by Laura Hile
“Ha, struck by lightning, if the ladies of Longbourn are to be believed. What actually happened, old fellow?”
Collins was rescued from having to answer by the appearance of Mrs. Nicholls. She brought a decanter and glasses. Was it sherry? Claret? What did one serve in the afternoon? Darcy would have known.
“Ah, here we are,” he decided to say. “Dutch courage.”
This was another term from his university days, but from the expression on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face it was not one that Darcy used. Mrs. Nicholls poured each of them a glass. Colonel Fitzwilliam thanked her charmingly. Collins was amazed to see her flush with pleasure. A man in regimentals, he decided, could get away with much.
Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned forward. “And now,” he said, drawing a folded paper from his pocket, “will you kindly explain this letter? Who the devil is William Collins, and why should I speak with him?”
34Let Soldiers Fight
“I am ashamed to admit how much I must rely on your expertise,” William confessed, as he drew her to sit beside him. He was looking weary, with deep circles beneath his eyes. Elizabeth smoothed an unruly lock of his hair and tenderly kissed his cheek.
“Believe me, it is no trouble,” she said. “Jane is with Father. I am able to be away for a few minutes.”
She paused and then said, “He is happy, you know. About our engagement.”
William’s eyes met hers. “And so am I.” He then brought out Mr. Wickham’s sealed letter and together they examined it.
Presently she said, “This should not present too much difficulty. The seal is nicely formed. With a knife we should be able to lift it. The bright red of the wax will be difficult to replicate, however, when we reaffix it.”
“I use—ah, Mr. Darcy uses—the same sort of wax,” said William. “He would ape the man. Extravagant devil.”
“Mr. Darcy?”
“I meant Wickham. See how crisp the stationery is? Hot-pressed and expensive. To outward appearances, he is a man of means. And why not? One must bait the hook well to land the best fish.”
He passed a hand over his eyes. “Forgive me. I’ve had so little sleep that it is difficult to think. And it is at such a moment that the true test comes.” He smiled a little. “Will you be shocked, my darling, to learn that I am tempted to deliver this as it is, and be done with it? To simply stand aside and allow Miss de Bourgh to reap what she’s sown?”
“Not at all,” said Elizabeth loyally.
“But that would never do,” he went on. “It would save us a world of trouble, but she has no idea what Wickham is. And I most unfortunately do.” He reached into a pocket and brought out something wrapped in cloths. “Here is my razor, as sharp as I can make it. Will you handle it or shall I?”
“I will, I think. My hands are smaller and accustomed to delicate work. If you will just fetch—”
But William was already on his feet. He brought the little table and placed it before her. Elizabeth dusted it carefully with her handkerchief. It would never do to dirty the paper.
“Now then,” she said, unwrapping the razor. She placed it along the surface of the paper, just beside the seal. “This is rather exciting. “My first experience in—what did you call it?”
“Espionage.”
And then it happened—her hand slipped. “Oh!” cried Elizabeth. For she had not lifted the wax at all, but instead had cut the paper. “Oh, William,” she whispered, not daring to look at him. The silence was terrible.
And then he began to laugh.
“But I have spoiled everything,” she cried.
“Not at all,” he said. “You, in your wisdom, have made our way easy.”
“Easy? How can you say so?”
“I have not been thinking properly, or else I have been thinking too much. But you—or your hands—they knew better.” He leaned in, grinning. “What happens if I do not deliver this to Anne today?”
“I do not know.” She thought for a moment. “I suppose nothing happens.”
“Exactly. Nothing. Wickham’s fine plans are therefore wasted, for at the specified time Anne will simply not be there.”
“Is that the end of it?” It seemed so simple and yet—
“And now,” William went on, “let us have done with all this espionage and open the blast—er—blessed thing.” He broke the seal and spread the page.
There was written only this:
Your will is my command, lady fair.
All praise and credit on the second morrow given
To Edm. Spenser, England’s Arch-Poet
Just after moonrise.
Elizabeth read the words with astonishment. This was nothing like what she expected to see.
g
Collins put out his hand for the letter. Too late he realized that Darcy would have known what he’d written. Worse, Darcy had sent this letter after they had switched places. How much did Colonel Fitzwilliam know?
“H-have you seen Mr. Collins?” he managed to say.
“I have not yet had that pleasure,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “The young ladies of Longbourn House—for that is where you sent me—told me that he is out.”
Out? Trust Darcy to be difficult! Aloud Collins said, “Perhaps he is on an errand for Lady Catherine.”
“That’s the other thing. What is she doing here?”
Collins pursed up his lips. Did his cousin expect him to know all? “I might ask you the same about Anne.”
“Anne?” The Colonel’s brows knit into a frown. “Has Anne come as well? Why in heaven’s name would she do that?”
“To marry me, presumably.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at him. “Marry you,” he said blankly. “Anne has no desire to marry you. She has never shown the slightest interest.” He leaned in. “Did Aunt Catherine bring her for that purpose?”
Collins knew the answer to this one. “Anne came of her own accord.”
“Oh, please. Anne could no more come here than she could fly to the moon. She can scarcely sit through an evening at home, let alone a fifty-mile ride in a traveling coach.”
“Am I responsible for what Anne decides?” Collins cried. “I was senseless to the world. All I know is that Lady Catherine sent for her physician, one Mr. Fleming, and that Anne compelled him to bring her along. And Fleming, being entirely without sense or backbone, acquiesced.”
“Of all the mawkish, ill-considered—” A string of muttered oaths followed.
Collins was rather shocked. He reached for the decanter and refilled his glass.
The door opened and Miss Bingley looked in. “There you are, Mr. Darcy. Would you care to come with me to Longbourn House—?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam had risen to his feet. Caroline Bingley stood there gazing at Collins, a smile frozen on her lips. Too late he realized she was waiting for an introduction.
“Ah,” he said, “Miss Bingley, may I present my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Caroline Bingley.”
She smiled prettily, and the Colonel made a bow. “Since you are occupied, I will make my call alone,” she said. “I do hope,” she added, most certainly for the Colonel’s benefit, “that there are no ‘brother officers of the militia’ lounging about. The Bennets are quite popular with the ____shire Militia.”
“So I have been given to understand,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.
“In such poor taste, the militia,” she went on. “Second sons, brought into prominence. Or commoners, who have no business wearing regimentals.” She gave her nickering laugh. “When last I called at Longbourn, that odious Mr. Wickham was lounging about.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression changed. “George Wickham?”
Collins was on solid ground here. “Why, yes. He came into this district just after we arrived. Pleasant fellow, but talks incessantly.”
“Wickham, pleasant?” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Darcy, have you lost your mind?”
“Why, no,” Collins faltered.
“Our
aunt is here, our cousin is here, and Wickham is here. Is Georgiana here too?”
“Stop shouting,” Collins complained. “How was I to know that you cannot abide Mr. Wickham?”
“How was I to—? After what happened? It was all I could do to keep you from murdering him!”
“Murder?” cried Collins. “I have no desire for the hangman’s noose! Why would I murder Mr. Wickham?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam was muttering oaths again, with no regard for Miss Bingley’s presence.
“Only consider,” Collins said, in a desperate effort to lighten the mood, “what a sad loss that would be to the ladies. Mr. Wickham enlivens a party, as I recall.”
“Oh, doesn’t he just?” shouted Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Confound it, what it wrong with you, Darcy?”
“Nothing,” said Collins, a bit too soon.
“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your memory. I’ve been in battle, I know what cannon fire does to a man. You haven’t the look of it.”
Collins felt panic rising and it threatened to choke him. He covered his face with his hands. “My head,” he wailed.
g
“Spenser?” Darcy said again. “What does Edmund Spenser have to do with anything? Wickham wouldn’t read The Faerie Queene to save his life.”
“Undoubtedly Anne has,” said Elizabeth. “And I have misjudged her. We have opened the wrong letter, William. His held the invitation, yes, but hers gave the time and place to meet. This is not, I believe, the customary practice in an elopement, to have the lady take the lead—”
“Customary?” Darcy broke in. “No, nothing Wickham does is customary. He’ll have her pay for coach and horses and the toll fees too. And why not? She’ll end up paying for everything else in the end.”
Darcy slid an arm round Elizabeth and drew her close. “Ah well,” he said. “Mistakes happen. We must think, that is all.”
But Darcy could not think. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek alongside hers. “The first thing,” he said wearily, “is to list what we know.”
Elizabeth reached for the letter. “On the second morrow,” she said. “Would that be Monday?”
“Lady Catherine won’t travel on Sundays; Anne knows that. By Monday, she and her mother could be gone from Netherfield.”
“What time would moonrise be?”
“I think there was a half-moon while I was riding back with Bingley. But in all honesty, I was so tired it could well have been cloudy. So we’ll hunt up an almanac.”
“Father should have one.”
“What do you bet it’s early Monday, just after midnight? That seems to be the right time for an elopement. But where are they to meet? And why Spenser?”
“Edmund Spenser, England’s Arch-Poet,” echoed Elizabeth.
“There is a clue there, but for the life of me I cannot find it. At any rate, it’s a great relief that Fitz has come.”
“Who?”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam. I will need his help to thwart the elopement. I haven’t the courage to do it alone.”
She found his hand and held it. “You were courageous this morning,” she said, “when you asked for my hand with my parents looking on.”
“On one’s knees, one does not shake quite so badly,” he admitted, smiling. “And now I must send you back to him.” He rose to his feet and offered a hand.
Elizabeth gazed up into his face. “William,” she said, “what has Mr. Fleming said to you about Father?”
“Not a word. And yet—” He gathered her hands into his own.
“Father shall recover,” Elizabeth said stoutly. “He must.”
Darcy did not answer.
“William?”
“Spend all the time with him that you can,” he said gently. “Indeed, I have been wrong to burden you with this business about Wickham. I have kept you away too long.”
“But my place is also with you,” she protested. “I wish to help you.”
“Your place is with your father. I know of what I speak. I—have a little more experience with this.” He kissed her forehead. “Every moment is precious. I did not understand this when my mother was so ill. I do not wish you to carry the same ache of regret.”
“William?” Tears spilled onto Elizabeth’s cheeks.
“We shall hope and pray for a miracle,” he whispered.
“But you do not think one will come?”
He gathered her into his arms and held her close.
g
“Oh dear.” Caroline Bingley crossed the room to the bell pull. “This continues to happen,” she told Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Lady Catherine’s physician has gone to Longbourn to tend a man who has a cold, whom I daresay is perfectly well.”
Collins raised his head. “Which is where Fleming should remain,” he said loudly. “We have no need for him here.”
Miss Bingley looked to the Colonel. “Lady Catherine,” she said in a whisper, “has plans to take Mr. Darcy to Rosings Park.”
“I can hear you,” said Collins. “I shall not go to Rosings Park. Or to London.”
“Why Rosings?” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“To shield him from the world, poor lamb,” said Miss Bingley. “I imagine your family—you are his cousin, are you not? —would dislike having his condition publicly known.”
“Breathe the word madness and my father will explode,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Too many jokes about the mad earl.”
“But Mr. Darcy is not an earl,” said Caroline Bingley.
“No,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But my father is.” He grinned. “I am one of those second sons you castigated earlier.”
“Oh!” she faltered. “I—beg your pardon, sir. I had no idea.”
“I am not,” said Collins to anyone who would listen, “going to Rosings Park.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Miss Bingley, “as you are Mr. Darcy’s cousin, my brother and I would be honored if you would lodge with us at Netherfield for the duration of your stay.”
“For the pleasure of my company?” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, smiling. “Or because I know how to handle Lady Catherine?”
“Do you?” she said. “Oh, you cannot imagine what a help that will be.”
“Ah, but I think I can,” he said.”
35 Ranting, Roaring,
Rattling Boys
“Spenser,” Darcy muttered, as he trod the lane to Netherfield Park. That the idea originated with Anne, Darcy did not doubt. Wickham knew nothing of epic poetry, and he would have misspelled the name.
Was there anything at Longbourn connected with The Faerie Queene? Or with Elizabeth I? Not that Darcy could see. But he suspected that the reference to Spenser referred to a meeting place, so whatever it was must be out-of-doors. The trouble was, Anne never went out while at Longbourn. There had been too much snow.
So whatever it was could be seen, through the snow, from a window at Longbourn. Or else it was a landmark that Anne could identify. Whatever it was must be easy for Wickham to locate and also be near a road.
Darcy ignored the discomfort in his feet and kept walking. He ought to have borrowed a horse. Then again, he would need that horse tomorrow night, wouldn’t he? Unless the family needed it to summon Dr. Bentley.
Or would Collins be called on to pray for Mr. Bennet and administer his last communion? So far Mr. Bennet had not, thank God, requested such a thing, but what if he did? Would God look with disfavor at his lack of ordination? Or at his lack of willingness to serve a dying man? Darcy was afraid he knew the answer.
He returned to the question at hand. The Faerie Queene brought to mind images of knights and ladies and sprites and nymphs and mythical beings. Any of these could be in the woods at springtime—the mythical woods, not Longbourn.
So it was at Netherfield Park, Darcy decided, that he would find his clue. Collins’ shoes were a tattered ruin. Bless Mrs. Hill, she had done her best—the shoes reeked of polish. No workman at Pemberley, not the lowest stable boy, would be allowed to appear in such dis
graceful attire. Never mind, Darcy told himself. Such things as appearance were no longer important.
He crossed over the border of the Netherfield estate without realizing it, and soon the mansion was in sight. But he should have known, for he was greeted by a distinctive sound.
“Hee-haw. Hee-haw-hee-haw-hee-haw.”
Why couldn’t Bingley have peafowl like everyone else?
A previous tenant had decided that a donkey and cart would be amusing, and when Bingley took possession there were a pair of donkeys wandering the estate. “I can’t shoot them,” Bingley said. “I don’t know what to do with them.”
Darcy now wondered if he would have to chase down Wickham and his cousin in a donkey cart.
As he neared the garden, he heard the ring of approaching hoof beats. Someone was leaving Netherfield. But when he saw the horseman’s profile, Darcy’s shoulders sagged with relief. At last Fitz had come.
g
“And here is Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet, as Elizabeth entered the drawing room. “My dear,” she added, “Miss Bingley has come, with such a lovely basket of hothouse fruit.”
Elizabeth and her guest exchanged nods, and she slid into a nearby chair. She had come seeking Kitty, but it was obvious that she would not escape until Miss Bingley’s quarter-hour was over.
Her mother fairly beamed with good spirits. “Congratulations are in order, my dear Miss Bingley,” she said. “I daresay you have not heard that our Lizzy is to marry her cousin, Mr. Collins.”
“How—nice.”
Caroline Bingley’s glance told Elizabeth precisely what she thought of her fiancé and also of her clothing and hair. Having come from her father’s bedside, Elizabeth pushed Miss Bingley’s shallow scorn aside.
“They will be married as soon as may be,” Mrs. Bennet continued, “and then our Lizzy will be off for Hunsford. But she will return to us within a very short time, oh yes.” She paused to simper. “We shall know more as soon as your brother finalizes his plans.” And then she winked.