Chapter 4

Four

August 16

Longbourn

Elizabeth growled in frustration as she again turned her reticule inside out and failed to find Mr Darcy's letter. She knew that she had searched there previously at least half a dozen times and could not reasonably expect it to suddenly appear therein, but she was far beyond thinking reasonably and well into a state of panic.

She had been searching fruitlessly for days for the missive and had yet to discover it. She feared not only that she had lost it, but that it was now in the hands of someone who might not treat it with the discretion it deserved. Had one of the servants found it while cleaning her chambers? Or had one of her sisters been snooping through her things? No, no, that was unlikely—it was usually Lydia who showed such lack of respect for others' privacy and her whereabouts were currently unknown. Days ago, Lydia was my larger concern!

Regardless of where it was or who had it, Elizabeth needed to find Mr Darcy's letter. Where could it be?

"Lizzy?"

Elizabeth jumped and turned. Jane stood just inside the room, evident concern written in the wrinkle of her brow.

"What are you doing?"

Pressing a hand to her fluttering heart, Elizabeth entreated Jane to close the door. After her sister had complied, she exclaimed in a fervent whisper, "I have lost Mr Darcy's letter."

Jane's expression smoothed into one of surprise. "The one you showed me when you returned home from Kent?"

"The very same! Oh Jane, what am I to do?"

"There now, you need not be so uneasy," Jane soothed as she rubbed slow circles into Elizabeth's back. "I am sure it will turn up. Where did you last see it?"

"In our uncle's carriage. I kept it with me in my reticule so that it could not possibly be discovered by someone besides myself."

"And it is no longer in your reticule?"

"No!" Elizabeth stamped her foot. "I have searched it over and over again, though of course a single glance told me it was not there. Where could it be?"

Jane surveyed the room, which bore signs of Elizabeth's frantic hunt, but had no more luck than her sister in spotting the missing letter. "Have you seen it since you arrived at Longbourn?"

"No, not once."

"Then perhaps you dropped it somewhere along the road between here and Derbyshire?"

Heaven forfend! Thankfully, however, it was not possible. Elizabeth had held it in her possession between their last stop to change horses and their final destination. She recalled having to hide it quickly when Mrs Gardiner?—

"Oh dear." Elizabeth cupped her hands over her mouth.

"Have you thought of something?"

Elizabeth groaned aloud at her own stupidity and more fully covered her face. "I might have left it in the carriage. Or it might have flown out when I arrived. I do not know, but the last time I saw it I had to tuck it out of sight! It could be anywhere."

She buried her face in Jane's shoulder as her sister shushed her gently. Tears, which had been her closest friends of late, spilled down her cheeks as the worst possible scenarios tumbled through her overwrought mind. It might be picked up by one of their neighbours. It might be used to further shame the Bennets. Word might reach Mr Darcy that she had been horribly irresponsible and thoughtless with his privacy. As if I do not disgust him enough already!

"There, there, I am sure it will turn up. Even if not, it has probably blown away never to be seen again. There is so much land betwixt us and our neighbours that I cannot see how anyone would ever come across it again. Even if they did, it is no doubt damaged beyond repair and unreadable. You need not fear."

Jane's words were meant to be consoling, but Elizabeth could only feel greater despair. Her one token from Mr Darcy, the only man she had ever come close to loving, was gone and she would never see it again. Without it, there was no proof that he had ever cared for her; it was as if his declaration of fervent adoration never happened.

"Come, dearest," said Jane as she took Elizabeth's hand and guided her towards the door. "Let us walk in the garden. I am sure the fresh air and sunshine will do you good."

Elizabeth dabbed the evidence of her distress from her face and nodded. She would check under every bush, search the boughs of every tree, and perhaps recover Mr Darcy's letter. Or so she prayed.

Kitty sat in the window seat of the front parlour, her chin propped in her hand, and glumly watched her two eldest sisters tour the garden. Elizabeth was standing upon a stone bench and peering into the branches of an oak tree, which was odd, while Jane circled the base. At least someone has found some amusement.

Huffing and turning away from the strange scene, Kitty slumped down and crossed her arms. She had been restricted to Longbourn ever since news of Lydia's elopement had arrived and it was most unfair. It was not as if she had done anything wrong! Nor could she see that Lydia had done anything so terrible. Her stuffy family was so caught up in the impropriety of the elopement that they could not appreciate how romantic it was for her sister and Mr Wickham. Although Uncle Gardiner's letter from yesterday seemed to imply that Mr Wickham's intentions might not have been strictly honourable, Kitty found that difficult to believe. Why should handsome, amiable Mr Wickham want to cause trouble for his friends?

And why should I be punished for my paltry role in all this? It is not as if I encouraged Lydia to run away, I merely kept a confidence, which was what any good sister would do. She had tried to explain as much to her father, but he had been so absolutely beside himself with rage that she abandoned the attempt before she said more than a few words in her own defence. He clearly did not understand the bonds of sisterhood.

Thankfully, Mr Bennet had gone off to London only a few hours later. Kitty still was not allowed to go into Meryton or to accept any callers—save for Aunt Philips and Lady Lucas, who occasionally came to condole with them—but at least she did not have to endure her father's thunderous scowls. She hoped he stayed away for a long while.

Some noise in the vestibule pricked Kitty's interest, but it was only Jane and Elizabeth returning from their excursion. She could hear their voices seeping into the room through the partially open door.

"I am certain it will turn up, Lizzy."

"I dearly hope so."

"Oh look, the post has come since we were out. There is nothing from London, but…"

Elizabeth and Jane entered the room a second later; the former was holding the post and scowling at a letter which had presumably just arrived. "What can Mr Collins have to say?"

Mary, who had been seated across the room from Kitty with one of her dull tomes, perked up. "Mr Collins?"

Kitty sniffed. Naturally, Mary would want to know all about what Mr Collins has to say.

Elizabeth nodded as she released the seal. Unfolding the missive, she began to read aloud. What poured forth from the pen of their horrid cousin was the most disgusting bit of cruelty Kitty had ever heard. Lydia's death ‘a blessing in comparison'! Lady Catherine's condescending opinions of their ruination! Mr Collins congratulating himself for escaping marriage to Elizabeth! What outrageous tripe.

Elizabeth mimicked their cousin's voice as she continued reading the letter to their father.

Let me advise you then, my dear sir, to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child from your affection forever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her own heinous offence.

At this heartless conclusion, Kitty stared at Elizabeth with wide eyes as she set the foul missive aside. Her second eldest sister appeared to share Kitty's disgust—if the wrinkle in her nose was any indication—though she looked not a bit surprised. Jane, seated beside Elizabeth, seemed aghast; perhaps even she could not find the goodness in Mr Collins now.

"Yes, it is exactly as I have been saying." Kitty whipped about to face Mary, who remained seated at the table with her book spread before her. She was nodding primly and giving them a gimlet eye. "The loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable—one false step involves her in endless ruin and those connected with her must also suffer."

"Mary—"

Outraged beyond endurance, Kitty interrupted whatever forgiving speech Jane was about to utter. "How can you defend anything that awful man said? Have you no heart?"

Mary flushed brightly red and retorted, "Mr Collins speaks only the truth and there is no profit in pretending we are not all ruined by Lydia's disgrace. Unhappy as the event must be for her, we at least may draw a useful lesson from it. If we do not, then we are as lost to sin as she."

"Mr Collins is a mean-spirited, petty little man who merely wishes to rub our noses in our misfortune!"

"He is a clergyman and deserving of our respect and deference!" Mary stood and stepped closer so that she and Kitty were toe-to-toe. She brought up a finger and waved it beneath her younger sister's nose like a scolding governess. "His notion of Christian forgiveness is, perhaps, a touch harsh?—"

"‘A touch harsh'?" Kitty hissed, angry tears burning her eyes and threatening to fall. "He proclaims we would be better off if Lydia were dead ! He wants us to cast her off and never see her again!"

She would have gone on in that vein, bellowing it in Mary's face, had Elizabeth not intervened and driven them apart. "Stop all this shouting. Do you wish to disturb Mama?"

The four sisters, as one, glanced warily up to the ceiling; their mother was ensconced in her bedchamber just above them. Mrs Bennet had been more distraught than usual since Lydia's disappearance and they had all made the effort to mollify her as best they could. Mrs Gardiner was with her at the present to alleviate the burden on her daughters, but any sign of discord in the household would require the attentions of the entire family—as well as most of the servants—to keep Mrs Bennet calm.

"There is no cause to fight amongst ourselves," Jane added, placing a hand upon Mary's shoulder. "I am sure Mr Collins meant well, even if he perhaps expressed himself poorly. He surely did not mean to imply that Lydia's death would be a blessing. Our situation is not so bad as he seems to believe it is. I am sure all will be well in the end."

To Kitty's surprise, Elizabeth snorted. "Forgive me, Jane, but I must disagree with you there. Mr Collins is a pompous toad"—a shocked giggle burst from Kitty at her sister's epithet—"and he meant every word the way he said it. Even so, he is not wrong about how the world will see us now because of Lydia's infamy. We must prepare ourselves for the worst."

Jane stared at Elizabeth, apparently aggrieved by the very suggestion that anyone, much less every one, could think so meanly. "Surely not, Lizzy!"

"A lady's reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful and we must?—"

"Yes, thank you, Mary," Elizabeth cut in with a glare for her next youngest sister. "While I do not disagree with you or Mr Collins on how far our family has fallen, it does us no good to dwell on our ruination. It is best to reserve our moralising for now and keep the peace. Just as there is no profit in acting as if we are unaffected by Lydia's actions, there is none in harping on it endlessly, either. Have some compassion for our feelings and desist. Am I understood?"

Mary's mouth pressed into a taut white line, but she nodded.

Kitty grinned at Mary in triumph, but Elizabeth was not yet done. "Kitty, you must recognise that our lives are never going to be quite the same again. You are young, but not too young to understand the consequences of one's actions. Whether or not you agree with Mary and Mr Collins, the fact is that the rest of the world will not be so understanding of Lydia's folly as her family is. They will see her behaviour as licentious—to use Mr Collins's word—and assume that the rest of us are as immoral as she is."

"But that is hardly fair," Kitty protested. "Why should we all be punished for something that Lydia has done?"

"I did not say it was fair, only that this is how the world will regard us from here on. This affair will paint us in the worst possible light, and society is not terribly forgiving. Chances are that we, none of us, will—" Elizabeth choked, looked down a moment and then continued, "None of us will ever marry. Since Longbourn passes to Mr Collins after Papa's death, we will find ourselves in a difficult situation."

Kitty stared at her in disbelief. "But Lydia is getting married! Why should that ruin us? Just because it did not occur in the traditional way?"

Elizabeth shook her head, her face a study in melancholy. "There is almost no chance of Mr Wickham actually marrying Lydia. Had that been his intention, we would have had word of it by now. There is even a possibility that we shall never see Lydia again, unless by some miracle Papa and Uncle Gardiner manage to find her. She is lost and our respectability along with her."

"B-But, if she was taken in by Wickham, would that not make him the villain? Why should Lydia be punished so harshly?"

The expression in Elizabeth's eyes was one of pity. "That is the way of it in society, my dear. A man might be censured, but it is the woman who is most despised in such situations, even when she had no choice in the matter. However," Elizabeth breathed a deep sigh, "from what I have learnt since I have been home, Lydia cannot plead innocence in her own case."

"What do you mean?"

"She means," Mary cut in, primly resettling her spectacles upon her nose, "that Lydia was corrupted long before this incident ever took place. Why, just look at her behaviour?—"

"Mary." Elizabeth's chastising tone quieted their sister. She turned back to Kitty, and in a softer voice, responded to her query. "What I mean is that Lydia's own words condemn her. That letter she left behind for Mrs Forster is proof that she went along with Wickham willingly, without regard to the consequences. Now, it also proves that she believed his intention to be marriage, which is in her favour, but she spoke of her elopement in nearly the same fashion as she asked her friend to make excuses to another soldier and requested the maid to mend a slit in her gown. Do you think she even once considered the repercussions for the rest of us? She knew what they would be, and yet ran off anyway. Her letter, more than any other piece of information I have seen, has deeply troubled me. To think that Lydia could be so inconsiderate of those who love her, so selfish…" Elizabeth's thoughts trailed off; the only sound in the room was Jane's tremulous sigh.

Kitty's knees shook and she sat down with a thump. No one had ever explained the matter so directly; she had assumed that everyone was making a mountain out of a molehill. She had expected Lydia to arrive home with a new husband in tow, laughing gaily for accomplishing that which none of her sisters had yet done, and she the youngest of them all. More than that, the way Elizabeth, the most clever and worldly of her sisters, told it, Lydia had essentially betrayed her entire family by running off with Mr Wickham on a lark. It was not as if they had not been warned before to guard their virtue and to behave with decorum, but neither she nor Lydia had ever taken these admonishments seriously. Why should the world care what we do? As it transpired, the world cared very much and was not inclined towards forgiveness.

A sigh recalled Kitty's attention to Elizabeth, who was rubbing at her forehead with her fingers. She looked distressed and tired. "I think I shall go lie down for a little while. Come get me up when it is my turn to sit with Mama."

Jane, still looking pale, rubbed Elizabeth's arm. "Do you wish my company?"

Elizabeth shook her head, wincing as if the motion pained her. "No, thank you. Solitude will be most welcome." So saying, she tossed Mr Collins's letter in the low fire, jabbed at it with the poker to ensure that it caught, and exited the room.

Kitty, from her perch in the window, glanced at her remaining sisters. Jane had taken up her sewing, though her needle did not move through the fabric; she stared at the pattern as if it somehow perplexed her. Mary sat back down at the table, but closed her book, an expression of contemplation softening her usually severe features. For the first time, Kitty felt some measure of guilt for keeping Lydia's secrets to herself and not preventing the disaster which had befallen them. Perhaps her father had been right to chastise her.

The distant sound of a carriage drew Kitty's attention out of doors. Just coming round the bend was a familiar equipage—Papa was home! But what sort of news did he bring? Swallowing, she steeled herself for the worst.