Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  “As regards my involvement,” Anne continued, “I will tell Wickham I am arranging this marriage for my dearest friend, and I will offer to pay for his passage to North America and give him some money for a new beginning.”

  “He will wonder why you are funding this marriage,” Darcy said.

  “Because she is my dear, dear friend who is in want of a husband in name only.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson added, “You may depend on me to elaborate as needed. However, if Wickham’s desperation is as great as it seems, he is likely to participate with few questions.”

  “What if in a year—or ten—he returns to England to claim his wife?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  “He will be too late,” Shelton said. “The marriage contract specifically states that if Wickham abandons his wife for three consecutive months, he must grant her a divorce and he will receive nothing. It is one of the sections written in Latin.”

  “Given the time it takes to travel to the Americas and back, it is virtually guaranteed I will receive my divorce,” Anne said. “And by the bye, I am not giving the rogue a copy of the contract in any language.” Smiling, Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson clasped hands, confident they would outsmart both Lady Catherine and George Wickham.

  Darcy and Fitzwilliam mentally poked and prodded the plan, looking for flaws. Then, with a shrug, Fitzwilliam said, “If the contract is well written, and if the parson mumbles incoherently, and if Wickham is sufficiently distracted or drunk, he might not notice that the brides are switched. This could work.”

  Darcy said, “But for you to be Mrs. Wickham … it will pain me to call you that.”

  “And it would pain me to be called that. Thus, the marriage contract states I will keep the name ‘De Bourgh.’ Instead of being Miss De Bourgh, I will be a missus.”

  Fitzwilliam looked at Anne with new respect. “How did you come upon this idea?”

  Anne pressed Mrs. Jenkinson’s hand to her cheek. “Nora and William Shakespeare have shown me the path to independence.”

  “Shakespeare?” Fitzwilliam repeated.

  Mrs. Jenkinson said, “Consider ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ in which Hero is the disguised bride. There are benefits to having a classical education.”

  “Darcy, if you will make your presence known here and, Christopher, if you will escort us to the church on Saturday and afterward make sure Wickham boards his ship, then all will truly end well. Mr. Shelton has lent me the money to pay Wickham’s passage, and I need you, Darcy, to lend me five hundred pounds for Wickham’s fresh start. I will offer less, but I must be prepared to negotiate. We will have but one chance to make this work.”

  “Once Wickham is at sea, I presume you will advise your mother by letter that you are a married woman, but what will you say when she asks where your husband is?” the colonel asked.

  “That he has journeyed to the New World seeking to increase the fortunes of the De Bourgh family. As his faithful wife with a delicate constitution, I wait here for his return.”

  Darcy wondered if he was the only one with misgivings. “Mr. Shelton, is this legal?”

  “If Wickham were to learn he is married to Miss Anne, he could press for his financial and marital rights, claiming he had been defrauded. Consequently, he must never know.”

  “I understand the need for subterfuge,” Darcy said, “and Wickham certainly deserves such deception, yet to use the law in this way seems wrong.”

  Shelton said, “Lady Catherine’s treatment of my dear sister Nora was unkind and, in my view, unethical, but it was not illegal. However, her ladyship has kept her daughter from her family, her friends, and her fortune. If Miss Anne took her mother to court—”

  “Oh, there’s a scandal I hope never to see!” Darcy exclaimed.

  “It could be years before justice prevailed. Where and how would Miss Anne live in the meantime? Nor is it certain she would prevail,” Shelton cautioned. “Those in the ton will go to great lengths to preserve their privileges. Imagine how it would frighten them if a daughter sued for control of her inheritance?”

  Fitzwilliam looked at Darcy. “Shelton makes a good case.”

  “This is the first time in my career I have chosen to put fairness above the intent of the law. While this does not sit well with me, either as a solicitor or as the honorable man I strive to be, I believe I am making the right choice. Wickham has never been Miss Anne’s suitor, so he is not being tricked out of something he has striven to gain. Our goal is to convince Lady Catherine to give up the fight; the most efficient way for Anne to win is to have her ladyship believe that she herself has lost.”

  Anne was determined to recruit her cousins to her cause. “Suppose you gave Wickham over to some legal authority. He might be transported, but it is more likely he would be hanged for horse theft. Would either of you prefer that?”

  Darcy sighed. “Marry Wickham if you must. However, if he makes a run for it, I will grab him.”

  “And after the wedding, will you return to Rosings, Anne?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  “Nora and I will move to De Bourgh House in London once I am certain Mama has left it.” Leaning forward in her chair, Anne said, “Cousins, pay careful attention to my next words so you can bear witness to my wishes, should that be needed.”

  Exchanging intrigued glances with Fitzwilliam, Darcy said, “We are listening.”

  “If Nora outlives me, she shall have full use of De Bourgh House and a stipend to cover her expenses for the duration of her life. I will work with Mr. Shelton, who has become like a brother to me, on a legal document about this, but I wanted you to know.”

  Fitzwilliam raised his glass to Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson. In his most officious tones, he said, “Duly noted, as of this date and this time, whatever those details are.”

  “Papa’s will gives me full possession of Rosings on my twenty-fifth birthday, a milestone I reached last year, as you know. But being lazy and foolish—and not wanting to face Mama’s moods—I did not claim the estate. Her irrational actions, however, have forced me to take responsibility. Not a bad thing, really. I have decided Mama may continue to manage Rosings, so long as her doing so benefits the estate. But she must move to the dower house when the rightful heir takes possession of the place.”

  “But you are the rightful heir. You have no hidden children, have you?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  “At this point, it would not surprise me,” Darcy said.

  “In the will Mr. Shelton has prepared for me, I have named Christopher as the heir to Rosings. Your time in the army, Cousin, refined your leadership skills, although I was aware of your abilities from the successful raids we made on the larder when we were children. Thus, after you leave the army, whenever that may be, Rosings is yours to live in and manage. Upon my death, it will be yours outright, or it will go to any children you have, should you predecease me. In fact, if Mr. Shelton can sort out the details, I will happily give you the estate in my lifetime. Congratulations, Cousin, you are a member of the landed gentry.” She raised her teacup in toast.

  Darcy relaxed in his chair, grateful for Anne’s generosity. Fitzwilliam, however, was stunned into statue-like stillness; his mouth opened and closed and opened again, but he said nothing. Darcy nudged him with his boot. “I believe a thank-you is in order, sir.”

  Fitzwilliam sprang from his chair, crossed to Anne in two strides, and pulled her into his arms. “Thank you!”

  “I have just spilled tea on your uniform,” Anne said in a somewhat muffled voice, as her face was pressed against her cousin’s chest.

  Fitzwilliam pulled away just enough so that he could gaze upon her face. “You will not regret your extravagant generosity.”

  “I am certain I will not. But your gratitude may diminish somewhat when you have to arrange for Mama to move to the dower house.”

  “I have faced Napoleon. I believe I am prepared.”

  Darcy’s smile at the sight of his cousins abruptly dimmed with a dawning realization. “Anne, does this mean you know where W
ickham is?”

  “Yes, but only just.”

  Shelton said, “My investigators recently discovered him to be hiding in Hove.”

  “And who is this mumbling parson who will perform the ceremony?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  Shelton shrugged. “A former client from my early days as a solicitor. Parson Knowles is not a very bad fellow, but he is not a very good fellow either. However, he is an ordained parson, he does have a small church, and he mumbles with much gravitas and a complete lack of clarity.”

  After Darcy refilled his brandy glass from the decanter on the table, he filled a glass for his host and gave it to him. “Mr. Shelton, Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne—if this mad plan works, I shall be amazed. But rest assured, I will do whatever I must to help you.”

  ≈≈≈

  August 14, 1811

  On Wednesday morning at the Southern Cross public house in Hove, George Wickham drank his coffee and contemplated his future. The small bowl that had held his boiled oatmeal—more water than oats—was now empty; if he ate again today, he would not have money for food tomorrow, having already gambled away most of what he received for the stolen horse. He also knew, as of late last night, that Fitzwilliam Darcy was in Brighton, so close to Hove, the distance could be easily walked. What Wickham did not know, however, was that of the four men currently in the pub, one was Peter Shelton, and two others were in Shelton’s employ.

  Out of habit, Wickham glanced at the door when he heard the bell chime indicating someone was entering. At the sight of the two ladies, he sat very still, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Anne De Bourgh looked around the room and, upon seeing Wickham, she indicated him to her companion. Wickham rose quickly, but when he realized the difficulty of bolting past the ladies and out the door, he merely bowed and smiled grimly. “It is you, isn’t it, Miss De Bourgh?”

  “I am flattered you remember.” After a brief hesitation, she and Mrs. Jenkinson each dusted off a chair with a handkerchief and sat at Wickham’s table.

  “What brings you here?” he asked, taking his seat again.

  “To Brighton? Darcy. To this place? You. Allow me to present my dearest friend, Miss Jean Devogue.” Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson had selected a name that sounded similar to Anne’s.

  “Miss Devogue.” Wickham acknowledged her with a nod. Gesturing toward the street, he said, “I suppose Darcy is nearby.”

  “I hope not,” Anne said. “I do not want him interfering with our business.”

  “Our business? I’m listening,” Wickham said warily.

  “My dear friend Jean needs a husband in name only. You, sir, need a passage out of England and money for a new start.”

  “How much money?”

  “Three hundred pounds on top of your passage.”

  “Do I get to choose where I go?”

  “Canada.”

  “Why?”

  “On Saturday, a ship bound for Nova Scotia leaves Newhaven.” When Wickham made no reply, Anne added, “The longer you are here, the greater the chance Darcy will find you. Please remind me, what is the punishment for stealing a fine thoroughbred? Hanging or transportation to Van Diemen’s Land?”

  Wickham turned to Anne’s companion. “Miss Devogue, you are an attractive lady. Why do you need to purchase a down-on-his-luck fellow such as myself to be your husband?”

  Mrs. Jenkinson sighed sadly. “I find myself with child by a sailor who forced himself on me. I wish to be able to say truthfully that I am a wife and that my husband is at sea, so as to give myself a modicum of protection and respectability. However, I do not want an actual husband.”

  “Jean is my closest friend. When she told me of her predicament, I promised to help. We came to visit Darcy just after you had made your very clever escape; thus, we learned that you, like Jean, were in need of—shall we say—a fresh beginning.”

  “Something about your story smells a bit like the local fish market. What’s to keep me from, shall we say, taking you hostage?” He took a pistol from his coat pocket and set it on the table.

  In the blink of an eye, Peter Shelton was standing behind his sister, while his two agents—a middle-sized, middle-aged man named Vincent and a very large young man in his early twenties named Grady—stood on either side of Wickham.

  Grinning, Wickham looked closely at the men who flanked him. Gesturing at Vincent, he asked, “Why not marry this fellow, Miss Devogue?”

  Vincent said matter-of-factly, “Neither my wife nor my lady friend would like that.”

  Wickham nodded at Grady. “Well, this one’s a bit youthful.”

  Grady merely shrugged. “Unlike your situation, sir, being youthful is not a hanging offense.”

  “Oh, you still have time for life to disappoint you into making bad choices. By the bye, Miss De Bourgh, how did you find me?”

  Anne showed him the sketch. “It is the work of a mutual acquaintance, Miss Kitty Bennet. Mr. Vincent and Mr. Grady here simply showed it about and described the fine horse that the man in this picture might have offered for sale.”

  “Little Kitty Bennet has a hidden talent,” Wickham said with a sardonic smile.

  ≈≈≈

  On the second floor of a sweets shop across the street from the Southern Cross, Darcy and Fitzwilliam drank tea and watched the front door of the pub. “Remind me why we do not simply march over there, drag Wickham out into the street, and horsewhip him,” Darcy said.

  “You regret not protecting Anne after ending your—”

  “Non-engagement,” Darcy said quickly.

  “And I am as grateful as I am surprised that our cousin has gifted me with Rosings.”

  “Which reminds me, I apologize for neglecting to have that conversation regarding your future. Still, things have worked out rather well. Have you made plans yet, or are you still recovering from the shock of your new status?”

  “As soon as may be, I will resign my commission and marry.”

  “Do you have a lady in mind?”

  “I do, but I will not reveal her name, as I have not yet proposed.”

  “I am astonished there is a lady you wish to wed! This is the first you have said of it!”

  “What opportunity have I had to talk about myself? What with the matchmaking of Bingley and you. And there has also been my investigation of the poison tonic, Anne’s rescue, and I am not certain what to call this—a counterfeit wedding, I suppose.”

  “I wish you the best!” Darcy declared happily.

  ≈≈≈

  In his negotiations, Wickham insisted on two new suits of clothing (a gentlemanly one for his wedding and another for everyday wear), four shirts, two trousers, small clothes, a gentlemanly hat, a wool cap and scarf, and a warm wool coat for the sea voyage. Anne agreed to pay for as many of these items as could be obtained before the wedding service. Wickham also pressed her for five hundred pounds for his fresh start, but he ultimately settled for four hundred.

  All parties agreed that on Saturday morning they would meet at the public house next to the small church where the marriage would take place. “We will hold the wedding breakfast before the ceremony, so you do not miss your ship,” Shelton said.

  Wickham studied Shelton. “What is your part in this affair?”

  “I am the man who has arranged for a licence and who will make certain you get the money Miss De Bourgh has promised. Mr. Vincent and Mr. Grady work with me.”

  After negotiations were successfully concluded, Vincent and Grady moved Wickham to a respectable boarding house for his remaining nights as a single man. Grady and his older, larger brother also escorted Wickham on his shopping excursions and made certain he did not stray from where he was supposed to be. Wickham did not mind; the Grady brothers were his protection from Darcy. Nor did he object when Grady appropriated his pistol. Instead, Wickham enjoyed having the opportunity to bathe, eat a few good meals, and sleep between clean sheets.

  ≈≈≈

  August 17, 1811

  On Saturday morning, Wickham was esc
orted by the Grady brothers to the pub adjacent to the church. Knowing nothing of the ship that would deliver him to his new life, Wickham was happy for a decent breakfast, for Miss De Bourgh would surely demand better food than he had been able to afford on his own. Although still suspicious, he began to relax over his hearty meal and the drinks of fortified wine, of which even the ladies partook with dainty sips. Thus, when Fitzwilliam entered the pub, Wickham’s reflexes were woefully slow.

  As he struggled to rise, the Grady brothers, seated on either side, jumped up, ready to grab him. Wickham exclaimed, “This is a cruel joke! You are handing me over to the colonel!”

  “Not at all, sir!” Mrs. Jenkinson put a restraining hand on Wickham’s arm. “He will take you to the ship after the ceremony, but he is here simply to ensure you keep your part of the bargain.”

  “It’s true, George,” Anne said. “Sit down and eat your meal.”

  “My last meal,” Wickham grumbled, but he sat. “Your cousin wants to kill me.”

  “Not today,” Fitzwilliam said cheerfully. “I have promised to help Miss Devogue, and I will honor that.” Taking Anne’s half-full wine glass, he filled it and offered a toast. “To Wickham, who is once again getting a start at a better life than he has earned for himself.”

  With a defiant snort, Wickham drank his wine in one swallow. Holding out his glass, he said, “More, if you please, before I face the parson.”

  As Fitzwilliam refilled Wickham’s glass, Mrs. Jenkinson stood. “I will meet you gentlemen at the church shortly.”

  Shelton rose, too, saying, “Allow me to escort you.” He exited with both ladies.

  Fitzwilliam raised his glass again. “Let us now toast the bride.” As Wickham downed his drink, he did not notice that the colonel took only a sip.

  ≈≈≈

  The question of whether the small, shabby church was built of rough-hewn grey stones or whether decades of grime had colored the stones grey could not be answered without a careful examination of the premises, a project no one in the wedding party wished to undertake. When Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson entered the church, they found Parson Knowles, Bible in hand, sitting on a stool in the vestibule. He was a short, jovial man in his fifties whose faith was anchored in the fervent hope of ultimate forgiveness after a lifetime of what he told himself were minor sins. When Shelton followed his sister and Anne inside, Knowles stood. “Ah, good, good. Welcome to the house of the Lord, Mr. Shelton. Which lovely lady is the bride?”