These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  Oh, Aunt, I do not criticise him; how could I, when he had shown us such hospitality and consideration? Even when I so thoughtlessly expressed my anguish over Lydia’s elopement in his presence, he did not admonish, nor did he immediately turn away in revulsion. He was kind… sad even, but I felt him very clear on this one salient point: that we must part company. Surely, an association with Mr Wickham and our disgraced family are abhorrent to him, but I must know if my assumptions are mistaken!

  I expect that you will receive this letter on the very day of the wedding, and as Lydia is to journey here almost immediately, I might the sooner look into her face than receive word from you… but oh, Aunt, I cannot learn what I must from Lydia. Please write, and tell me if my family are indebted to another, and how deeply so.

  Yours affectionately,

  Elizabeth

  Madeline Gardiner’s hand trembled as she gently laid the note upon her writing desk. She blinked several times, breathing in slow, measured breaths.

  “My dear?” Edward leaned over her shoulder. “Is something amiss?”

  “A letter from Lizzy,” she explained, passing it to him.

  Her husband took it after laying aside his coat, as if shedding from himself the responsibility of the morning’s events. His own face clouded as he read. “Did you leave her any hints in your latest correspondence, my dear?” he asked when he had finished.

  “Of course not, but you know Lizzy. She is ever inquisitive, and I believe she has learnt to doubt the first thing she is told. She is not so foolish as to believe the explanation you gave to Thomas, and she has seen Mr Darcy’s generosity for herself.”

  His troubled eyes swept the page again. “Only yesterday, I might have suffered no qualms in relaying to her the entire truth, but….”

  “But not after Mr Darcy did not appear today?” she guessed very softly. “I thought him well disposed toward her, but that would seem a clear enough indication that he does not intend to renew their acquaintance.”

  His face pinched. “Perhaps it is best if she is not led to hope, the sooner her eyes might fall on another.”

  She shook her head. “It will not be that simple, I am afraid. Lizzy will see through any dissembling of mine, but even if she does not, I do not believe any other man will easily draw her attention.”

  “Why ever not? She is a sensible young lady.”

  “She is, Edward, but though she is just coming to know this for herself, I have believed it for some weeks—she is also a young lady violently in love.”

  ~

  Water. Water everywhere.

  Darcy gasped, convulsing and struggling for air. His efforts only intensified the sensation of drowning, filling his lungs with fluid and sending him gagging to his knees. Someone’s boot connected with his middle then, and his abdomen seized uncontrollably.

  His eyes wild with panic, he rolled to his back in the pool of water. For eternal seconds, he writhed for air, willing his reluctant lungs to draw breath. Through the haze commanding his mind, his eyes registered two figures and a bucket bending over him. Several shrieking, gasping breaths later, he knew the figures for men, neither of whom he recognised.

  “Are yew sure that’s ‘im?” one voice whispered. “’E don’ look so ‘igh an’ mighty.”

  “Lawd, that’s ‘im alright. I’d know ‘im anywhere, wiv’ dat fancy waistcoat an’ a’. I’ve been watchin’ ‘im fer months!”

  “But ‘e ain’t got no money! F’ought yew said this bloke was rich?”

  “’Course ‘e ain’t got money, ‘e gave it to yore ‘arlot!” guffawed the first man. “’E’s a fool, tha’s what ‘e is. Bloke like ‘im could ‘ave paid fer much be’er.”

  Darcy was squinting at the two men, still coughing intermittently. He struggled to rise, but quickly found he had been stripped of his former raiment and bound, hand and foot. Little remained of his previous attire but the very most personal of articles, and his torso had been left bare, cold, and wet.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you mean by accosting and robbing me as you have done? I caution you to release me at once, for you shall not like the consequences of detaining me!”

  “Oh, ‘e says we’re to let ‘im go! ‘Ow d’yew like that?” the taller man roared in delight. “Naw, suh, yew be goin’ wiv’ us, on a nice li’le voyage.”

  “How dare!” Darcy bellowed, attempting to roll to his knees. “I will have you know—” but he was silenced by a vicious kick to his jaw. Robbed of his hands, he fell to his face, spitting blood. Fire shot through his veins at the painful insult. Anchoring his shoulder to the ground, he whirled and lashed out with his bound feet, sweeping them like thick truncheons beneath the shorter man and tumbling him to the floor with a surprised little squeak.

  Darcy was on his knees above the man in an instant—to what advantage he could not have told—he only knew the ground was fatal, and an upright posture infinitely preferable. “Release me!” he thundered through bloodied lips. “If you do so now, you may only hang for your offence! Do you know who I am?”

  While the shorter man had fallen back, cowed by Darcy’s manacled rage, the taller only laughed. He planted a boot now into Darcy’s chest, toppling him back against his helpless hands and smacking his head uncontrollably to the ground. An explosion of light lanced through his mind, dazing him. He rolled to his side with a groan.

  “Go on,” the fellow jeered. “Wha’s yore name, suh? Tell us, so we can be prop’rly respectful, suh!”

  Some bit of Darcy’s indignation flagged as good sense whispered to him. “You seem to already know it,” he growled.

  The other man had by now regained his feet, and he stood beside his companion as a smaller dog in a pack seeks the protection of a larger one. “Naw, suh, we could ‘ave the wrong man! We wouldn’ wan’ that, now, would we?”

  “What is it you seek? A few gold crowns? A ransom? I assure you, sirs, that you will find the executor of my estate a rather dangerous adversary, for he served under Wellesley himself!”

  “Would that be, uh, Colonel Fitzwilliam, then?” the taller man mused. “Aye, I’ve ‘eered tell o’ ‘im. A dang’rous fellow, indeed!” he laughed. “Don’ worry none ‘bout ‘im, ‘e’ll be of no ‘elp to yew, suh.”

  Darcy froze, his breath growing faint. How could these men know so much about him? He stared between the two in mute shock.

  His hesitation proved the final verification which was desired. “Yew see,” the taller man confirmed to his colleague. “Jus’ like I said. Fitzwilliam Darcy, in the flesh, jus’ like the man wan’ed. Come on then, le’s get ‘im ‘board ship.” He produced a rough sort of sack, and to Darcy’s horror, the two men pinned him to the floor and cinched it down over his head, tying it securely in the back.

  He raged and stormed all the while, flailing and writhing against his captors, but only earned another vicious kick in the ribs and a second bucket of briny water doused without warning over his face. Blind and helpless, he gagged on the deluge of water, his offended ribs crying out for breath. He was still gasping when, a moment later, a rod was thrust through his elbows, and he was forced to his feet. The two men had determined to carry him off to God knew where, and he was utterly powerless to resist.

  Wave after wave of panic rose in Darcy’s gorge as his closely bound feet were compelled forward in mincing, treacherous little steps—away from everything dear to him: Pemberley. Richard. Georgiana! What were they to think? How would his home, his sister, his family carry on if he were to suddenly vanish?

  With a final cry of protest, he set his feet and began to twist his torso about, employing the very rod which was to make him their slave as his only weapon against his tormentors. Wildly he spun and slashed with his makeshift bludgeon, searching for the feel of a solid body beside him and snarling in some satisfaction when he felt contact. Back and forth he thrust as his captors yelped and dodged, but a blinded and bound prisoner could never hope to ultimately pr
evail.

  Mere seconds after Darcy’s final revolt, some heavy object crashed into the back of his head. Hobbled and defenceless, he slid drunkenly to the ground. Even could he have seen about him, his vision would have been tilted and hazy. He shook his head, instinctively desperate to see, to act, but it was useless.

  Stupidly, he hung his head and complied meekly when the rod again jerked him to his feet. He heard the voices speaking roughly into his ears, but he could not comprehend. With the savage blow to his head had come another, equally brutal stroke to his heart. One thought only was coherent to him, and he clung to it with the ferocious desperation of a man whose greatest hope has been ripped away.

  Elizabeth!

  ~

  Longbourn

  “Lizzy? Lizzy, whatever is wrong?”

  Elizabeth Bennet had jolted wildly in her sleep, snapping to immediate attention in her bed. She gasped and braced her arms behind herself, weak with the sudden shock of the sensations washing over her. She blinked and stared in disorientation out the window of her bedroom, still insensible to the protests of her startled sister beside her.

  “Lizzy!” Jane rocked her shoulder insistently. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  Elizabeth’s heart slowed after a moment, and she sighed out the last of the breath she had captured in her panic. “I—I think so,” she confessed at last. “It could have been a dream, I suppose.”

  “What else could it be? Did you hear something from out of doors? The new rooster crows at odd hours. He is lucky that Mrs Hill has not made a stew of him.”

  Elizabeth shook her head vaguely. “No, it was not a noise. I felt… cold. And wet—yes, that is it. Like when we used to play in the pond when we were very little, and we would frighten ourselves when we strayed too far from the bank. Do you remember?”

  “Oh, yes! How we would cough and paddle for safety! It is a good thing Mama never discovered us. Do you think Papa ever found out, and simply never said anything?”

  Elizabeth could not yet join in her sister’s fondness for the memory. Her brow furrowed in thought, and she lay flat once more on her bed. “It was more frightening than that,” she frowned.

  “I am certain it was simply a bad dream. It is only to be expected, you know, with the way things have been of late.” Jane lapsed into humiliated silence, her hand falling unhappily over her stomach as she joined Elizabeth once more in repose. “Do you think Lydia’s marriage will be made much of?”

  Elizabeth grunted. “If Mama has a say in the matter. Our dear sister shall be paraded before the adoring populace of Meryton and all the surrounding villages, and our new brother shall smile and laugh and speak everything that is charming and insincere.”

  “Oh, that she had to marry such a man!” Jane lamented. “But I do wish to think the best of him. Perhaps he truly loves Lydia! She is… lively.”

  Elizabeth turned her head in the darkness, and Jane could sense, if she could not see, the sarcastic glare her sister directed at her.

  “Come, Lizzy, we shall gain nothing by thinking ill of him. The matter is done now, and we can but make the best of it,” she decided sensibly.

  “Did you not think it strange that they did not arrive yesterday afternoon, as they expected to? Both Lydia and Aunt Gardiner wrote that such were their intentions.”

  “Yes, but I imagine that anything might have happened immediately following the wedding. Perhaps he had some new instructions from his regiment, and was obliged to travel on straight away. I think we should have word today, or on the morrow at the latest.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” Elizabeth agreed. She pursed her lips, gazing blankly up at her darkened ceiling. It would be dawn in a couple more hours, and she could anticipate an entire day of her mother’s demeaning fawning over Lydia’s good fortune. How it stung! To think that wild Lydia, who had disgraced herself and her sisters, should in their mother’s eye be accorded all the honours and distinctions of a faithful marriage, only amplified Elizabeth’s own regrets.

  Such a happy estate might have once been hers, had she only the sense at the time to see the opportunity for what it was—a chance at love and felicity with the best man she had ever known. And as he is such, her heart whispered, he deserves better. Better than a woman with a fallen sister and George Wickham as a brother-in-law. Better than a woman who had insulted, misunderstood, abused, and rejected him. Better than I.

  She closed her eyes, chiding herself for a fool when she felt the cool tears slipping down her cheeks. “Jane,” she whispered, sensing her sister’s unseen gaze still upon her, “I am well, truly. You must rest, for I believe we will have need of our fortitude in the morning.”

  “Sleep well, Lizzy,” Jane comforted. With a sweet sigh of pending slumber, Jane rolled to her side and spoke no more.

  Elizabeth stared at the ceiling.

  2

  It would be two more days before the residents of Longbourn had word of their absent daughter. Mrs Bennet had retired to her room with a fit of the vapours, and Mr Bennet had just ordered his horse to be saddled for London when, at last, a carriage rattled into view.

  “Jane, Lizzy, look!” Kitty called out from the window. “I believe it is Uncle’s carriage!”

  Her two sisters joined her in a moment, and concurred with her assessment. “But why would Uncle be arriving now?” Jane wondered.

  “I expect we will have our answer soon.” Elizabeth remained only another moment, then left the window to meet the carriage. George Wickham’s presence she did not anticipate with pleasure and Lydia’s she absolutely dreaded, but her aunt and uncle could tell her much that she longed to hear.

  As the family gathered outside, the passengers of the carriage disembarked. Aunt Gardiner stepped down first, to Elizabeth’s great surprise. Her eyes immediately touched her niece’s with a look that spoke of long conversations to be had in privacy. She turned back to the carriage, and there was an uncomfortable pause during which Mr Bennet stepped forward.

  Lydia emerged. Alone. Her cheeks were puffy and her eyes cast low as her father took her hand to assist her to the ground. She mumbled a greeting, but did not meet anyone’s gaze, and betook herself instantly to the house.

  Kitty was peering curiously into the carriage, as if expecting George Wickham to materialise. Jane and Elizabeth, however, had caught their aunt’s significant expression and held their impatience in check.

  “Madeline,” Thomas Bennet greeted his sister-in-law quietly, and with more gravity than was his wont. “Perhaps you will accompany me to my study.”

  It needed every shred of Elizabeth’s composure not to listen at the door. Instead, she demanded the pianoforte of Mary and threw herself into a tricky composition, one requiring her full attention and creating enough noise to drown out her clamoring thoughts. When, half an hour later, her aunt and father emerged from the study, Mr Bennet again called for his horse.

  Mrs Gardiner summoned Elizabeth and Jane with silent looks which were neither intended for, nor observed by their younger sisters. In a trice, the three women had commandeered Mr Bennet’s study and locked the door.

  “Well, Aunt?” breathed Elizabeth. “What is the matter? Where is Mr Wickham, and where is my uncle?”

  Mrs Gardiner caught her lower lip between her teeth, then bluntly gave her news. “Mr Wickham has disappeared. It was the very afternoon of the wedding, I understand.”

  “What?” Jane gasped, her hand fluttering over her décolletage. “How could he do such a thing? I had not thought him so dishonourable as that!”

  “Mr Wickham knows naught but dishonour,” Elizabeth shot back cynically. “But do tell us, Aunt, how did this come about?”

  Mrs Gardiner lifted her shoulders. “Yesterday afternoon, Lydia appeared on our doorstep. It seems that on their journey out of London, they had stopped at a coaching inn and Mr Wickham immediately fell into conversation with some other gentlemen who seemed to know him. Lydia had taken one of the rooms to refresh
herself, but when she came out a quarter of an hour later, he had already departed. The carriage, all her clothing—all of it was gone. She had only a few coins in her reticule. It was just enough for her to take a room at the inn that night, for she was determined that he was to come back for her. When her money was nearly spent and he had never reappeared, she was obliged to travel back to us by post-chaise.”

  “Poor Lydia!” Jane cried. “To be abandoned on her wedding-day, and then to travel back alone! Aunt, they are married, is that correct?”

  “Yes, the marriage is recorded and she even wears a fine diamond ring—if she has not thrown it under the horses’ feet. She was in quite a shocking state earlier on our journey. She persisted in her belief that it was all a misunderstanding, and ‘her George’ would be searching for her in London, but your uncle was forced at last to have some rather harsh words with her regarding that particular delusion. She has been like that,” Mrs Gardiner gestured to the room above their heads, “ever since.”

  “I should think she would be troubled!” Elizabeth rejoined. “What manner of man would abandon his wife? Oh, Aunt, if I were only a man, I should call him out!”

  “And so, I fear, your Uncle may do,” Mrs Gardiner sighed in worry. “He has gone in search of Mr Wickham, but unless he joins his regiment in Newcastle, I expect he will not find him. This would certainly not be the first occasion when he has been derelict in his duties to the crown, and Mr Wickham is not an easy man to locate when he wishes his whereabouts to remain a secret.”

  Elizabeth did not miss the implication. “My uncle is not the one who found Mr Wickham before,” she observed flatly.