A Companion For Miss Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Ellen Carstairs

  She put a hand to her hair and patted a loose curl into place then walked sedately towards her sister.

  Jane turned at the sound of her footsteps crunching on gravel path around the lake, and a look of concern crossed her face as she saw at once that something was wrong. Elizabeth shook her head imperceptibly, to indicate that Jane should not speak of it. But Jane had already let out a small cry.

  ‘Lizzy, are you well? You look very pale,’ said Jane.

  ‘A headache, nothing more,’ said Elizabeth.

  Jane, warned by Elizabeth’s shake of the head, did not pursue the subject but said simply, ‘Then we must return to the house.’

  Mr Bingley expressed his concern and gave both ladies an arm, and then they walked back to the house.

  Once inside, Elizabeth excused herself, saying, ‘I pray you will forgive me, but I must sit quietly for a while, perhaps in the morning room?’

  ‘I will come with you,’ said Jane.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth.

  Mr Bingley made the ladies a bow and gave Elizabeth his best wishes for a speedy recovery, then the two young ladies went to the pretty little morning room on the east side of the house.

  ‘Oh, Jane, something terrible has happened,’ said Elizabeth, sinking down on the sofa. ‘Lydia has eloped with Mr Wickham!’

  Jane could not believe it, so Elizabeth handed her Mrs Gardiner’s letter.

  Jane read it through.

  ‘It says nothing of an elopement,’ said Jane, looking at Elizabeth in concern.

  Elizabeth took the letter and then realised what had happened.

  ‘Mr Darcy still has the first page,’ she said.

  ‘Mr Darcy?’ asked Jane in astonishment.

  ‘Yes. Oh, Jane, so much has happened, I scarcely know where to begin.’

  Then she told Jane everything.

  Jane was as stunned as Elizabeth at all the revelations: Lydia’s elopement, Mr Darcy’s appearance at Netherfield, his news that Mr Wickham had tried to elope with Georgiana and his reasons for dismissing Elizabeth.

  ‘At least we know he did it for good reason,’ said Jane.

  ‘Nothing can excuse his behaviour,’ said Elizabeth vehemently. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It was very wrong of him, but if he thought his sister was in danger . . .’

  ‘I cannot believe you are taking his side!’ cried Elizabeth, jumping up in agitation.

  ‘I am not taking anyone’s side,’ Jane soothed her. ‘I am trying to see it all as it is. But my love is all for you, you know that, Lizzy. If you want me to traduce Mr Darcy then I will.’

  Elizabeth took Jane’s hand and squeezed it, in acknowledgement of her support.

  ‘No, I will not ask you to do that. It is not in your nature to traduce anyone. I could forgive Mr Darcy his actions if they had not been so painful to me. I love Georgiana, too, and I want to protect her. The thought of Mr Wickham trying to elope with her for the sake of her money . . . but I was never given a chance to defend myself. That is what hurts so much, Jane.’

  ‘Mr Darcy was very wrong there,’ Jane agreed.

  Elizabeth sat down again and rested her hands in her lap. She was quieter now.

  ‘At least I know why my letters to Georgiana have not been answered. I believe Mr Darcy kept them from her. I would dearly like news of her. I hope she is well. And Lydia. What of Lydia? Foolish, thoughtless Lydia.’

  ‘It may not be as bad as we suppose,’ said Jane. ‘At least we know he has not married her for her money. Perhaps there was some affection there.’

  Elizabeth gave her a withering look.

  ‘Even you know that cannot be true,’ she said.

  Jane’s mouth turned down.

  ‘I am sorry. I should not have said that,’ said Elizabeth, sorry to have hurt her sister. ‘It will not do to lose hope. You are right to espouse it. Perhaps things are not as bad as we fear. Perhaps my uncle will find them. My aunt says he has gone looking for them. Whatever the case, we can do nothing about it. We must put a brave face on it and hope for the best. There is no need to mention it to anyone until we know what has happened for sure. I will take ten minutes to compose myself and then join you in the drawing-room.’

  ‘I do not like to leave you,’ said Jane.

  Elizabeth smiled bravely.

  ‘I was distressed and shocked, but I am over the worst. I am glad I have you to talk to, Jane, or I do not know what I would do. Now go. Mr Bingley must be wondering where you are. I will join you shortly, though I do not know how I am to face Mr Darcy. He must even now be below, being welcomed by Mr Bingley.’

  Jane was persuaded to leave, and Elizabeth set about collecting herself so that she could join the others without raising suspicions that anything momentous had happened. The fewer people who knew about it the better. If Lydia and Mr Wickham had really eloped, then it might all be passed over as a seven days’ wonder. As long as Mr Darcy did not say anything.

  She went over to the washstand and splashed some water on her face. Then she steeled herself to behave as though nothing had happened, and to meet Mr Darcy with composure, so that no one should guess anything was amiss. But to her relief and surprise, when she went downstairs, he was not there. She said nothing about him, and a few minutes’ conversation was enough to show her that he had not arrived.

  It was perplexing. But she had other things to worry her, and she soon put it out of her mind.

  Mr Darcy returned to the stables, striding purposefully across the lawn until he reached the stable yard. The grooms had just unharnessed the horses and were startled to see him. He told them to harness fresh horses, for he needed to return at once. They were surprised, but nevertheless they carried out his wishes. As soon as the fresh horses were harnessed, he climbed into the carriage and set off for London. He travelled at speed, never stopping, and completed the journey in record time. When he reached London, he rapped on the roof of the carriage and the coachman reined in the horses. Mr Darcy leaned out of the window and gave the coachman his directions: not Darcy House, but Gracechurch Street.

  ‘Gracechurch Street?’ asked the coachman in astonishment.

  ‘Yes, Gracechurch Street,’ said Mr Darcy firmly, giving the number of the street.

  The coachman touched his hat, quickly hiding his surprise, and the carriage set off again.

  It was travelling now through the streets of London and progress was slow. Mr Darcy was exasperated at the delay. There was the usual crush of traffic, with every kind of carriage cluttering up the roads. In front of him was an ancient coach, travelling at a snail’s pace, and Mr Darcy drummed his fingers on the seat until the coach turned down a side road and his own carriage could pick up speed.

  It bowled along at a fair rate until it was once again held up, this time by a brewer’s cart. Mr Darcy tapped his hand against his leg, willing the cart to turn aside. At last it did so. His own carriage picked up its pace and was soon moving into unfamiliar territory.

  Mr Darcy knew the fashionable districts of London very well, but he was not familiar with the less fashionable parts, and he was apprehensive about what he might find. He had never visited Gracechurch Street before, and he had never wanted to. But when the carriage arrived there, he was relieved to see it was respectable.

  In the failing winter daylight, he noticed that the street was clean and well-kept, and the Gardiners’ house was neat and tidy. The paint on the railings which separated it from the street was fresh, and its whole appearance was appealing. It was a tall building, being a town house, with elegant square-paned windows and four steps leading to an arched front door. Although not as large as Darcy House it was nevertheless of a good size. The door was painted black, to match the railings, and the brass doorknob was brightly polished.

  After sitting in the carriage for more than two hours he was glad to alight. He wanted to run up the steps, taking them two at a time, and hurry into the house, but he knew that any unseemly haste would be noted by the pedestrians walking down
the street and could lead to unwanted gossip. He therefore controlled himself and mounted the steps to the front door with a leisurely air, so as not to draw attention to himself.

  He lifted the brass knocker and let it fall. Ordinarily, his footman would have performed this task, but he did not want to his rank to be noticed. His visit must be discreet.

  The door was answered by a manservant who looked surprised to see a gentleman of such wealth and elegance at the door. Nevertheless, he invited Mr Darcy to step into the hall. Mr Darcy handed him his card and the servant bowed, then disappeared upstairs to the drawing-room on the first floor.

  Left alone for a few minutes, Mr Darcy had a chance to look about him. The inside of the house was no less inviting than the outside. Everything was clean and well cared for. The hall was spacious and lit by wax candles. Paintings adorned the walls, which were painted in a soft shade of cream.

  He did not have to wait long before the servant returned and conducted him to the drawing-room. It was of a respectable size, with its curtains pulled against the falling dusk. Candlelight gave a soft glow to the polished side tables and the upholstered sofas. A fire added its glow.

  Mr Darcy’s gaze went to the room’s occupants. There were two of them. One was a sensible-looking woman in middle age and the other a business-like man, a little full around the middle perhaps, but nevertheless very much the gentleman. They were both well dressed and if Mr Darcy had met them elsewhere he would have taken them to be people of fashion.

  So these are Miss Elizabeth’s relations, he thought.

  He warmed at the thought. It also firmed his resolve, for it reminded him why he was here: to spare Miss Elizabeth the unhappiness of a ruined sister. If he acted quickly enough, disaster might yet be averted.

  Mr Gardiner rose to his feet and bowed. Mrs Gardiner also rose and curtseyed. Mr Darcy bowed in return. Introductions were made and then Mr Gardiner invited Mr Darcy to sit but he declined. Instead he stood by the mantelpiece, an imposing presence.

  The Gardiners were in awe of him but they had been looking at him in some perplexity ever since he had entered the room. He was hardly surprised. They had never met him before, and yet here he was, arriving unexpectedly in their drawing-room. He wished he had time for generalities, but the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece reminded him that every minute counted.

  ‘You must forgive me for calling on you like this, so unexpectedly,’ he said, once the servant had left the room. ‘There is no use in dissembling, and there is every need for speed, and so I will come to the point. I know of Miss Lydia’s predicament and have come to offer my assistance.’

  Mr and Mrs Gardiner looked at each other in astonishment, then their faces closed.

  ‘I do not know how you can have heard of such a thing,’ asked Mr Gardiner firmly.

  His reply was carefully chosen, as it did not admit that Miss Lydia was indeed in a predicament. Mr Darcy honoured Mr Gardiner for doing all he could to protect his niece’s reputation. Nevertheless, he needed to speak plainly if he wanted to help her . . . and in helping her, to help Elizabeth.

  ‘I am afraid there is no use in pretending. I saw a part of your letter to Miss Elizabeth Bennet this morning,’ he explained. ‘I met your niece at Netherfield Park. She had just read your letter and she had dropped a page. When I returned it to her, I caught sight of its contents and so I have come to offer you my help.’

  Mrs Gardiner turned to her husband with a look of relief, but Mr Gardiner was frowning.

  ‘This desire to help my family is very sudden,’ he said. ‘The last we heard of you, you had dismissed Elizabeth for no reason, causing her a great deal of unnecessary distress. And now you suddenly turn up at my house and say you wish to help my other niece.’

  ‘I deserve your recriminations,’ said Mr Darcy in a low voice. ‘Believe me, I have long since regretted my behaviour there. However, I do not have time to explain fully now. All I will say is that I was under a misapprehension and I acted accordingly. I have since learnt my error and I hope to make it up to . . .’ He had been going to say Miss Elizabeth, but that would be unsuitable, and so he said, ‘your family by helping you in your present difficulty. If I need to say more to convince you to accept my help, then let me say this. I know Mr Wickham. I know his haunts and I believe I can be of real assistance. Furthermore, I feel in some way responsible. Mr Wickham has a grudge against me. Bringing the future wife of my best friend into disgrace, by running away with her sister, would give him some measure of revenge.’

  Mr Gardiner said, ‘You have been frank, and I will be frank in return. Knowing Mr Wickham’s haunts will not help me follow them to Gretna Green.’ He saw Mr Darcy’s expression and blanched. ‘You do not believe they will go to Gretna Green.’

  ‘I am sorry to pain you, but no, I do not believe they will.’

  Mr Gardiner ran his hand across his brow.

  ‘So that is why I could find no trace of them when I asked at the coaching inns this morning.’

  Mr Darcy turned to Mrs Gardiner. She seemed more inclined to listen to him than her husband.

  ‘When did you last see Miss Lydia?’ he asked.

  ‘Early this morning. She and Kitty went to buy some needles and thread, taking a maid with them. They made their purchases and left the shop. A short while later, Lydia said she had left her glove in a shop and sent the maid to fetch it. As soon as the maid had gone, Lydia departed. When the maid returned, Kitty told her that Lydia had gone back to the house with a headache. It was only because I happened to want Lydia for something that I discovered her absence so quickly otherwise it might have been undiscovered until midday. I have questioned Kitty thoroughly and she confessed the whole. Lydia certainly believed that Mr Wickham would take her to Gretna Green.’

  ‘If Miss Lydia did not leave until this morning, then there is hope we can retrieve her before any harm is done,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘From what you have said, and from my knowledge of Mr Wickham, I believe he will take her to a tavern. He will deceive her into thinking it would be better to set out for Gretna Green tomorrow. I can search the likely taverns alone if necessary, but it will be better if you come with me. If she is found, then it will be better if she returns to the house in your carriage so that it will not arouse gossip. It will appear as if she has been with you the whole time. The only ones who will know differently are Miss Kitty and the maid. Can they be relied upon to be discreet?’

  Mr Gardiner said he could answer for Kitty, who had been thoroughly reprimanded for her part in the affair. Mrs Gardiner assured him the maid was trustworthy. She was a loyal servant and felt responsible for allowing Lydia out of her sight. Mr Gardiner overcame his reluctance and grudgingly accepted Mr Darcy’s help. Both Mr and Mrs Gardiner agreed to his plan.

  ‘I have more hope than I have had all day,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘With your help, Lydia may yet be found. I will put on my outdoor clothes at once.’

  ‘I have only to put on my greatcoat and I am at your disposal,’ said Mr Gardiner.

  They were ready with all speed.

  As dusk fell completely in the late winter afternoon, the three of them set out.

  The dark proved to be a blessing as it lessened the chance of anyone seeing Mr Darcy accompanying the Gardiners around town. Mr Gardiner drew the carriage blinds, which further helped their privacy. For a matter such as the one they were engaged upon, secrecy was essential.

  Mr Darcy went briefly to Mrs Younge’s lodgings but, as he suspected, she had departed. Wickham was similarly absent from the premises, and neither of them had been seen there since Colonel Fitzwilliam’s visit.

  Mr Darcy next tried one of Wickham’s reasonably respectable haunts, partly because he did not want to shock the Gardiners by exposing them to the lowest places Wickham frequented, and partly because he thought it likely Mr Wickham would go there. Mr Wickham liked his creature comforts and he always went to the better inns if he could afford them. He probably had some money, since he would have taken M
iss Lydia’s pin money away from her.

  The first inn provided no answers. Nor did the second, nor the third. But at the fourth, Mr Darcy met with greater success. The tavern was not entirely respectable and yet not entirely disreputable either. Outside, it was a long, low building with a creaking sign swinging in the breeze. Inside, the bar was well stocked and the counter was clean. The fire was lit and it burned with a good flame at the far side of the room. The drinkers were people from the middle rank of life, mostly older men but with a few younger men. Their clothes were well made but some of their coats looked frayed at the sleeves, with rubbed elbows and collars. The men were not yet drunk, but one party of young men in the corner was not entirely sober.

  The landlord had a clean appearance, but he had a shifty eye.

  Mr Darcy asked if Mr Wickham was there, and the landlord replied, ‘Who wants to know?’

  Mr Darcy was encouraged by this.

  ‘An old friend,’ said Mr Darcy.

  The landlord continued to polish a tankard with a cloth, and looked him up and down.

  A ribald comment came from one of the patrons behind Mr Darcy, who said, ‘Aye, Wickham’s here. Him and his doxy.’

  Mr Darcy was angered by the comment but also relieved. Success at last!

  He looked the landlord in the eye and said, ‘What room is he in? Come, man, there is no point in denying it now. I know he is here and it is in your interests to tell me what I want to know.’

  The landlord looked at the guinea which Mr Darcy was rolling between his fingers. It shone brightly in the firelight, flashing as it caught the additional light of the candles.

  The landlord watched it for a few seconds and then he seemed to come to a decision. He put the tankard down on the counter and threw the cloth over his shoulder, where it rested comfortably.

  ‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re a gent as knows what’s what. Mr Wickham owes seven guineas to this establishment. Now if anything happens to him, I don’t get paid, so I can’t say what room he’s in until I’m sure he won’t leave here with debts unpaid.’