These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  Bingley stumbled backward and tripped over a branch, toppling to the ground. “D-Darcy!” he whispered. “By Jove, it is you!” He leaped happily to his feet, grasping Darcy’s hands to pump them in unrestrained joy.

  “What a shock you have given me! All these months, we thought you dead, and here you stand before me! Oh, how pleased I am, I cannot say! But where the deuce have you been, my good man? So much has happened, I cannot even begin to tell you all. Oh, where shall I begin? By heavens, it is good to see you alive and well!”

  Darcy wormed his hands from Bingley’s, grimacing uncomfortably. “Bingley, where is she?” he demanded.

  Bingley’s mouth was still open, as Darcy had shushed him mid-stream. “Miss Darcy? Why, she has gone on to Pemberley. The poor child, how delighted she will be to know you live!”

  “Not Georgiana! I shall see her soon enough, but not yet. The shock would be too great—she must not be alone when… no, I did not come here to see Georgiana!”

  Bingley drew a shuddering breath as clarity dawned in his eyes. “Of course. You would not have….” His eyes narrowed, and he nodded slowly, a knowing smile now tugging at his mouth. “I have often wondered if there was something—”

  “Bingley!” he grasped his friend’s shoulders and verily shook him. “Where is Elizabeth? Tell me she has not married!”

  “No!” Bingley hastened to respond.

  Darcy fell back, his anger melting, and he filled his lungs for the first time in many long minutes. He closed his eyes and drooped against a tree, sighing in relief. “She has not… not married?” he ventured after a moment.

  “No,” Bingley repeated. “She went to Pemberley with Miss Darcy.”

  “What?” he shot to attention again. “Do you mean that she is there, with Georgiana, even now?”

  “She has been some weeks already—why, it must be almost a month now since she left Hertfordshire. It was the colonel’s idea—”

  “Fitzwilliam!”

  “A capital notion, was it not? Miss Darcy was delighted to have such a friend near, and I daresay it will be a fine thing for Miss Bennet and Mrs Wickham….” Bingley stuttered to a halt again when he saw the dangerous flicker in Darcy’s eyes.

  “Mrs Wickham! She is there, too? And that traitorous husband of hers? Surely, he is not there also!”

  Bingley sighed. “There is much to tell you, old friend. Come, let us return to Netherfield, and I shall pour you a stiff drink. I suspect we are both in need of it.” He reached to slap his friend’s shoulder, as he had often done in former days, but Darcy recoiled from the touch. Bingley dropped his hand stupidly, searching for some appropriate response as his friend seemed truly to shiver in revulsion.

  “I shall not stop at Netherfield,” Darcy declared. “I would stay long enough to borrow a change of clothes and a purse, but I must journey to Pemberley at once. Have you any decent saddle horses?”

  “Stubborn as ever!” Bingley mused under his breath. “Darcy, you cannot ride a horse all the way to Pemberley! You will catch your death, or drop from exhaustion. You must take my carriage.”

  “I shall do no such thing. I must reach Pemberley in all haste.”

  “Georgiana is quite safe,” Bingley protested. “The colonel made certain of that, and Miss Elizabeth will have seen to her comforts. You needn’t kill yourself trying to assure them both that you live.”

  “I will not take a carriage!” Darcy repeated firmly. “Just the clothing and a little money for expenses. I shall reimburse you as soon as I may.”

  “Oh, hang your money, Darcy! You are back from the dead! We must celebrate! I imagine there may be some legal difficulty by this time, but surely the earl can be depended upon for his advice—”

  “No! Do not tell anyone that you have seen me, particularly not my relations!”

  “But why ever not? Only think how relieved the colonel will be! He has gone off on some business on the continent. I know not when he shall have returned, but surely—”

  “Tell no one!” Darcy roared. “Not a single soul!”

  Bingley’s brow furrowed in hurt and confusion. “Well, if you insist, old boy. But where have you been?”

  Darcy growled darkly. “In hell.”

  30

  Pemberley

  “At last, what a fine day! Are we really to go all the way to that hill in the distance? Lizzy, Georgie, neither of you ever told me Pemberley’s grounds were so extensive!” Lydia bounced giddily in the seat of the phaeton, admiring the little grey ponies, waving at the groundskeeper, and straining to see the farthest reaches of the horizon.

  Elizabeth cringed, imagining the jostling her sister was giving her poor babe—not to mention the discomfort of avoiding Lydia’s elbows as she wiggled about. “Lydia, it is rather close on this seat for you to move quite so much!”

  “Well, Lizzy, if you would only have brought out the larger carriage, we would have had so much more room. I am not so small as I used to be, you know.”

  “It is not my carriage, Lydia. Therefore, the choice was not my own,” Elizabeth pointedly reminded her.

  Georgiana grinned shyly as she expertly tugged the reins of their ponies. “Do you not like my phaeton, Lydia? Fitzwilliam gave it to me two years ago, because he thought I might like driving it myself. It seems so much more private than having a horde of servants about whenever I wished to drive out. Besides, there are places on the estate where one cannot drive a larger carriage.”

  “Yes, but how ever were you to take an entire party? Why, we are snug with only the three of us. You would be hard put to bring a gentleman along, as well as your chaperon! I suppose, perhaps, you might have left your chaperon to ride in another carriage,” Lydia giggled wickedly.

  Georgiana innocently protested that such a notion could never have crossed her mind, while Elizabeth turned her face away, biting her upper lip in consternation bordering on irrational laughter. Say what one might of Lydia’s present trials, she was ever in search of ways to amuse herself.

  “What a lovely lake!” Lydia was now exclaiming. “Georgie, do let us stop and have a look.”

  Lake? Elizabeth jerked her head about. There was the hedge, the one around which he had walked that hot summer day with his dripping shirt unbuttoned, and his coat draped casually over his arm. The startled, helpless look on his face: she could still recall it to memory as easily as if it had been mere moments ago. William….

  Her throat grew tight and she tapped urgently at Georgiana’s shoulder. “Oh, no, not today,” she begged. “Surely it will still be very damp there. See how low it is, with the trees hanging all round? Let us go up that hill to the north, as we proposed to do.”

  Georgiana complied, trotting her diminutive team up the well-groomed drive. A short way on, she turned off to what appeared little more than a footpath. Half an hour more they jogged, twisting round the back side of a little slope, and up a modest gully until they wound up to a hidden, flat meadow. It formed the top of a small knoll, set against a large rock that had tumbled down from the larger hill just beyond. A modest stand of trees near the rock shaded a thin trickle of water, not large enough to be dignified as a true stream, and several respectably sized stones made for capital seats all round.

  “There, what do you think?” Georgiana gestured proudly.

  Lydia was gushing her verbose approval as Georgiana secured the ponies. The two younger girls disembarked from the phaeton, but Elizabeth remained still. This hushed little place, secret from the world, seemed too hallowed to shatter its calm with words. She closed her eyes, allowing the first hints of spring breezes to drift the scents of new blackthorn blossom, damp earth, and tender grass to her senses.

  He must have loved it here, some instinct whispered to her. Cautiously, peeking to be certain that the others did not see, she slid her hand onto the seat, wishing she could feel warm fingers enclosing over her own. A tickle, a soft touch, a sweet scent….

  Elizabeth opened
her eyes and discovered that a tiny blackthorn petal had fallen to brush the back of her hand. She glanced to where Georgiana and her sister were settling themselves near the brook, then back behind herself, from where the breeze had come. Tucked behind two smaller trees was a stately older one of a different sort—neither near enough the water to drink from it as they did, nor fully removed from their proximity. Aloof and brooding it seemed, taller and broader than all the rest. There, that inner voice pulled at her.

  Elizabeth looked once more to the others, then dropped down from the phaeton. She tiptoed reverently near the old tree, then slid her hand up the trunk as she gazed up through sunlit branches. One thick arm stood proudly out from the main trunk, and her fingers traced over its surface. She smiled a little as she detected a worn place near its crotch, where the grooves in the bark had been burnished smooth—a simple haven seemingly made specifically for sunny afternoons with a book. A perfect retreat this tree would have made for a quiet boy on a family picnic, or a young man temporarily escaping his cares at home while keeping up on his studies.

  Her fingers were still caressing the place, but her eyes burned with that familiar sting. This little sanctuary could have been their own! Had she not been so willfully deceived, so foolishly proud of despising him for the wrong reasons, he might have brought her here last summer as his bride. Everything she had touched so far, each effort lovingly exerted to help Georgiana step into her new role, might have instead been spent in partnership with him. But, no, she had destroyed any hope of that, cast it away with both hands.

  She bowed her head as a tear slipped down the bridge of her nose. She caught another with her tongue, savouring its bitter taste as a penance for all her wrongs. William! her heart pleaded. I cannot do this any longer!

  Why, why had she ever agreed to come here? A mistake, a hideous, agonising mistake, that she had ever given in to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s demands, or Georgiana’s mournful pleas. What business had she here, wandering about his house, playing surrogate mistress in his home, while Georgiana decided whether she would grow up and take her rightful place? It was wrong, wicked even, to walk his halls listening for his voice, and to lie awake in her bed each night until that spectre of him spoke into her ear, kissing her to sleep.

  She must leave, there was no other help for it. Her purpose here could no longer be called honourable—if she confessed the truth, she was likely hindering Georgiana’s development more than helping, for she represented one more strong tower to which the girl could run, rather than standing to discover her own courage. If only Mrs Annesley would return, so she might have some proper company! And if only Lydia…. Elizabeth groaned and leaned her head against the tree. There was no hope of escape on the horizon!

  She sniffed, scraping a third tear from her cheek on the roughened trunk. She should no longer remain, but she could hardly bundle her pregnant sister in a carriage and abandon Georgiana to her own devices. What to do? As if in answer, her neck tingled in foreboding. Look back.

  She stiffened and raised her head. Had that been a voice or her own imagination? Look! that inner call urged again.

  A shiver of dread chilled her. Stumbling in obedience away from the tree, Elizabeth tripped over the rocky ground, back toward the phaeton. What meant such urgency, she could not say, until she came down beside one of the larger stones. There, tucked behind it, was a man she had never seen. He was slightly built, no taller than Elizabeth herself, with craggy features and a missing tooth. He had been crouching out of sight, spying on Lydia and Georgiana, with a bundle of coarse brown sacking clutched in his hand.

  When Elizabeth came upon him he leapt up in surprise, and hissed out under his breath, “Blimey, Jakes, ‘ere’s t’other! She’s seen us!”

  Elizabeth yelped and jumped backward as the man reached to snatch her arm. From several yards away, behind a clump of brush, she saw another head rear into view. This man was much taller than his companion, and by frantic motions he immediately demanded that Elizabeth be captured and silenced.

  Elizabeth was already pinwheeling her arms, scrambling for footing to reverse direction. Her attacker was faster and stronger, but she had already been in motion before he gained his feet. “Georgiana! Lydia!” she cried, racing back to the ponies as fast as her terrified legs could carry her. “Go—run, now!”

  Her pursuer swore and gave up on stealth, now that the alarm had been raised. “I’ll teach ya, ya wench! Look’it ya’ve done!”

  Elizabeth did look. Georgiana and Lydia had turned from the little creek, their heads tilted curiously at the panic in Elizabeth’s voice. When they understood the cause, they clutched one another’s hands and froze, their eyes locked on the oncoming attack.

  “Go! To the carriage!” Elizabeth shouted in frustration. “Don’t stand there looking daft, run!”

  The effort of shouting cost Elizabeth much-needed breath, and the first man was able to make a desperate lunge for her elbow. He caught her, but only firmly enough to slow and trip her up. She fell before him to the grass, and he was unable to check his stride before his boots slammed into her legs, then he likewise toppled to the ground.

  Elizabeth never heard herself shriek in pain, though Lydia would later testify to it. She rolled to her back and kicked with all her might, and by some chance the heel of her walking boot caught the man’s chin. He howled in rage, spitting blood, but Elizabeth was already on her feet again.

  Limping this time, it was all she could do to scurry the rest of the distance to the phaeton. She threw herself into it, fumbling to yank the knot out of the reins. Drat it all, she didn’t know how to drive a team! In fact, she had made a point of not acquiring any skills with horses, and only now had she learned to regret it! Where was Georgiana?

  A terrified squeal gave the answer, and Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped. The larger man had not joined his companion in pursuing her, but had veered after his true quarry—the adolescent heiress who possessed a mere quarter of his strength, guarded now only by a visibly pregnant girl as terrified as she. Elizabeth’s pulse hammered in her ears, and she screamed their names again.

  She dared not glance back to see where the other man was. She snatched desperately at the reins, slapping the ponies’ backs with a viciousness she did not know she possessed. The little phaeton began to roll, then jerked as it was grabbed from behind. Elizabeth let out an involuntary cry, diving her body low over the front of the dainty vehicle as she urged the ponies on. They proved faster and stronger than her pursuer, and Elizabeth pushed them haphazardly toward the girls as he fell to the rear.

  “Run!” she cried again, to no avail. Lydia was wholly incapable of running. She was hobbling awkwardly, one hand bracing her stomach and the other stretched out to Georgiana—whether offering assistance or begging it, none could say. Georgiana was trembling, still nearly paralysed and staring helplessly at her approaching attacker.

  Elizabeth slashed at the ponies again with the reins, unleashing a cry of righteous fury. She gave a fierce jerk on the right rein, and in a heartbeat, the ponies had dashed into the man called Jakes. The last vision Elizabeth had of him was a raised forearm, a silent scream of terror, and then he disappeared. Only after the phaeton had lurched wildly did she realise, sickeningly, that his body had rolled under the wheels.

  Elizabeth glanced once more over her shoulder and saw the shorter man running in the opposite direction. His companion lay groaning in the wet grass, his face covered in mud and blood, giving no indication of rising. Only then did she allow herself the luxury of a breath of air. “Georgiana! Lydia! You must come, now!”

  The girls had overcome their shock sufficiently to stumble toward the phaeton, but neither could mount without Elizabeth’s assistance. In Lydia’s case, she could not have stepped up in any event, but Georgiana was still quaking in sheer panic. All Elizabeth’s attempts to wrap Georgiana’s numb fingers over the reins proved fruitless—the girl was still staring dumbly at the man on the ground, her jaw sla
ck and her features waxen.

  Elizabeth finally took back the reins. Not for another moment did she dare linger in the vicinity, and she nearly tipped the little carriage down the slope in her hurried, inexpert attempts to drive it. Happily, the ponies showed themselves to be sturdier than all Elizabeth’s mishandling, and in a trice, they were galloping again on flat ground.

  Georgiana was still speechless, her hands white on the frame of the phaeton, but Lydia had recovered her powers sufficiently to wonder aloud who would dare so. “Lizzy, who was that? The blackguard, serve him right if he is killed!”

  Elizabeth set her mouth grimly and made no answer. She drove the team like a demon, swatting away with the whip she had just discovered, and then snatching the reins back when their speed exceeded her comfort. Finding help and returning the others to the safety of Pemberley became her sole thought. Thus, it was with first alarm, then relief, that she saw a third man break from the trees, hurtling toward them on long legs as his familiar red hair caught the sun. O’Donnell!

  She drew up on the reins, slowing the ponies just enough to catch his words. “‘Ware, Miss Darcy! Miss Bennet, fly to the ‘ouse! Strangers in the hills, ‘t’is not safe!”

  ~

  Elizabeth accepted the steaming cup from her sister, then assumed a place beside Georgiana. “What is being done, Mr Jefferson?” she asked, for the young mistress was yet too shaken to make sensible inquiry.

  The steward shook his head and frowned. “We only found the one fellow struck by the carriage, Miss. He’s a good deal knocked about, and he’s been senseless since we found him. It looks as though he took a hoof to the head and another to the stomach—the surgeon says he is bleeding from inside. It is doubtful he will ever recover to speak.”

  “So, there is no learning who he is, or how he came there? What could he have wanted of Miss Darcy?”