The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Darcie Rochester

  "Why have you neglected us all these months, Dickie? My girls have been longing for your company."

  "My coin more like."

  "Clever wag, don't be so vulgar," she scolded, running a hand through the Colonel's hair in a manner that was half motherly, half erotic and wholly disturbing to Darcy.

  "You'll be wanting a girl, I expect, and a private room."

  "Yes, ma'am, if you please," replied Richard flirtatiously.

  "Then that's what you'll get, though you may have to wait on the room else I'll have to throw some poor blighter out on his bare arse."

  "Not necessary. I'm happy to wait, the anticipation only adds to the pleasure, don't you think, Will?"

  Darcy was grateful to his cousin for not revealing his surname in such a ghastly establishment, but he would have preferred to have been left out of the conversation all together. Upon the arrival of the bawd, he had moved to the far side of the divan where the light from the lantern on the low table could not reach him, thus escaping her notice. Now the woman's attention was fixed on him.

  "My, my, Dickie, you brought a friend. And what a pretty gent he is! The girls will be fighting over him. I think I'll keep him for myself and save them the trouble."

  The woman howled with laughter as Darcy's expression turned from discomfort to pure horror. "Ole Rose is only having you on, dearie. I'll get you a pretty young thing. What sort would you like?"

  "He likes lithe brunettes with fine, dark eyes last I checked."

  Darcy shot his cousin a murderous glare. "I will not be partaking this evening, madam, thank you."

  Rose sniffed as if offended, but was undeterred. "Plenty to go around if you change your mind."

  In her next breath, however, she revealed there was not plenty to go around. "Mura! Mura! Chuck him and get over here, girl. Yes, you—here—now!"

  "Pretty little thing—a hun or a slav of some sort. Not a word of English," the bawd said to Richard.

  "I'll not be wanting much conversation."

  "Mura!" Rose cried again, finally managing to gain the girl's attention. The girl slid off the lap of a rough-looking man and made her way across the room.

  "What the hell, Rose!" cried the abandoned fellow.

  "Shut it, I'll get you another. Good cunny like her is wasted on you anyway."

  The man's companions laughed heartily at his expense and though he looked mutinous he did not take his leave.

  Mura was revealed to be a pale, dark haired girl still bearing that tentative, coltish manner of early adolescence. Darcy had certainly seen younger prostitutes in the streets but the child's wide eyes coupled with her complete lack of English comprehension were enough to turn his stomach.

  Thankfully Richard seemed to agree with him. "Too innocent," he declared.

  "Not as innocent as she looks."

  "Too innocent," Richard repeated.

  "All right, I'll find you another. But you'll have to wait, all my best girls are busy." To Mura she said, "You heard the guv, off you go girl," illustrating the message by pushing the child in front of her and steering her through the crowd.

  "Good God, why would she offer me that one? Rather upsets the appetite."

  With too much hope, Darcy asked, "Would you like to leave?"

  "No, I need my remedy. Rose has more likely sluts than that. Fully-fledged and fully willing."

  Upon Richard's utterance of the slur, Darcy's fists clenched unconsciously. Why that harsh word should bother him now he did not quite comprehend. He never used such language himself, but had often been in company who did without feeling a sudden tide of anger.

  "Besides we can't leave now, your friend Bingley has yet to make an appearance."

  "I hope for his sake he has ignored my missive."

  "He is not so uptight as you. He might enjoy himself."

  Darcy very much doubted Bingley would be any more comfortable than he was, but made no argument.

  "You do remember your wife is dead, don't you, Darcy? There is no one to care if you tup a doxy or two."

  "I don't fancy contracting the French disease."

  "Then use a French letter." Richard tittered as if he had said something terribly clever. Darcy concluded the gin must be hitting him at last.

  "Don't look so innocent, I know you know perfectly well what I'm talking about. I do believe you've admitted to visiting a certain house while at university, and I know beyond a doubt after Miss Bennet wounded your pride you sought comfort in the arms of several lovely courtesans."

  "I will not deny it yes, I patronized brothels in my university days, and yes in that time between Elizabeth's rejection and my marriage I indulged in all manner of debauchery. I am not proud of it. It was behavior ill-befitting of the Darcy name."

  "Oh Lord not this. When will you cease trying to live up to this unrealistic image you have of your father? Of your whole bloody legacy?"

  Darcy made no reply.

  "I've seen enough of death to know it is final. Being faithful to your dead wife and protecting the dignity of your dead father is of no use to anyone. You might as well take whatever pleasure you can in life. Good God, I wonder how long has it been since you had a woman. No, don't answer. It will only depress me. Charles, good man, over here."

  Bingley's arrival could not have come at a better time, Darcy had been feeling in danger of storming out.

  "This is a brothel," Bingley nervously observed upon settling in his seat.

  "Really? I hadn't noticed," said Darcy with characteristic wryness.

  "Bingley, you cannot be a stuffed shirt as well, one at this table is enough."

  The Colonel called out for another gin.

  "Oh, gin—I don't much care for gin—oh, well, thank you," said Bingley as the drink was placed before him.

  "As promised, my best girl," said Rose, suddenly appearing with another woman in tow. "Oh, another gent—will you be wanting company, sir?" she asked, addressing Bingley.

  "Er, perhaps later. I'm still …acclimating."

  "Well, Dickie, this is Maggie. Isn't she the comeliest slattern you ever did see?"

  Darcy made the mistake of looking at the woman. She was a beautiful blonde with a figure that could make a man's cock start to stiffen after but a moment's review. Darcy looked away, fighting simultaneous arousal and nausea, before he could observe her remarkable light, slivery blue eyes. Which Richard apparently found objectionable.

  "No blue eyes—I cannot abide blue eyes," he said with sudden vehemence.

  "How bout you then?" Maggie said to Bingley who was staring at her mouth agape.

  Bingley snapped out of his stupor and quickly—and perhaps a little regretfully—shook his head.

  Maggie shrugged and sauntered off, leaving a perplexed Rose.

  "Picky this evening aren't we, dearie. Well, never you mind, we'll find you the right one in the end," she said before following after her prize employee.

  "That girl could be making much better coin at a finer establishment," said Richard as he watched the retreating figure of Maggie with repressed longing. Darcy wondered at his cousin's sudden disgust of blue eyes, he had never appeared to object to them in the past.

  "Speaking of finer establishments, if it is female company you are after, Colonel, I know of several places that would have a superior selection—less chaos—more discretion."

  Richard laughed. "Bingley, there is no need to be telling military men about brothels. We know the location and rank of them all. I'm exactly where I want to be. The females at those finer establishments like to pretend they're ladies—I'm sick to death of ladies. Any woman who takes cock for coin is a whore, to pretend otherwise is absurd."

  Darcy's hands were forming fists again and his cousin's jaw was looking like a perfect target for them. Fortunately for Richard's face, the young man with the ink stains at the next table chose that moment to stand up swiftly, jostling their table and distracting Darcy's wrath.

  "Get your slag arse off my table, Sal, I said I wanted Liz
zy. No one else will do," proclaimed the boy with great feeling.

  "Lizzy's with another sweetheart presently. And she's just as much a slag as me. You'll do well to remember that," replied the rejected Sal.

  "Poor pup," murmured Richard, "No doubt he thinks himself in love with a whore."

  Almost as soon as he had sat back down the youth stood up again. "Lizzy!" he shouted.

  But the coveted Lizzy was shown not to his table but to Richard's. The girl glanced apologetically at the boy and then set her sight unwaveringly upon Richard.

  "Lizzy's got green eyes," said Rose.

  "And very fine eyes they are."

  Rose's brow arched in question, Richard answered with a nod, and Lizzy was ushered onto his lap without delay.

  "There's still a wait for the room, but Lizzy can entertain you til then."

  "I'm sure she can."

  With that assurance Rose bustled off triumphant.

  Darcy felt he must be as tightly wound as the youth at the neighboring table appeared to be. The Lizzy currently occupying his cousin's lap was a pleasantly plump red-haired creature of no more than nineteen years, whose green eyes, though Richard had deemed them fine, had none of the sparkle of intelligence of his Lizzy. Indeed, there was nothing at all about the girl to remind him of Elizabeth Bennet. Yet hearing that name associated with a woman so demeaned made him want to put his fists through the wall. Or perhaps just into his cousin's gut. Repeatedly. The hypocrisy of such a feeling was not at all lost on him.

  "Careful there, I've been lamed," Richard warned as the girl wriggled seductively.

  "Were you a soldier?"

  "A cavalryman, the Blues."

  "Oh, I'm so grateful to all the brave men who beat back those nasty Frenchies."

  "Yes, all the good citizens of Britain go on about how grateful they are, yet they leave those same brave men begging for food in the streets."

  Darcy knew this to be a bitter subject for Richard. He could rail without rest about the treatment of soldiers who came back from battle invalid and unable to find work. Lizzy was happily too much the expert at her craft to let a customer work up a rant on her watch.

  "Hush now, handsome, only thing you're gonna to be begging for is more of me," she said, then she kissed him soundly.

  Bingley stirred uncomfortably. "Well, this is dashed awkward."

  "Get yourself a girl, Bingley. I'll hear no more of your envious chatter," said the Colonel before returning to Lizzy's charms.

  Bingley scanned the room uneasily. He was no stranger to women of the flesh trade, but he was accustomed to a higher caliber of practitioner. At finer establishments one would be seated in a private sitting room, never forced to meet with a courtesan's other "sweethearts." When the lady arrived she would serve tea, or wine if one seemed nervous, then after a bit of flirtatious banter there would be amorous congress, unhurried and unwitnessed by others. Relations were dignified, discreet, and billed by the quarter just like the tailor.

  Unlike this establishment, where those who could not wait for a private chamber flagrantly engaged in sexual intercourse in the public room. Bingley shuddered.

  Observing his friend's discomfort Darcy said, "I cannot abandon my cousin, but if you wish to leave—."

  "No, no. I'm fine. Perhaps a hand of cards . . . ." Bingley looked to the card table only to see the girl Richard had judged too innocent perched upon a player's knee, nascent breasts bared. He shuddered again.

  "Have you ever been to this sort of place before?"

  "No. It is not to my taste, nor yours, I daresay."

  "It's a bit too . . ."

  "Much—yes," finished Darcy.

  "Yet I suppose it is more honest."

  "Yes, the lower classes do have us outdone in that regard. A gentleman must be fed his sins blindfolded with a lump of sugar to make them palatable," Darcy said with undisguised rancor.

  Bingley regarded his old friend carefully. Before he could inquire about Darcy's sudden hostility, Rose reappeared in the center of the room and called out over the raucous, "Dearies, you must let me borrow my pretties for a twinkling. We're going to have a song."

  "I'll be back," the red-haired Lizzy promised, withdrawing a skillful hand from Richards's breeches and dismounting.

  "What is happening?" asked Darcy, watching warily as the bawd took her place at a battered pianoforte in the far corner of the room.

  "The girls are going to sing," explained Richard.

  "Good Lord, why?"

  "I suppose Rose thinks it lends her house an air of refinement."

  Darcy cringed, preparing his ears for an assault. Bingley looked on with the same expression of polite interest he displayed when listening to a very proper debutante entertain her mother's dinner guests with a selection of Beethoven.

  Rose began to play. Surprisingly her fingering was capable. The singing was, unfortunately, as expected. The other patrons did not seem to notice the inferiority of the performance, they sang and clapped along to the bawdy song, cheering as the girls moved to the rhythm with much jiggling of breasts and wiggling of bottoms.

  "Cousin, I don't think it would be so much a sin to watch their teats bounce. Surely you can enjoy that much."

  Darcy ignored Richard's jibe, keeping his eyes fixed on the table.

  "Do none of them look enough like the revered Miss Bennet to strike your fancy?"

  Darcy looked at him sharply. This was the second time that evening his cousin had mentioned Elizabeth, and he wondered if Richard knew more than he let on.

  "You are still pining for her aren't you? It was pathetic enough four years ago when you were choosing doxies who looked like her, but this new dedication to celibacy cannot be tolerated."

  Sensing Darcy's fraying control, Bingley warned tentatively, "Colonel Fitzwilliam, respectfully—."

  But Richard paid Bingley no mind. "Bancroft's mistress is Lydia Bennet, is she not? Your Miss Bennet's sister?"

  "Yes, as I've told you." Darcy did not like the tone of Richard's questioning nor the dark glint of humor in his eyes.

  "You could easily outbid Bancroft for her affection. She would be the closest thing to Miss Bennet you could get."

  "There is very little comparison between Elizabeth and her youngest sister," replied Darcy with determined serenity.

  "Though I suppose for the right price you might be able to convince Miss Elizabeth Bennet to lift her skirts for you—now that little sister has made turning whore look so attractive."

  Darcy was now certain his earlier suspicions were correct; Richard was intentionally tormenting him. For what reason his cousin sought to provoke him to violence he did not know, but he was sure Richard would get his wish if he kept speaking.

  "Darcy would never do something so despicable!"

  Darcy might have withstood more of Richard's baiting, but Bingley's assured defense was too much to bear. He quit the Rose Red in haste.

  A minute later Bingley discovered him standing indecisively on the walkway in front of the building. "Your cousin did not mean to offend you. He is a little foxed and I daresay something has upset him."

  "Yes, I know. I am not angry with him, it is myself I am sickened by."

  Bingley looked at him bewilderedly.

  "I am despicable."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I have ruined her—Elizabeth Bennet. I have made her my mistress."

  Bingley took an unconscious step back, as if wickedness were contagious. "Darcy . . . my God. She is an impoverished gentlewoman without connection—without anyone to protect her honor."

  "She is."

  "How could you do such a thing?"

  "I am weak."

  "That is your excuse?"

  "I have no excuse, but that is my answer. I am weak. My wretched soul will pay for it in hell I'm sure."

  "You could marry her."

  "I cannot. You know I cannot."

  "I do not know it! To be sure it would not be easy. Society would shun you, but I wou
ld not cut you. Marry her—you hate society anyway."

  "I have more than myself to think of. Georgiana has yet to marry."

  To this Bingley could offer no argument. After a long stretch of silence, he asked, "Have you seen Miss Jane Bennet?"

  "No, but Elizabeth has spoken of her."

  "Is she well?"

  "She has been in poor health but is recovering."

  "Is she married?"

  "She is not."

  "Has she succumbed to the profession the Bennet women seem prone to?"

  "She has not. She lives respectably in Lambeth with the other two sisters."

  "In a house bought with Miss Elizabeth's virtue?"

  "Yes."

  Bingley's horror returned anew. "To use her love for her sisters against her—."

  "Is monstrous, I know."

  Darcy's defeated tone took all of Bingley's fervor away, "I'm sorry," he said, "I should not berate you, you are miserable enough. I got carried away thinking it could have been Miss Bennet—Miss Jane Bennet—who was tempted into sin."

  Darcy nodded. He had long suspected Bingley of still holding feelings for Miss Bennet. Infatuation came just as easily as it always had to him, but it was even more fleeting, and he was much more circumspect in his interactions with ladies than he had been in the past. No one would ever again accuse him of raising hopes, indeed no one could accuse him of showing any particular lady interest.

  "We should return. I do not trust Richard alone, he has been behaving strangely this evening," Darcy said, steeling himself.

  They returned to find the Colonel squaring off with the lovelorn youth. Darcy knew that punches had yet to be thrown because the boy wasn't bleeding. Every occupant of the room seemed to be eagerly awaiting the fight, including the door guard whose job it ought to have been to prevent it.

  The only face that held consternation was Lizzy's. She hovered between the two combatants unable to decide where her loyalties lie. Finally she made her choice. Sentiment couldn't keep one fed; she stepped beside Richard. "Go on home Ed, I'll not have time for you tonight."

  "Listen to her, lad. Consider this a powerful lesson on women and love," Richard taunted.