Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a wry smile.
‘Otherwise Miss Bingley will find some excuse for visiting Netherfield and will make it impossible for you to refuse her a place in your carriage?’
The two cousins exchanged knowing glances.
‘Very well,’ Colonel Fitzwilliam said. ‘I will not mention it until lunchtime. Will you stay the night at Netherfield Park?’
‘I would rather return here this evening, but it is possible I will stay overnight. If so, I will return tomorrow morning.’
Mr Darcy set out. He had a good team of horses and it was an easy journey into Hertfordshire. His carriage turned in at the gate of Netherfield just before twelve o’clock.
He had almost reached the house when he saw his friend in the distance, walking towards the lake. Mr Bingley had a young lady on his arm. He caught a gleam of golden hair and knew her to be Miss Bennet. There was no better time for him to give his congratulations to the happy couple and so he rapped on the floor of the carriage, indicating that he would like it to come to a halt.
Once the carriage stopped, the footman opened the door and let down the step, and Mr Darcy climbed out.
‘I will walk from here,’ he said.
The footman bowed.
Mr Darcy set off across the park, and the carriage continued round to the stables.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was smiling as she watched Mr Bingley and her sister stroll down to the lake. The two young ladies had visited Netherfield Park together that morning, with Mr and Mrs Philips as chaperones. Mr and Mrs Philips had professed themselves too tired for a walk and they had remained in the drawing-room, whose tall windows overlooked the lake. Elizabeth had gone with Mir Bingley and Jane, but after a short distance she had professed herself in need of a rest. Mr Bingley had immediately offered her his arm, but Elizabeth had stopped by a bench set in a small arbour and said firmly that she must sit awhile. In truth, she could have easily walked for miles, but she wanted to give her sister some time alone with Mr Bingley. Since the happy couple were in view from the window, propriety would be observed, but they could talk of love without embarrassment by themselves.
‘Do not let me deprive you of seeing the lake,’ Elizabeth had said. ‘I know how much you were wanting to walk by its shore. I will be comfortable sitting here.’
‘It is too cold for you to sit,’ Mr Bingley had said, though Elizabeth could tell he was saying it for form’s sake as he was obviously delighted at the thought of some time alone with Jane.
‘The arbour is sheltered and the sun is warm. Feel the seat if you do not believe me. It is warm to the touch. I can assure you I will be very snug here.’
‘I do not like to leave you alone.’
‘I confess I would like to be alone. I have a letter from my Aunt Gardiner in my reticule. It arrived this morning but I have not yet had a chance to read it.’
It was all the encouragement Mr Bingley and Jane had needed. They has wished Elizabeth joy of her letter and then set off together, towards the lake.
When they had departed, Elizabeth sat down on the bench. It was protected from the wind by a decorative hedge and was placed to provide a view of the lake. The sun was shining full upon it and it was warm, considering the season.
She took the letter out of her reticule. When her Aunt Philips had handed it to her that morning she had barely glanced at it, as the carriage had already been at the door, ready to take her and her sister to Netherfield. Now she was looking forward to reading it at her leisure. She sat on the bench and opened it, preparing to enjoy it in peace.
My dear Lizzy,
I am very sorry to be writing this letter, but something has occurred of a most serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you – be assured that we are well. What I have to say relates to Mr Wickham and poor Lydia. I have not heard back from my Derbyshire friends yet, in reply to the investigations you asked me to make into Mr Wickham’s character, but I no longer need to do so. I am sorry to say that your suspicions of Mr Wickham have proved correct. He is not the gentleman he appears to be. In fact, he is a wicked man. I am so glad you were on your guard, for I know that Mr Wickham singled you out for attention, and made you the object of his flattery. If you had not been suspicious then I would be afraid of hurting you with this news. Mr Wickham has not been true to you, or to anyone. Indeed, he has behaved in a most reprehensible manner. I scarce know how to tell you this, but he has eloped – with Lydia!
There was more, much more. Elizabeth scanned the pages quickly. Kitty had known about the elopement, for Lydia had told her all about it – how they planned to go to Scotland so they could be married over the anvil; how excited Lydia was; and how she planned to return with a ring on her finger.
Poor, poor Lydia! She had told Kitty she would be married before her sisters after all.
Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. She could imagine Lydia going through with a marriage to Mr Wickham. She had often spoken of her desire to marry before her sisters. But why should Mr Wickham marry Lydia? He had never shown any interest in her. She did not have a fortune to tempt him.
A horrible thought occurred to Elizabeth. Suppose he did not mean marriage at all? If Mr Wickham could run away with Lydia, then he was lost to all decency, and would have no qualms about using her and then casting her off.
She looked at Jane, happily standing by the lake with Mr Bingley. How could she tell her that Lydia had disgraced herself – disgraced them all?
Should she tell her or should she not?
‘Oh!’ she cried aloud. ‘What am I to do?’
Mr Darcy, walking towards the lake, was startled to hear an impassioned cry coming from somewhere to his left. He stopped, startled, and looked about him, wondering where it had come from. There was only one possible place. It must have come from behind the decorative hedge not twenty paces in front of him. Without thinking, he reacted to the distress in the cry and hastened forward, rounding the hedge to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet sitting on a bench. He stopped abruptly as a range of emotions warred within him, each one fighting for dominance. His first feeling was one of astonishment, for he had not expected to find her at Netherfield. Then he felt horror at meeting the woman he suspected of seeking to harm his sister, but this was mixed with an unaccountable joy which had nothing to do with rational thought, and everything to do with instinct. Despite everything, she still had the power to move him. All of his thoughts and feelings came back to him in a rush: his early feelings of attraction and compassion, his later feelings of anger and betrayal . . . but then they were banished in an instant when he saw her look of terrible distress. Her pale face alarmed him and her remarkably fine eyes were wild.
Everything else was forgotten in his concern for her.
‘I cannot . . . I cannot,’ she cried aloud.
‘Good God! What is the matter?’ he cried, with more feeling than politeness.
She had been so distressed that she had not noticed his arrival but now, as she recognised him, an expression of horror crossed her face.
Mastering his own conflicting emotions he said, more calmly, ‘Miss Bennet, you are ill. Allow me to render you some assistance.’
She shrank back into the corner of the bench.
‘You are the last man in the world I would allow to assist me,’ she said.
He was shocked at her words and tone, but he was overwhelmed by a need to help her.
‘You are not yourself,’ he said. ‘You are ill. I will fetch your sister.’
He turned away, but she cried ‘No!’ so vehemently that he stopped.
‘You must have help,’ he said. ‘Even after everything you have done to my family I cannot leave you here in this state. Allow me to fetch your sister, so that she and Mr Bingley can escort you back to the house.’
But Elizabeth was not soothed by his words, as he had intended. Instead, she was enraged by them. Her distress turned to anger and she answered him hotly, uncurling from the corner of the bench.
‘Afte
r everything I have done to your family? I have done nothing to them, except be a good friend to your sister and a loyal servant to you. If you will not leave me, then I must be the one to leave, for I will not stay here to be insulted.’
She jumped up from her seat and ran off.
As she did so, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. He stooped to pick it up, meaning to follow her and return it to her.
The writing caught his eye.
I have not heard back from my Derbyshire friends yet, in reply to the investigations you asked me to make into Mr Wickham’s character, but I no longer need to do so. I am sorry to say that your suspicions of Mr Wickham have proved correct. He is not the gentleman he appears to be. In fact, he is a wicked man.
Mr Darcy felt a cold feeling invade his chest. Miss Elizabeth was not in league with Mr Wickham. She distrusted him. She had been suspicious of him for some time.
He shook his head in frustration. Something was not right. He had seen her with his own eyes talking to Mr Wickham and encouraging his sister to do the same. But then he remembered Georgiana’s protests, that Miss Elizabeth had known nothing of their earlier relationship and had simply wanted her to be polite. He had thought that Georgiana was naïve, but could it be that Georgiana had been right and he had been wrong?
No. Miss Bingley had seen Miss Elizabeth holding clandestine conversations with Mr Wickham.
Whilst these thoughts were running through his head, his eyes fell on a later part of the letter: he has eloped – with Lydia!
Mr Darcy felt it as a physical blow. Mr Wickham had eloped with Miss Elizabeth’s sister? No wonder she was distressed.
He remembered his own feelings on discovering that Mr Wickham was about to run off with his own sister: the horror, the anger, the fear. But at least he had been able to prevent the elopement. Miss Elizabeth was in a far worse position. The elopement had actually happened.
Mr Darcy felt a coldness grip him.
Wickham would never marry Lydia. He had no inducement to do so. She was not rich. She had no useful connections. He would use her and abandon her. No wonder Miss Elizabeth was in such a wretched state.
All these thoughts passed through his mind in a moment and now he was galvanised to action. He sprang after her, the letter in his hand. She was hampered by long skirts, but he was not, and he soon caught up with her.
‘Miss Elizabeth . . . Miss Bennet.’
He caught her arm so that she was forced to stop, the paper still clutched in his other hand.
‘Unhand me,’ she said angrily, turning to face him defiantly
Her head was thrown back and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. He thought she had never looked more beautiful.
‘Miss Bennet.’ He swallowed, as emotion threatened to overcome him. He said, ‘I have done you a terrible wrong. I have doubted your integrity and dismissed you without cause. I should not have done it —’
‘You most certainly should not,’ she retorted angrily. ‘You are doing me another wrong now by detaining me here against my will.’
Her eyes were flashing, still bright with tears that trembled on her eyelashes as she fought them back.
He relaxed his grip but he did not let go entirely.
He was moved by her distress and longed to comfort her but since that was not permissible, he wanted to do everything he could to alleviate her distress.
‘I am not trying to detain you, I am trying to help you,’ he said more gently.
But she would not listen. She shook her arm defiantly and said, ‘Let me go.’
He dropped his hand. She sprang away from him and it hurt him to see how eager she was to escape his company. But he was still determined to help her.
‘He did the same to my sister, Georgiana,’ he said, as she stopped for a moment to pick up her skirts, the better to flee.
Elizabeth halted momentarily at the sound of Georgiana’s name.
Mr Darcy knew he had only a moment before she ran down to the lake so he made the most of his opportunity to detain her of her own free will.
‘Mr Wickham tried to elope with Georgiana,’ he said. ‘It was last summer, in Ramsgate. She was at the time but fifteen years old. His motive was her dowry. If he had succeeded in his plan he would have married her and become a very wealthy man, for her fortune would have passed into his hands. I was lucky because I paid her a surprise visit and discovered his plot before he could carry it out. He was aided and abetted by Georgiana’s companion, a Mrs Younge. The two were in league and had worked upon her, jointly and separately, so that she fell in love with him. When I opened her eyes to the truth, Georgiana was heartbroken.’
He saw a range of emotions flit across Miss Elizabeth’s face. First, shame that he knew of Lydia’s elopement, which could be the ruin of not only Lydia, but also herself and her other sisters. Then, horror at Mr Wickham’s villainy, and finally dismay and compassion for Georgiana’s heartbreak.
‘That is why, when I saw you encouraging Georgiana to talk to Mr Wickham in Meryton, I thought you, too, were in league with him and dismissed you summarily. I thought he was plotting against Georgiana again.’
Now Elizabeth’s face took on a grey tinge and she swayed. He leaped forward to catch her but she stepped back, holding her hand in front of herself as if to shield herself from him.
That action smote him to the heart. He felt a fierce, stabbing pain through the whole of him. She saw him as an enemy, a man to be held at arm’s length, when he wanted nothing more than to be her friend. He thought his heart would break.
Her colour began to return, and although he was no less full of pain, he was at least relieved from the fear that she was about to faint.
He thought his words had reached her, and that now they could put the past behind them and be friends, but her next words chilled him to the bone.
‘You thought I would encourage my dear, darling Georgiana to run away with a man who wanted her for her dowry?’ she threw at him. ‘That I would plot and plan with a scheming villain – that I would myself be no less of a scheming villain – that I would seek to harm a young and vulnerable lady. How dare you? How dare you, Sir? How dare you!’
Her eyes were blazing and there was a high colour in her cheek.
He stepped back in the face of her righteous anger.
‘You were seen,’ he said helplessly. ‘I saw you myself.’
‘You saw me encouraging a shy young lady to speak to an old family friend. I knew nothing of his character or their past history.’
‘But you saw her reluctance,’ he said, his own spirits rallying as he defended himself.
‘A natural reluctance on the part of a sheltered young lady when talking to a charming and personable gentleman – for so he appeared to me at the time.’
‘But your clandestine meetings with him,’ he protested.
Her eyebrows rose.
‘My clandestine meetings?’
‘You were seen by the river, meeting with him in private.’
‘By whom?’ she demanded.
‘By . . .’
He did not feel he could give Miss Bingley’s name, but Miss Elizabeth’s reaction was so outraged that a horrible fear stole over him. What if Miss Bingley had been lying?
‘So! You will not even give me the name of my accuser,’ she said. ‘You simply accepted the word of someone else, without giving me a chance to protest my innocence.’
‘Perhaps there I was unjust, but where my sister’s safety is concerned . . .’
‘No motive, however noble, can excuse your ungentlemanlike behaviour,’ she said with contempt.
Mr Darcy changed colour.
Elizabeth drew herself up with dignity, although her eyes were flashing and one tear escaped her lashes and started to roll down her cheek.
‘Do not follow me,’ she said angrily, as he stepped forward. ‘This interview is at an end.’
‘Will you not at least let me take you to your sister?’ he asked. ‘I cannot let you go al
one. You are agitated still.’
‘But I will be better once you are out of my sight,’ she retorted.
Then she turned on her heel and set off down to the lake.
He did not follow. He could not prolong the conversation without causing a scene. He had to let her go. But his thoughts were in turmoil. She had been innocent of any wrongdoing and she had every right to be angry with him.
He remembered the sting of her words: your ungentlemanlike behaviour. How they made him shudder. He had always prided himself on being a gentleman and yet he could not deny that he had acted badly - horrifically. He had given her no chance to defend herself. He had simply dismissed her, without even telling her why she was dismissed. And now she was in distress and would not let him help her. How he longed to smooth her path. All his earlier feelings of attraction had returned and they were allied to other, newer feelings, of guilt and shame for the way he had treated her.
He must do something to make amends. But what?
How could he make amends for the terrible wrong he had done her?
He looked at the address at the top of the letter: Gracechurch Street. He remembered that Miss Elizabeth had an aunt and uncle there. He noticed the time and date, which were also at the top of the letter. It had been written that morning and must have been sent express. Wickham had evidently eloped with Lydia in London. Then there was something he could do to help. He could find Wickham.
He was filled with energy and a new sense of purpose. He must go to Gracechurch Street and offer his help to Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle. What were their names? He wracked his brains. Ah yes, Mr and Mrs Gardiner. Together they would track down that villain Wickham and make him marry Miss Lydia.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Elizabeth’s thoughts were whirling as she ran down to the lake. She had so much to say to Jane, and yet she could not say any of it in the presence of Mr Bingley. She must not appear before them in this distracted state. She slowed her pace and took a deep breath. A glance over her shoulder showed her that Mr Darcy had retreated. He was almost hidden by the small copse of trees that lay between the lake and the drive, and she hoped he had decided to cut short his visit to Netherfield Park, for she did not feel equal to facing him again.
A Companion For Miss Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 23