The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Darcie Rochester

  "Oh, you won't be treated thusly! Indeed. In that case I think you know where the door is. If you have forgotten Fisk can show you the way."

  There was a moment of silence then the quiet was rent by the unmistakable sound of a slap.

  Lizzy stood unthinkingly, her fists clenched for battle.

  Wickham chuckled at her display. "She's fine. She can take care of herself. And if she can't she has Fisk. What good could you do?"

  She thought of the child she was carrying, of how tired she already was, of how much she had already been through. She sat back down, feeling cowardly as she did so.

  Lydia sauntered back into the room almost as soon as Lizzy had returned to her seat. It was obvious from her unmarked face she had been the perpetrator of the slap rather than the recipient.

  "I'm well rid of him. He was rather stingy, really. This bracelet was the only nice thing he ever gave me. I think my next shall be another old one," Lydia said as she flopped back into her seat. The altercation had exhilarated her, she looked much more like the Lydia Lizzy knew.

  "An old one won't do at all. You can't risk killing another one. Once the neighbor see my corpse being carried out your reputation will be black enough."

  "You're not at all amusing, Wicks," said Lydia, with a conspiratorial glance at Lizzy she continued, "The old ones give the best gifts. And you never know when they might drop dead and leave you a house. All of my friends are so envious of me, some of them have finer establishment but they don't get to keep them after the arrangement ends."

  "Yes, but you must endure the attentions of some old blighter," said Wickham.

  "It's not as bad as you would think. The old ones know they are disgusting and are so apologetic about it. Mr. Nettle could barely keep his cock stiff, but he was as good a lover as any, forever lapping at my cunny like a well trained spaniel. Of course there is something to be said for young men—so vigorous."

  "You are cruel. You will make your sweet innocent sister blush."

  Lydia paid him no mind. "Young men, though, need so much encouragement. Constant praising. It's positively tiresome. I'm forever saying, 'Yes, darling, you really are the best I've ever had.'"

  "But when you say it to me you speak the truth of course?"

  Lydia turned to Lizzy with a look of exasperation on her face. "As I said, constant praising."

  Lizzy, perhaps because she was so tired or perhaps because the day had been so full of anxiety and anguish, burst out in a fit of laughter.

  "My God, she's laughing. I think she might have a sense of humor after all. What will Darcy do with her?"

  "Something wicked, I hope," replied Lydia.

  Wickham tried to laugh but his laugh morphed into a cough midway. He reached towards the table beside him to grab the glass of wine there but his eyes watered. His arm came back to clutch his side before he could complete the motion.

  "Oh, George," Lydia cried, all her earlier desperation returned.

  "No, none of that. I'm perfectly well."

  "You're in pain!"

  "It's hardly noticeable."

  "Perhaps we should let you rest."

  "I would not mind retiring myself," Lizzy said, seeing an out.

  "Lydie," Wickham whined like a petulant child.

  "I will not leave you, but you must try to sleep."

  "I will not have you sitting by my bed like some nursemaid, staring at me while I sleep," he declared.

  He continued to protest but in the end Lydia had her way. Wickham was given something to help him sleep and a maid was sent to prepare a room for Lizzy.

  Lizzy woke with a start. Light glowed brightly from beneath her chamber door. She sat up wondering where she was until the fog of sleep parted and memory rushed back in. She raced out into the hall hoping to find that Darcy had arrived, instead she nearly knocked over Kate who was walking swiftly away from Wickham's room.

  The girl paused and whispered, "The gentleman has taken very ill, Miss," before continuing on her journey down the corridor.

  Lizzy, who had thought Wickham couldn't possibly become any more ill than he already was without being dead, cautiously approached his room.

  "The doctor has already come and gone. There is nothing he can do," Lydia declared as her sister stepped into the room. Tears were streaming down her face.

  The chamber smelt strongly of sickness and Lydia's other maid was on the far side of the bed scrubbing something on the carpet.

  "Should a clergyman be called?" Lizzy whispered. Wickham's eyes were half closed and she did not know if he was asleep or in some other unconscious state.

  "It would be too convenient a time to try to return to the Lord, don't you think?" Wickham asked hazily, startling Lizzy.

  "I think you are returning to Him regardless."

  "There are other options. One at least," Wickham said with a dry chuckle. He feebly shook free the hand Lydia was holding and held it out to Lizzy. Lizzy took it.

  "This is farewell, Miss Elizabeth."

  "Farewell, Mr. Wickham." Lizzy could not help it, she felt a tear roll down her cheek.

  "Be kind to her. Promise?"

  "I will. I promise," Lizzy replied, glancing at her puzzled sister beside her. Wickham released her hand and she back away, leaving the room to give the pair privacy for their final goodbyes. She returned to her chamber but took a lighted candle and left the door ajar so Lydia would know she was available.

  "He's gone," Lydia said sometime later. Lizzy had drowsed despite her best efforts. Now she sat up in the bed and spread her arms wide gesturing for Lydia to come to her. Lydia did not hesitate, she ran into her older sister's arms like a little girl and sobbed until she could sob no more.

  "I didn't believe him when he told me he was dying," croaked Lydia when she found her voice again. "I thought he was just hiding out from debt like usual. I guess he was telling the truth for once."

  "I'm sorry, Lydia."

  "No you're not. And I'm not either. I'm damn well pleased to be rid of him." She began weeping anew, this time more violently than before.

  "Lud, why am I crying like this? He was a rather pathetic creature, wasn't he?"

  "We all are."

  "Even the high and mighty Lizzy Bennet?"

  "Especially her," replied Lizzy.

  Lydia smiled up at her weakly. "I always wanted to be like you."

  "Like me?" asked Lizzy, unable to hide her astonishment.

  "You were so brave. Turning down Collins. Never letting anyone make you live by their rules. I thought I was being bold when I ran off with him, you know. I loved the fool. He didn't have any money and I knew Papa would say no, no matter how much Mama liked him, so I off I went. I never meant—I never meant—I'm so sorry."

  Lizzy pulled her sister closer. "I know. I should have forgiven you years ago. My anger has been of no advantage to either of us." She had not known the truth of it until she had spoken the words. Lizzy had never fully grieved for all her loss, in part because she felt she had to be strong for her other sister's and also, though she had never acknowledged it, the cold black anger she held in her heart for her youngest sister muted every other emotion.

  "I've hated you from time to time, but I loved you all the while. I will always love you," Lizzy said as she stroked Lydia's hair.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lizzy woke suddenly, feeling she could not have slept more than a moment and yet light shone fiercely through the heavy curtains. She rose groggily out of bed, observing her wrinkled gown with a wince. Lydia's maid would be incensed with her, all the creases would take ages to iron out. She ought to have asked for a nightdress but Wickham's death had obliterated any thought of such trivialities.

  There was a gentle rap at the door and then Lydia's maid poked her head cautiously into the room.

  "I was just about to wake you," said Kate, "Your gentleman is here again."

  "Again?"

  "Yes, he came round early this morning, asked if you were here. Mr. Fisk told him y

ou were sleeping. The gentleman said not to wake you, he'd be back after he took care of a few things and now here he is."

  "Is Mr. Darcy the gentleman?"

  "That's the one, Miss. He's waiting in the parlor."

  Lizzy was out of the room in a flash, her untamed hair flying behind as she hurtled downstairs. She skidded into the parlor stumbling over her too long skirt. Darcy caught her before she could come to any harm.

  "Fitzwilliam."

  "Elizabeth. Thank God," he said, pulling her tightly against his chest. His unshaven cheek brushed against her face as he rained kisses upon her lips, brow, hair—whatever was in reach at the moment. Once he had kissed or caressed every part of her face at least twice, he held her away as if to inspect her.

  Lizzy knew she was rumpled, but she could not possibly look more disreputable than he did. The few things he had taken care of before returning had apparently not included a change of clothes or a shave. He had also obviously not slept in a good while for dark shadows were beneath his eyes.

  She was about to make some sort of quip about his appearance when his hand strayed upon her right elbow which Jack had grabbed so painfully the day before. She drew a sharp breath. Darcy removed his hand and gently turned her wrist as to better view the damage. His visage darkened upon surveying the bruise.

  "I will kill them."

  It was unclear if he was referring to the kidnappers or his conspiring relations. Lizzy did not care. At the moment she had no anger for either. Darcy was here. Nothing else could matter more than that.

  "It is my only injury," she said soothingly.

  "That you have suffered any injury at all is intolerable. When I think of the distress you must have endured—."

  "I daresay your distress at my disappearance was much greater than my distress at my captivity. They really were the most agreeable kidnappers. Until those other men showed up I was not at all frightened. I do hope Kip and Danny are well."

  "Kip and Danny?"

  "The men your aunt hired to kidnap me. Boys, really especially in Kip's case."

  "You are concerned about your kidnappers?" Darcy asked. His voice held exasperated amusement edged with something dangerous.

  "Yes, we were discovered by the gang of ruffians they had fallen in with. Their leader apparently felt he ought to have been included in any law breaking they involved themselves with. It was during the attack I received the bruise."

  "You were attacked by a gang of ruffians." His tone was all danger now.

  "I was not so much the target as the prize. I escaped in the confusion. I do hope Kip and his brother made it out as well. You were searching for me I suspect—do you have any notion of what happened to them?"

  "I haven't the slightest idea what has befallen your captors nor do I care. I hired runners to assist with your retrieval. The information my uncle provided led us to a lodging house in Seven Dials. Once appropriate rewards were offered the landlady was most forthcoming. She showed us the room where you had been held. It was evident a struggle had occurred, but as to your whereabouts no clue could be deduced. I spent the rest of the night searching the area. It was not until morning my valet was able to locate me and give me your letter."

  "Oh my poor Fitzwilliam, I am hardly worth such trouble."

  Darcy would not allow her to make light of it. "Nothing I will ever do could requite the distress you've endured while you were supposed to be under my care," he said. His eyes flared with passion bordering on madness.

  Lizzy shook her head, but he spoke again before she could utter any more reassurance.

  "I am going to marry you."

  "I should hope so. It would be unpardonable for you to back out now after all I have endured on your account." She knew she should not tease him when he was overwrought, but it was too tempting.

  "I mean to say I am going to marry you today. This morning—this very hour—if you will come away with me. It is all arranged. Nothing will come between us again."

  "I will come away with you. But first I must tell my sister farewell . . . and I must tell you that Mr. Wickham has died."

  "George Wickham?"

  "Yes, he came to Lydia because he had no where else to go. He died last night. Do you wish to see him? I do not believe the undertaker has come for him yet."

  "No," Darcy replied forcefully. Immediately he looked apologetic for having been so gruff.

  Lizzy gave him a quick kiss then said, "Excuse me while I find Lydia."

  She discovered Lydia in her dressing room wearing a cheerful gown with a rosebud print and a surfeit of lace. No one would ever think she had spent the majority of the previous night weeping for she was fresh-faced as any debutante and in her current garb looked every bit as innocent.

  "I think it is done, Kate. One doesn't wish to look as if one is trying too hard," Lydia said to the maid who was fixing her hair.

  Lizzy stepped fully into the room causing her reflection to appear in the mirror behind Lydia's

  Lydia suddenly stiffened. "Good, you're awake. I'm going out soon. I would invite you along, but I hear Mr. Darcy has come for you."

  "He has. We are to be wed this morning." It crossed Lizzy's mind to invite her to the wedding, but she knew she could not.

  "My felicitations," said Lydia, her tone uncharacteristically formal.

  "Thank you."

  Lizzy did not wish them to part with the same cold civility that had haunted their meetings since Lydia's failed elopement. She knew Lydia's rigidity of manner was borne of embarrassment at the vulnerability she had displayed the previous evening. Her youngest sister was much like her in this regard, they both hated to appear weak.

  "I must go. I just wanted to tell you—"

  "You cannot wear that!" Lydia interrupted.

  "Oh yes, I should give this back," Lizzy said, glancing at the gown she wore, "I will change into the dress I arrived here in."

  "That dress was beyond hope. I told Kate to throw it out. It looked as though you waded through the gutter in it."

  Lydia got up and dashed across the room to her wardrobe. "You cannot go to your wedding in a wrinkled evening gown. And your hair . . . something really must be done about it."

  "Darcy is waiting."

  "Let him wait. It does them good. Men are all together too accustomed to getting their way. They enjoy it when a woman puts them in their place."

  "Kate." Lydia snapped her fingers at her maid then gestured towards Lizzy. The girl apparently understood this unspoken command for she approached Lizzy and began unbuttoning her gown.

  "No—really," Lizzy protested weakly but she did not try to escape. She had just enough vanity not to wish to look entirely disheveled on her wedding day. Guiltily she thought of Darcy waiting downstairs for her, so tired he might fall over at any moment. She promised herself she would take only enough time to change her dress and put her hair up simply.

  Kate had her stripped down to her borrowed chemise in a trice. Lydia however was less expedient with choosing a gown for her. "This one—no, this one," she said as she tossed dresses out of the wardrobe carelessly.

  "It does not matter. Any dress appropriate for day wear will do."

  Lydia smirked mischievously as she pulled out a primrose gown with an over abundance of ribbons and lace. "How about this?" she asked, knowing her elder sister's preference for simple design.

  Lizzy tried not to grimace. "Perhaps something with a little less frippery."

  Lydia giggled. "I know what will be perfect. It is a little boring and very last season so it should suit you perfectly," she said, producing an ivory gown with dark blue pinstripes, small brass buttons at the sleeves and bodice were its only adornment.

  "It is lovely."

  "You would think so."

  The gown fit as the other had, a little loose at the waist and in the bodice and a little long in the skirt but otherwise suitable.

  "That will do nicely," Lydia said with a satisfied nod. "Now your hair. What shall we do?"

  "It just needs a bit of brushing then I'll put it up myself."

  "You are going to your wedding not a tramp about the countryside. People will see you. Mr. Darcy is perhaps peculiar enough not to care but there will be at least two witnesses."

  "I cannot keep him waiting."

  "You can. Sit. I will do your hair while Kate tends to your skirt. We cannot have you tripping over your hem."

  Lizzy sat. Something must be done about the hem lest she court disaster. It really had nothing to do with vanity at all.

  "There is no need for anything elaborate," Lizzy said once Lydia had brushed out her hair. "I must cover it with a bonnet anyway—if you will lend me one. A cap would do as well."

  "I do not own a cap. One of the many advantages of never marrying is never having to don a single cap. It would make me feel positively ancient to wear one. Though I suppose it will be an advantage to you given the sloppy manner you always wear your hair," said Lydia as she crossed the room to look through her many hat boxes.

  "You sound like Mama. Next you tell me how I could do more with my looks if I tried, though of course I will never be as lovely as Jane."

  "Oh no, Mama would not have said that. Not now. You are marrying a man worth ten thousand a year. As soon as your engagement was announced you would have become her favorite daughter, she would think you incapable of doing any wrong and praise you as the greatest beauty on earth."

  Lizzy shook her head. "Nothing could ever have supplanted you as her favorite," she said unthinkingly.

  "Almost nothing," Lydia said. She was certainly remembering the blame and vitriol Mrs. Bennet had thrown at her the last time they had spoken, the last time she had seen her mother alive.

  Shaking off her dark mood, she said, "Here, let us try this." She pulled off the lid of the hat box she was holding to reveal a lovely bonnet with ivory silk lilies. It had no doubt been created by the most fashionable milliner Bond Street could offer.

  "Oh," said Lizzy who had never worn anything so extravagantly beautiful.

  Lizzy's hair was quickly tamed into a simple bun and the bonnet placed on her head.

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