The Lady's Jewels

by Perpetua Langley

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said, attempting a cool tone, “I thank you for your sentiments. But, as I am altogether inappropriate, I will save you from the feelings that have overtaken you and hope those sentiments take themselves off to the four winds that you so eloquently mentioned.”

  She curtsied and said, “Good day, sir.”

  Caroline Bingley stood behind the door to the hall leading to the stairs. She pressed her nails into her palms until she wanted to scream from the pain of it. How on earth had Darcy saw fit to propose to that little nonentity? And, the stupid girl had the temerity to refuse him! Caroline determined that she would ensure no repeat of that ridiculous proposal ever occurred. She did not yet know how, but she would see to it.

  Elizabeth had hurried from the hall. She walked in the direction of the war room, though she did not wish to face anybody in this moment. She slipped into the drawing room and hurried to the small room connected to it that she had noted on an earlier visit. She shut the door and sat down, trembling.

  Darcy stood motionless in the hall. She had refused him. It felt as if the air had become thick and hard to breathe. He had been so consumed with making his decision and planning what he would say that he’d not considered that she might refuse him so summarily. She had not even asked for time to think of it!

  He thought he’d done well in expressing how serious a decision it had been. He’d wished her to know how strong his feelings must be to overcome his natural qualms. He’d somehow thought she would be struck by it.

  She had been struck, just not in the way he’d imagined.

  He turned and looked down the empty hall. He would go after her. He would find her and say…well, he did not know what he would say, but he must say something.

  “Darcy,” Bingley said, striding into the hall, “we must set off now if we are to reach our proposed inn by nightfall.”

  Darcy reluctantly turned away.

  Elizabeth folded her hands to stop them trembling. She had not dared allow herself to think of a proposal. But then, he had proposed and in such a way as to leave no doubt to her answer. The circumstance was worse than if he’d never acknowledged to her any feelings at all! Now she was to know that he did have feelings, but that he rather begrudged them. Now she was to know that there was no possibility of accepting such a proposal. He might not see the disaster around the next bend in the road, but she could see it clearly enough.

  A man could not bind himself to a lady without admiring all that she was. Should the gentleman not admire the lady in her entirety, the early years of marriage might still go on well. The first blush of new love could go a long way to smoothing out any little difficulties. But in the later years, deep friendship and respect must form the bedrock. If respect were not there and the marriage had taken place only based on the first rush of infatuation, it could not hold up.

  Of anybody, Elizabeth Bennet knew that to be true. Her own parents were the example. From all she could piece together of how she knew them to be now and what she’d heard of their courtship, Mr. Bennet had found himself in a situation similar. He had fallen deeply in love with his soon-to-be bride and had studiously overlooked her various aspects that did not please him.

  Now those aspects grated upon him. Though he would never say so, Elizabeth guessed that he often regretted his youthful decision. Further, it pained her to see her father’s disdain for her mother. She often joked about it, but it pained her nonetheless. It pained her, because she knew her mother noted it, and must be hurt by it. Mrs. Bennet must always go on, knowing that she did not have her husband’s respect and was often to be the butt of his jokes. His many jokes, which always had an undertone of unhappiness.

  Elizabeth Bennet would not place herself in such a position. She had rather be a spinster than ever see the look of disdain in a husband’s eyes.

  She took a deep breath. If she were rational about it, she must see that this was to be a painful time in her life. However, it would not last forever. As with all transient pains, it would fade over time. She ought to just be grateful that she had not accepted the proposal and thereby led herself down a path to never-ending unhappiness.

  Darcy, Bingley and the hired men had mounted their horses. Wickham hid himself in a stand of trees close to the house as they prepared to set off for Pemberley. He’d known it was only a matter of time before somebody connected the elusive Cratchet to himself. It was the plan, after all. He was not certain how they’d figured out where Warpole was so soon, but as Warpole was now here, he could be certain they’d found the note. Warpole would have told them who his captor was, and it would not be so far a leap to realize that Cratchet was not who he said he was. He supposed Lady Castlereagh had described his looks, and Darcy had deduced it was him. Darcy would not have been in any doubt as to what, or rather who, his most precious possession was.

  Wickham had initially been surprised to find Georgiana in the neighborhood. He had planned to take her from Pemberley. However, seeing that plan was to be upended, he’d quickly devised another that tickled him even more. He’d rode for Pemberley as fast as he could, and then told a maid he stayed in Lambton indefinitely. He would draw Darcy and those blasted hired men away from Hertfordshire and leave Georgiana unguarded.

  Now Darcy knew who he was after and he was certain where Wickham was to be found. He was off on a fool’s errand, leaving Wickham at his leisure to approach Georgiana.

  He was certain he could convince her. If he could not, then he must kidnap her. He had a supply of laudanum for the trip to the border and whether she were willing or no, he expected it would go off without a hitch. Once he had apprised the lady that he would advertise far and wide that they had shared a bed on the journey, she would not dare refuse him at the altar.

  He’d vastly enjoyed this game of cat and mouse. It pleased him to toy with and vex the mighty Fitzwilliam Darcy. And, once he was married to Georgiana, Darcy could do naught about it.

  George Wickham would be rich, as George Wickham was always meant to be. Great riches were wasted on men like Darcy, as they did not know what to do with a fortune. He did know what to do with endless funds. He’d leave his young wife in the countryside somewhere and enjoy all town had to offer.

  Caroline Bingley was not one to allow life’s unexpected events to overtake her. She had been furious upon hearing Darcy’s proposal. Those Bennet girls were as a hair shirt to her, always and ever irritating. Still, she had vowed something must be done, and something would be done.

  It was fortunate that she had paid attention when Charles had mentioned that Darcy’s aunt was determined to marry him to her daughter, that the lady was a snob of the highest order, that her estate was Rosings in Kent, and that she had a temper known far and wide. Caroline had once hoped to meet and charm the lady, and so had taken note. Such a lady as that might be persuaded to take steps.

  She raised her quill and wrote.

  To Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Rosings, Kent

  Madam,

  I am unknown to you, but have information that I felt it vital you were apprised of. Recently, your nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy, has proposed to a lady wholly unworthy of the connection. I do not know what her answer has been, though nothing has been announced as of yet. This Miss Bennet has taken pains to ingratiate herself to your niece, Miss Darcy. Miss Bennet is a lowly-connected and grasping sort of person and, needless to say, will reflect badly upon all of you. One can only wonder what sort of madness has overtaken your nephew, particularly as we have all heard such glowing reports of Miss de Bourgh.

  Your niece currently resides in the same neighborhood as this Miss Bennet. The lady, if I dare call her that, lives at a house called Longbourn. Miss Darcy is only a few miles away at an estate called Netherfield in Hertfordshire. Mr. Darcy has gone off on an errand, but will return to Netherfield in due course. A strongly worded letter to both of them would not go amiss. Were Mr. Darcy to return without understanding your feelings, I cannot vouch for how this matter might proceed.


  Regards,

  A concerned person.

  Caroline sanded the letter. She thought it imperative to hint that Miss Bennet might have accepted, it would present a sense of urgency to the lady’s mind. She had no doubt that Lady Catherine would shortly teach Miss Bennet to know her own station. That lady would no doubt communicate her displeasure to Darcy with such eloquence that the very paper she wrote it on might arrive on fire.

  Caroline would enjoy looking out for the post.

  Elizabeth sat in the Bennets’ breakfast room, toying with the food on her plate. Days had passed since Mr. Darcy’s awful proposal. At the time, it had taken all of her resolve to leave the drawing room at Netherfield and face the inhabitants of the war room. The men had set off and, as there had been such commotion at their leaving, nobody had seemed to notice that she had been missing for above a half hour. Not even Jane, who was affected greatly by the idea that her dear Bingley was off to face down a dangerous criminal.

  Jane’s trepidation had served Elizabeth well on the carriage ride back to Longbourn, and it served her well even now. Her sister pretended to eat, but sighs seemed to be her primary breakfast.

  The room was more quiet than usual, her father already gone out and Lydia having been taken sick and gone to bed. Lydia seemed always to be sick lately, and her breakfasts now consisted of toast, though she’d always been in the habit of piling a plate high with eggs and sausage. The very smell of the meat seemed to affect her and this morning she had put her toast down and fled the room.

  Elizabeth was certain Lydia’s over consumption of wine at every opportunity was ruining her health. The night before, Lydia had finished her own cup, and then took Jane’s. Elizabeth did not see what she could do about it other than counsel the girl, though she knew she would be laughed at and roundly dismissed.

  Mr. Collins studiously avoided Elizabeth’s eye. That was well, as Elizabeth had no wish to meet his eye either. They had maintained a silent truce ever since that awful proposal.

  Oh, but the comparisons it brought to mind to see that lump of a clergyman sitting there and remember Mr. Darcy standing in front of her in the hall! She willed herself not to think of it.

  There had, as yet, been no word from Pemberley, and everybody was on tenterhooks to hear if Wickham had been caught.

  A maid brought in a letter and handed it to Elizabeth. She recognized Lady Castlereagh’s hand instantly, as did Jane who leaned over to look at it.

  Elizabeth tore open the letter, certain they would get news, one way or the other, about what had occurred in Derbyshire. She read the short note quickly, and then laid it down, disappointed.

  “Lady Castlereagh wishes me to come at my earliest convenience,” she said. “She is certain that there is something amiss with Tuesday and she counts on my superior knowledge of dogs to discover what is the matter with her. Otherwise, she must call on Doctor Kellerman and he is sure to be cross about it.”

  “Why should she think you have a superior knowledge of dogs?” Jane asked.

  “I am sure I do not know,” Elizabeth said, “other than I commanded them into the cart on that first day, over their determined objections. In any case, she has asked for me and I must go. Will you come with me?”

  “I do not think so, unless you need me,” Jane said. “I thought I would go up to Lydia and see how she does.”

  “You are very kind,” Elizabeth said. She would also have said, had Mr. Collins not been in attendance, that Jane might point out to Lydia that she would experience far more pleasant mornings if her evenings were not quite so wine-soaked.

  She rose and said, “I am off to change. Now that the danger no longer lurks in the neighborhood, I will take Mercury.”

  “Dear sister,” Jane said, clutching her hand as she stood, “do take Jimmy with you. You did promise you would not go out alone anymore.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I did promise that, did I not? Very well, I will take Jimmy and be good humored about it. Who knows what he will tell me on the way there. If I am lucky, he has written a new ode to the weather.”

  Mercury was so full of energy that he sidestepped and danced half the way to Netherfield. Jimmy was equally full of his own energy, which came in the form of words. As always, Elizabeth was fascinated by what he would say and, this time at least, she actually had a use for his communications. She was more and more certain that Mr. Quinn had intentions toward Charlotte and was very curious about how he lived in town.

  When Jimmy had accompanied Mr. Quinn to London, they had stayed at Mr. Quinn’s house. He’d thought he’d be relegated to the stables, but it was not to be. Good old Mr. Quinn had taken him right into the house and turned him over to his housekeeper, Mrs. Johnson.

  From what Elizabeth could gather through questioning, it was a well-appointed house. It had five bedrooms, one of which was given to Jimmy. His bedroom, according to him, contained a bed so comfortable that a person might forget to get up in the morning. A person would get up, though, when the person had got a look at the walls. They were plastered with the kind of pictures that frightened a soul—old men with serious expressions that looked at you like they’d just caught you committing a crime.

  Mrs. Johnson had taken a shine to him and directed the cook to make all sorts of buns and cakes for his enjoyment, and he had enjoyed them. Jimmy had stayed mostly out of the way in the kitchens, which suited him fine since it was conveniently where all the buns and cakes were located.

  He’d had a peek at the other downstairs rooms and reported that there was a drawing room nearly the size of Longbourn’s and two other downstairs rooms. One was a smaller sitting room and the other was a library.

  Elizabeth was vastly relieved. Should something come of Mr. Quinn’s interest in Charlotte, it appeared as if her friend would be comfortable.

  As they rode up the drive to Netherfield, Elizabeth said, “There now, Jimmy, you have done your duty by me and got me here safely. You can turn around and go home now.”

  Jimmy did not appear enthusiastic about this idea and Elizabeth was certain he’d counted on lounging in Netherfield’s stables all the day long.

  “But who will escort you back, miss?” he asked.

  “Never fear on that score, Jimmy. Netherfield has no end of grooms who can see me home. Off you go.”

  Jimmy, though reluctant, turned his horse. Elizabeth did not go directly toward the stables. She knew from walking the gardens that there was a pleasant horse path that ran through a wood alongside them that would take her to the rear entrance. It would do her good to have some quiet between Jimmy’s endless ramblings and her imminent appointment with Tuesday.

  The day was lovely, warm for the season and the sun shining down on her head. The gardens were not yet in bloom and would not be so for some months, but there were enough mature trees to make the scene pleasant even without the help of flowers as she weaved Mercury up the twisty path.

  Just ahead, she heard voices. She was certain one of the voices was Miss Darcy.

  “You must go away this instant,” Miss Darcy said.

  Elizabeth reined Mercury in to listen.

  “I will go away this instant,” a man’s voice said, “as long as you go with me.”

  “I will not!” Miss Darcy said. Then she cried, “Let go of me! George, you are hurting me!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elizabeth spurred her horse toward the voices. Mercury took the turns with ease and in a moment they came to the clearing where the sound had emanated.

  Elizabeth took in a breath. Ahead, she saw a man roughly dragging Miss Darcy by the arm toward a horse tied to a tree. She urged Mercury forward and raised her crop.

  The man turned upon hearing the hoofbeats. “What the devil?” he said.

  “Miss Bennet!” Miss Darcy cried.

  Elizabeth galloped toward them and brought her crop down on the man. The whip caught him across his cheek and he fell back. He lost his grip on Miss Darcy.

  Elizabeth cried, “Run! Run bac
k to the house!”

  Miss Darcy hesitated but a moment, then she picked up her skirts and fled. Elizabeth maneuvered Mercury between the man and Miss Darcy. Blood streamed down his face and his expression was one of fury.

  He staggered toward his horse and reached into a leather pannier. He took out a pistol.

  Elizabeth made rapid calculations in her head. If it were already primed and if he were a good shot, she might only be able to escape to the trees. But that left Miss Darcy still racing toward the house and she could not take the chance that the man, who she was certain was Wickham, might be able to catch her still.

  There was only one course. Elizabeth spurred her horse toward him. Mercury was skilled at reading his mistresses’ intentions. He sensed the danger and, as he was also a rather brave sort of horse, charged forward.

  At ten feet, Wickham raised his gun. Mercury covered the last few feet in a moment and reared up. His forelegs crashed down upon the man and his scream of pain pierced the air.

  Elizabeth wheeled around her horse. Wickham’s right arm hung limp. He used his uninjured arm to reach for the pistol that had fallen from his grasp.

  Shouting in the distance reached them. Miss Darcy had set off the alarm and men were running from the stables. Wickham saw he was to be overpowered. He threw the pistol into the pannier and crawled on his horse, clutching the reins with one hand. Turning his horse, he galloped into the woods and disappeared.

  “Miss Bennet,” Warpole said, reaching her first, “are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, feeling breathless. “That was Wickham, was it not?”

  “Twas him,” Warpole confirmed. “Or Mr. Cratchet, as I knew him.”

  “And Miss Darcy? She is safe in the house?”

  “Yes, miss,” Warpole said. “Though she’s rather shook up, as is to be expected. She came in screamin’ something terrible as if the devil hisself were on her heels, as I suppose he was.”