Foiled Elopement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  The tall girl flung her arms around Elizabeth. “I wish you were my sister.”

  Elizabeth hugged her back. It was a lot like hugging Lydia, who was tall and slender, like Georgiana. “You remind me of mine, in a way. Sleep well, and good luck with your brother.”

  “Thank you.” After another squeeze, Georgiana stepped into the room. She didn’t shut the door, waiting while Elizabeth walked away and slipped into Jenny’s. With a last exchange of smile, they both closed the doors to their room. Elizabeth turned the key in the lock, slipped into her nightgown, and crawled into bed beside Jenny. She was so tired, she immediately fell asleep.

  A soft knock on the room’s door woke her. She looked around in the dim predawn light. She could make out the blinking form of a girl beside her and remembered she was in Jenny’s room, in the Sleeping Cat Inn. Her trunk sat near the door. The knock sounded again.

  Elizabeth slipped from the bed and crossed to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Mrs. Muir,” came the quiet reply.

  Elizabeth cracked the door open.

  Mrs. Muir looked slightly wan in the gray morning light, as if she hadn’t slept well. “We’re leaving now, dear. It isn’t too late to change your mind. Miss Georgiana got into this predicament herself. No one will think badly of you if you come with us.”

  “No one except myself,” Elizabeth said.

  “You realize you might do irreparable harm to your own reputation?”

  Elizabeth did, and she could also already hear her mother’s lamenting. She hoped her father and Jane, though, would understand that she had to help. “I can’t imagine anyone being married to that man, let alone a gentle soul like Georgiana,” Elizabeth said. “I believe I’m doing the right thing.”

  Mrs. Muir nodded. “So do I, or we wouldn’t be letting you do it. I hope you don’t have occasion to regret it, dear, I really do.” She gave a little shake of her head, looking sadder than Elizabeth would have thought her jolly face could. “Good bye, Miss Bennet.”

  “Good bye, Mrs. Muir.” Elizabeth closed the door softly and climbed back into the bed. Jenny had already rolled over and returned to sleep.

  Elizabeth would like to sleep, but found she couldn’t. Mrs. Muir’s sorrowful expression haunted her. Looking at the woman’s face, one might believe someone had died.

  Elizabeth sighed. Not someone, but something. Her reputation. It very well might suffer irreparable harm from what she was doing.

  Unanswered questions swirled in Elizabeth’s head. How long would it be before her father or Uncle Gardiner came to fetch her? She would write them today and send the letters on the midday posts, using some of her scant coin to buy paper and ink. They would have to get the letters and make arrangements. There would be expenses involved. Would her father be angry, or would he understand? How many days at the inn could her reputation survive?

  She reminded herself sternly that she was doing the right thing. A ruined reputation would make it more difficult for Elizabeth to marry, yes, but what was difficulty in finding a gentleman compared to an innocent girl, hardly more than a child, being bound to the likes of Mr. Wickham for life? Besides, Elizabeth had yet to meet any man she would consider and had begun to feel she never would. It was likely she wasn’t giving up anything at all, for she was destined to be a spinster.

  She turned on her side, but more questions bubbled up in her mind, preventing sleep. Would Georgiana make it home safely? How would her brother, this Fitzwilliam, treat her? Would Georgiana have a good life, or would Fitzwilliam truly lock her away? Worse, would she repeat her mistake, making Elizabeth’s sacrifice meaningless?

  Elizabeth didn’t realize she’d managed to fall back to sleep until she woke to the sound of a man cursing and shouting. It didn’t take her long to realize it was Mr. Wickham. From the sound of it, he was stomping up and down the hall, trying doors and haranguing people.

  Elizabeth stayed in Jenny’s room, silently thanking the innkeeper and his wife for putting a lock on their daughter’s door, especially when it rattled as Mr. Wickham attempted to open it. Beside her, Jenny sat up to glower at the door. When he moved on, she climbed over Elizabeth and went to the window, peering out. In the hall, Mr. Buchanan’s voice rose in anger. A door slammed. Silence fell.

  “We’d best ready for the day,” Jenny said, though the look she cast the hall door was leery. “I eat in the kitchen, so I think you must as well. I’m supposed to keep you with me.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She would prefer to be in the kitchen, out of sight of Mr. Wickham. She got up and dressed.

  In the kitchen, a hot, stuffy room in the back of the inn, Mrs. Buchanan served Elizabeth a hearty meal, claiming it was her free breakfast. Elizabeth was grateful, for she would have little coin left after sending her letters. If she ate so well every morning, she would be able to make do with a little bread for the rest of the day.

  After breakfast, Jenny started scrubbing pots while her mother cooked and her father served the guests. Elizabeth offered to help Jenny, feeling she could hardly sit at the table and watch the others work. Her offer was accepted. Once the pots were done, dishes began coming back. After that, there were vegetables to slice to ready for the midday and evening meals.

  The only break from kitchen work Elizabeth took was to write and post her letters, Jenny obviously happy that the excuse of escorting Elizabeth gave her a break as well. It wasn’t until evening, when it was time for Elizabeth to play, that she entered the common area of the inn. To her relief, she didn’t see Mr. Wickham anywhere.

  The next several days kept Elizabeth busy. When she sang and played in the evening, Mr. Buchanan told people she was singing for her supper. She rather thought she was singing for her breakfast, but didn’t contradict him. He placed a cup near the pianoforte and a few small coins found their way there. At the end of each evening, Mr. Buchanan took the coins and removed one or two, but gave her the remainder. He would then serve her a light supper, which he said the coins paid for.

  Although scrubbing and chopping were tedious work, Elizabeth soon came to enjoy her time in the kitchen with Jenny and Mrs. Buchanan, who were both cheerful workers. On the first day, she leaned they had a son, who was fifteen and helped his father about the inn. On the second, she learned Jenny and her brother had two older sisters, both married to men they’d met at the inn.

  “I never stopped to think about it,” Elizabeth said, looking up from chopping. “If a girl lives and works in an inn, and finds a suitor among the patrons, it’s quite likely she shall move away, isn’t it?”

  Mrs. Buchanan let out a gusty sigh. “It is at that. All the fellows are only passing through, as it were.”

  “There are men in town,” Jenny said. She made a face. “A few.”

  “Aye, but most of them work at the Red Lion. Can’t have my daughters marrying the competition, now can I?” Mrs. Buchanan’s tone was amused enough that Elizabeth felt her words were in jest.

  “So you plan to leave too, Jenny?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Well, I don’t plan to marry any of them from over at the Red Lion, I can tell you that. Tommy Piper always pulls my hair, and his little brother spits. No one wants to marry a spitter.”

  Over the girl’s head, bent to her work, Elizabeth exchanged an amused look with Mrs. Buchanan.

  Mrs. Buchanan’s smile fell and she shook her head sorrowfully. “I don’t object to my girls marrying well, of course not, but I’m sorry they live so far.”

  “I wasn’t sorry when Martha left,” Jenny said. “The bed was too crowded with three of us. I cried, though, when Lucy went, because then I was all alone.” She brightened. “But now you’re here, Miss Elizabeth, and you chop better than Martha did.”

  “But not better than Lucy?” Elizabeth asked, amused.

  “That bed was plenty big enough for three girls,” Mrs. Buchanan interjected.

  “It does seem that way,” Elizabeth agreed, for she and Jenny together had more than enough room.

 
“Maybe three thin girls,” Jenny said. “But Martha was not thin,” she added in a whisper to Elizabeth.

  Although Elizabeth had hoped to keep Georgiana’s abortive elopement somewhat secret, it soon became apparent that everyone in the town knew why Elizabeth had stayed on at the inn. It was also obvious that Mr. Wickham was rapidly making a nuisance of himself, offending nearly everyone, and racking up debts. Elizabeth didn’t know if he was staying on in the town because he hoped to learn something or because he had nowhere to go, but she felt safer every day. It was obvious that if he discovered her role, any attempt at retribution would be met by resistance from the townspeople.

  In fact, Elizabeth found herself half-adopted by the locals. She played for hours in the evenings and worked or practiced all day. The two backgammon players, Mr. Gregory and Mr. Matthews, were the rector of the parish and a local landowner, who was also the magistrate. They were both widowers without children. They came to the inn regularly. It soon became apparent that they especially, along with Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan, considered Elizabeth their joint responsibility.

  Elizabeth collapsed into bed every night, utterly exhausted, wondering how long it would be before her father or uncle came for her. If they didn’t write or appear, should she use the few coins she was earning to write again, or try to make the journey herself? According to her calculations, it would be months before she could earn enough money to attempt the journey. She chided herself for such thoughts. Soon enough, someone would come for her.

  Chapter Five – Rescue Arranged

  Mr. Bennet sat at his desk in his library, sipping a glass of sherry from his private bottle, the one he kept hidden from his wife. His latest acquisition, a newly drawn map of the world, was spread out before him, taking up the entire desk. Books weighed down two corners, a letter opener the third and a bottle of ink the fourth. He was attempting to trace the route taken in Anabasis. He had the book itself open as well, so he might scour it for details. His knowledge of the classical Greek language was not sufficient for him to read it as fast as he read English, but it was fast enough so it was a pleasure, not a chore.

  He smiled, perfectly content. This was the happiest time of day, when his wife and daughters left him in peace and he could indulge his mind, something impossible with any of them underfoot. He did miss Elizabeth, since she had not yet returned from visiting his sister Beth. He could have taken Elizabeth, and Jane too for that matter, and visited Beth himself. But then he could not afford to indulge himself by buying as many books, maps, or good quality bottles of sherry.

  Mr. Bennet shook his head. He wrote to Beth quarterly. That was enough.

  The crossing of deserts and snowy mountain passes by an army without a country or purpose was an enjoyable topic to read about from a comfortable chair in his own library, with a glass of sherry and a small fire to hold off the slight summer chill. To actually travel, however, was never as agreeable as reading about it. Actual travel came with real troubles, and Mr. Bennet had enough trouble bearing the company of Mrs. Bennet and their three silly daughters. He didn’t like to invite more by leaving Hertfordshire unnecessarily.

  A polite knock caused him to look up. He wasn’t perturbed by the interruption. It was obvious from the lack of wailing or pounding it was either a servant or Jane, not Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty or Lydia. “Come,” Mr. Bennet called, his eyes on his map.

  A footman entered, deposited a letter on the desk and left again. Mr. Bennet recognized Elizabeth’s handwriting immediately. He didn’t open the letter, pushing it out of the path of Xenophon’s army. He enjoyed hearing from Elizabeth, and missed her, but he’d had a letter from her a few days ago detailing the projected stages of her return. She couldn’t possibly have anything new or interesting to say. After all, at this point she should be several days on the road, spent watching the scenery and avoiding the Muirs’ tendency toward gossip and talk of meals, reported in her letter sent home upon arriving at Beth’s.

  No, there couldn’t possibly be any real reason to write. Nothing of interest at all . . . Mr. Bennet’s eyes snapped to the envelope, his favorite daughter’s handwriting so clear upon it. At least, there shouldn’t be any reason to write, and Elizabeth wasn’t frivolous. A tentacle of worry snaked through him, winding like Xenophon’s path around the northeastern Mediterranean.

  He took up the letter and opened it. It was filled with reassurances, but the long and short of it was that Elizabeth had deliberately remained behind at an inn to the north, just outside of Scotland. She’d given up her seat to a girl they’d found stranded there, though she didn’t give details as to why. She’d gotten the Muirs to agree to this, somehow, and was now staying in an inn called the Sleeping Cat under the protection of the innkeeper, his wife, and their thirteen-year-old daughter. She’d written to Mr. Gardiner as well and hoped either he or Mr. Bennet would come for her.

  Mr. Bennet dropped the letter to his desk. He rubbed at his forehead, feeling a throbbing there. It wasn’t like Elizabeth to be troublesome, and this was troublesome indeed. It involved travel, finance, and, worst of all, telling Mrs. Bennet why he must take their carriage and leave.

  Mr. Bennet downed the remaining sherry in his glass. It was best to get the latter done and over with. Taking the letter, he marched into the parlor where his wife and four other daughters congregated, engaged in various tasks. He walked over to Jane, the only sensible one, and handed her the letter.

  “Elizabeth is stranded in a roadside inn,” Mr. Bennet said.

  “What?” Mrs. Bennet’s wail was immediate, and piercing. “Stranded? Why? How?”

  “She says here it was her choice,” Jane said, looking up from the letter. She passed it to Mary.

  “The Muirs left her at an inn?” Mrs. Bennet cried. “How could they? I never liked them. Not from the moment I set eyes on them. It’s obvious all they care about is their next meal, not my Lizzy.”

  “Her letter does not say why she remained, other than to give her seat to someone who was stranded.” Mr. Bennet tried to keep his own tone reasonable.

  “Why does Lizzy get to have all the fun?” Lydia said. “I wish I could be stranded at a roadside inn. Imagine all the gentlemen who must pass through.”

  “No, oh no,” Mrs. Bennet wailed. “She’ll be ruined. How can she be properly chaperoned at an inn, with all those gentlemen passing through? She doesn’t have anyone to help her maintain her respectability.” She turned a glare on Mr. Bennet. “I told you not to send her to your sister. No good could come of it. That’s what I said. No one listens to me.”

  Mr. Bennet exchanged a look with Jane. He was sure Jane also remembered that Mrs. Bennet had encouraged the trip. Insisted on it, in fact, saying Elizabeth might have the opportunity to meet an eligible man in Scotland, since she’d put off every potential suitor in Hertfordshire with her aggravating, headstrong ways.

  “She does say she remained of her own free will,” Mary said. She frowned down at the letter. “It’s not very good of her. I’m surprised Elizabeth would be so irresponsible.”

  Lydia took the letter from Mary, holding it out for her and Kitty to read. “It’s not fair. I never get to have any fun,” she said.

  “Yes, we never get to have any fun,” Kitty echoed.

  “And what about my poor Lydia?” Mrs. Bennet said. “Elizabeth’s disgrace will make it impossible for her to marry, or for Jane to. None of them will ever find wealthy husbands with such a scandal in the family.” Her glare darkened to a glower, which she turned on Mr. Bennet. “You let her run wild, traipsing all over the countryside. It is your fault that it’s come to this.”

  “Yes, I was sure it would be,” Mr. Bennet said.

  “Well, why are you standing there? You must go get her. Every moment your daughter remains in that inn makes it that much more difficult for Jane and Lydia to marry.”

  “And me, Mama,” Kitty said.

  “I’m afraid there’s no hope for you and Mary now, Kitty. Only Lydia is pretty enough to attract
a gentleman in spite of what Elizabeth has done to you all, and only Jane is sweet tempered enough. With your cough, you’ve no hope at all.”

  Kitty’s face crumpled as she began to cry. Mary rolled her eyes, taking the letter back from Lydia, who preened. Jane, of course, had a slight frown on an otherwise smooth face, as if rational thought went on inside her head.

  Mrs. Bennet continued her rant, but Mr. Bennet stopped paying attention as his mind turned to what must be done. He’d informed her, as was his duty. There was only one last hardship to endure before he could quit the room. “I’ll be taking the carriage,” he said, breaking into some nonsense about Elizabeth being too well read for any worthwhile gentleman to take her.

  “The carriage?” Mrs. Bennet stopped babbling to look at him in shock. “But, how long will you be away?”

  “Quite some time, I imagine. Over a week.” He resisted the urge to quote a greater absence in order to torment her. He liked to think, in spite of the way she elected to express herself, that Mrs. Bennet’s concern for Elizabeth was real. It therefore behooved him to be kind.

  “A week without a carriage? A week?” Her voice went up several octaves.

  “A week, Papa?” Lydia cried.

  “Oh, but Papa, a whole week?” Kitty sobbed?

  “I can’t believe the two of you would begrudge Elizabeth the carriage,” Mary said to her sisters, quite prim.

  “Elizabeth did this on purpose, that vindictive girl,” Mrs. Bennet said. “She planned this. She knows how much we need the carriage. Why, Jane wrote to her of the events we’re to attend. Lizzy obviously did this to punish Lydia for being prettier. That mean spirited, headstrong--”

  Mr. Bennet left the room. He had much to do if he was going to leave before it grew too near dark. He went back to his library and firmly closed the door. Rolling up his new map, he unrolled a more worn one, a map of England.