“Wickham!” Charlotte and Elizabeth hissed as one.
Sir Chauncey stared at the two ladies a long moment before adding, “Every effort was made to find this Mr. George Wilkins, but to no avail.”
“It was the assumed name of a vengeful, despicable man,” Elizabeth explained with some heat. “You will find him parading amongst the officers in a militia quartered in Hertfordshire. I would be pleased to provide you with the imposter’s direction.”
Darcy’s lowered head cast a sidelong glance at his cousin. He received a subtle nod of acknowledgement in return.
“Ah, this explains why our investigators could find no trace of the man at the direction provided by her ladyship. We have his last known address at the boarding house of a Mrs. Felicity Younge in London, where no such person has ever been registered.”
“Oh!” Georgiana raised a hand to her mouth.
“It may be seen by this, my Last Will and Testament, that I seek to nullify and redress the errors of my daughter, Anne. It is well known that she suffered uncommonly ill health in both body and mind, which was due, I remain convinced, to the perfidy and want of family feeling by my late nephew Darcy, whose selfishness led directly to her wasting death of a broken heart.”
Sir Chauncey looked up, clearly mortified to be reading what his office would not allow him to avoid. “And so she concludes her final codicil. A fair and witnessed copy of this document is provided to the magistrate of Sevenoaks to assist in his investigation of her ladyship’s…um… exploits before and at the time of her death.” The papers were passed to the magistrate.
The room was silent for but a moment before the sound of soft laughter was heard. Its source was Charlotte Collins. The colonel joined in her amusement, and soon all were chuckling, even Mr. Steventon.
Only Sir Chauncey Phawcett, the magistrate, and Albertine remained sober. For his part, Sir Chauncey was embarrassed beyond expression to have been a party to the machinations of such a woman as Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
“Here…what’s all this then?” Albertine demanded.
Sir Chauncey acknowledged his colleague. “Neither Mr. Steventon, nor anyone else, has any reason to question the Last Will and Testament of Miss Anne de Bourgh. Although I have been given to understand her morals in the last months of her life did not strictly reflect Christian values, she broke no laws but God’s. Given the will of her father and that she was above the age set forth in that document to inherit his estate with no prejudice or entailment, her will is perfectly legal.”
“So I am to get nothing? Not a farthing?” Albertine’s voice rose in outrage.
Charlotte turned to her. “Miss Donald, are you married to Malcolm Donald, the footman in my home, or is he truly your brother and your relationship of a more unnatural and unchristian nature? You stayed under my roof once a week for the whole of my brief marriage, and Nell has confessed that you rarely shared her bed for an entire night.”
Albertine sat with a thump, looking about the room for an ally. After appearing to consider her course, she drew herself up, affecting high dudgeon. “I’ll have you know I am Mrs. Donald. Her ladyship would not countenance a married abigail. I know of what I am being accused, and I know when I’m being cheated.” She stood again and pointed at the magistrate. “You must arrest them all! They have no right to anything belonging to her ladyship!
The magistrate smiled and attempted the kindly benevolence of one speaking to the simpleminded. “You must understand, Mrs. Donald, the largesse Lady Catherine bestowed upon you was not hers to give. Her husband did not leave to her the family jewels, the estate, or any of its capital. He allowed her to continue the running of the estate only until her daughter married. At that time, her ladyship would have been allowed the use of the dower cottage but never the ownership of it or any other thing.”
“But Miss Anne never did marry!” Albertine rejoined.
“That is of no matter, madam, for Miss de Bourgh left a will of ironclad legality.” Mr. Steventon defended his deceased client and puffed out his chest a bit, taking pride in his work on her behalf. “She was the legal heiress and of age. The fortunes of Rosings Park were hers to distribute as she saw fit within the law, and however unconventional it may be, her will stipulates nothing untoward.”
“Well, I never!” Muttering and protesting, Albertine flounced from the room.
“So, sir…” The timid voice of Mrs. Jenkinson addressed Mr. Steventon. “Miss Anne’s will stands as you read it to us?”
“Yes, madam. My unfortunate colleague was required to read aloud her ladyship’s will even though it is wholly without merit and entirely unenforceable. Her ladyship had no legal ownership of anything she sought to bestow or withhold.”
Mrs. Jenkinson fairly skipped from the room with a giggle of relief.
Those remaining stood and, turning to leave the place, beheld Mr. Bennet, the tears on his cheeks giving evidence to the bottled mirth he had struggled mightily to contain throughout the proceedings. Once meeting his daughter’s eyes, he emitted gales of laughter until he could not breathe and had to be helped outside to take the air.
“Oh, Lizzy! My Lizzy!” he cried when he regained his reason. “That was the most delightful hour I have ever spent in the whole of my life. Oh, indeed, it was. That far surpassed our first dinner with Mr. Collins. You must tell me everything about Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Oh…that I never met her!”
“Those of us that survived doing so will gladly answer your questions,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth turned to look at him, all astonishment to see the droll cast to his features before receiving another of his portrait-like smiles.
Later that afternoon, the Hunsford vicarage
After a brief consultation with Charlotte, Mr. Bennet extended an invitation for the party from Rosings to take dinner at the vicarage. He believed they would make an altogether merry party, notwithstanding everyone being in some degree of mourning.
The meal was simple with no footman to serve it—Donald seemed to have disappeared—but the company was so convivial that the sexes did not separate for long after the meal. Bingley’s courtship of Miss Bennet was openly conducted, the colonel laughed with Georgiana and Charlotte, and Darcy conversed with Mr. Bennet for an extended period. Elizabeth sat near them but contributed little, much as Darcy and her father tried to draw her out.
Mr. Bennet could not be happy with Elizabeth’s withdrawn manners, for such was not her usual wont. He observed her most particularly and noted he was not alone in making jests and comments in her direction. Mr. Darcy also vied for her attention.
When the evening post arrived, it contained a letter from Mrs. Bennet to her husband. Mr. Bennet sat apart to read it, thinking some parts might be diverting for Elizabeth and that he would read aloud anything of a silly nature. But he was not prepared for what he found. His agitation increased as he progressed through her misspellings and exclamations. With heavy finality he muttered, “Damn the woman!” He thrust the letter into Elizabeth’s hands and fled the room. The door of the book room was heard to slam moments later.
All stared overtly at Elizabeth as she read silently.
Longbourn
Hertfordshire
Dear Mr. Bennet,
I do not know what you can be thinking! You may find yourself in That Man’s company, but we know from our true friend—whom you now see fit to chastise, that his attention is fickle—of Mr. Darcy’s foul nature, and the whole neighbourhood here adores Mr. Wickham. Can we all be mistaken? I cannot think so! I also cannot account for Lizzy taking against our dear Mr. Wickham when he was always such a favourite with her. Perhaps it is her envy of Miss King, but you must tell her that Miss King was lately returned to Liverpools, and Mr. Wickham’s engagement was found to be only on his part, for her uncle never did holy endorse it. Poor Wickham’s heart is quite broken. Inde
ed, he had me weeping as he spoke of it to me, for he sees me as a replacement for his own dear mother. Do tell Lizzy she may return with a litened heart!
Elizabeth exhaled with vexation and glanced out the window for a moment, huffing her cheeks to cool them before she continued reading. All watched her with great interest.
In any case, you need not worry about his “unhappy influence” over our girls, or at least not for much longer, and not about Kitty (Mary, I am sure, does not care). The militia is to remove to Brighton for the summer, so when you return with Jane and Lizzy, only Lydia will remain in any “danger”, as you say, for it is now certain she is to go to Brighton as the particulur friend of Mrs. Colonel Forster. Lydia says she much prefers Captain Carter to Mr. Wickham, so there is nothing to your worry.
The militia departs in a se’nnight, and Lydia is to join them a week later, once Mrs. Forster has set up housekeeping. I cannot think a week of slighting a man who has been nothing but a friend to our family a good plan, and I shall not speak against him. Indeed, I shall not!!!
It would be wiser, to my way of thinking, for ALL of us to remove to Brighton for the summer. In that way Lydia could remain with her family, and all the girls could partake of the enjoyments of the seeside. What think you? Is it not a good plan? I think a little see bathing would set me up for life!
I bid you conclude your business there and return home. We must get to Brighton and hope Jane can catch an officer, now that the entail is broken, since her hopes of Bingley are blighted. Perhaps Lizzy can make something of Mr. Wickham, for I do not mean to slight such an agreeable young man, and we cannot expect Lizzy to do any better!
Your wife,
F. Bennet
Lizzy blew out her lips and felt her eyes swell with tears. “Oh, Mama!” she cried with more irritation for her mother than she had ever felt before. In an instant, Jane was by her side.
“What is it, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth’s eyes darted around the room, lighting upon Mr. Darcy. She was humiliated and could not respond to his quizzical expression except to look away. Would her parents always fail her? She handed Jane the letter. “You read it. I defy you to find any good in it. How can she think to go against our father in this? Mama may be foolish, but she has never been wilful before!”
Jane finished the letter, shaking her head. “Our father has indulged her more than is wise. She thinks he is not serious, because he has never been before, and she does not apprehend our reputation is at stake. She means to get us all married with no thought to our future happiness.”
A tear escaped, sliding down the side of Elizabeth’s nose. A gentleman’s handkerchief was thrust into her hand, and she unthinkingly dabbed at her cheeks. Jane put an arm around her sister’s shoulder. The warmth of the embrace removed all defences, and Elizabeth wept bitterly into her sister’s neck.
Jane looked up and whispered to Darcy, who had tendered the handkerchief, “Our mother will not listen to our father and will not cease inviting Mr. Wickham to Longbourn. And Lydia is to follow the militia to Brighton for the summer.”
Taking in several deep breaths, Elizabeth pulled away from Jane, and saw the initials on the black-edged cloth soaked through with her tears, “FD.” Her fingers tightened around the wet fabric. She looked up, blinking. “I am sorry.” She pushed the handkerchief back into his hand.
“You have no reason to apologise. As you have said, no Bennet has killed anyone.” Darcy made a brief bow, met her eyes with a serious countenance, and turned to leave the room.
Darcy stalked back to Rosings, almost, but not quite, as disheartened as he had been the evening when Elizabeth refused him. He was once again determined to write a letter, one he knew he should have written months previously when he first saw a uniformed Wickham speaking with the Bennet sisters in the streets of Meryton. He would send an express to Colonel Forster, laying bare all his dealings with Wickham. Doing so might not win the hearts of the Meryton populace, but he would make it known that Wickham was neither a man of honour nor someone to be trusted with a spare tuppence or a young daughter.
He had never seen Elizabeth so defeated. Even in this dire moment, she had been beautiful. Her sobs in her sister’s arms rent asunder his very soul. There was nothing left within him save his love for her and a will do to the right thing above all else, especially if it would protect her family.
The front doors to Rosings opened and closed forcibly when the colonel entered some few moments later. “Are you writing to Forster?” he asked when he found Darcy in the study.
“I am.” Darcy spoke without looking up.
“You will send it express?”
“I shall.”
“Let me include a letter of corroboration. It will carry more weight.”
“By all means, but make haste.”
The cousins were just finishing their work a half an hour later when they heard frantic knocking at the Rosings entrance.
“Where is Mr. Darcy? He must see this!” It was Mr. Bennet, sounding winded and rather hysterical.
Upon being shown into the study, Mr. Bennet stopped to gather his breath. His chest was heaving. He had run all the way from Hunsford. “He is dead. Whatever letters you may be writing to make the case against Wickham are not needed. He is dead.” He sat heavily into a chair, leaning forward with his head in his hands. An express fluttered from his fingers to the floor. He retrieved it and read it to the staring colonel and Darcy.
Longbourn
Hertfordshire
Oh Mr. Bennet!
You will not believe it! It has all ended just as I said it would! The man was not to be trusted, but no one would listen to me! He has come to a very bad end, and to think I foresaw it all!
That nice young man, Mr. Chamberlayne, the lutenant Kitty so admired, had formed an attachment to the youngest of the Gouldings’ daughters, little Alyse, only just turned fifteen. No one knew! It was all on his side though, and late last night Chamberlayne caught Wickham sneaking like a thief from her window! She had been vilely seduced by no one other than Wickham. This morning there was a duel! Although Mr. Chamberlayne was wounded, he shot Wickham clean through his heart! He is dead! And it is all he deserved!
I am so very glad our girls are better bred than any child of the Gouldings. Poor little Alyse is to be sent away to relatives to the north, somewhere around Newcastle, it seems.
It has all just now been revealed, and I hope you will not begrudge the expense of an express to tell you. I know Lizzy will be devastated! Tell her I am sorry not to be there to consoll her.
Your wife,
F. Bennet
The astonishment was thoroughly felt by everyone in the room. The colonel immediately poured brandy. They drank to Mr. Chamberlayne’s uncommonly fine aim—to have found a heart at all in his victim—and Wickham’s health and safe journey into the fires of Hades.
20 December 1811
My Mr. Charming must get himself back to Hertfordshire to court his heiress. He says she is a nasty little freckled thing. I must wonder what he says about me behind my back!
And I am full of consternation to learn Darcy knows Wickham is in the militia, for Darcy has lately been in Meryton, and I only now have been told their paths had crossed. It appears, so Mr. Charming says, that they came into little contact and avoided each other, but still, had I known it sooner, I would have bid Wickham transfer to another regiment at some removed place and not so far away from me. In fact, the more I think on it, the more vexed I become. I do not like to think of my purchased swain boasting of his conquest of Darcy’s “betrothed” when in his cups where Darcy might hear of it.
It seems Mr. Charming’s bouncy lady took a firm dislike to Darcy although he does not say why. Darcy and she met through various social engagements for, in a poor place, a daughter of a modest estate gains much importance. How very amusing to i
magine Darcy in unknown company in some market town in an impoverished county. How he must suffer! But presumably he was there to visit friends, and the rest of it was a burden he bore grudgingly.
I feel bloated and anxious, and I am hoping these are symptoms of being with child, for I desire nothing more than for my liaison to end. —A de B
Chapter 18
Pleasant Conversations
1 March 1812
I have proof that the world grows more complicated, for what do you think? I do believe the friend coming to visit Mrs. Collins might be Mr. C’s “Bouncing Bess!” She comes from a small estate near the Lucas family in Hertfordshire, and Mrs. Collins was a Lucas. Her friend is named Elizabeth Bennet, so she may be known as Bess, but no name is as mutable as Elizabeth.
Mama was boasting that the connections of the Collinses continue to grow since Darcy’s arrival will throw them into the path of one of Derbyshire’s wealthiest men. Mama’s reaction to learning that everyone has already met him can be well imagined. I found it diverting and hard on me not to laugh. They will have to content themselves with the novelty of meeting the second son of the Earl of Matlock, Cousin Alex.
I have tried to remember all Mr. C has said of “Bouncing Bess” other than her pleasing physical attributes. I recall lively manners, self-confidence, a pretty face, good conversation, and she likes books rather more than does Mr. C. It all makes perfect sense; it must be her.
And if these clues were not enough, I heard Charlotte Collins whisper to her husband that she hoped “Eliza” would tolerate Darcy’s company well enough since they did not get on at all in Hertfordshire. How intriguing! I shall not have to exert myself to like her, I imagine.
I am feeling quite well tonight though my breasts continue tender—but I own I am rather agitated by this news. It may take a little something more than chamomile tea to induce sleep tonight! —A de B
A Will of Iron Page 19