Page 59 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

Elizabeth lowered herself into the chair she had been gripping. An impostor. She had been preparing to marry an impostor, a man whose very name was a fabrication, whose every promise rested upon lies maintained across ten years. Her mind raced through implications she could scarcely comprehend, through every conversation she had shared with Malcolm, every tender word, every plan for their future together in Scotland.

“The legal consequences are severe.” Bingley's voice reached her as though from a great distance. “If Miss Elizabeth proceeds with this marriage, any settlement could be voided entirely. Any children born of the union would face disputed inheritance claims. The fraud touches property law at its foundation. Should it come to light afterward, Longbourn passes to Mr Collins – or whoever the heir is - regardless of any other consideration. Mr Collins will no doubt attempt his best to uncover any inconsistencies, and if I was able to uncover it, so will he. Given Lady Catherine’s tenacity.”

Elizabeth wondered how he knew all of this and why he would wish to uncover it at all but was distracted by her mother. Mrs Bennet made a strangled sound deep in her throat. Her face went grey, her eyes rolled back, and she slumped against Jane, her body going entirely limp.

“Mama!” Jane caught her awkwardly, struggling under the sudden weight and nearly toppling from the settee herself.

Elizabeth sprang to the mantelpiece where the smelling salts were kept in their small blue bottle and pressed the vial into Jane's hand before stepping back. Bingley moved forward to assist, taking Mrs Bennet's shoulders whilst Jane held the salts beneath her nose. As his fingers brushed against Jane's, Elizabeth saw the delicate colour rise in her sister's cheeks.

Mrs Bennet's eyes fluttered. She looked about in wild confusion before memory returned, and she sat bolt upright with a wail that might have carried to Meryton.

“An impostor! Oh, my poor nerves! I defied every convention of mourning for this match! I endured the whispers of the neighbourhood and Mrs Long's pointed remarks about unseemly haste and want of proper feeling. I bore Lady Catherine's insults and Mrs Fraser's coldness and all for my girls, for their security, and now you tell me it was for nothing? That my daughter shall not be a laird's wife after all? That we have been deceived and made fools before the entire county? Oh, heavens, we are going to lose our homes, are we not?”

She pressed a hand to her bosom and drew several shuddering breaths before rounding on Bingley with sudden venom.

“How do we know you speak truth, sir? Perhaps you invented this entire tale from spite and malice. It did not work out between you and my Jane, after all, and now you return to ruin Elizabeth as revenge for your own disappointment!”

Bingley did not flinch, though Elizabeth saw the accusation pain him. “I have nothing to gain by inventing it, madam. Quite the reverse. Delivering this news has been among the most difficult tasks I have ever undertaken in my life.” He withdrew the documents from his satchel and extended them to Elizabeth. “Here is the proof. Examine them yourself and draw your own conclusions.”

Elizabeth accepted the papers with hands that had begun to tremble.

Bingley turned back to Mrs Bennet, though his gaze fixed upon Jane with an intensity that left no doubt of his meaning.

“Besides, madam, nothing has altered my sentiments for Miss Bennet. I feel the same strong regard I felt the very first moment I clapped eyes upon her at the Meryton assembly. Time and distance have only made me realise what a fool I have been.”

Elizabeth saw her mother's eyes widen with dawning comprehension. Mrs Bennet looked between Bingley and Jane and new calculations took shape behind her expression, displacing the distress of moments before.

Before her mother could voice whatever schemes were forming, Elizabeth spoke.

“We must speak with Mr MacKinnon when he returns. Or Mr McLeod, I suppose I must call him now.” The unfamiliar name sat strangely on her tongue. “He went to Meryton but should return before long. We cannot proceed further without hearing what he has to say for himself.”

“I shall wait with you.” Bingley squared his shoulders. “You ought not face such a confrontation without support.”

Silence fell over the parlour.

Finally, Mr Bingley cleared his throat. “Miss Bennet, I wonder... that is, whilst we await Mr MacKinnon's return, perhaps you might care to take a turn about the garden? The fresh air might prove restorative after such distressing news.”

Jane's lips curved into a small smile despite the gravity of the occasion. “I thank you for the thought, Mr Bingley, but I fear the garden offers little appeal at present. The ground is frozen solid, and the frost has been so severe these past days that even the hardiest shrubs have retreated entirely.”

Bingley's ears reddened visibly, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot like a schoolboy caught out in foolishness. “Yes, of course. Of course. How stupid of me. I merely thought... that is, I only meant to suggest...”

Elizabeth took pity on him. “Perhaps Jane might demonstrate the piece she has been practising at the pianoforte instead. She has shown considerable skill of late, and I know she has been wanting an appreciative audience.”

Jane cast her a look of mingled gratitude and reproach but rose with good grace. “I should be happy to play, if Mr Bingley cares to hear.”

Mr Bingley’s countenance turned, if possible, even redder. “Nothing would give me greater... that is to say, yes. I should like that very much indeed.”

“Mama, you ought to lie down and rest.” Elizabeth helped her mother rise, keeping her voice gentle but firm. “This has been a terrible shock to your constitution. You should remain in your chamber until we know more. I shall send Hill to attend you with a tisane.”

Mrs Bennet allowed herself to be guided toward the door, though she cast several meaningful glances back at Jane and Bingley. Whatever her distress over Malcolm's exposure, her instinct for advantageous matches had not deserted her.

Elizabeth saw her mother settled with Hill in attendance and strict instructions to rest, then returned to the drawing room. Jane had taken her seat at the pianoforte and arranged her music upon the stand. Bingley had positioned himself where he might observe her profile and her hands upon the keys without appearing to stare. The tableau they presented would have warmed Elizabeth on any other occasion.

She took a chair in the corner and spread the documents across her lap. It struck her as passing strange that they should indulge in such ordinary domesticity whilst her future lay shattered about her, and yet what else remained but to wait? She could not very well pace the floor wringing her hands until Malcolm returned, however much her nerves might demand such release. The first notes of Jane's sonata filled the room, and Elizabeth bent her attention to the papers before her.

The minister's affidavit was thorough and damning in its precision. He wrote of Hamish McLeod, the factor's son, whose grey-green eyes had marked him apart from the dark-eyed MacKinnon children when the boys stood together at catechism, a distinction often remarked upon in the parish.

The music rose and fell whilst she turned pages. The documents spoke also of charitable works undertaken since Hamish assumed his stolen identity.