by Enid Wilson
“I am dressed as a gentleman right now. I do not see the problem. We have spent a night together already. What is one more? Please, I beg you, we must find Lydia without delay.”
“You place no consequence upon the risk to your own reputation?”
“Mr. Darcy, it is not only men who wish to take good care of their family members.”
Darcy blanched at her words, knowing that she had overheard what he said to the boy. Angry at her eavesdropping and her stubbornness, he glared at her. “If we turn back now, you shall become mine tonight!”
Before she could reply, the carriage jolted to a sudden halt.
Chapter Four
Mr. Darcy looked out of the window and saw a mangled carriage in the roadway, blocking their passage. A young couple argued by its side.
Mr. Wickham and Miss Lydia!
Elizabeth heard her sister’s voice, and was ready to stand up to bolt outside, but Darcy put a restraining hand on her shoulders and said sternly, “Stay here.”
“But..."
"No. There is nothing to discuss. Do you truly want them to see you dressed in gentleman’s clothes, riding with me inside a closed carriage without a chaperone? That would accomplish nothing but to give Wickham good excuse to demand yet more money.”
Elizabeth bit her lower lip and sat down again as Mr. Darcy exited the carriage alone.
Waiting inside, she could not avoid thinking about his words, and about the scene that awaited him. What has happened between Lydia and that scoundrel? Why are they arguing? And whatever did Mr. Darcy mean when he said that, if we turned back, I would become his tonight? Was it intended as a threat…or as a challenge? Would he truly take my innocence? I cannot help but wonder what it is like to be with a man – no, not ‘a man,’ but to be with him. He was so pleasant to the little boy on the beach. I have never seen that side of him. I believe he would be a wonderful father, telling fairy tales and stories to our children. Our children? Where did that thought come from? Lizzy! Do you have no shame?
Elizabeth’s thoughts went round and round in her head until, at last, Darcy came back to the carriage.
She asked immediately, “What happened? Is Lydia all right?”
“They are unharmed. They stayed in an inn in another village not far from here yesterday. It seems there was a disagreement with someone there, and they had to leave in a rush. Wickham drove recklessly and caused the carriage to turn over. He and Miss Lydia will take the second coach back to the next town. I have assigned a pair of burly servants to join them, to make certain that they do not escape again, and I brought the special licence I procured for them when I set off on this journey. Your uncle gave me the authority to have them marry in the nearest church, if I found them not to be married yet."
“Poor, stupid Lydia! To be forced to marry in haste, without family or friends attending, without even a decent dress, and to such a man!”
“It cannot be helped.”
“Indeed it cannot. But may I not see to her, when we arrive in the next town, and attend the wedding?”
“Absolutely not! The fewer people who know of your presence here with me the better.” His glare sharpened. “And it has just come to my mind to wonder how you persuaded my head coachman to let you pretend to be a footman. Did Georgiana aid you?”
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, then nodded her head, “I told Georgiana you might call Mr. Wickham out, and that we had to prevent it.”
“Why would she think that you could prevent me from doing so? Your acquaintance with her is still very new, and she is not very trusting to strangers.” Darcy stared at her, challenging her to tell the truth.
“I told her…” Elizabeth breathed deeply, looked down at her nervously clasped hands, and confessed, “I told her that you and I had been secretly engaged since your visit to Rosings, when I was visiting Charlotte.” She returned his gaze, daring him to vent his anger at her deception.
“Is that so?” He could scarcely believe it but he contented himself with simply nodding his head as he wondered, Is her opinion of me truly so changed that she would be willing to follow through on a secret engagement between us?
“And what of your aunt?” he asked. “What did you tell her about your absence?”
“I told her that I would be staying with Georgiana, because you needed to search for the wayward pair but your sister's companion had been called away suddenly.”
“Very creative!” he observed dryly.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I truly was afraid that you would call Wickham out.”
“Why would you worry? I am far more proficient than he with both sword and pistol.”
“That may well be, but I would not want you harmed in any way."
Darcy's somber mood lifted on hearing her worries about him. However, he wanted to make certain of her stand. “Or is it that you would not want me harming him?”
“That, too.”
His countenance again turned grim. He took a deep breath and asked the inevitable question. “Tell me, did you follow me in order to prevent Wickham’s marriage to your sister?”
“Prevent? What are you talking about?”
“You said you were pleased with the preference of Mr. Wickham. Perhaps you want him for yourself.”
“Are you out of your mind? That was before I knew of his character. Did I not say yesterday that we must have him marry Lydia and send them off to one of the colonies?”
“Then…uhm…You are not in love with him?”
“Never!”
“But you said you would not want me to harm him.”
“Of course not! What if you were sent to prison for life or faced the gallows for murdering him? I could not bear to see any sort of harm come to you!"
The burden in Darcy’s mind was lifted. He wanted to ask her whether her opinion of him had changed so much that she would now be willing to accept his suit…but he did not dare.
He closed his eyes and simply savoured the knowledge that she was, at least, not in love with Wickham, and that she cared for him enough not to want him to face any dangers. She does not want me to be harmed. She cares about me! She has told Georgiana that we are engaged. Her aunt and uncle know of my interest in her. There is still hope that I may win her heart.
Elizabeth did not understand why he had closed his eyes and stopped talking altogether. She looked at him, and saw the throbbing of a vein on his forehead. He looked weary. She longed to move across and smooth his frowning brow… but she did not dare.
He is still so young, and already he shoulders so many responsibilities. He shows a sense of determination and decisiveness that is not present in Mr. Bingley. Just look at the number of people who work for him in his townhouse. As a brother, a landlord, a master, he could bestow much pleasure or pain. He could have done much good or evil. And yet, when I sat next to the coachmen and listened to their conversations, they were a content and sensible lot, much happier than the servants at Netherfield, under Mr. or Miss Bingley’s patronage.
Although the coachmen did not commend their master in front of me, their levelheaded and cheerful outlook on life speaks volumes about their sense of loyalty in serving the Darcy family, and about the character of the master himself.
She stared at the exhausted man. She thought of his love with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than she had ever felt before; she remembered his gentlemanly ways, his warmth, and the caring manner that softened the stiff, reserved way in which he had expressed himself in times past. She was thankful for the strength of his love, a love which defied his own will, persisting against his reason and perhaps even against his character. She was grateful to him, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still.
She remembered his word to the little boy on the beach. He did not love any one but Georgiana… and herself. Am I too fickle to respect and esteem a man whom I professed to dislike so much, just a few days ago? I am certain he demanded a reward to taunt or goad me, for saying he was n
ot behaving in a gentlemanlike manner during his proposal at Hunsford. Now I know that he is a truly honourable man. On this reassuring thought, she followed his example and closed her eyes to rest.
* * *
When the coaches arrived in Herne Bay, Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy instruct his coachmen to take Wickham and Lydia directly to St. Martin Church. He then settled her into a room at the New Dolphin Inn, and followed after them.
She expected him, in company with the Wickhams, to return within an hour, but the hour turned into two. She was tugging nervously at her hair, pacing back and forth, when someone finally knocked upon her door. Opening it, she found Darcy’s head coachman, Wharton, standing there. He hurriedly asked her to take care of his master in the adjacent room for the time being.
Elizabeth did not understand his request, but he was gone before she could utter a word. She ran to the room and found Mr. Darcy lying on the bed, with bandaged wounds on his head and his chest, as still as…
Fearing the worst, she ran to him, but closer inspection showed that, although his eyes were closed, he was still breathing.
“Mr. Darcy, what happened? How were you injured? Where are Lydia and Mr. Wickham?” She shook his shoulder lightly.
Darcy opened his eyes and looked at her, barely able to speak. “Elizabeth, forgive me. I am truly sorry. They are gone.”
“Gone? You mean they have escaped again?”
He shook his head, then groaned in pain.
The sound spurred Elizabeth to action. She summoned warm water and food from a servant. Then she helped him eat a little, but he only wanted some water to drink. She proceeded to gently wash away the bloodstains on his head and chest. One of the bandages was already soaking through. He needed a doctor!
Her eyes widened with the sudden terrible memory of his words…Gone? The blood on his head and his chest. Could they… Had he…
She had to know at once. “Mr. Darcy, do you mean to say that they are both… dead?”
Sadly, he nodded his head.
Had their earlier conversation become a reality? She could not…would not accept that he might be responsible for murder and possibly be sent to prison. In a trembling voice, she asked, “Who…who killed them?”
“Mrs. Younge’s sister.”
Elizabeth released a big sigh, relieved that Darcy had not been the one. “But why?”
“It seems that Wickham had previously seduced the woman, before he went to Hertfordshire, and that he had promised to marry her when he returned. He did not keep in touch with her. But yesterday when he was in the neighbourhood, she happened upon him. They had an argument when she saw your sister with him. That was why Wickham and Miss Lydia fled. She then followed us to the church, but she arrived after the ceremony had finished. She attacked and killed him when we were walking out of the church. My burly servants were not there and I was not quick enough to stop her. Your sister jumped ahead to struggle with the assailant. I am so sorry, but… she was killed during the struggle.”
“Oh, Lord!” As the news of Lydia’s death finally sank in, Elizabeth sat down next to him, speechless, with tears streaming down her face. She could not believe that Lydia, so young, so full of life and laughter, could be gone in the blink of an eye. How very tragic to be married one minute and then to meet her judgment immediately afterwards. “Oh dear, what will Mama and Papa say? They shall be heart-broken.”
Mr. Darcy held her hands, barely able to respond again. He patiently waited, desperately wanting to comfort her in his arms. When she finally composed herself, he whispered, “Elizabeth, I am so very sorry. I should have acted faster and held your sister back.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She was certain that he had done the best he could. Before she could reply to him, however, the doctor arrived to tend to his wounds. She left them together and waited in the hallway, only to hear Mr. Darcy groaning in pain.
She decided to seek out Wharton and ask him to recount how his master had been injured. The man replied that Mr. Darcy had tried to shield the newly wed from the mad woman, and was injured in the process. Afterwards, he had succeeded in subduing the woman. Wharton had helped him hastily bandage up his wounds, and they then saw to the care of the couples' bodies and reported the killings to the authorities. The coachman explained to Elizabeth that his master had insisted on taking care of everything else first, when he should have immediately been attended to by a doctor.
After the doctor finished treating Darcy’s wounds, he informed Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy had lost a great deal of blood, but that he was a strong man and was not in any life-threatening danger. However, he asked Elizabeth to keep an eye on the patient throughout the night, in case he developed a fever. In addition, the doctor told her how to clean and re-dress Darcy’s wounds to prevent infection.
That night, Elizabeth stayed with him as he became somewhat delirious from fever. He tossed and turned violently, murmuring incoherently of his childhood escapades with Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth wiped the sweat from his face, neck and chest throughout the night, keeping cool cloths on his head to help reduce his fever. At one time, when his sleep seemed most disturbed, she sat down on the bed and pulled him over her lap, massaging his head and shoulders. Her calm ministering manner seemed to settle him. Only when he was peaceful again did Elizabeth feel that she could stretch out next to him, to rest a little herself.
* * *
The next morning, Mr. Darcy woke to find Elizabeth on the bed with him once again, only this time she was dressed in gentlemen's clothing. His head had rested again on her bosom as his pillow and, in spite of the pain he felt in other parts of his body, his heart was quite contented by her embrace. Then, abruptly, he remembered the terrible events of the previous day. Wickham, dead! He had been a scoundrel, and had deserved punishment for his deeds, but surely nothing as severe as to meet such a violent death.
If only George had taken the opportunities offered to him by my father to improve his situation through education, his life could have been totally different. Then Mrs. Younge’s sister, mad! Love can indeed make or break a person. Is this a premonition of what could happen as a result of my passionate love for Elizabeth? Should I let her go? Miss Lydia, to die so young. It is all very tragic. She was just of Georgiana’s age, and should have had so much life before her. I wonder whether Elizabeth feels that I have failed her. What more could I have possibly done to prevent this tragedy from happening? And yet how untenable is seems to be so powerless in the face of events.
He pulled his aching body up, waking Elizabeth in the process. They greeted each other with embarrassment and sadness. She wanted him to rest for another day before leaving for London but he was determined to lose no more time. He told her he was feeling fine.
Mr. Darcy remained silent throughout the journey back to London. His body ached, and his thoughts were in turmoil. The Gardiners will surely be worried about Elizabeth, and I do not wish her reputation to be more ruined if this compromising adventure with me should ever be made public. I love her too much to allow any further damage to occur, if I can possibly prevent it.
We must return as soon as possible to London. But should I ask for her hand again now? Would she accept me, after what I allowed to happen to cause the death of her sister? She must hate me now. I do not know what action to take. I am too weary to deal with this right now. All that I know to do is to return her to the safety of her family, and to inform them of the unfortunate details of what has befallen Lydia and Wickham. For now, I dare do no more.
* * *
Depending upon circumstance, six months could be either a long or a very short time. For Elizabeth, the six months spent in mourning were extremely long. She had not seen Mr. Darcy since they parted at Gracechurch Street. His last parting gaze at her was imbedded in her memory, grim and disheartening. He had made all of the arrangements necessary for her to leave London, and had further taken care of the transportation of the bodies of Miss Lydia and her brief, yet legal husband Mr. Wickham. All had arrived
safely back at Longbourn in the comforts provided by Darcy's carriages. He had sent Elizabeth home with her sickly father and his man servant, with the addition of a maid to accompany her.
But since that day, a long six months ago, she had received no communication from Mr. Darcy or his sister. She no longer knew what he thought of her, or whether she would ever see him again.
Life at Longbourn was bleak and depressing. Mrs. Bennet, hysterical, was inconsolable upon learning of the violent death of her younger daughter, so soon after the marriage. She blamed Colonel Forster for not taking care of Lydia properly in Brighton, blamed Mr. Wickham for seducing the mad woman, blamed the Gardiners and Elizabeth for allowing Lydia to run away a second time, and blamed her poor husband for not finding the pair sooner. She stayed in her room most of the time, still blaming everyone but herself, and demanding constant attention from her daughters and servants.
The only happy news was that Mr. Bennet had recovered, not long after their return from London, and seemed not to suffer any major damage from the strain to his heart, beyond a slight limp in his right leg. It was a tremendous relief since, had he, too, met his judgment, they would surely all have been displaced from Longbourn, and Elizabeth thought privately that her mother might well have gone mad, if that turn of events had occurred.
On the day that the Bennets packed up their mourning clothes, Mrs. Bennet received the best news from her sister, Mrs. Philips: Mr. Bingley would be returning to Netherfield, the following week.
Elizabeth’s heart-beat skipped on hearing the news. Is he coming to see me? Of course, she was not thinking of Mr. Bingley, but of his friend, Mr. Darcy. After two weeks of endless waiting, finally a horse was heard one morning approaching Longbourn. It was Mr. Bingley… but, to her extreme disappointment, he arrived for a visit alone. She fought back tears at having her expectations raised only to be brought back crashing down again in such disappointment. If she had not been so curious to gain some intelligence about his friend, Elizabeth would have fled the room to privately express her distress. Instead, she composed herself, determined to support her sister, Jane, through this first meeting with Mr. Bingley.