by J P Christy
“I was not disappointed that you did not pursue George—no, that you did not pursue Wickham, for he will never again be ‘George’ to me. I preferred to pretend my foolishness had never happened. But I fear he has chosen Lydia as the object of his latest attempt at seduction because he wishes to harm you and me.” After a brief pause, she added, “My childhood recollections of him are few and dimly recalled. Was he always a rogue?”
“Yes. No. I am not certain,” Darcy admitted with a rueful laugh. “Did our father’s generosity—his gifts to Wickham and providing him with a gentleman’s education—inspire him to feel he was entitled to a better life than he was born to? Or was he born with this sense of entitlement? We will never know.”
“Many would have made good use of those advantages, but I see now that he never did,” Georgiana said. “When I think of the effort you put forth in overseeing the care of our tenants, I realize that Wickham never attempted any action that would not enhance his comforts or meet his desires. He is a rather lazy scoundrel.”
Darcy laughed. “He is lazy! Imagine the havoc he could wreak if he bothered to try. Instead, he is an opportunist, waiting for the chance of wealth—or mischief—to drift within his reach.”
“What will you and Christopher do once you catch him?”
“Well, he is a deserter, so I suppose we will give him over to Colonel Forster. However, I also have a significant number of his vowels, so he could be given over to a court of assize for his debts. I do not know whether Wickham be hanged or transported. Will it be difficult for you to see him punished?”
After pondering the matter, Georgiana replied, “There is no vengeance in me as regards him, but neither is there forgiveness. Does that make me a bad person?”
“Not in my eyes. It is not as if Wickham has repented.”
“Will seeing him punished be difficult for you, Brother? He was your friend and confident once.”
Darcy shook his head, no. “Wickham turned his back on our friendship long before I did.”
33
“If we wish to capture him, we must go looking for him.”
July 8, 1811
On Monday morning at De Bourgh House, Anne was curled up in a wingback chair in her bedroom, staring at the street two floors below. Watching the citizens of London go about their day made her feel less isolated. If I remain trapped here, there will come a time when even this view brings me sorrow. I must think, I must remember. Shelton, Peter Shelton, a solicitor in Brighton. He moved to another home after Nora came to Rosings. But what is his direction? I cannot recall. Darcy could find out, but where is Darcy? At Netherfield? If only I could find my journal!
A maid knocked lightly on the open door. “Excuse me, Miss De Bourgh. Her ladyship wishes to see you in the music room.” Sighing, Anne stood but made no reply. If Mama commands me to play for her, I will say I am not in the mood.
Arriving at the music room, she saw a portly, middle-aged man standing beside Lady Catherine. “Anne, this is Mr. Donizetti, your music master; he will instruct you on Mondays and Thursdays. Mr. Donizetti, this is my daughter, Miss Anne De Bourgh.”
Anne curtsied, the gentleman responded with a courtly bow. In English colored with a slight Italian accent, he said, “Lady Catherine tells me you studied music when you were a child.”
“Yes, from age six until age fourteen.”
“Do you enjoy playing the pianoforte?”
“What difference does that make?” Lady Catherine barked.
“I do enjoy it,” Anne said, ignoring her mother.
“Will you show me what you recall?” He gestured at the piano.
Anne sat on the bench, but when she saw her mother settling herself in a chair, she asked coolly, “Mama, will you leave us? Your presence upsets my nerves.”
“Well, I hardly—”
“Ah, such a common occurrence among ladies with refined musical tastes,” Donizetti said cheerfully. “This is a good sign for Miss De Bourgh’s development as a pianist.”
“I intended to stay only briefly to encourage you, Anne. However, I have other matters that demand my time.” Lady Catherine left the room in a huff.
After closing the double doors, Mr. Donizetti put a chair for himself by the piano. “Shall we begin?”
For the first time in days, Anne smiled. “Yes.”
≈≈≈
That morning at Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet declared Mr. Bennet was not well enough to be outdoors for more than a few minutes per day and that Mary had done her father a great disservice when she abandoned him so she could go to church.
Mr. Bennet said he was the best judge of how he felt and that if he chose to sit outside, he would not be gainsaid.
Mrs. Bennet said that if her husband was intent on making her a young widow, she would go to Mrs. Phillip’s house and prepare a black bonnet to wear at his funeral.
Mr. Bennet said that was an excellent plan and suggested she spend the entire day with Mrs. Phillips.
Mrs. Bennet insisted on taking the coach, as she said she did not know when she might return.
Mr. Bennet said that although he was happy for Johnny to deliver Mrs. Bennet to Meryton, he wanted to have the coach returned to Longbourn in case he decided to take his daughters to visit the militia in Brighton.
Mrs. Bennet exclaimed that her husband was a vexing man who had no idea what she suffered; then she walked to Meryton with Lydia.
After his wife left, Mr. Bennet strolled cheerfully to the garden, where he sat with a glass of watered-down wine within easy reach. Kitty then sent Johnny with the Bennet coach to Netherfield, asking Elizabeth, Jane, and Georgiana to come to Longbourn. When the ladies arrived, Elizabeth asked Kitty to invite Charlotte to join them. Thus, Johnny was dispatched with a note to Lucas Lodge and with the expectation that he would return with their friend. However, within half an hour, an unhappy-looking Charlotte arrived in a small, open carriage driven by Mr. Collins; Johnny, driving the Bennets’ coach, followed.
Seeing Collins, Jane said, “This will not be good for Papa.”
“He knows we don’t want him here!” Kitty said in an outraged whisper. “This is terrible!”
“No, this is manageable,” Elizabeth said firmly. Walking to the gate, she called, “Charlotte, we are so happy to see you at our ladies-only gathering! Mr. Collins, how kind of you to bring her.”
Collins, who was climbing out of the carriage, was surprised. “This is a ladies-only gathering?”
“It is, Cousin.”
“I read the invitation Kitty sent. It did not say so.” He handed Charlotte out of the carriage.
“As the invitation was directed to Mrs. Collins, we assumed that fact was clear.” While Collins scanned the garden, Elizabeth added, “As you see, no gentlemen are present.”
“Your father is sitting there under the tree.”
“He is the guest of honor.” Opening the gate, Elizabeth pulled Charlotte through.
When Collins gave Johnny a pointed look, the Bennets’ manservant said, “Recall, sir, I am an employee, not a guest.” At Elizabeth’s nod, Johnny drove the family coach to the stable.
Collins stared after him. When I am the master here, I will sack you, you impertinent bumpkin! Returning his attention to Elizabeth, he said, “I should pay my respects to your father.” As he stepped up to the gate, she closed it firmly.
“I will give him your regards, dear,” Charlotte said, linking arms with Elizabeth.
“Do not worry about your wife. When Jane, Georgiana, and I return to Netherfield, we will bring her safely home. Good day.”
Before Collins could speak, the two ladies were hurrying to join the others at the far end of the garden. Annoyed, he climbed back into the carriage and watched as his wife was greeted by Mr. Bennet, who looked depressingly healthy.
Safely out of her husband’s hearing, Charlotte said, “I am so sorry. When I realized Mr. Collins intended to accompany me, I tried to cry off, but he insisted that we come.”
Kit
ty glared at Mr. Collins. “Is he going to wait for you?”
“Never mind,” Jane said. “We are organizing a lovely picnic.”
“Perhaps if I am out of sight, he will leave. Let me join you in the kitchen.” Charlotte followed Kitty and Jane into the house.
Mr. Bennet told Elizabeth, “I do not know how you kept that pompous fool away from me, Lizzy, but I am in your debt.”
“I shall remember that, Papa,” Elizabeth teased before leaving to help Mary bring the dining room chairs out to the lawn.
≈≈≈
Very quickly, Collins grew uncomfortably warm from sitting under the noonday sun. Admitting defeat, he drove the small carriage back to the road leading from Meryton to the estates of the Bennets and their neighbors. Because he had counted on spending the day at Longbourn, he had no plans to be anywhere else. Thus, when he noticed the small grove of shady trees lining the road, he steered into it. Although he did not have a clear view of the garden gathering, he could see Longbourn’s manor house (my manor house) beyond the stone wall that separated the estate from the adjacent property with its well-weathered barn.
Collins was not a sensible man, and this deficiency of nature had not been remedied through education or society. Valuing wealth, comfort, and prestige, he enjoyed his position at Hunsford because it satisfied these desires. However, the notion that his cousin’s estate might be his sooner rather than later (the good Lord willing) fed his fantasies as to how perfect his life would be when he joined the landed gentry. The parson was so engrossed in his imaginings, it was several minutes before he noticed the activity at the property next to the Longbourn.
Three men had arrived on horseback at the old barn, yet it was not until Collins recognized Darcy and Fitzwilliam that curiosity took precedence over his daydreams of the future. As he watched the men move in and around the barn, Elizabeth approached from Longbourn, a basket hanging from her arm. Still convinced she was pursuing Darcy, Collins was determined to thwart her.
How did she get over the wall? There must be a stile or a gate. Well, no matter—the hoyden has arrived. But once I free Darcy from Elizabeth and bring him to Anne, Lady Catherine will be so appreciative, she will ask me to officiate at the wedding. I simply need to find a way to make this so.
Collins exited the carriage, tethered the horse to a tree and, moving in a slight crouch, he skulked along the wall that separated Longbourn from the neighboring property. His barely formed plan was simply to get close enough to spy upon the gentlemen and Elizabeth. Fortunately for him, a thicket of bushes and saplings had sprung up along the wall wherever their seeds had landed, and the haphazard tangle of vegetation—which included several stands of saplings—offered some concealment. Also fortunately for him, no one at the barn was looking in his direction.
Hearing Elizabeth call a greeting, he watched disapprovingly as both Darcy and Fitzwilliam walked to meet her. A few moments later, the third man (a groom by the look of him) stood in the doorway of the barn and claimed Fitzwilliam’s attention. The colonel joined him, and they entered the decrepit structure.
When Elizabeth give Darcy her basket, the parson muttered resentfully, “No doubt it is full of food that was rightfully mine!” Because Darcy and Elizabeth only had eyes for each other, Collins managed to get within hearing distance of them—almost. In truth, he heard very little and understood even less; it sometimes seemed as though they were talking about someone other than themselves. However, Collins did manage to make out several words, including “elope,” “Tuesday,” and “moon rise.”
When Collins glanced at the barn again, he saw Fitzwilliam gesturing to Darcy. Elizabeth shook her head and indicated Longbourn with a wave. Darcy kissed her hand, and with longing looks, the couple parted. Deciding this was his best chance to sneak away unseen, Collins hurried back to the carriage. Elope, Tuesday, moon rise. Never!
≈≈≈
July 9, 1811
Waiting outside Bishop’s barn on Tuesday night, Lydia Bennet wore a hooded cloak, and she had a small traveling bag at her feet. Darcy and Heath, a groom from Netherfield, hid in the barn, watching through the partially open door; Fitzwilliam, on horseback, was concealed in the shadows on the side of the barn away from Longbourn. Unbeknownst to Lydia and these gentlemen, Collins was crouched in the tangle of saplings and shrubs along the wall. Beside him stood a very fine black stallion, nearly invisible in the darkness, which had been borrowed from the stables at Lucas Lodge—without permission.
As for Wickham, he was late.
Collins, convinced he was watching Elizabeth waiting for Darcy, searched his memory for Scriptural references about temptresses and good men ruined by bad women. Thus occupied, he did not see Wickham until the fellow had reached Lydia. As Wickham kissed her, all the waiting gentlemen believed their quarry was sufficiently distracted so that they could converge upon him unseen. Darcy on foot and Fitzwilliam on horseback moved in, while the groom waited in the barn with Darcy’s horse and his own mount.
Unfortunately, when Collins spotted Wickham, he managed to forget he was holding the reins of a large horse. He ran forward, shouting, “Thy wife shall be a harlot in the city, and thy sons and thy daughters shall fall by the sword!”
It is difficult to say who was more surprised: Wickham, his would-be captors, or Sir William Lucas’s prize stallion. When Collins jerked the bridle, the startled horse kicked out with its front legs, pulling free of the parson’s grasp. It trotted near the barn and watched warily.
Wickham shoved Lydia aside, and she sat down hard, the hood slipping from her head. Fitzwilliam spurred Laird at Wickham, who pulled out a pistol and fired, grazing the horse’s shoulder. Laird bucked in panic, sending Fitzwilliam tumbling out of the saddle, before it ran into the night. Darcy yelled, a primal, wordless sound, as he rushed at Wickham; however, Wickham held his ground. Pulling a second pistol from his belt, he fired. When Darcy felt his ear grazed by the bullet, he dropped to the ground, not certain whether his nemesis had a third pistol.
At this, the groom, Heath, mounted his horse and dashed out of the barn. When this newcomer attempted to join the fray, Wickham threw one of his empty pistols, hitting the groom’s horse hard on its forehead. The startled animal danced sideways, tossing its head and snorting.
Wickham ran to Sir William’s stallion, which stood but a few strides away. Grabbing the reins, he leaped into the saddle and rode off, with Heath in pursuit. Thus, in less than two minutes, the capture of George Wickham had ended with his escape.
Collins shouted, “Come back with that horse, you scoundrel!”
“Mr. Collins? What are you doing here?” Lydia asked.
Taking his first close look at the lady, the parson exclaimed, “You are not Elizabeth!”
“La, no! I’m taller.” Lydia stood and brushed off her clothes.
When Darcy saw that Lydia was unhurt, he hurried to Fitzwilliam. “Is anything broken?”
“No, but only because I have not yet got my hands on that idiot Collins,” he snarled. “Help me up, will you? I’ve dislocated my arm.” Darcy stooped and put his cousin’s good arm across his shoulders, and the two men rose to a standing position.
“I demand to know what is going on! Who has stolen Sir William’s horse?” Collins said.
“George Wickham,” Lydia said.
As Darcy and Fitzwilliam joined Lydia, Collins said, “Mr. Darcy, you must not elope with this chit—the most vulgar of my cousins! And I insist someone fetch my father-in-law’s horse. No one knows I borrow—”
When Darcy’s punch landed on Collins’s face, the parson staggered a bit and then sat with teeth-jarring force. Glaring down at him, Darcy asked, “How did this fool come to be here?”
“I never said a word to anyone. It would not be good for my reputation,” Lydia said primly.
“Wait with the colonel while I fetch some light.” Darcy ran to the barn and returned quickly with a lantern.
A moment later, Heath rode back, leading Fitzwilliam’s
horse. “I’m afraid the rogue outran me with the stallion, sir. That’s sweet-goer he’s got.” Collins, still sitting, groaned and rubbed his cheek. Dismounting, the groom gave the reins of his horse to Lydia. “If you would, Miss.”
The men turned their attention to Laird, with Darcy holding the lantern so they could view the animal’s injury. “Just a flesh wound, I think,” he said.
Rubbing the horse’s neck affectionately, Fitzwilliam spoke softly. “It is only a scratch, old fellow. You’ll be fine; you’ll be fine. We will give you the best of care.”
“You are wounded, too, Mr. Darcy,” Lydia said.
He touched the top of his ear, now slick with blood. “Happily, a minor scrape.”
“Well, it is not as good as a sabre scar, but I vow you can make an interesting story of it.”
“I shall do my best, Miss Lydia. Did he injure you?”
“Not a bit, but I swear Wickham must have had the devil’s own luck to get away,” she said.
Through clenched teeth, Fitzwilliam said, “Oddly no, he was assisted by a putative man of God.”
≈≈≈
Darcy, Fitzwilliam, Heath, and Lydia walked to Longbourn, with the gentlemen leading their horses. Collins had attempted to join them, but he was universally rejected and had to walk to Lucas Lodge alone. Ainsworth put Fitzwilliam’s arm back in its socket with an experienced hand. “I’m beginning to think there is nothing you cannot do, Ainsworth,” Darcy said, and the younger man shrugged bashfully. After giving Mary a fond farewell, he returned to the Laidlaw farm.
Fitzwilliam’s horse was stabled at Longbourn for the night, where Johnny tended to it with the medicines he kept on hand to prevent infections. The Bennet carriage was pressed into service, and Heath put his horse in the harness before securing Darcy’s horse at the back of the vehicle.
When the gentlemen left, Mrs. Bennet emerged from her bedroom, where she had been resting her nerves at the thought of Lydia being used to lure Wickham into a trap. Sitting in the parlor, Lydia was describing the botched capture with much enthusiasm to Kitty, Mary, and Mr. Bennet when her mother swooped in and embraced her. “Were you terrified? I was terrified for you.”