Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  “In truth,” Timson continued, “I do not believe the family knows her whereabouts.”

  Now Darcy experienced a very different sense of alarm. “How can that be?” The Bennets had not impressed him as extremely attentive parents, but they seemed caring enough. Surely they would not have simply misplaced a daughter.

  Timson rubbed his chin, staring into the empty fireplace. “Unfortunately, it is the subject of quite a bit of local gossip.”

  Darcy’s heart clenched again. He well remembered Miss Lydia’s flirtatiousness and lack of discretion.

  “Apparently, Miss Lydia left for Brighton not long after her father’s first attack of apoplexy,” Timson explained. “His health was improving, and the family believed all would be well. She was staying with Colonel Forster’s wife while the regiment was stationed in Brighton.”

  Lydia Bennet and a town full of militia officers… Darcy shuddered to think what had befallen her.

  “She ran off in the middle of the night with one of the officers.”

  “Eloped?” Darcy asked in a strangled voice.

  Timson shook his head slowly. “As unfortunate as that would be—no. She left a note suggesting she intended to marry, but I doubt it was ever the blackguard’s purpose. They escaped as far as London, where they lived together for a few weeks before he abandoned her.”

  Oh good Lord! Lydia was a foolish girl, but she did not deserve such a fate: to be deceived and abandoned. No doubt she had expected to marry. Instead she had surrendered her reputation and brought scandal down upon her entire family. Darcy finished the brandy in one gulp. “What was the name of the officer?”

  Timson’s eyebrows shot upward; he would not expect Darcy to be acquainted with the officers in Colonel Forster’s regiment. He drew a few papers from his jacket pocket and scanned them. “A George Wickham.”

  With an oath, Darcy threw the crystal goblet into the fireplace, where it shattered into hundreds of pieces. Ignoring Timson’s cry of astonishment, Darcy thrust himself from his chair and stalked to the window. If only he could dive through the glass and escape from this knowledge! But that was impossible. It awaited him like his doom. He would need to know the details, but no matter how the story would unfold, Darcy knew it was his responsibility.

  “I take it this man is known to you?” Timson said in a low voice.

  Darcy ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on his scalp; somehow the faint pain helped. “Yes,” he growled.

  He recalled the expression on Wickham’s face when Bingley and Darcy had encountered him speaking to Elizabeth and her sisters on the streets of Meryton. Darcy had spoken barely a word to anyone but had been unable to resist the urge to gaze at Elizabeth. Wickham had known him since childhood and must have guessed at Darcy’s interest in the second eldest Bennet daughter. Surely that was the reason the officer had singled out Elizabeth for his attentions; no doubt he had poured lies into her ears. Was ruining Elizabeth’s sister an act of revenge against Darcy? Had he hoped Darcy would pay him to marry the girl? He would not have known Darcy had left the country.

  “Damnation!” No matter how Darcy viewed the situation, it was his fault. He had allowed Wickham to ingratiate himself with Meryton’s population without warning them of the officer’s flaws. Then his interest in Elizabeth had made her family Wickham’s target. Finally, his precipitous departure from England had prevented him from mitigating the damage he had inflicted.

  Elizabeth…God, Elizabeth… Darcy hung his head, staring at the floor. What she must have suffered!

  This had happened two years ago; it was over and done. And yet Darcy’s eyes grew quite moist when he imagined her pain. Elizabeth and her sister Jane must have felt that disgrace most keenly. Why did I not demand information about the Bennets from Miss Bingley? Why did I not have Wright send someone to investigate earlier?

  “Surely the family made efforts to retrieve Miss Lydia?” He could hear the choked quality in his voice but was beyond caring. After all, he paid Timson for his discretion.

  Timson cleared his throat, staring at the shards in the fireplace. “Well, it went hard for them, it did. Mr. Bennet immediately hurried to London to search for Miss Lydia and the officer. After a few weeks, he located them and demanded that Wickham marry the chit. The man refused and apparently laughed and taunted him.”

  Darcy had not thought much of Mr. Bennet, but he had been an honorable man. Seeing his daughter in such a situation and then to be taunted by Wickham… Events at Ramsgate had not proceeded nearly so far and yet the memories were seared into Darcy’s mind.

  “They had a terrible row,” Timson continued. “And Mr. Bennet had a second attack of apoplexy—right there on the floor of Wickham’s boarding house.”

  Darcy gasped, horrified. “He died then?” Timson nodded. Not only am I responsible for the Bennet family’s disgrace but also for their father’s death.

  The weight of guilt threatened to crush Darcy. He maneuvered himself to his chair before his legs gave out altogether.

  Now Timson was standing as if he feared he might need to summon a doctor. “I say, your color is a bit off—” The man turned to the sideboard and hastily poured a measure of brandy into a glass. Darcy finished it in one grateful gulp.

  “Perhaps we should continue another—” Timson said, watching him warily.

  “No. Tell me everything. I must know everything.” He set his jaw and stared at the fireplace, fearing he would break into pieces if he moved.

  Timson rubbed the back of his neck. “Very well.” He sank again into the opposite chair. “Although there isn’t much else to tell.”

  “What happened to Miss Lydia?”

  Timson grimaced. “I do not know. The neighbors said she lived with an aunt and uncle in London for a while but then upped sticks. Perhaps the family knows her whereabouts and isn’t saying, but she had not visited Longbourn.”

  Darcy nodded. Most families would not even acknowledge the existence of a daughter who had exhibited such infamous behavior.

  “And Wickham?” he asked, fearing the answer.

  Timson squirmed uneasily in his chair. “He was cashiered from the militia, of course. Apparently, he had a prodigious quantity of debts. There were stories all over Meryton about gambling, debts to shopkeepers, and merchants’ daughters being meddled with.”

  Darcy nodded heavily. Yet another evil to be laid at his doorstep. He had thought it beneath him to gossip, but that had permitted the blackguard to cheat honest men of their money and debauch innocent women. “Where is he now?”

  “Nobody in Meryton knew,” Timson said. “And Mr. Wright didn’t know if you wanted that information.”

  “I do. Make it a top priority.” Timson nodded. “I can give you a list of the man’s associates.”

  The other man’s eyebrows rose at this, but he did not comment.

  “And find Lydia Bennet. I must know where she is and if she is well.”

  Timson nodded again and made some notes on his papers.

  “What happened to the rest of the family?” Darcy feared the answer. His conjectures were horrible enough.

  At least when Wickham had pursued Georgiana, Darcy’s fortune—and a bit of luck—allowed him to conceal the scandal. Without any fortune to speak of and at the mercy of their obsequious cousin, the Bennet family must have suffered greatly.

  “They buried the father, and the cousin took possession of the estate like I said. But people were still talking about the scandal in Hertfordshire. My cousin said many of the better families ceased associating with the Bennets. A young man who had been courting Miss Katherine gave her up.”

  Darcy closed his eyes. All this can be laid at my feet. Through my inaction, the Bennets have become pariahs in their own town. “None of the daughters is even engaged to be wed?”

  “There was a rumor that the pork butcher made an offer for Miss Bennet, but she refused him.”

  Darcy shuddered. “The butcher! I should say so.” Miss Bennet was a lovely a
nd gracious woman—who might be married to Bingley if Darcy had not interfered.

  Timson shrugged. “There’s not many in Hertfordshire as would associate with the family. They’re right lucky their cousin is keeping them on.”

  Darcy flushed with anger, refusing to look at the other man until it had passed. This mess was not Timson’s fault; he was repeating what others had said in Hertfordshire. “Surely the scandal will be forgotten eventually,” Darcy said finally. The Bennet sisters’ marital prospects could not have been irreparably damaged. But, of course, their portions were small; their prospects had never been exceptional.

  “Perhaps,” Timson said dubiously.

  And then there was the matter of Longbourn’s new master. Collins was a loathsome toad. Imagining that sanctimonious windbag as the new master of Longbourn made Darcy’s skin crawl. “How does the new owner behave toward the Bennet daughters?” he asked.

  “My cousin said the people in town don’t see the Bennet sisters much anymore, just at church and sometimes at the grocers or the odd assembly.”

  The Bennet daughters had been at the center of society in Meryton, a lively presence at every dance or dinner party and welcome acquaintances of all the better families. They should have ended mourning for their father more than six months ago. Were they so completely shunned that they had forsaken society? Or perhaps Collins forbade them to venture out and instead read them sermons all day.

  He must have been silent for a long time. Finally, Timson leaned toward Darcy. “I could revisit Hertfordshire and perhaps visit Longbourn. My cousin is acquainted with Mrs. Bennet; she might find a way to visit the house.”

  It was a tempting thought. Darcy burned to know what was happening at Longbourn. But he already knew it would be a fruitless endeavor. Any report from Timson would ultimately be inadequate to Darcy’s needs; he had too many questions.

  “I thank you, no. I see no need for you to return to Hertfordshire. I would like you to remain here and focus your efforts on locating Miss Lydia Bennet and Wickham.”

  And I must travel to Longbourn myself.

  ***

  Elizabeth and Mary lurked quietly in a remote corner of the churchyard while everyone used the time after the Sunday service to catch up on the latest Meryton news. Sophia Long and a few other women of Elizabeth’s generation were still willing to be seen conversing with the Bennet sisters, but today she avoided them. She was intent on her purpose and did not want to miss her opportunity.

  Mary King, her bonnet trimmed with ostrich plumes, flounced past the sisters, leading her coterie of like-minded friends. Since Lydia ran away, Miss King had never missed an opportunity to tease or cut the Bennets sisters; for months, Kitty had avoided church because she feared encountering the woman’s vicious tongue.

  Elizabeth managed to avoid catching Miss King’s eye—and thus provoking a confrontation—but she could sense the other woman rake her eyes over Elizabeth’s and Mary’s shabby dresses. After she passed, Miss King whispered something to her friends that caused them to titter with laughter as they stole covert glances at the sisters. Elizabeth knew the color rose in her cheeks but refused to even glance in their direction, giving them the satisfaction of knowing they had disturbed her equanimity.

  I am here for a purpose. I must keep that in mind. Elizabeth focused her attention on the crowd of parishioners in the courtyard, searching the faces for the one person she needed.

  The day was warm and fair with a cheerful sun shining over the chattering townspeople. The tenant farmers and their wives stood or sat under the shade of the chestnut trees that were clustered closer to the cemetery, speaking quietly, while the gentry like the Bennets and Collinses remained closer to the church door. Likewise, the gentry sat in the front of the church while the tenant families and the townspeople remained in the back. Even as a small child Elizabeth had wondered at the inequality of it. If they were all equal in the eyes of God, why did God want the wealthier people to sit up front? Although she understood the tradition better, it still did not make a lot of sense to her.

  Elizabeth rehearsed what she would say, as if she were about to give a speech in the town square. It was true that if she followed through on today’s plan, Elizabeth would be committing herself to wholesale deception. Giving a tenant’s widow an unoccupied cabin might earn her some censure if it were discovered, but the plan she contemplated now… Elizabeth did not know the law very well, but very likely some aspect of her scheme was illegal and possibly even a hanging offense.

  Her sisters’ enthusiasm for the idea had been a comfort to Elizabeth. They had all expressed reservations about the risks involved, but nobody had attempted to dissuade her from the scheme.

  I could change my mind. I could retreat to Longbourn and tell my sisters I thought better of the scheme. They would not judge me; they might even experience a measure of relief. But Elizabeth was not equal to forgetting the faces of Mrs. Wiley’s sons or the hollow cheeks of the tenants’ children or the leaking roofs of the cottages. No. If she could possibly improve their lives, then she should. Her father had taken prodigious care of his tenants when he was alive; now that responsibility had fallen on his daughters’ shoulders since Collins was shirking it.

  Mary appeared calm and resolute—without any of the doubts that assailed Elizabeth. When she had presented her plan to her sisters, Mary had been the first to agree, citing Collins’s first days at Longbourn as her reason.

  Certain that Mr. Bennet had been lenient with them, Collins had started demanding more from Longbourn’s farmers, raising the rents and expecting better harvests.

  Lady Catherine de Bourgh had visited Longbourn not long after Collins took possession. She had expounded at great length on how he must improve furnishings and enhance the landscaping so that the estate might befit his new status. As a result, despite two lean harvests, Collins had spent with abandon and raised the rents.

  Mr. Greeves, the unofficial spokesman for Longbourn’s farmers, had talked to Longbourn’s new landowner, explaining why higher rents ultimately hurt Longbourn, particularly when the most desirable tenants left for other estates. But Collins had dismissed his concerns. He was far more interested in what Longbourn could do for him than what he could do for Longbourn.

  To compound the problem, Collins knew little about operating a farm and was disinclined to educate himself. Mr. Greeves had become the de facto steward since Collins refused to hire one. He never complained—at least not in Elizabeth’s hearing—but he organized the tenants, decided when to plant crops, allocated resources, and mediated differences.

  Elizabeth asked her uncle Philips many times if there was any way they might prevent Collins from pushing the estate into ruin. But he had merely shaken his head sadly and reminded her that the law was on Collins’s side.

  Elizabeth straightened her spine as she continued to watch the crowd in the churchyard. She would do this. She must do this.

  As if reading her mind, Mary said, “Someone needs to save Longbourn.”

  Mary had always appeared to be a model of rectitude and piety. Elizabeth was a bit alarmed at how quickly the middle Bennet sister had embraced the idea of deceiving Mr. Collins, who was, after all, an ordained clergyman and the master of Longbourn. Although perhaps it was not so surprising given Mary’s interest in agricultural improvements.

  Elizabeth had been watching Mrs. Greeves, a large, outspoken woman with six children. Just as her husband served as de facto leader for the tenants, Mrs. Greeves often organized the tenants’ wives.

  Approaching the tenants about Elizabeth’s plan had presented some obstacles. Although Elizabeth knew every family on the estate, differences in class always stood between them. She was assiduous about taking food if a tenant was ill or had a birth or a death in the family, but those visits were often formal and awkward. She and Mary had concluded that church provided the one time each week when everyone in town was present and on equal footing, at least theoretically.

  But then Eliza
beth saw her opportunity. Taking a few of the older children in hand, Mrs. Greeves bade her husband goodbye and set her feet on the road toward Longbourn. After a quick word to Mary, Elizabeth hurried after the woman. Hopefully, nobody would notice her absence.

  Upon reaching Mrs. Greeves, Elizabeth slowed her pace to a casual stroll. The children had raced ahead and were pelting up the lane. “Good morning, Mrs. Greeves. Lovely weather.”

  The other woman gave her a nod of respect. “Such an improvement after all that damp. Nell is home with a cough.” Ah, Elizabeth had wondered where her youngest daughter was.

  “I am sorry to hear that. Should I send for the apothecary?”

  Mrs. Greeves frowned. “I thought Mr. Collins was not doing so anymore.”

  Elizabeth winced. Her father had paid for the tenants’ medical care if they could not afford it, always saying it was the decent Christian thing to do. Collins believed that it should be the tenants’ expense.

  “I have some funds of my own and would be happy to use them for Nell’s sake.”

  “Oh! Bless you, Miss Elizabeth.” Lines crinkled around her eyes as the woman smiled. “That is a very generous offer. I do not believe we need Mr. Jones just yet.”

  “Do not hesitate to ask if you do.”

  “I won’t. I thank you.”

  As they neared the gates marking the Longbourn estate, Elizabeth contemplated how to broach the subject of deceiving Longbourn’s master. It was much trickier in person than when she had envisioned it in bed the night before. “How is Mrs. Wiley faring?” she asked.

  Mrs. Greeves pursed her lips. “Well enough. She and the boys have enough food, and she lets them out to play when nobody is around.”

  “What about the Knights? I heard their roof is leaking.”

  The other woman gave Elizabeth a sidelong glance. “Aye, it leaks.”

  “And nobody has fixed it?”

  “No,” Mrs. Greeves answered warily.

  “And the Winstons? Their cottage has holes in the walls?”

  “Yes. And rats that come in at night. The Winstons’ little girl has been sick, and Mr. Knight’s gout is worse—from the damp”