Mr Bennet stared out of the window, lost in his own thoughts. Wondering how he was going to deal with Lydia when they met again. There was no doubt in his mind that Mrs Bennet would dismiss any attempts he made at chastising his wayward daughter or curtailing her freedom. Besides, that had already proven ineffective, as their journey today testified.
Occasionally, when his own thoughts let him, Mr Bennet would cast a sidelong glance at Elizabeth. To a less observant eye, it appeared she too was reading, but on closer inspection, Mr Bennet knew the page number had not altered for the last five miles.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth had decided if Lydia was safe and well when they found her, she was going to give her the scolding of her life.
Lydia was willful, disobedient and argumentative, and their mother’s continued adoration of her youngest child did nothing to curtail this behaviour.
In Mrs Bennet’s opinion, Lydia could do no wrong. Yet, her other children were hard pressed to gain a compliment that was not somehow sullying with a caustic remark.
Jane was beautiful but would never catch a husband if she did not show more affection than she truly felt.
Mary’s sermonising would someday save many lives, she was sure, but as for a husband…well, maybe a convent.
Kitty was a nice enough child, with nice enough manners, but she must learn to shine more, or she would end up an old maid.
And Elizabeth, well Elizabeth had long ago given up on her mother being pleased with anything she said or did. That was until Mr Darcy turned up on their doorstep with an offer of marriage. Of that she was ecstatic, but the complaining still did not abate. Elizabeth, you must find out if Mr Darcy prefers cake or trifle? Elizabeth, ask Mr Darcy if he likes meat best or fowl? Elizabeth, why haven’t you put the blue dress on, Mr Darcy said the colour particularly suited you? In her mother’s eyes, she could do no right. Only Lydia escaped the critical eye and opinions of their mother. And now, when her time should be spent getting better acquainted with the man she was to marry, they were chasing over town looking for her runaway sister.
The gentlemen had all agreed it would be prudent to see the ladies safely inside Darcy House before they continued to Mrs Hurst’s residence. Once there, they would all confront Caroline and Lydia together.
Mr Bennet helped Elizabeth alight from the carriage, and then Darcy handed his sister down.
“Tomorrow, you will go to stay with Aunt Matlock, but until then, perhaps you could give Miss Bennet a tour of the house and show her to her room?” he asked Georgiana.
Georgiana smiled at her brother and nodded.
“Of course, Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy looked over to where Elizabeth waited on the path for Georgiana. They shared a look of mutual understanding, and then Elizabeth gave him a faltering smile.
A momentary feeling of elation touched Darcy’s heart, warmed by the thought that Elizabeth had smiled at him. It was nothing, and something and he rejoiced in this small and simple gesture from his beloved Elizabeth.
The ladies disappeared into Darcy’s London residence, and then Darcy and his companions climbed into the carriage.
Soon, it was winding its way through the streets of London, the atmosphere inside was sombre and silent.
Mr Bingley fidgeted in his seat, turning this way and that until finally, Mr Darcy felt compelled to ask,
“Do you wish to change seats, Charles?”
Bingley stopped moving, pursed his lips and looked to the floor.
“My seat is quite comfortable, thank you, Darcy.”
“Then what is it?”
Relieved that he could unburden himself, Bingley twisted to face the other gentleman, and said,
“It’s Caroline. You know how she is, Darcy. She never listens to anything I say and can be quite intimidating.”
Darcy sighed. Caroline, as the youngest of the Bingley siblings, had apparently always managed to get her own way, even from an early age. Now, as an adult, she still expected to have her every whim catered for, and ever idea approved of and acted upon. She often talked over people, ignoring their words and advice, and did virtually as she pleased. Only he, it seemed, held any sway over her. But that was before he had become engaged to Elizabeth.
Darcy knew he should not interfere between Bingley and his sister, but he also knew Charles was too weak to reel Caroline in alone.
“I can help if you like, Charles?” Darcy offered.
“Oh, would you, Darcy? Caroline always heeds your advice.”
“Mmm,” was all the reply Darcy could offer.
Their visit to forty-two Briar Crescent was relatively brief. The butler showed them into the drawing room and then went to inform his mistress of their arrival.
Mrs Hurst walked in first, entering in a dignified manner, and greeted her guests politely, before seating herself in a chair by the fire.
Caroline, on the other hand, swept in like a hurricane. Flinging open the door and then pausing in the portal for dramatic effect, before entering the room fully.
No-one knew quite what to expect or where to begin, but Caroline’s voice was both aggressive and defensive, while her manner was unrepentant and defiant.
“If you think I am going to apologise you have had a wasted journey,” she said haughtily.
Caroline’s anger was evident, not only in her words and actions but by the fierce flush that covered her cheeks, which clashed with the burnt orange dress she was wearing.
Darcy and Mr Bingley deferred to Mr Bennet, giving him the floor to first question Caroline about Miss Lydia’s whereabouts.
“Miss Bingley, I am an old man and dislike leaving my manor to travel the city at the best of times, but you have managed to not only rouse me from my home, but you have also succeeded in being the first woman to arouse my anger. Where is my daughter?”
Caroline looked at Mr Bennet with the usual sneer of contempt she bestowed on everyone who was not Darcy.
“Why would I know where Miss Lydia is, I am not her keeper?”
Roused to go even further, Mr Bennet said,
“I did not mention Lydia by name, madam. Now, do you deny carrying my daughter off in Mr Darcy’s carriage last evening?”
Caroline was on the verge of confirming her denial but realised there was no point. She had hoped Mr Darcy would come alone with only her brother, but she knew by the set of his jaw and the steely cold glare in his eyes, that the likelihood of them ever being alone together again was minuscule.
“I do deny it, sir?” she said brazenly, “However, when I left Hertfordshire, I did allow a runaway to ride inside my carriage rather than the storage box where I found them.”
“And this runaway was Lydia, my daughter?”
“It was.”
“So, where is she now? Bring her down at once so that we may be on our way.” Mr Bennet said impatiently.
A slow smile spread over Caroline's face as she moved a few steps closer to Mr Bennet, and whispered,
“I cannot, she is not here.”
“Not here?” echoed Mr Bennet, “Then where is she, madam?”
Caroline sauntered over to where Mr Darcy was standing. Leaning unnecessarily close to him, she lowered her chin and raised her eyes, trying to look coquettish.
Then, in her best come-hither voice, she greeted Mr Darcy,
“Fitzwilliam.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from everyone present at Caroline’s blatant breach of protocol, but this time, it was her brother who reprimanded her.
“Caroline! Have you no shame?” asked Mr Bingley, “Darcy is an engaged man.”
“Mr Darcy’s refined manners will be wasted on that country chit,” Caroline said huskily, ignoring her brother's rebuke.
Sidling up even close to Darcy, Caroline raised her hand and softly caressed his cheek, saying,
“What Mr Darcy needs is a woman, a real woman, a sophisticated woman. What Fitzwilliam Darcy needs…is me.”
No-one, least of all Caroline, saw Mr Darcy rais
e his hand, it was done so swiftly and so silently. Grabbing Caroline’s wrist in a firm hold, Darcy purposely forced it away from his face.
“You forget yourself, madam,” Darcy said, the coldness in his voice enough matched the steeliness of his eyes.
Caroline tried to break his hold, but Darcy had more to say.
“Elizabeth Bennet is no country chit, madam; she is ten times the woman you are. She is kind and caring and thoughtful. She is affable and honest and righteous. Intelligent and witty and generous.” Pausing to draw in a calming breath, he continued thus, “Elizabeth is dependable and loyal and respectful. And moreover, she is beautiful both inside and out. Something which you can no longer lay claim to, Miss Bingley. The vitriol, anger, and malice you choose to rain upon others have damaged your beauty beyond repair. And you madam, are the last woman I would ask to be my wife!” Darcy finally released Miss Bingley’s hand, thrusting it away with enough force to twist Caroline away from him.
The room was silent.
A wave of humiliation engulfed Caroline who instantly began to sob.
It was at this point that Mrs Hurst intervened. She hurried over to her sister and put a consoling arm around her shoulders.
“Come, sister, tell them what they need to know and then they will leave us in peace.”
“Never!” spat Caroline through her ragged sobs.
Louisa Hurst had not always agreed with her sister’s action, and indeed this was one of those times. However, she was still her younger sister, and although it was evident to everyone else that Mr Darcy had no interest in her, Caroline had just had her heart broken. Her actions could not be condoned, but they could be explained.
“Very well, I will tell them,” said Mrs Hurst, wanting to bring this unpleasant meeting to a conclusion.
“Mr Bennet, Miss Lydia was not the only passenger my sister picked up last night. As the carriage neared the crossroads just outside Meryton, Lydia begged my sister to stop. Immediately the horses had come to a halt, a man in uniform opened the door and climbed in. Apparently, Miss Lydia was not running away, Mr Bennet; she was eloping.”
Mr Bingley and Mr Bennet looked at each other and then at Mr Darcy, but Mr Darcy’s eyes had remained on Caroline.
In a low, guttural voice, he asked,
“Who was it, Miss Bingley?”
Caroline shook her head and buried her face in her hands. She could not bear for any of them to look at her.
With some gentle coaxing from Mrs Hurst, Caroline’s weeping momentarily subsided.
Seizing this opportunity, Darcy repeated his question.
“Tell me who climbed into the carriage, Miss Bingley?”
Raising her tear-sodden eyes just long enough to meet Mr Darcy’s stare, she shouted,
“It was Mr Wickham. Miss Lydia was eloping with George Wickham.”
Chapter Nineteen
The journey back to Darcy House was a sombre one, with each of the gentlemen lost in their own thoughts. It wasn’t until they had closed the study door behind them that the issue was again raised.
Mr Bingley, who had never had to deal with anything so unsavoury as an elopement before, was at a loss to know where to begin looking for Miss Lydia. He felt all the weight of Caroline’s behaviour and involvement on his shoulders, and desperately wanted to make reparation to Mr Bennet. After all, such a scandalous happening could jeopardise his chance of marrying Jane.
“I suppose we should inform the runners, and hope they locate Miss Lydia and Wickham before any damage is done?” Mr Bingley asked naively.
“I am afraid the moment Lydia met that worthless young man the damage was done,” sighed Mr Bennet.
Until now, Mr Darcy had appeared to be listening to his companion’s debate. Their suggestions of, send for the runners, scour the street, inform the magistrate, were all good ones, had it not been George Wickham they were dealing with.
He, however, knew exactly what to do next.
Darcy was no stranger to the baser instincts that George Wickham possessed. Having shared rooms with him at university, Darcy had witnessed first-hand how licentious and debauched Wickham’s behaviour could be. If they were to rescue Lydia with her maidenhood intact, every second counted.
“Enough speculation, gentlemen. The runners are too slow and too few. They have no idea of what Wickham is capable of. I, on the other hand, know just the person to ask where Mr Wickham would hide with a young girl.”
Mr Bingley and Mr Bennet looked at Darcy with anticipation, as they waited for him to elaborate.
“Due to the nature of her involvement with my family, I have for almost a year now had a certain, Mrs Younge’s whereabouts relayed to me every month. The woman has moved around the country several times, but never too far from her accomplice. I propose to pay her a visit directly. Once I have ascertained the location of Wickham’s hiding place, you may join me if you wish. Though I must warn you, George Wickham has a dark side to his nature, one which we are likely to encounter when we find him.”
Neither Mr Bennet, being a man who liked to exert himself as little as possible, nor Mr Bingley, a young and somewhat unworldly gentleman, argued to accompany Darcy on his fact-finding mission.
And so, Darcy set on his own to confront the woman who had betrayed his trust and almost led Georgiana into ruin.
Darcy stood rapping on the door of the address his lawyer had supplied him with some weeks ago. Several flecks of old paint flake off as his silver-topped cane made contact with the wood.
No answer.
Darcy knocked again, this time with increased force.
As he strained to catch any sound of habitation, Darcy could hear the faint sound of voices.
Knocking for the third time, Darcy shouted through the wooden structure.
“I know you are in there. I can hear you talking.”
For a few seconds, all fell silent; then a chair could be heard as it was dragged across the floor.
Losing his patience, Darcy shouted even louder,
“OPEN THIS DOOR!”
Glaring at the door handle, Darcy was relieved to see it begin to turn.
The instant a crack appeared, Darcy thrust his foot into the opening and added some weight behind his shoulder to force it open.
What he found on the other side of the door, shocked him speechless for a moment.
Before him, in what could only be described as rags, were several young children. The tatters of clothes that hung from their emaciated bodies were covered in stains, of what appeared to be a combination of food, beer, and human fluids. Their faces and matted, hacked hair were almost as dirty as their bare feet. His heart lurched as the sight of such neglect.
The terrified children huddled together behind the half-open door, their saucer-like eyes peering up at the official-looking gentleman who had just stepped in from the street.
Darcy cast his eyes over the group of children and then singled out a girl of about seven years of age.
“Are you the oldest?” Darcy asked.
The girl nodded.
“Where are your parents, child?”
His soft reassuring voice gave the girl confidence to speak, and she replied,
“Dead, sir.”
As Darcy considered the face of the girl, he thought he saw something familiar, but instantly shook it off.
“Are all your parent’s dead?”
“Yes, sir. That’s why we live at the orphanage.”
It was an answer Darcy had not expected. Apparently, Mrs Younge had found a more lucrative form of employment than that of a companion.
Before he could question them further, a young woman of about eighteen years walked in through the half-open door.
Immediately, she began to berate the children for opening the door.
“What had the mistress told you? You are not to be seen and not to be heard. Now…”
She stopped mid-sentence as she finally realised they were not alone. Her eyes quickly assessed Darcy, who was standing f
ully in the hallway. She could see he was a gentleman, and obviously not pleased about something.
“I am sorry if these little beggars have been bothering you, sir. They all know better than to come out of the dormitory.” She gave them a scowl, but the smile that followed told them her anger was not sincere. “They sometimes sneak out when the mistress goes out. Was she expecting you, sir?”
Darcy watched as the children scampered to the girl and cleaved to her legs, vying for her attention. They trust her. Some small ray of sunshine in what he could only surmise was a meagre and wretched existence.
His all-encompassing glance, though brief, missed nothing. Her face was scrubbed clean, and her cheeks were rosy from being out in the cold. Her hair was tied back with a brightly coloured piece of cloth and pinned to her head was a straw hat that had seen better days. She wore a grey dress that was a little too big for her slender frame, and the black boots on her feet were scuffed at the toes and heels. A thin shawl rested on her shoulders, which would have afforded her little protection from the December air. Her hands were ungloved and chapped red, probably from manual labour. Resting in the crook of her arm was a wicker basket, its size exaggerated by its merger contents. Only a small loaf of bread and a trifling cube of cheese lay lost on the bottom of the carrier.
Deciding his tactics, Darcy quickly ascertained he would gain more information from this young woman if he befriended her, rather than browbeat her.
“I’m afraid it is my fault, they only opened the door because I was insistent. Your mistress, Mrs Younge, will she be very long…?” he asked.
Reassured by his soft, almost jovial tone, the girl replied,
“Sarah.” She smiled shyly. “A while I would think. The mistress has gone to see her special friend. I understand he is just back from the country.”
It must be Wickham, Darcy thought.
Intent on winning her trust, and wanting to inspect more of the premises, Darcy asked for a glass of beer, and then followed her through into what she called, the best parlour.
Mr Darcy's Proposal Page 15
