The Pemberley Vampire Hunters

by Huw Thomas

  In Caroline’s imagination, she saw them growing as close as sisters; so close that they would not think twice about sharing such things as lady’s maids, wardrobes or dressing tables.

  Despite her desire for friendship, however, there were still matters that should remain private. A new home must be found for a treasure whose importance exceeded even that of the atlas that had been Mr Bingley’s final gift.

  This prized possession was the brace of pistols that Mr Hurst had presented to her in the aftermath of the event that still made her shiver with fearful delight.

  She went to her room and opened the drawer of her dressing table. Within, the polished rosewood case rested in its hiding place. She opened the box to handle each pistol in turn, cocking and then gently releasing each of them, enjoying the precise, well-oiled working of the mechanisms.

  Unlike Louisa (who had been supplied with similar firearms but who valued them not at all) Caroline delighted in these weapons and worked hard to improve her marksmanship. As a female, she was not permitted to use Manton’s shooting range and so her only opportunities for practice came during visits to Pemberley, where she could take advantage of the space and seclusion afforded by the Darcy family's demesne.

  Truth be told, the prospect of being able to shoot as often as she wished in the country went some way to make up for the loss of Cavendish Square, which now seemed very likely when Charles eventually settled upon his ideal rural estate.

  After a while she put the pistols back in their case and then hid all in the space beneath her closet, where she would be able to reach it quickly if needed while concealing it from curious eyes.

  With her own preparations thus completed, she went in search of Mrs Rice to inform her that they would probably be enjoying the company of a young lady who should be placed in the room nearest Caroline’s own.

  *

  Caroline was very glad when her expectation of an extra guest proved correct. Charles sent word to Grosvenor Street, requesting the pleasure of the company of the Hursts (Caroline wondered if she would ever get used to thinking of her sister as ‘Mrs Hurst’ instead of ‘Miss Louisa Bingley’) that evening, in honour of the new arrival.

  Miss Darcy’s discomfort on hearing that she risked being the centre of attention appeared to be very great indeed, for she blushed and fidgeted and declared (in a voice so quiet as to be almost inaudible) that there was no need for any fuss. Charles replied that this was nonsense, and that he had invited only those whom he felt certain would be delighted to make her better acquaintance.

  Any dinner at which Mr Hurst was present was bound to be a jovial affair, and Miss Darcy gave every appearance of enduring this one as bravely as she could — but soon afterward murmured that she was most weary after her journey and wished therefore to retire. All were sympathetic and Caroline joined in their expressions of hope for Miss Darcy’s revival on the morrow; and so the young lady withdrew.

  The three gentlemen and the two young ladies now removed themselves to the privacy of the drawing room, where Mr Hurst listened with great attention as Charles and Mr Darcy recounted something of their recent escapades. Their story was broken and confused, so that Caroline felt certain she was hearing only a small part of it, but it seemed that Mr Wickham, for whom they had all been watching out for so long, had at last made a move — against Miss Darcy, rather than any of those who had supposed themselves his natural targets.

  Darcy was also of the opinion that Mr Wickham was in some financial distress, and that he could soon be expected to devise some fortune-seeking scheme, if indeed such a thing were not already in motion.

  “I confess that lately I have not been scouring the newspapers with my usual diligence,” Mr Hurst said.

  “Nor have I,” Mr Darcy said, “and after my journey to Ramsgate the subject is even more distasteful to me than previously — though I do not claim that as any excuse.”

  Charles also confirmed his lack of attention to this task, saying, “I have selfishly preferred to follow announcements of country estates, than to search for news of Mr Wickham.”

  Caroline restricted her own response to a rueful shake of the head: she had not so much as opened a newspaper for many months but did not care to admit it before the others.

  “This is a fault that we must all correct,” Mr Hurst said. “Mr Wickham boarded the coach for London and there is every possibility that he will be in communication with vampyres while he is here.”

  “How would that manifest itself?” Charles asked.

  “There may be attacks, disappearances, or other strange incidents. We must pay attention both to our journals and to the streets. It seems but a small probability, I know, but one or another of us may even happen upon him by chance.”

  *

  Caroline was unable to ascertain why the establishment at which Miss Darcy had been residing was suddenly deemed unsuitable, but it was so. Instead of returning, the young lady remained at Cavendish Square for some weeks. Caroline did her best to be kind and friendly, and had the impression that she and Miss Darcy were growing closer, but there was the ever-present shyness and reserve on the other’s part that prevented any true intimacy.

  Even if such intimacy had developed, it would not have allowed Caroline to offer much assistance to her friend, for Lady Catherine de Bourgh stepped in to take charge of every preparation for her niece’s presentation at court. Even though her own daughter was too poorly to accompany her, Lady Catherine stayed for a full se’nnight and met personally with the Lord Chamberlain as well as dressmakers, florists &c, and dealt with every needful arrangement.

  On the day itself she acted as Miss Darcy’s sponsor and then gave the glittering coming-out ball that followed in the evening. Caroline found the dowager to be rather intimidating, to put it nicely. With her imperious manners and icily-proper behaviour, she was a daunting prospect for any young lady, though there was no denying the exacting generosity she showed to her young charge.

  After Lady Catherine had gone back to Kent, Caroline thought that the Darcys might also leave for Pemberley, but Mr Darcy declared that he considered Cavendish Square to be the safer haven for his sister as long as Mr Wickham, and the creature he served, were still at large.

  The efforts to find news of Mr Wickham were thus redoubled — and Charles lamented that he no longer had time to visit every estate that caught his eye, so that a backlog of house descriptions, maps and drawings accumulated in the leather binding he used for such business.

  *

  It was on a September evening when Caroline and the others were gathered in the drawing room at Cavendish Square after an afternoon out in Hyde Park, where all had enjoyed the late summer sunshine. This had been followed by an excellent dinner.

  Miss Darcy, as was still sometimes the case, had excused herself and retired to her chamber.

  “Mr Bingley,” said Mr Hurst, “Since we have spent the whole day at leisure, we have fallen behind on our customary tasks. Do you happen to have copies of The Times, The Gazette, and so on to hand?”

  Charles replied that he did, and sent for every recent journal to be brought to them, and so the company spent the next hour poring over the announcements and small news items in the hope that some hint of vampyre activity might be deduced.

  Caroline turned the pages diligently but discovered nothing at all, and after a while she began to wish that she had followed Miss Darcy’s example in retiring early. On reflection, though, she realised that the sense of exclusion that would have caused would have been even more disagreeable, and she began to pay closer attention.

  A moment later, Mr Hurst, who had been hunting through the military announcements in The Gazette, read out the following notice: “‘Mr George Wickham, lately commissioned in the ——shire Militia presently quartered at Meryton in Hertfordshire.’” He set his newspaper and eye glasses aside and declared in a tone of deep satisfaction: “Unless I am sadly mistaken, this is our man.”

  Mr Darcy looked up from the page
he had been perusing. “I rather suspect it is some unknown militia officer who happens to be a namesake.”

  “Every instinct confirms my first conclusion,” Mr Hurst said. “Why do you doubt it?”

  “The profession of a soldier is an honourable one, and liable to expose a man to danger as well as to discipline. Mr Wickham is inimical to all of these.”

  “George Wickham is by no means a common name,” Mr Hurst persisted, “and we understand him to be changeable in his character of late — and also in urgent need of a livelihood. It cannot be denied that my hypothesis fits the facts.”

  Mr Darcy sighed. “Perhaps you are right. I resisted the idea because it pains me that this disreputable man should besmirch an honourable calling. I cannot believe that Mr Wickham will restrict himself to a respectable military life.”

  “Whether he does or not,” Mr Hurst said, “there is no remedy for it. If we are to deal with this matter, we must go into Hertfordshire and seek him out.”

  “Did you not recently receive details of two or three estates in that county?” Caroline asked her brother.

  “At least that many,” Charles said, “but my recollection is that none were suitable.” He brought out the binder where he kept all papers relating to country houses, and began to consult its contents. “No … no … that drawing room would hardly suffice … and the attics here appear to be most unsatisfactory …” He removed one particular sheet and perused it. “Now, this is a property that I thought might serve, and quite close to Meryton as it happens … but no, there would hardly be enough shooting on the land …”

  “No estate can ever be ideal,” Mr Darcy said, “particularly one in Hertfordshire. Still, were you not saying just the other day, Bingley, that you wished to settle within easy reach of London but also on the road to Derbyshire?”

  Charles confirmed that was indeed his desire.

  “Well, Hertfordshire serves that purpose, at least, although you might find the society lacking. What is the name of this estate that caught your eye?”

  “It is called Netherfield.”

  “And how far from Meryton is it?”

  “Not more than a few miles,” Charles replied.

  “Then I regret to say that you should view it.”

  Mr Hurst added the weight of his own opinion to Mr Darcy’s. “Of course you should. It appears to offer the perfect vantage point from which to keep watch on Mr Wickham, and thus to find the vampyre he serves.”

  “Very well, very well, I shall inspect Netherfield at the earliest opportunity,” Charles said. “And since it seems so well-suited to our purposes, I dare say I shall engage myself to take the lease, unless I discover some very strong reason for objection.”

  And so after this brief discussion it was agreed: to Hertfordshire, therefore, they were to go.

  End of Book I

  Further Information

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