I met Mr. Wickham’s eyes without looking away. Mademoiselle Marie Blaise was behind me. Even if Mr. Wickham did recognize me, or think he did, I doubted anyone could prove Marie Blaise and I were one and the same.
“I’m sure you’re enjoying the famous Darcy hospitality,” he finally said, the lines of thought smoothing from his brow.
“I am enjoying being Miss Darcy’s chaperone,” I said, emphasizing the word. “Have you enjoyed Mr. Darcy’s hospitality often?”
“I have,” he said, his smile almost convincing. “Both Darcy House and Pemberley are lovely establishments.”
“Mr. Wickham practically grew up with us,” Miss Darcy said. “I still don’t understand why he ever went away. We were all quite happy together.” She turned to look at him. “You shouldn’t have gone, George. I’ve been terribly lonely without you. You know how my brother is.”
“Now, Georgiana,” he said, smiling down at her in a way I definitely did not care for. “We’ve discussed this before. It’s all of his responsibilities and duties, taken on at so young an age, that make Fitzwilliam so very, very, very boring.”
Georgiana giggled. She shot me a guilty look, and I made sure my face showed my disapproval. This use of Christian names was not acceptable, even with a childhood friend. “Miss Darcy, I think you forget yourself,” I said.
Georgiana formed her lips into a pout. Mr. Wickham eyed them longingly, but pulled his gaze away to nod at me. “Mrs. Younge is correct, Miss Darcy,” he said, turning back to Georgiana. “We mustn’t forget our manners. Your mother didn’t have you spend all of those dinners practicing on me in order for you to behave recklessly now. We are, after all, in a very public place.”
“Yes, Geo-”
He raised his brows.
“I mean, yes, Mr. Wickham,” Georgiana said, casting me another look.
I smiled at her to let her know I appreciated her effort. “It’s about time for us to head back, Miss Darcy,” I said. “You don’t want to take too much of an outing so early in your visit. You aren’t yet accustomed to the seaside air.”
“May I see you tomorrow?” Mr. Wickham immediately asked, reaching for Georgiana’s hand and bowing over it.
“I would like that very much,” Georgiana said, beaming at him.
“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wickham,” I lied. It hurt, to see how happy Georgiana was in the presence of this man, for every ounce of intuition I possessed told me he wasn’t worthy of her affection.
“And yours, Mrs. Younge,” he said, bowing slightly in my direction. He gave Georgiana a long, lingering look before turning and strolling away.
My mind considered the meeting as we walked back to the house Mr. Darcy was renting for us. I was impressed that Mr. Wickham had managed to ascribe blame for the necessity of social propriety on me, our location and even Georgiana’s late mother, but not on himself or her. In fact, Mr. Wickham had made it seem as if he and Miss Darcy were bound as co-conspirators in resenting the restriction.
He’d also agreed with my reprimand which, if I wished to see it that way, was a compliment. I did not wish to see it that way, however. I wasn’t charmed by Mr. Wickham at all. It was increasingly obvious to me that his appearance in Ramsgate was not an accident. Likewise, his goal was blatantly clear.
Still, it seemed as if Mr. Wickham met Mr. Darcy’s criterion for who was permitted to associate with Georgiana. From his choices of Madam Falconet and the Martins, I’d already learned that Mr. Darcy was one to base such decisions on a person’s rank and standing, not on their character. While I had the feeling that Mr. Wickham’s character was not one worthy of associating with Georgiana, I knew little of the rest of him. I didn’t dare turn him away without word from Mr. Darcy. I simply wasn’t a good judge of who he may or may not consider acceptable company.
When we reached the house we were staying in, I got Georgiana started on her afternoon pianoforte practice and then collected my writing things. While she played soothingly, I wrote to Mr. Darcy, letting him know that Mr. Wickham had approached us and expressing my curiosity to know if he was an acceptable companion. I tried to convey my concern without giving offence.
I didn’t mention my dismay over the Martins, not wanting to incur Mr. Darcy’s displeasure. I had the feeling he would side with their reputation over my judgement. I also penned a letter to Miss Hodges, telling her and Mr. Thompson of our uneventful journey and the trials we’d faced since arriving. In view of making it entertaining enough to be worth their while to pay for the delivery, I included everything I knew or deduced about Mr. Wickham.
Chapter Ten
In every story, he was the hero or the victim.
Wickham called on us the next day as early as it was polite to do so. I did not mention to Miss Darcy that we hadn’t told him where we lived, realizing she might consider it romantic that he found out. As I had no ready reason to turn him away while I awaited a reply from Mr. Darcy, we spent the next three days in Mr. Wickham’s company. I made certain he was never left alone with Miss Darcy and I could tell he was beginning to resent me for it. On the fourth day after we’d not-so-accidentally met Mr. Wickham, it rained. I thought that would give us a reprieve, at least for a few hours, but the maid came in saying he’d come to call, Mr. Wickham on her heels. It was so early for anyone to visit, Georgiana wasn’t even with me in the parlor yet. Setting aside the needlework I’d only just taken up, I stood to greet him.
“Mrs. Younge,” he said, bowing before looking about the small room.
“Mr. Wickham,” I acknowledged, forgoing any interjection on the pleasure of seeing him. “Miss Darcy will be down shortly. She’s writing her brother. Would you care for refreshments?”
He shook his head, crossing the room to settle on a sofa. “She cares about him a great deal, doesn’t she?”
“She does,” I agreed, sitting. I returned to my needlework, in no mood to break the silence. With not quite feigned diligence, I carefully stitched several small flowers, while the clock on the mantel ticked loudly. I was very precise with my needlework. There was a place in London where I could sell it. What little I made from those transactions went into my meager savings.
“You remind me of an actress I saw a few times in Cambridge,” Mr. Wickham said.
I was prepared for this. One thing I had perfected as an actress was the art of showing no expression. I’d also honed the skill for years while trying to appear to be the perfect governess.
“I don’t know if you are trying to insult me or compliment me,” I said, glancing up. I could see he was disappointed by my lack of reaction.
“Neither,” he said. “I’m trying to place you.”
“If it’s on the stage, it is an insult,” I said in stern tones.
“Not if you actually were on the stage,” he replied, arching an eyebrow suggestively.
“I wasn’t,” I lied calmly.
“Pauline Bonheur!” he said. “That’s it! I was trying to remember the name.”
“Now you really are insulting,” I said with only a slight suggestion of anger. There was no point in overplaying it. I had played in Cambridge and remembered Mr. Wickham from there. The name he recalled was that of the leading actress. Her name wasn’t actually Pauline Bonheur, but she’d used it. I’d helped her with her French so she could pretend better. I wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember me correctly. In fact, I was surprised he remembered at all.
I regarded Mr. Wickham with apparent calm for a moment before returning to my needlework. I could see he was uncertain. I hadn’t reacted as he’d expected. I’d shown no signs of guilt, and it had been eight years, which surely made him question his memories. He was clearly used to fooling people, and didn’t expect people to be able to fool him.
He tried to engage me in conversation, but I answered him briefly. I endeavored to appear to pay more attention to the thread in my needle than whatever thread of conversation he introduced. He spoke of Georgiana’s improvement since he ha
d last seen her. Although he might have been trying to convince me his attraction to her was genuine, I think he was trying to flatter me. Since I didn’t like either possible motive, I was unmoved.
Georgiana entered the room. We both stood to greet her.
“Geor--” She shot me a glance. “That is, Mr. Wickham, it is so good to see you.”
“And you,” he said, bowing. “Have you been writing?” He nodded toward the sealed letter in her hand.
“Yes, to Fitzwilliam,” she said. “I’ve been terrible about writing him so it took me an extra-long time. He’s going to be so pleased to learn you’re here with me.”
“Would you like me to post it for you?” he asked, holding out his hand.
“I couldn’t ask you to go to the trouble,” Georgiana protested.
“For you, Miss Darcy, it is no trouble at all.”
She beamed at him and placed the letter in his hand. He tucked it into his coat and I was certain it would never reach Mr. Darcy.
I let him get away with it, knowing my letter was already on its way. I decided to attack. “Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy said you gave up the living at Kympton to study law. How is that going?” The unspoken statement was that he could hardly take weeks off from his study of law to visit Ramsgate.
“I’m afraid I’ve suffered a setback,” he said. He aimed both his charming, self-deprecating smile and his words at Georgiana. “A position I wanted came up, the qualification for which was to write the most comprehensive brief. I wrote one up, working quite diligently, but when I went to deliver it, I couldn’t find it. Not only was it gone, but all of my notes were missing as well.” He shook his head, his face folding into lines of dejection. “I later found out that another student had delivered my brief. When I protested, he brought forth copies of my notes, saying that if I had written it, he wouldn’t have needed to write drafts.”
“What happened?” Georgiana asked, her eyes wide.
Mr. Wickham, I reflected, was the one who really ought to be on the stage.
“I got angry and behaved badly,” he said. He looked down when he said it, lowering his voice as if making a confession.
“No,” Georgiana protested.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” he said, peeking up at her through his lashes like a flirtatious miss. “It pains me to tell you of it, but I discovered that the student who took my brief was having an affair with a married woman.”
Georgiana gasped.
“I’m afraid it only gets worse,” he said.
“Then, perhaps, Miss Darcy should be spared hearing it,” I said.
“No, please, tell me what happened,” Georgiana begged, looking between the two of us.
“I told her husband,” Mr. Wickham said. “He, in turn, became angry and he behaved worse than I had, beating up the thief. I don’t mind telling you that I felt quite guilty about it. The whole situation became public knowledge, with various rumors flying about. I know I should be a better man, Georgiana, but I realized I couldn’t deal with it all and left. I don’t think I’m fitted for the law.”
“Oh George, that’s awful,” Georgiana said.
“It certainly is,” I added.
His final statement, at least, sounded like the truth. He wasn’t fit for practicing law. The rest of his story rang false. My guess was that he was the thief and he’d been angry at being called out. I wondered if there had actually been an adulterous wife and, if so, whether Mr. Wickham or his accuser had been her lover. There was no way to gauge the truth of it. I may as well flip a coin.
“What will you do now?” Georgiana asked. She held out a hand to him. He glanced at me and didn’t take it.
“I’m afraid I must take a commission in the military,” he said. “I realize that may mean my life will be given in service to my country, but that is a small price to pay for an honorable living, and I have no other means.”
“Oh no,” Georgiana said, clutching her hands to her mouth.
I crossed to her and put an arm about her shoulders, before he could, and helped her to sit with me on a sofa. All the while, she kept wide eyes on Mr. Wickham. Donning a mask of concern myself, I decided I’d best learn as much about this man as possible, and hope Mr. Darcy had taken my letter to heart and was, even now, on his way to us.
I persuaded Wickham to talk about himself, no difficult feat. Georgiana was enthralled, but she didn’t realize how much he was revealing to me. In every story, he was the hero or the victim. Sometimes, he was both. She was too young and too naïve to see through him. That, of course, was why young misses had governesses.
Chapter Eleven
…did he really think I would trust him?
The next day, we took a walk on the beach. While Georgiana was collecting shells, appearing even younger and more naïve than usual, Mr. Wickham walked beside me. We watched her together, looking more like parents, I thought, than a governess and suitor. I wondered if he had any qualms about his pursuit of her, a girl who was barely fifteen.
“You know, if I were to marry Miss Darcy, I’m sure that she would want you to continue to work for her,” Mr. Wickham said. “It must be difficult for someone like you to find new employment.”
I just smiled and nodded. I’d assumed he was staying by my side to keep his expensive footwear well away from the salty water of the bay, but I’d been wrong. He was beside me in order to offer vague promises and bribes, not knowing he spoke to no avail. Even were I the sort to be influenced, did he really think I would trust him?
We continued walking along the beach, keeping parallel to Georgiana where she skirted the waves, gathering shells. I didn’t speak to Mr. Wickham, knowing I wasn’t a good enough actress not to allow my dislike of the man to show. Likewise, he ignored me, his attention on Georgiana. I had the unsettling feeling he wasn’t going to leave us a moment to ourselves until he got the chance to do whatever it was he was plotting.
Our walk down the beach was bringing us near a nanny presiding over four children, and Georgiana began to angle back toward us, obviously not wanting to walk through their shoreline frolics. I was relieved. She didn’t speak much, but having her with us would help alleviate the tense silence that currently surrounded Mr. Wickham and me.
As Georgiana neared, three of the children along the shore began to argue, showing she’d had good sense in avoiding them. I shook my head when they started throwing sand and yelling at one another. Their nanny was obviously not suited to the task of minding them.
“Miss Darcy,” I greeted Georgiana as she drew abreast us. “I’m pleased you didn’t become caught in that.”
She nodded, smiling at me before turning to Mr. Wickham. “Look at all of the shells I found,” she said, holding out the small basket she carried.
“They’re lovely, Miss Darcy,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at the shells.
I cleared my throat. It was about time to suggest we part ways with Mr. Wickham for the morning, though he was sure to reappear after luncheon and insinuate himself into our company again. My words were preempted by a particularly loud shout from one of the little boys. The older girl screamed and began to cry. I shook my head, watching the nanny wade in, trying to calm them.
Over her shoulder, I could see the youngest child, a little girl, toddling down the beach, her chubby little fingers reaching out, as if she could catch the sea. I called, but the nanny obviously didn’t hear me. The sea receded and the child chased after it. I started forward just as the next wave came in, knocking the little girl from her feet.
I broke into a run. Her little blonde head disappeared below the surface and I shouted again for the nanny. She was looking at me now, a young boy by each hand and the older girl between them, but she obviously didn’t know why I was shouting at her. Not stopping to explain, I ran past, right into the water. I scanned the waves, looking for the youngest child.
Her head popped up again, chubby arms flailing, and I lunged toward her. I didn’t know how to swim, and my layers of clothing were alrea
dy weighing me down, but she hadn’t yet been dragged far. Unfortunately, she was trying to cry. She gurgled and went under again as sea water filled her mouth.
I reached her before she could disappear from view once more, pulling her up. Clutching her against me, I staggered back to shore. By then, the nanny had realized what was happening and ran toward me as I came out. Her face was whiter than the foam riding the waves, and tears stood out in her eyes. Behind her, the older three children clutched each other and cried.
“Penelope, Penelope,” the nanny sobbed, reaching for the child.
I relinquished her, pressing a hand to my side. I was panting, almost exhausted, though my efforts hadn’t taken more than a few moments.
“Thank you, oh thank you,” the nanny cried.
I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. Looking around, I realized I didn’t see Georgiana or Mr. Wickham anywhere.
“Please, missus, please,” the nanny said, cradling the crying child. “Penelope is saved. We won’t speak of this, will we? Please?”
“Speak of it?” I repeated, hardly hearing her. Where was Georgiana? Worse, where was Mr. Wickham, for he was surely with her.
“To anyone who might mention it to their parents,” the nanny whispered, leaning closer.
I looked from her to the other three children. They were all young, but old enough to talk. I didn’t think I was the one she needed to worry about repeating the story. “I won’t say a word, but I really must be going.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you ever so much. You saved her, and me.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. I lifted my sodden skirt, which was dreadfully heavy. I was soaked. I would need to get back to the house and change soon. I walked up the beach, my gaze searching for Georgiana, though I had the dreadful feeling she was well gone. Yes, I’d saved the child’s life and possibly the nanny’s position, but who was going to save me?
Pride & Prejudice Villains Revisited – Redeemed – Reimagined: A Collection of Six Pride and Prejudice Variation Short Stories Page 18