Mr Darcy's Proposal

by Martine Jane Roberts

  Every fibre of his being rebelled against sitting on the shabby and filthy furniture, but he forced himself to take the glass of beer from Sarah’s hand, sit down and take a small sip.

  Putting the glass to one side, he asked,

  “Your mistress is thinking of getting married?”

  “Oh, no, sir.” Sarah laughed. “Apparently, they have been friends for years, ever since Mr Wickham was at university. The mistress said she was going to interview a new maid Mr Wickham had found for her. Then, if things work out, I will be promoted to Mrs Younge’s assistant, and she might be able to give me a small wage.”

  The ‘new maid,’ must be Lydia. So, it appeared Wickham never had any intention of marrying the girl. His only plan was to use Lydia as a mean of extorting financial remuneration from Darcy.

  Returning to the task at hand, and trying not to sound too eager, Darcy asked,

  “You do not get paid at present, Sarah?”

  “Lord, no sir. There’s scarcely enough money to put food on the table for the little ones, never mind pay me a wage. I do the best I can for them, but there’s no money left over for luxuries like soap, and Lord knows they could all do with some better clothes. And as for their hair, well I have to keep it short because they keep getting lice.”

  “So how would getting a new maid make things better, Sarah?”

  “Oh, the mistress said Mr Wickham is owed some money from an inheritance. Some rich man died and left him hundreds in his will, thousands I shouldn’t wonder. If the mistress takes on the new maid, Mr Wickham has promised to pay her twenty pounds a year towards the orphanage.”

  “And the children, Sarah, where do the children come from? Are they all from one family? They bear a striking resemblance to one another, in fact, there is something vaguely familiar about them,” he said, looking from one dark head to another.

  “No, sir, not one family. The mistress sometimes goes away, maybe for a few weeks, or like last year, many months. But when she comes back, she usually has a new baby with her. We have seven now.”

  A rather unsavoury and shocking thought was evolving in Darcy’s mind. Surely even Wickham could not sink so low.

  “More beer, sir?”

  Darcy shook his head and then smiled at the young woman

  “Tell me, Sarah, where might I find Mrs Younge and her friend Wickham?”

  She blushed, and then replied,

  “Wickham has taken rooms down at the docks, sir. I think he is staying at The Wooden Peg Inn.”

  Having got the information he needed, Darcy made ready to leave. Taking Sarah by the arm, he moved towards the front door.

  However, this young girl and her attempts to care for these poor unfortunates had touched him.

  Giving her the only thing he could, Darcy reached into his pocket, he pulled out a gold sovereign.

  “Sarah, you have been most helpful today. Here is a gold sovereign, do with it what you will, but do not tell your mistress I was here.”

  Mesmerised by the glint of gold, Sarah took the coin from Darcy’s fingers and turned it over in her hand. She knew exactly what she was going to buy. Soap to wash the children and their clothes, alcohol to rid them of the lice, and enough beef and vegetables to make a stew to fill their bellies for days.

  Remembering her manners, she breathlessly said,

  “Thank you, sir.” And she bobbed an awkward curtsy.

  Darcy put his hat on, intending to leave, but then an idea stopped him in his tracks.

  Pausing in the doorway, Darcy turned back to the girl.

  “Sarah, do you like working here, looking after the children?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, sir, I like looking after the children very much. They don’t have anyone else to love them, you see. No parent or brothers or sisters. No aunts or uncles or cousins or grandparents. Just me.”

  “And do you not have any relatives, Sarah? Someone who could take care of you?”

  “No, sir. Mrs Younge took me from an orphanage too.”

  “Do you like the city, Sarah, or would you like to live in the country?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t leave the children, sir. I love them like they are my own brothers and sisters.” Sarah said, putting her arms around the two nearest waifs.

  “I meant you and the children. You could all have new clothes; the children could go to school, and you would all have plenty of food for the table?”

  “Oh, sir, it would be like a dream come true.”

  Darcy smiled.

  “Then I shall return, but remember, tell no-one I was here.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Darcy had much to think about during the carriage ride back to his Grosvenor Square residence. An alarming thought was burrowing its way through his mind, and the conclusion it was heading towards was not one he wanted to believe. Could Wickham really sink that low, be that vile? Was it possible that Wickham had fathered all those children now in the care of Mrs Younge and Sarah? He obviously has no interest in marrying their mothers, or being a father to them, so why gather them all under one roof? Extortion? Blackmail? Could it possibly be the way Wickham had been funding his lifestyle? Sarah’s information pointed towards Mrs Younge arriving on the scene of each girl’s confinement and then removing the unwanted child. No doubt to the relief of the families involved, who were probably still paying Mrs Younge for her silence and the child’s upkeep, such as it was.

  Too many questions, he did not know the answer too. But one thing he was sure of, having discovered the existence of these unwanted and unloved children, Darcy, being the man that he was, could not leave them in the care of a woman such as Mrs Younge.

  Striding straight through the house to his study, Darcy expecting to find Mr Bennet and Bingley waiting for him, eager to be off. However, to Darcy disgust and annoyance, he found them both reclined on a chair and a sofa, asleep. No doubt having enjoyed a hearty lunch and a glass of his port, the rigours of the day had proved too much for them both.

  Rousing Bingley with a kick to his boot, and tapping Mr Bennet firmly on the shoulder, Darcy informed his sleepy companions that he had discovered the whereabouts of Wickham.

  Seeing their lack of response and enthusiasm, Darcy sternly reminded them that they should leave now, or risk Lydia’s ruin.

  Both gentlemen professed a need to refresh themselves before setting off, and so Darcy was left to cool his heels in his study while waiting for them return.

  Some minutes had passed when a quiet tapping came on the door. Darcy, thinking it was Charles or Mr Bennet returning, barked,

  “Come.”

  Elizabeth cautiously opened the door and peered inside.

  “May I join you?” she asked.

  Jumping to his feet, Darcy cleared his throat and beckoned her to enter.

  “Miss Darcy is resting, so I came to see if there was any news of my sister?”

  A wave of emotion swept over Darcy as he saw his betrothed standing before him, her face etched with worry and concern for a sister who cared for no-one but herself.

  Darcy could not bear for her to be in pain or to suffer anguish. When he had proposed to Elizabeth, he had promised to not only love her, but to protect her too. Yet, he had selfishly brought her to London to be at his side while he pursued Wickham and her sister all over the city. Embarrassed and ashamed of his selfishness Darcy felt the need to actually, physically, protect and comfort her.

  Unconsciously acting on this urge, Darcy stepped forward and pulled Elizabeth into a tight embrace. Folding his arms around her back, pulling her body into the circle of his love and care, gently placing a kiss on her dark curls.

  For some reason, Elizabeth accepted Darcy’s embrace, welcomed his reassuring arms and comforting kiss. It no longer felt strange to be held by him, embraced by him or kissed by him. It almost felt…natural now.

  “I think I have located them, Elizabeth,” he said hoping to reassure her. “If my information is correct, there is hope we may return Miss Lydia to her family
unharmed.”

  Darcy felt some of the tension leave Elizabeth’s body as her shoulders slumped and she released a soft sigh.

  “I have been to see a former employee of mine, one I knew had a long-standing association with Wickham.”

  “Did they know where Lydia was?” Elizabeth asked urgently.

  “She was from home when I arrived, but her maid was very forthcoming. Apparently, Mrs Younge now runs an orphanage, although I suspect it only has one patron. Sarah, the maid, informed me her mistress was expecting Wickham to shortly be in the position to supply her with not only a regular, annual income of twenty pounds…but also a new serving girl.”

  Elizabeth now raised her eyes and looked questioningly at Darcy

  “Though it is as I feared, Wickham does not intend to marry Miss Lydia, but only use her to extort money from me, we can act swiftly to foil Wickham’s plans. We also have the element of surprise, so I am hopeful of a successful recovery, Elizabeth.”

  His words had the desired effect, and Elizabeth did feel reassured, and comforted.

  With her head again resting on Darcy’s shoulder, and his strong arms still wrapped around her body, Elizabeth could not help but feel safe and secure, insulated against any trouble that may come her way.

  “It is hard to believe that a man who appeared so full of goodness and charm and kindness, could mask his true character so completely. How easily he fooled us all.” Elizabeth said with both bitterness and humiliation.

  Her previous treatment and harsh words which she had levied at Mr Darcy had been almost entirely fuelled by her belief in Wickham’s lies. Lies she had been only too ready to believe. And all because Darcy had bruised her vanity. How she wished she had not been so vocal in her dislike of him, using her wit to malign and disparage him whenever the opportunity arose.

  Humbled, she quietly said,

  “We do not deserve such kindness from you, sir…I do not deserve such kindness from you. Mr Darcy…Fitzwilliam, I have not always been complimentary when your name arose in conversation. I am sorry. I did not know you as I do now.”

  “We neither perform at our best in front of strangers, Elizabeth. I can forgive you anything that occurred before we were engaged.”

  “But I said…” she began, but Darcy put his finger to her lips to silence her.

  “My darling, you were free to express your opinion of me as you wished…before we were betrothed. Now, I just ask that you are more circumspect with your displeasure towards me in the future.”

  He moved his finger and let it run over her cheek, savouring the softness of her skin. He lifted her chin and lowered his face towards her face, testing to see if she shied away, but when Elizabeth remained open to his advance, he bent down to kiss her.

  At that moment, Bingley and Mr Bennet entered, saying,

  “Come, Darcy, no time to tarry.” much to Darcy’s chagrin.

  Darcy rapped on the bedroom door at The Wooden Peg Inn with his cane.

  Movement could be heard inside, but it was several minutes before anyone came to open it.

  Peeping out of the three-inch crack, was Wickham, a look of incredulity on his face.

  “Darcy!” he exclaimed.

  “Open the door, Wickham, we need to talk,” Darcy said stonily.

  Instantly, the confident fraudster reappeared, and Wickham said,

  “Do we, Darcy? Pray, what’s on your mind?”

  Keeping control of his anger, Darcy replied,

  “Lydia Bennet, George. Is she in there with you? Let me speak to her?”

  “Miss Bennet? Why yes, she is, Darcy. Unfortunately, Lydia is indisposed at present, and cannot come to the door.”

  “What ails her, George? Does she need to see a physician?” Darcy asked with concern.

  Peering over his shoulder, Wickham laughed, then turned back to say,

  “Sorry, old man, she’s a little tied up at present.”

  Darcy stood silent for a moment, considering what his next move should be. Was Lydia really ill? Or was it a ruse by Wickham to get them to leave so he could move them?

  Darcy concluded it was the latter.

  “May I at least speak to, Miss Bennet?”

  “No!” Wickham said and then tried to close the door.

  Unfortunately for Wickham, Darcy had anticipated this move and had surreptitiously put his foot, and his cane in the opening, preventing it from closing.

  “I really must insist, George,” Darcy said, his voice as cold as ice.

  Darcy began to push on the door with his free hand, but it did not give. Wickham must have something lodged on the other side.

  Mr Bennet had done as Darcy asked. He had stayed back and let Darcy talk to Wickham alone. But now, with the prospect of them having to leave without even speaking to Lydia, it was too much for him.

  Standing on his tiptoes, he called out to his errant daughter over the top of Darcy’s head.

  “Lydia, Lydia Bennet, are you in there, come to your father this instance?”

  Darcy cursed under his breath, irritated that Mr Bennet has shown Wickham, their hand. The only consolation was that Wickham knew he was not alone.

  If Darcy expected Wickham to capitulate and open the door fully, he was sadly mistaken.

  “Papa, papa, don’t leave me.” Came a muffled cry.

  Distorted, but clearly the voice of Lydia Bennet, it prompted her father into action.

  Mr Bennet pushed forward and stood by Darcy’s side.

  Wearing his sternest frown and wagging his finger in Wickham’s face, he said,

  “Young man, I demand to see my daughter this instant.”

  “Get back, old man,” Wickham scowled.

  Deciding this toing and froing was getting them nowhere, Darcy moved Mr Bennet to one side, and now put his shoulder to the door.

  Slowly, as the door began to inch back revealing more of the room behind, Darcy called to the others to help him.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you, Darcy,” Wickham said in a menacing tone.

  At first, Darcy was ignorant of his meaning, but some movement caught his eye, and he looked down. Wickham was pointing a pistol at him.

  Darcy held up his hand to forestall the other gentlemen coming to his aid. If the pistol was loaded, Wickham only had one shot, but what if he had more than one gun?

  Darcy took a moment to straighten his clothes.

  “Very well, George, what is it you want?” Darcy asked in a bored tone.

  Wickham thrust his face into the opening and hissed,

  “I want what you owe me, what is due to me. The living your father promised me and an annual income.”

  Remaining calm, Darcy reasoned with him.

  “But George, I have already compensated you for that living. Did you not declared that the life of a cleric would not suit you? You cannot expect me to pay you twice. Where’s the fairness in that?”

  “Fair, fair, you dare speak to me of fair. I have had to scratch out a living since your father died. I have had to do the vilest things imaginable to try and get by, and all because you would not give me a decent inheritance.”

  “First, George, let’s not forget I compensated you with three thousand pounds for the Kympton living; plus, one thousand pounds from my father’s estate, as stipulated in his will. Four thousand pounds in total, George. That should have lasted the son of a steward a lifetime. You have to agree, George, that is an awful lot of money.”

  “You could have given me more, but you chose not to. It’s because you were jealous, jealous of the love your father showered on me,” and then to add the final insult, he said, “He always did prefer me to you.”

  “Maybe so, George, but I am his son, and you are still only the son of our steward.”

  “Quite so, Darcy.” Said the faint but clearly audible voice of Mr Bingley.

  Bingley had stepped in at the wrong time.

  As Darcy expected, Wickham slammed the door shut.

  The three gentlemen were left standing
on the other side of the closed door, no closer to retrieving Lydia than they were when they arrived.

  The slamming of iron against iron told them that Wickham had bolted the door. Even if Wickham didn’t have the pistol in his hand now, there would be no point in trying to break the door down. These old dockland inns were solidly built, meant to withstand time, tides and salt water for years to come.

  As they turned to leave, the soft muffled sobs of the young woman filtered through the cracks of the beams and door frames.

  Mr Bennet turned back, intent on rescuing his child, but Darcy put out his arm to forestall him.

  “If we want to win the war, we must concede defeat in this battle, my friend.”

  Reluctantly, Mr Bennet let Darcy usher him out and back into the carriage.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It had been a long day. On their return to Darcy’s townhouse, Miller, the butler, informed them that the ladies had retired some time ago.

  Bingley and Darcy had not realised that the hour had grown so late, but Mr Bennet, being twice their age, felt every year of his age. Country life was lived at a much slower pace than the city, and having been here only a few hours, it reminded Mr Bennet of just why he seldom ventured from his own patch.

  The men ate a cold repast in relative silence, and when Darcy excused himself on the pretext of estate business to attend to, both Mr Bingley and a very grateful Mr Bennet retired for the evening.

  With the door of his study firmly closed behind him, Darcy quickly despatched a footman to deliver a hurriedly scribbled note to his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.

  Richard,

  I am in need of your military expertise.

  Please come to Darcy House as soon as possible.

  It is a matter of urgency.

  Your cousin,

  FD

  Darcy was not idle as he waited for Richard to arrive. Going to the bookcase to the left of his desk, Darcy pulled out a tatty looking leather-bound book. Returning to his chair, he opened the book, but not to read.