A Visit to Scotland

by Meg Osborne

  She had begun to feel something more than friendship, more than respect for Darcy - she loved him, and had begun to look to their future together with excitement, realising that despite their marriage being one of convenience, it was not without affection, indeed they both cared far more deeply for one another than either had professed upon their wedding day. It hurt Lizzy more to lose Darcy’s love now that she had experienced it. How could they go back to being strangers now? They were worse than strangers - for he placed the blame for Anne’s predicament on her shoulders. “As if I do not bear the shame of it myself just as keenly.”

  This last had been murmured aloud, and, not for the first time, she was grateful for the hustle and bustle of the London street that so thoroughly drowned out her voice. Biting down on her lip to avoid any further outbursts, she walked on with vigour, determined to reach home quickly, that she might more accurately plan her next course of action. She was so fixed on her destination that she scarcely paid any heed to those she passed so that she almost collided bodily with a tall, gentlemanly figure, who could not scramble quickly out of her path.

  “Oof!”

  “Forgive me, Miss -” a familiar voice fell into a laugh. “Why, Mrs Darcy!”

  Lizzy glanced up, shock and surprise clearing as she recognised the figure of Charles Bingley standing before her. Her throat dry, she made no immediate response, and her silence was remarked upon by Bingley’s walking companion, when, with an icy smile, Caroline Bingley addressed her directly.

  “Dear me, Eliza, is it so very shocking to come across two such friends as us on a busy street in London?” She glanced around. “Is your husband not with you? Dear me, you have not tired of one another already, I hope?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said, finding her voice at last. She met Caroline’s unkind smile with a polite one of her own, but could not bring herself to engage in any sort of verbal tete a tete with Mr Bingley’s sister, today of all days. “He has been called away rather suddenly, on-on business,” she faltered, snatching her eyes away from Caroline’s cruel features to Mr Bingley’s altogether gentler face. His smile, more genuine than his sister’s, fell, as he recognised the anxiety beneath Elizabeth’s comment, and he gallantly offered her his arm.

  “Well, then, in his absence, you must make do with me for an escort. Where are we going?”

  “We?” Caroline bleated. Mr Bingley made no reply if indeed he had heard her at all. They began to retrace their steps, allowing Lizzy to lead the small party back towards her home.

  “I hope Miss de Bourgh emerged safe and well,” Mr Bingley remarked, with a jaunty grin, as they walked.

  “Oh!”

  Elizabeth’s response had been instinctive, she was so surprised to hear Anne’s name on her friend’s lips that she was unable to check her reaction, and even Charles Bingley was not immune to deciphering it.

  “Goodness, Miss Elizabeth - Mrs Darcy, I mean - she is - well, she is alright, is she not?” His usually smooth brow furrowed into an anxious frown. “When Darcy sent word after her yesterday we felt sure there was a simple misunderstanding, but -”

  “There has not been an accident, I hope?” Caroline asked, over Elizabeth’s shoulder. She looked as concerned as her brother, but Lizzy detected the tiniest hint of a smirk at her lips, that suggested if there was gossip to be had, she wished to know it, that she might share it wherever she happened to call next.

  “She is quite well,” Lizzy said, with a certainty she did not feel. “She has been - been called away.”

  “She travels with her cousin, perhaps,” Mr Bingley remarked, cheerfully. “Well, we need not fret, if they are together, for no harm shall come to either -” He trailed off, noticing the effect his words were having on his companion. “Mrs Darcy, I cannot help but feel there is some news you are loathed to share, but that is of some great importance if it makes you react so. Come, there is a bench here we may sit at a spell. I am Darcy’s old friend, and a friend to your family too, I hope, so you must not consider there any need to remain stoical and silent. If there is a problem do, please, share it, and I shall do all I can to help.”

  Elizabeth forgot how bitterly she had vowed to despise Charles Bingley for his cavalier treatment of her sister. She forgot that his own sister was even part of the trio that took up residence on the bench that was, as he declared, but a few paces away. As soon as he let go of her arm, she sank her head into her hands.

  “Oh, Mr Bingley! I only wish you could help me. Darcy has gone away to Scotland, to try and stop Anne making the most dreadful mistake. I cannot sit here and wait for news, and had planned to follow after them to be what assistance I could but Colonel Fitzwilliam is too unwell to travel, and now - “

  She drew in a shaky breath.

  “The thought of making such a journey alone -”

  “Is unconscionable,” Bingley said, with a decisive nod. “Impractical. Ridiculous.” He looked over Elizabeth’s shoulder to Caroline, exchanging some look that Lizzy could not decipher. “We shall accompany you.”

  “Charles!” Caroline hissed.

  “Be quiet, Caroline. This is clearly an important matter, and it is not as if we have any more pressing concerns here in town.” He dismissed her further objections with the vociferous clearing of his throat. “Mrs Darcy. I have a cousin who resides in the north, not quite Scotland, but near to the border. I had planned on visiting him before too long anyway, this merely hastens my plans thence. Perhaps you might travel that far at least as a companion to my sister and I.”

  “Oh, Mr Bingley!” Elizabeth hurried out. “You are very kind, but I could not possibly ask such a favour of you.”

  “It is no favour!” Mr Bingley smiled, but Lizzy noticed it did not quite meet his pale eyes. “I wished to make the journey anyway. If doing so immediately and with haste will help not only you but Darcy and Miss de Bourgh then, of course, we shall leave as soon as possible.”

  Caroline wished for some excuse, Lizzy could tell, but was not quick enough to summon one. She drew in a long sigh.

  “Of course, if we can be of any service to Miss de Bourgh, we will be only too happy to -”

  “Then it is settled,” Mr Bingley said sharply. “Let us all return to our homes quickly so that we might be ready to embark on the journey while there is still light enough to make some progress. What providence we passed you, Mrs Darcy, in order that such plans might be made so quickly. Come, Caroline, we must not delay.”

  Bidding her farewell, Charles and his sister hurried back towards their home, and Lizzy took a moment longer at her seat on the bench before continuing her own journey, for her home was not far away and she was suddenly aflutter with tasks to complete before their journey began.

  I could not imagine Mr Bingley ever coming to my rescue, or ever thinking so highly of him as I do at this moment! she marvelled, immediately repenting of her irritation towards him. Truly he is an angel from heaven to come so quickly to my aid. Her thoughts clouded a little to think of what Darcy would say of his friend agreeing to hie to Scotland and bring his wife thence: still more what comment he would pass over her admitting Anne’s folly to people outside their immediate familial circle.

  “I cannot think of it at present,” she whispered. “I will be able to explain it all better in person.” Her heart leapt into her throat with her eagerness to see her husband, and to see Anne for herself, again. Soon! she promised herself. We will be together again soon!

  EVEN CHANGING HIS HORSES as often as necessary, and taking scarcely any time for himself, Darcy’s progress to Scotland was not as fast as he might have liked. He cursed every moment he was forced to delay and succumbed only to a brief hour’s sleep in an upright chair before continuing on with his journey, ignoring his usual caution regarding travelling at night. He did not flaunt his wealth and heeded his own safety scarcely a bit, his concern was all for his cousin, and in preventing her making the mistake so narrowly averted with his own sister so recently in his memory.

  Upo
n reaching the border, though, his quest was not over. No longer was he faced with arduous journeys by road or snatched moments of respite along the way. Now, his task required polite inquiry at every public building he passed.

  “A young man and woman?” his question returned to him. “Travelling with haste? Planning to marry?” More than one gentleman had struggled to keep a grin from his features, replying that such a pairing was hardly uncommon in this particular part of Scotland, and would require rather more detail to ascertain which of any number of couples he might be referring to. The women, at least, seemed to sympathise with Darcy’s plight and it was one of those who at last proved to be his salvation.

  “I think I might know the young lady of whom you speak,” a matronly woman remarked, and Darcy felt the first glimmer of hope since leaving London. He bid her give him directions to the shabby cottage they were believed to have taken, and he committed the address to memory, thanking her heartily for her assistance and paying generously for the information.

  He found the place soon enough; a small, winding street, shabby but not entirely improper. Darcy was surprised until he remembered how fond George Wickham was of comfort. With Anne beside him, he undoubtedly had access to rather more funds than Georgiana, at least immediately, and he would be still more eager to maintain the pretence of an affectionate first home. Darcy had all but abandoned the hope that he might prevent a foolish match from taking place: for he doubted greatly that George Wickham would wait a second time and see his plans foiled by Darcy’s pursuit. Still, until he saw a ring on his cousin’s finger, he had to believe there might still be a chance that the relationship could be dissolved and Anne returned home with nought but a few bruises to her pride and her pocketbook.

  Locating the building the woman had mentioned, Darcy took a moment to steel himself on the doorstep, before rapping smartly on the door. It opened almost immediately, a waif of a girl who stared at him in surprise for half a moment before recalling herself to her duties and dropping in a clumsy curtsey.

  “I wish to see George Wickham,” Darcy said, bluntly. He was surprised, but not unduly so, to see his old foe had managed to secure the services of a housekeeper, or maid, for surely this girl was too young to be in charge of the household herself.

  “Mr Wickham is not at home, sir,” the mouse replied, scarcely daring to look up at him as she delivered the news. “But Mrs Wickham may be summoned if tha’ wish it?”

  “Mrs Wickham?” Darcy’s throat constricted. Then it was all over for Anne. He had arrived too late, and Wickham had secured Anne’s hand just as Darcy had feared. Foolish, easily led Anne! Yet even in his own mind, he could not bring the charge to stand. Easily led, she might have been, but Anne de Bourgh was no fool. She was innocent, trusting - the perfect mark for such a man as Wickham.

  “Tell her that Mr Darcy, her cousin, wishes to take a moment of her time.”

  The maid hesitated a moment, clearly unsure whether she ought to invite this stranger across the threshold and into the house or not, before asking her mistress’s permission. Darcy took pity on her, with no great desire to enter the house before he must.

  “I will wait here while you ask her.”

  Ducking in a half-curtsey once more, the little housekeeper scurried away, and Darcy took a step away from the door, sucking in cold highland air and cursing the distance that had prevented him arriving any sooner.

  A sound from the house drew his attention as the young maiden hurried back, smiling cautiously as she pulled the door wide and beckoned him inside.

  “Do come in, Mr Darcy, sir. The missus is eager to see you and says you must come right in, right away, and make yourself at home.”

  Rolling his eyes skywards, Darcy stopped as he passed through the low doorway, and drew a slow breath. He would not chasten his cousin, nor criticise her. He had made a mistake of allowing his first interactions with Georgina to have been tainted by emotion, and she had taken his anger to be directed towards her, when in fact he reserved the full force of his ire for George Wickham. That he should be absent again, and leave Darcy to face the young woman at the centre of his scandal once more was not entirely surprising. But he did wish for Anne to see him as a friend, not believe him her critic. Momentarily an image of Elizabeth flashed through his mind and he wished, desperately, that she might be with him. She always knew so much better what to say, and how to address a subject, however difficult. She might broach this matter far easier than he. Well, William, you wished to face this alone, so alone you must face it, he told himself, blinking his wife’s visage away and reigning his feelings back under control.

  “William!” Anne’s greeting was warm, and she stood to welcome in. “What on earth are you doing here? Oh, but I am so very glad you are. Come! Come in and congratulate me, for I am married!”

  Chapter Three

  “Then, gentlemen, it appears I am the winner!” Wickham crowed, as he watched his opponents unceremoniously surrender, hand after hand, and leave him to his spoils. He hid his relief in making a show of collecting and counting his winnings. His hand had not been good, but his ability to bluff far exceeded his fellows. He set his cards down, wondering if his companions would be made to feel better or worse had they known the true nature of his hand, and how fiendishly he had played them.

  “Another hand, Wickham?” the gruff Scots burr of the older man sitting next to him growled. “You’ll give us a chance to win back our pride, at least?”

  “Not tonight, I’m afraid.” Wickham’s cheerful grin belied his disappointment at bidding his companions an early farewell. “You know what it’s like for us newly married gentlemen...” he trailed off, but a suggestive chuckle from his friend suggested that he did not need any further detail.

  “Gentleman?” one fellow snorted, and Wickham chose to let the insult slide. The man was sore about losing so much, so quickly. A tragedy, Wickham thought, shrugging off more than one pair of eyes burning a hole in his shoulder as he stood and downed the remnants of his pint. He grimaced. The beer was weak and bitter, but it was cheaper than brandy, and far more freely available at this particular establishment. Wickham nodded farewell to his compatriots and made for the door. These fellows were pleasant enough but far lower down the social order than those Wickham aspired to call friends. Soon, he promised himself, whistling cheerfully as he made his way home with pockets that bulged with winnings, feeling the evening had been a success in more ways than one. He’d managed to prick his ears for word of any newcomers to the town, and nobody remarked on any tall, fierce-looking gentleman. He did not doubt Darcy would be after them sooner or later, but he intended on staying put until he did. They would make their way back to London and eventually, Wickham supposed, to Kent. His new wife had already dropped one or two hints at her desire to be reunited with her mother and tell her the news, but this was one interview Wickham did not relish the thought of. He wished to perfect his story before being faced with an angry, inconsolable Lady Catherine de Bourgh upon whom to practice it. Feeling the cold, he jammed his hands under his arms, teasing at a loose stitch there and grimaced. He would need a new wardrobe before facing such an ordeal. Clothes make the man, after all. Well, another night like that one and they’d have money enough to improve their situation a fraction. Their rooms were small, efficacious and inexpensive, but not exactly the sort of place the aspiring gentleman George Wickham wished to call home for any longer than was strictly necessary. He knew Anne had been disappointed, although she strove to hide it, instead marvelling at the quaintness of their abode, how cosy they would be butted up against one another within the four walls. They would move before the novelty wore off, for Wickham could not stand the thought of his new wife tiring of him just yet. She was still half in rapture at the romance of their disappearing off together into the night, and he certainly did not need a cold, brutal winter in poor dwellings to dissuade her from the notion.

  As he turned into their street, his pace slowed. Something was different. Somethin
g in the air, some sound or scent that pricked at his conscience and warned him of impending doom. It was the same notion that had saved him from a beating more than once, prompting him to leave town before a certain scheme was discovered, or a certain fellow could come upon him and extract his vengeance. He tilted his head to one side as if the altered perspective might offer the clue as to what caused his heart rate to increase. Continuing towards the house, he pushed the door open, his whistle dying on his lips as he discerned not just the two feminine voices he expected but a third, a deep masculine mutter he would recognise anywhere.

  “George!” Anne called. “Husband, dear! Look who has arrived. My dear cousin has travelled the length of the country to see us, can you imagine my surprise?”

  “I am quite sure it cannot be matched by your husband’s,” Darcy remarked, drily.

  George ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it into place, and had arranged his features into a smile of welcome that would deceive his wife, if not his oldest friend, as he strode into the small room that passed for a parlour.

  “William,” he said, acknowledging how his use of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s familial nickname enraptured his wife and irritated his friend. His smile widened. “And what brings you to our humble abode? Surely you did not come all this way simply to congratulate us?”

  “Congratulations was not my primary goal, no,” Darcy said, stiffly. “Although it appears they are in order.” Smiling tightly at Anne, he turned a barely concealed scowl upon George. “Surely you have found a bride far better than any you might deserve, Mr Wickham.” He cleared his throat. “That is, better than any gentleman might deserve. My cousin is quite the gentlest, kindest creature living, and I wish her every happiness in the future she has chosen.” He reached out a hand to shake Wickham’s and clenched it, tightly, forcing George to meet his gaze. “I trust you will do all you possess to ensure her safety and happiness from this day forward.”