impatient and demanding answers. I heard him raise his voice to Hill. What shall we do?”

At the mention of that name Cecilia, Maggie buried her face in Elizabeth’s shoulder, her silent sobs returning with renewed intensity. For a moment, even Lydia seemed moved by the child’s distress, her usual careless expression softening into one of genuine concern.

“We must act swiftly,” Mrs Bennet said, her voice suddenly firm with determination. “We cannot allow this man to take her. Lizzy, we need to get Maggie out of the house at once, I told him that she was at my sister-in-law’s house. I am not going to let him in, but if he barges in then she cannot be here.” Her mother reached into her pocket and pulled out a small handful of coins, pressing them into Elizabeth’s palm. “Here, take this. It is not much, but it should cover the cost of hiring a carriage. You must take Maggie away from here. Hire a carriage and follow your father until you catch up with him. He has only been gone a few hours. He will know what to do.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Mama, are you certain?”

“Lizzy, we cannot delay. Take the girl and go at once!” Mrs Bennet cried, turning to Jane. “Jane, fetch whatever you have—any guineas, shillings, anything at all! And you too, Lydia.”

Lydia huffed in annoyance. “Why must I—”

“You will do as you are told!” Mrs Bennet snapped, her eyes blazing. “This is not a moment for one of your tantrums. Hurry!”

With an exaggerated sigh, Lydia hurried from the room, but not before casting one last sympathetic glance at Maggie. Jane, already reaching into her reticule, handed Elizabeth several coins without hesitation. Moments later, Lydia returned, panting and flushed, but with a small handful of coins that she thrust into Elizabeth’s hands. “There,” she muttered. “But this is my pin money for the sennight.”

“It will be repaid, Lydia,” Elizabeth assured her, touched by her sister’s unexpected compliance. She felt the weight of the coins, knowing it wasn’t much but that it had to be enough.

Mrs Bennet knelt down before Maggie, cupping the child’s face in her hands. “You will be safe, my darling,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You go with Lizzy now, and she will take care of you. I promise we shall see each other very soon.” She pressed a kiss to Maggie’s forehead, then rose abruptly, as if the emotion of the moment were too much to bear. “Now, go, Lizzy. Take her and go quickly.”

Elizabeth nodded, her heart in her throat. “Yes, Mama.”

“Lydia,” Mrs Bennet commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument, “You shall hurry to your Uncle Phillips. Alert him that there is a stranger in our home and we might all be in peril. He will hurry here and come to my aid. Jane, assist your sister in getting Maggie out through the back.”

And with that, Mrs Bennet left the room, her skirts swishing as she moved with determined purpose. Jane took Maggie’s hand, and together with Elizabeth, they moved to the back stairs that led to the kitchen and scullery, the urgency of their mission lending swiftness to their steps. Elizabeth could feel the chill of the winter air seeping through the narrow hallway, mingling with the nervous sweat on her skin.

The muffled sound of her mother’s voice could be heard from the front parlour, raised in animated conversation with the stranger, and Elizabeth could only hope it would be enough to buy them time. They reached the ground floor, and Jane leaned close, whispering, “Lizzy, be quick. And be careful.”

Elizabeth nodded, squeezing her sister’s hand in silent gratitude. “Thank you, Jane.”

Then, with Maggie’s hand clasped firmly in her own, Elizabeth slipped out through the back door into the night.