‘It’s clear his company is operating at a loss,’ Jane remarked, as the two sisters walked together through the shrubbery behind the house. ‘It cannot have been such a success as he made out.’
‘He has misled us in every way,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘His creditors claim the reason for his current financial situation is that some of his latest publications did not sell as well as expected. The Whackem Off Guide to Racehorses, for example, only appealed to a niche market, although some of his agricultural titles were successful. Fifty Grades of Hay sold excellently, I am told.’
As they emerged from the shrubbery, they saw Cragg the housekeeper hurriedly coming towards them with a letter in her hand.
‘Oh, Miss Jane! Miss Elizabeth!’ she called out lower-classly. ‘An express has just come, with a missive for you from Mr Bennet!’
Immediately, the two young ladies ran towards her, and caught the letter impatiently from her gnarled hand. ‘Read it aloud,’ Jane entreated Elizabeth.
‘My dear girls, at last I am able to send you some tidings of your sister and Mr Whackem. I have discovered their whereabouts, and upon visiting their lodgings, found them busy at it …’
‘Oh no!’ gasped Jane.
‘… stapling page proofs together into sales packages. I confronted Whackem as to his intentions towards Lydia, and he confessed he could not afford to pay her a living wage as his company is considerably in arrears. However, he has high hopes for selling Fifty Grades of Seed, a companion volume to Fifty Grades of Hay. To make this liaison legitimate, I have suggested that I give Lydia her share of the £5,000 I had intended to divide among you five girls after my death; if Lydia invests that amount, she will become a partner and director of Whackem Enterprises. All is agreed and settled, and the papers will be signed this week, whereafter we shall return to Longbourn.’
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. ‘Whackem would never allow Lydia on the board of directors for anything less than ten thousand pounds,’ she mused. ‘He is no fool. He has considerable overheads, and has debts to settle. I cannot believe he has agreed to this.’
Jane’s brow furrowed, too. They furrowed at each other intensely. ‘What are you thinking, Lizzy?’ Jane asked.
‘That there is more to this than meets the eye. Someone – some mysterious benefactor, as our stepfather has less than two shillings to rub together – must have settled Whackem’s other debts, and no doubt invested a considerable sum in his business venture.’
‘But who?’
The two sisters thought hard. ‘Do we know any fabulously wealthy gentlemen with vested interests in the wellbeing of our family, or at least one of our number?’
Jane shook her head. It was a mystery indeed.
The rest of the week was spent preparing for the return of the wayward business executives. The news was received badly by Mrs Bennet, who spent another two days in bed weeping and lamenting the fact that her youngest daughter had wilfully made herself so unattractive to men. By Wednesday she had rallied, however, and professed herself strong enough to hear about Lydia’s boardroom antics.
Elizabeth, sick of this folly, took refuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom. Poor Lydia’s situation must, at best, be bad enough, but that it was no worse, she had reason to be thankful. Who could the mysterious benefactor be?
The day of Lydia’s return arrived, and Mrs Bennet and her four elder daughters waited on the front steps of Longbourn for a glimpse of the carriage that would carry her and Whackem thither. On sighting it, Kitty gave a shriek of joy, and even Mrs Bennet managed a wan smile.
Lydia’s voice was carried on the air: ‘That’s all very well, Whackem, but does it have legs? We need to make sure it’s robust before we take it to market …’
Now they could hear Whackem’s voice, too. ‘I’m confused, Lydia – are we still talking about Daisy, my disabled cow, or the new book project?’
The door of the carriage was thrown open, and Lydia stepped out, beaming, and embraced her family warmly. What a change she had undergone! Gone were the ribbon-bedecked bonnet and sprigged muslin gown she used to favour, and in its place, Lydia wore a mannish suit; the jacket had curiously exaggerated shoulders, while the skirt tapered to fit closely at the knee. Her boots were vanished, too, and replaced by dainty shoes with high, spiked heels, and in her hands, she carried a rectangular leather valise with a small handle.
‘Look after my briefcase, Lizzy, there’s a dear,’ she said airily, thrusting the valise into Elizabeth’s outstretched arms. ‘And Jane!’ she declared. ‘Whatever is the matter? You look so wan! Are you still waiting for someone to marry you? I do declare, I am glad to be free of all that nonsense.’ She giggled. ‘I shan’t need to moon after officers again. The only balls I’m interested in now are the ones I intend to break in the boardroom.’
Mrs Bennet looked as if she might faint, and indeed, she reeled slightly as Mr Whackem stepped down from the coach behind Lydia. In appearance he was little altered, but he wore a sheepish look, and when Elizabeth’s eyes sought his, he gazed down at the gravel as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.
Lydia swept into the house ahead of her mother and sisters, prattling all the while about how small and unimpressive Longbourn looked in comparison to the Bristol Premier Inn, which had so impressed her with its amenities – tea-and coffee-making facilities in every room, and even a newfangled trouser press.
Kitty was chided for looking fashionable, and Elizabeth for having an attractive glow about her.
‘Why Mary!’ Lydia suddenly declared, catching sight of her sister in side profile. ‘How fat you have become in my absence.’
Mary glowered at Lydia, but, Elizabeth thought, there was some truth in what Lydia had said. Mary had indeed gained weight these past few weeks, especially about her middle, no doubt thanks to her sedentary pursuits of piano-playing and poring over Latin texts. Elizabeth determined to ask Mary to join her in future on her daily jaunts through the woods.
An awkward luncheon followed, during which Whackem and Lydia discussed their plans for expanding Whackem Enterprises and the shocking rise in European paper prices, while the rest of the family listened and nodded politely.
‘We can’t tarry long, I’m afraid,’ Whackem declared. ‘We have a shareholders’ meeting.’
‘You are not stopping here, at Longbourn?’ Mrs Bennet exclaimed.
‘No, this was just a brunch meeting,’ Lydia said briskly. ‘We need to be in Hertford at two o’clock.’
With that she rose from the table and brushed down her jacket. ‘Oh, you will never guess who is to be at the shareholders’ meeting, Lizzy. Your Mr Darcy!’
Elizabeth blinked in surprise.
‘He has invested twenty thousand pounds,’ she said happily. ‘A very generous gesture. He has, however, stipulated that we are to invest a proportion of that money in a new series of collectors’ editions of his pornography etchings.’
So Mr Darcy was their saviour! It was he who had rescued Lydia, condemned as she was to a life of penury and disgrace; at least she only had to deal with the disgrace bit now.
‘Will you become a feminist now, Lydia?’ Mrs Bennet asked with trepidation. ‘I know many young ladies are turning to the ideas of Mary Wollstonecraft, but they are doubtless all of them virgins. You do know that men do not favour women with strong ideas?’
Lydia laughed. ‘Oh, sod all that, Mother,’ she declared. ‘No one ever got ahead in business by being a feminist.’
Mrs Bennet gave a sigh of relief.
‘No,’ Lydia continued. ‘I’ve got a far better plan than that. I’m going to have a sex change.’
Lydia and Whackem’s departure left Mrs Bennet in no better spirits than before. Lydia was obviously set on changing gender, Elizabeth had not heard from Mr Darcy and was at risk of no longer being a sex slave, Jane and Kitty were still boyfriend-less, and Mary, frankly, was porky. It was almost enough to drive her back to her bed.
A most fortuitou
s turn of events, however, took place the following week, which gave Mrs Bennet reason to hope that all would, ultimately, be well. She and her three eldest daughters were at their darning when Kitty suddenly burst into the room.
‘What is it, child?’ asked Mrs Bennet, who had dropped her bloomers in shock.
Kitty was panting. ‘Mr Bingley! He comes hither!’
‘What?’ shrieked her mother. ‘Mr Elliot Bingley, of Netherfield? Are you sure, girl?’
‘I saw him on the road from Meryton. He comes on horseback,’ Kitty exclaimed. ‘And there is someone else with him, but I cannot be certain who it is.’
Elizabeth’s heart gave a start. Could it be Mr Darcy, at last? How she had missed his steel-grey eyes, his muscular thighs, his crispy fries and his mutton pies – he had turned out to be a surprisingly good cook.
The news of Bingley’s imminent arrival threw the household into a flurry of activity. Jane was sent upstairs to don her most diaphanous, see-through gown and Cragg was summoned to make her mistress’s hair presentable. Kitty and Mary were sent out into the garden, to make themselves scarce. Elizabeth sat intently with her needlework, hardly daring to hope that Mr Bingley’s return could signify the resurgence of his ardour for her sister.
Presently the visitors reached the house, and after their horses were tethered, they were shown into the parlour.
Cragg made their introduction: ‘Mr Bingley, ma’am, and … Princess Leilani.’
Mr Bingley burst in in his customary lolloping fashion, like an eager but dim springer spaniel. From behind him, a beautiful dark-eyed girl of about eighteen peeped shyly from beneath a rose-trimmed bonnet. Her complexion was dusky, her hair black as midnight.
Upon seeing Jane, Mr Bingley’s own countenance lit up. ‘Why, Miss Bennet!’ he cried, ‘how well you look. I confess, it has been too long since I have been at Longbourn.’
‘Indeed it has,’ interjected Elizabeth. ‘Some seven months and fourteen days. And did you enjoy your sojourn in the South Seas, Mr Bingley? I trust the waves were gnarly enough for your liking.’
Mr Bingley turned to her and bowed politely. ‘They were, Miss Bennet. It was radical. But I confess, I did miss Hertfordshire.’ And again, he looked at Jane with bright, hopeful eyes.
Princess Leilani at that moment gave a little cough, and Mr Bingley seemed to remember himself.
‘Oh, forgive me. Please allow me to introduce my girlfriend,’ he said cheerily. ‘I won her in a surfing competition in Waikiki.’
Jane turned instantly pale. Elizabeth looked at her with concern.
‘I’m afraid the Princess doesn’t speak a word of English,’ Mr Bingley continued. ‘But I had to bring her back with me to England because she’s pregnant.’
Jane swayed noticeably in her chair.
‘I fear my sister is a little faint, Sir,’ Elizabeth cried.
Mr Bingley sprang forward and caught Jane in his arms. ‘Then pray, let me take her out into the garden for some fresh air,’ he exclaimed. Lifting her gently, he carried her towards the French windows. The Princess’s eyes narrowed.
Jane and Mr Bingley were absent for some half an hour, and during that time, although Princess Leilani was offered pastries, tea and a game of cribbage, she refused all entertainment, and sat silently upon a chair, staring fixedly through the window at the garden.
Presently, two figures appeared from the direction of the orchard, wandering across the grass hand in hand. Mr Bingley was beaming with happiness; Jane was no less radiant in her joy.
Princess Leilani began to mutter something under her breath.
‘Happy news!’ Mr Bingley burst out as soon as they had re-entered the parlour. ‘Jane has agreed to become my wife!’
‘This is joyous news indeed!’ cried Elizabeth, leaping up to embrace Jane.
‘I always knew this would happen!’ her mother crowed. ‘Did I not say, Lizzy, that if Jane were only to allow Bingley access to “below decks”, she would secure him?’
Jane’s face was alight with happiness. ‘Oh Lizzy,’ she breathed. ‘I dared not hope! I had quite resolved to forget him, but here he is! If only you could share my felicity, and find someone who means as much to you as my dear Bingley does to me.’
Mr Bingley patted Jane’s arm tenderly. ‘We are to be married as soon as we can. The reception will be held at Netherfield. We …’
Suddenly, his gaze met Princess Leilani’s. ‘Oh, golly. I quite forgot,’ he said apologetically.
‘Whatever will you do?’ enquired Elizabeth, as the princess’s lovely face clouded in anger.
‘Do not worry on that score,’ said a familiar voice from the doorway. Elizabeth gasped. Mr Darcy!
He strode into the room, his white linen shirt flapping in the breeze, his breeches hugging his buttocks like limpets stuck to particularly pert rocks.
‘There is a perfectly good workhouse in Hertford,’ he declared. ‘When the baby is born it can be taken there, and I shall find work for Princess Leilani at Hooters.’
How like Mr Darcy to take command of the situation! It was the perfect solution.
‘So it is settled,’ beamed Mrs Bennet. ‘All has worked out felicitously. Or at least for the white people involved.’
Some time later in the afternoon, Jane and Elizabeth were in the parlour when Mr Darcy burst into the room.
‘Oh, forgive me,’ he mumbled, blushing to the roots of his copper hair. ‘I did not mean to interrupt you at Loo.’
‘Please, do not worry, Mr Darcy,’ Jane said kindly, placing her cards on the table. ‘My! What ails you? You seem most agitated.’
‘I confess I am, Miss Bennet,’ he replied, his grey eyes blazing. ‘I must speak to your sister, if I may, alone. It is a matter of utmost urgency.’
Surprise, then pleasure, registered on Jane’s lovely face. Perhaps her dearest wish was about to be fulfilled, and Mr Darcy was going to ask Elizabeth to be his wife?
She stood up at once, and, with a knowing smile, said, ‘I will go downstairs, Lizzy, and I will endeavour to keep Mama away.’
‘Thank you, Jane,’ Elizabeth said quietly, a shy smile spreading across her face. She was certain, this time, that Mr Darcy was on the verge of proposing.
‘Elizabeth …’ he began. ‘I have to ask for your hand.’ Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears of happiness. ‘Well, it doesn’t have to be your hand, strictly speaking,’ Mr Darcy continued. ‘It could be your mouth, I suppose.’
‘Pray, whatever are you talking about, Mr Darcy?’ Elizabeth asked, her mind whirling in confusion.
‘I have this blessed erection, Lizzy, and I must do something about it.’ His eyes locked on to hers. ‘I have to have you,’ he growled. ‘Now!’
Despite herself, Elizabeth felt a familiar tug in her belly. The effect he had on her was so powerful. Truly he was the master puppeteer, and she was the puppet. He pulled the strings, and she danced. Or rather, gave blow jobs.
‘Come …’ he said masterfully, extending his hand. ‘To your bedchamber. I have some surprises waiting for you there.’
Elizabeth rose and followed him out of the parlour, and up the staircase, as if mesmerized. Mama might come … Jane might enter without knocking … All her inhibitions were cast aside like so many layers of flimsy underwear. All she could think about was Fitzwilliam Darcy’s perfect body and losing herself in his embrace.
As they reached her bedroom, Mr Darcy scooped her up in his arms as if she were but a feather. With one blow of his boot, he kicked her bedroom door shut behind him, and threw Elizabeth onto the bed.
‘Do you trust me, Elizabeth?’ he said in a low voice. His penetrating grey eyes were like two sexy moles, burrowing inexorably towards her heart.
Slowly, sensuously, he unwound his grey silk cravat from about his neck and shook it out with a flick of his sexy wrist.
‘I do trust you,’ she whispered.
‘Then close your eyes.’
Elizabeth felt something soft against her face. Mr Darcy w
as blindfolding her with the cravat, tying it into a knot behind her head. Oh my! It smelt of him – of leather, cologne and Doritos.
She heard his footsteps walking to and fro across the room. More sounds – a clink of glasses, the pop of a cork – then she felt the weight of Mr Darcy’s body as he sat astride her. Holy crap, he weighed a bloody ton.
‘Are you thirsty, Elizabeth?’ he asked teasingly.
Elizabeth nodded. Desire had rendered her mouth quite parched, and she yearned for refreshment.
She felt Mr Darcy lean in towards her, and then – oh my! – his exquisite lips were upon hers, kissing her, probing her with his mouth. Instinctively, Elizabeth opened her own mouth, and suddenly felt wine trickling over her lips. It was warm and full-bodied, with hints of elderflower and liquorice and a playful, cheeky finish. She swallowed, then licked her lips dry.
‘More?’ Mr Darcy gargled sensuously.
‘Oh yes … please!’
Again Mr Darcy bent down, and again Elizabeth drank deep from his lips. Drops of wine escaped from the side of her mouth, and trickled down onto her neck.
‘Now,’ Mr Darcy murmured, ‘you must eat something, Elizabeth. And I have just the thing.’
Elizabeth felt Mr Darcy shifting his body, moving upwards on the bed, so his knees straddled her shoulders. She could feel the heat of him, smell his distinctive body wash. She tensed. What was coming? Nervously, she opened her mouth and waited.
‘Mmmmmmff!’ moaned Elizabeth, as her mouth was suddenly filled with meat.
‘Do you like that, Elizabeth?’ Mr Darcy murmured. His breathing was coming more quickly now, in jagged bursts. ‘It’s a faggot. Cragg just made a batch. Tasty, isn’t it?’
Elizabeth chewed the savoury, juicy meatball – it truly tasted heavenly – and swallowed. More … She wanted more …
‘You’re so greedy, Elizabeth. Another mouthful, perhaps?’
More meat, more chewing. Flavours oozed out and overwhelmed her: black pepper, thyme, onions … Her senses were overwhelmed; her head reeled with the carnality of it all.
Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody Page 15
