Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody (21 page)

‘Oh, what to do?’ cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat as she finished the letter, and making for the door, as if to pursue the unhappy couple herself. At that moment, Mr Darcy
appeared. Elizabeth’s wild countenance made him start, but before he could speak, she hastily exclaimed: ‘I beg your pardon but I must take my leave. There are events unfolding at
Longbourn that require my attention, and my departure cannot be delayed.’

‘My God, what is the matter?’ Darcy asked urgently, his smoky-grey eyes full of concern. ‘Are you ill? Can I get you a bacon sandwich?’

‘No, I thank you,’ she replied faintly, endeavouring to recover herself. ‘I am quite well. I have just received some news from Longbourn which has distressed me, that is
all.’

Anxiously, she began biting her nails. Darcy made a low, guttural growling sound.

‘Don’t do that, Elizabeth,’ he murmured. ‘You know what it does to me.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Elizabeth, dropping her hands into her lap. ‘I did not mean to set your passions aflame.’

Mr Darcy’s eyes were cloudy and intense. Was his conjunctivitis
ever
going to clear up?

‘Bend over, Elizabeth.’

‘Mr Darcy, this is neither the time nor the place,’ entreated Elizabeth.

‘I am going to give it to you – hard.’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake, desist, Mr Darcy, I beg you!’ Elizabeth cried. ‘I do not wish to receive it at this particular moment in time, hard or otherwise! If you truly want
to be of assistance to me, please be so good as to order a carriage to take me to town, that I may catch the next post to Hertfordshire.’

‘May I not flog you first?’

‘I have not a moment to lose.’

‘Then I suppose a handjob is out of the question, too?’

‘You are correct, Mr Darcy.’

For a moment Mr Darcy’s eyes flashed fire. Then his exquisite features seemed to soften, and he gave a regretful sigh. ‘Of course I will help you, Elizabeth. I would do anything for
you. But just give me a few moments alone first, in my study.’ He walked stiffly towards the door. ‘By the way, do you happen to have a pocket handkerchief I could borrow?’

Mr Darcy insisted on accompanying Elizabeth in the carriage as far as Derby, and during the journey she explained to him the circumstances of Lydia and Whackem’s business trip.

‘I cannot help but feel
I
am to blame,’ Elizabeth lamented. ‘If I had made known to the world even a little of what you told me about Whackem’s character and his
abominable treatment of your sister, this would not have happened.’

Mr Darcy’s jaw was set in a firm line, and his brow was furrowed. ‘Is it absolutely certain?’ he asked. ‘Could it be, perchance, that Lydia failed the second interview,
or has not yet signed the contract?’

‘It is quite certain. Whackem intends to employ her as soon as possible.’

At the thought of the humiliation, the misery that Lydia was bringing upon them all, fresh tears sprang to Elizabeth’s eyes. ‘May I borrow back my handkerchief?’ she enquired
of her companion.

Mr Darcy shifted in his seat awkwardly. ‘Um, you might not want to do that, Elizabeth.’

Elizabeth stared out of the window in misery. ‘I still cannot understand why Lydia was interested in a job in publishing in the first place,’ she pondered. ‘I mean, she
doesn’t even know the difference between “discreet” and “discrete”.’

Twang!
One of Mr Darcy’s long index fingers shot out and gently brushed away her tears.

‘Elizabeth, I cannot bear to see you distressed. It cuts to the heart of my dark soul,’ he whispered. He reached into his waistcoat pocket. ‘Here is something to make you
smile.’ He held out his palm towards her.

‘Pray, what are these?’ asked Elizabeth, gazing with curiosity upon the mysterious oval objects displayed before her.

‘They are
love eggs
,’ replied Mr Darcy huskily.

Elizabeth’s interest was piqued. ‘Are they ornaments, Mr Darcy?’ she enquired. ‘If so, they are a little ostentatious for my taste.’

Darcy smiled darkly. ‘No one will see them, Elizabeth. You wear them
on the inside
.’

Elizabeth gasped. Her Subconscious fainted. And even her Inner Slapper poured herself a stiff measure of gin.

‘I want you to kneel on the floor of the carriage now, Elizabeth,’ murmured Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth hesitated. Taylor was up above, driving the horses – what if he were to discern something untoward?

‘Do as you are bid!’ Mr Darcy commanded.

Awkwardly, for it was a narrow carriage, Elizabeth knelt down at Mr Darcy’s feet.

‘Good girl,’ Mr Darcy murmured. ‘Now, tell me, Elizabeth, tell me what you want me to do.’

Elizabeth swallowed nervously. ‘You may do whatever you want … Sir.’

She felt her skirts being lifted and then, with one powerful hand, Darcy ripped her bloomers into shreds. Elizabeth’s body shook in anticipation.

‘Brace yourself, Elizabeth,’ Mr Darcy rasped, and suddenly she felt a cold sensation in her most unmentionable bodily part.

‘Oh!’ she gasped in surprise.

‘Does that feel agreeable?’ asked Mr Darcy in a low, soft voice.

Elizabeth’s breath came in little gasps as she grew accustomed to the sensation. ‘I believe so,’ she panted.

‘You may sit up now, Miss Bennet.’

Trembling, Elizabeth straightened up and rearranged herself on the seat opposite Mr Darcy. What a queer sensation! It was both alarming, and yet intensely pleasurable. As the carriage jolted and
shook, she became increasingly giddy and distracted.
Oh my!
Mr Darcy watched her with a salacious smile.

‘Taylor!’ he called up to his manservant. ‘Is the Bakewell road still studded with potholes?’

‘I believe it is, Sir.’

‘Then go that way, will you?’

When Elizabeth finally alighted on the steps of Longbourn, her joy and relief at seeing Jane waiting for her were considerable. Indeed, her felicity almost banished all thought
of the love eggs, until Jane commented on her flushed face and unusual waddling gait.

As the sisters affectionately embraced, Elizabeth asked: ‘Is there any more news of Lydia and Whackem?’

‘None as yet,’ Jane replied. ‘Stepfather wrote to say he had arrived in Bristol, but there is no sign of them at the port. But that was his final word.’

‘And Mama? How does she fare?’

‘She is greatly shaken. She asks after you. Pray, go up and see her in her chamber.’

Mrs Bennet, to whose apartment Elizabeth repaired, received her exactly as expected, with tears, lamentations, and tirades against the treachery of Mr Whackem.

‘A
publishing executive
? What manner of occupation is that?’ she complained. ‘Whackem is a scoundrel, a cad and a scoundrel! I was certain Lydia would be seduced by him,
and indeed, she was of the same mind. We even bought condoms for her to carry in her reticule, just in case. And now it seems he had little interest in her body at all! He saw only a foolish
middle-class girl ripe for the picking, her head easily turned by talk of foreign-rights contracts, royalties and jacket proofs! To offer her work experience, indeed! My daughter, the working girl!
I shall never recover from this, never!’

‘Do not give way to alarm, Mother,’ Elizabeth cautioned. ‘Mr Bennet may yet find them before any real harm can be done. If Lydia can be brought back to Longbourn before she has
been shown how to use a photocopier, maybe all will be well.’

‘That is more than I could hope for,’ lamented Mrs Bennet. ‘He must find them, and if Lydia will not come home to a life of mindless, soul-destroying domesticity, then he must
at least persuade Whackem to pay her a salary. That, at least, would be a consolation. Oh why could Lydia not have considered escort work. There, at least, is an occupation with
prospects!’

Elizabeth reassured her mother, and yet privately, she believed there was little hope. Especially when Lydia’s own letter, left at the barracks, was read out to her by Jane.

The third and fourth Miss Bennets displayed very different reactions to Lydia’s missive. Kitty was pleased that her main rival for the attention of the officers had quit Longbourn for
good, and therefore announced herself delighted with Lydia’s predicament.

‘She will be a hatchet-faced, dried-up old bag when she returns!’ she said triumphantly. ‘I have heard that working for a living does that to a person.’

Mary, however, was typically condemnatory.

‘It can only have a detrimental effect on Lydia’s character,’ she declared. ‘She may have been previously vain and silly, but as a business executive, she will become
crass, self-deluding, pompous and clueless. We’ve all seen
The Apprentice
.’ And with that she disappeared back into the music room with an anxious-looking Mr Fiddler, who had
declared that her lesson was by no means over, not least until she had performed an arpeggio or two.

Every day at Longbourn now was a day of anxiety; but the most anxious part of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters was the first grand object of every morning’s
impatience. But before they heard again from their stepfather, a letter arrived from a different quarter, from Hunsford and Mr Phil Collins. Jane opened it over breakfast, and together the sisters
read:

‘Pompous twat,’ muttered Elizabeth, most unladylikely. Her relief at being Mr Darcy’s kinky-sex slave rather than Mr Collins’s wife had never been greater. Elizabeth did
wonder, however, why Mr Darcy had not written. Was he angry with her for returning to Longbourn?

It seemed, now, from talk in Meryton, that Whackem had left considerable debts behind in the town, owing some £2 at the paper mill, and only a little less at the printers.

‘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.’