Memory: Volume 2, Trials to Bear, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (Memory: A Tale of Pride and Prejudice)

by Wells, Linda

  “I should have seen Mrs. Younge dismissed.”

  Fitzwilliam spoke with frustration, “I agreed with the plan to watch her, Darcy. Your kindness served us, we knew where she was.”

  “But she surely entertained him when he escaped; we all know what that spinster overheard even if she did not, and how coincidental that it was heard on days when he was free. No, somehow she maintained contact, and he knew it was safe to go to her. You said yourself she should be brought to trial!”

  “I doubt that she knew what he had planned. I imagine she envisioned running away with him, nothing more.” Lord Matlock offered.

  “Do not placate me, Uncle. I have failed my family. I nearly killed my wife and daughter.” Darcy carefully placed the box containing Elizabeth’s hair into his waistcoat and went to work twisting his ring.

  “If you wish to take that attitude, then what of your father’s culpability?” Lord Matlock instantly felt his nephew’s burning glare. “He began this by indulging him.”

  “Do not dare to speak against my father!” Darcy’s voice was almost a growl. “He was a mourning man who Wickham used. I am the one who should have stopped this. I am the one who knew what he was.”

  “I am not insulting your father; I am trying to make you see reason! As much as you wish to shoulder this responsibility alone, you cannot do that. The guards at the prison I hold responsible above anyone. If they had been doing their work, Wickham would be on his way to Australia as we speak!” Lord Matlock’s voice rose as Darcy’s expression showed his stubborn refusal to listen. “We all advised you, we all supported these decisions. Richard is no babe in the woods, I am no wide-eyed youth. We all agreed on the plans.”

  “You told me I was either a fool or brilliant. We know which it was.” Darcy spat.

  Lord Matlock spoke sharply. “Mrs. Younge did not attack you.”

  “But she harboured Wickham, I know that she did. I should have shouted his guilt to the world!” Darcy said angrily. “Why, why, did I not expose him!” He pounded his fist on the side of the coach, making the others jump. “And now I have subjected …” He fell back into his guilty thoughts.

  Harwick broke the uncomfortable silence. “I know that you value your privacy deeply, Darcy. I know that you did not care to have this exposed to the world the first time. I believe that Elizabeth sees this hearing today as yet another violation just as you do, and feels as ill as you.” Darcy turned to him and his torment was clearly visible. Harwick continued quietly, “But she does not blame you for what happened; she puts the blame where it belongs, with Wickham. He alone is at fault. Elizabeth loves you, deeply and unconditionally. Do not insult her love by becoming bitter for actions that you did not take and crimes that Wickham did.”

  Darcy stared into Harwick’s eyes and nodding, closed his own tight. “Thank you.” He drew a deep breath and held his stomach. “I feel as if I will be sick.”

  “Hang on, Son.” Lord Matlock gripped his arm while Bingley hurriedly opened the window. “We will be home soon.”

  Taking some time to calm, he sighed and rubbed his temples. “Thank you, all of you, for your care for us these past weeks. I know that I am given to dark contemplation, and as much as I appreciate your solid support today, I am afraid that the fraternity is not what I require to be relieved of my burden. I need my wife. The tension of the past weeks, and then knowing for certain that this day was coming, despite knowing the inevitable conclusion, has been nearly unbearable. Without her by my side, I do not know that I could have been kept from running mad. I cannot possibly explain how it felt to be forced to sit calmly across from him, knowing what he meant to achieve. She is well, and it is over.” He breathed heavily again, clearly trying to convince himself of the fact. Slowly the colour began to return to his pale features.

  “It is not quite over. Will you attend the hanging, Darcy?” De Bourgh asked.

  “No.” He shook his head, and his deadened eyes gradually became sharp and focussed once again. “My initial thoughts remain. I have no desire to see him drop, nor tolerate the spectacle of the crowd or witness the deaths of the other criminals who will meet justice that day. I saw that he was beaten, a shadow even of the man who attacked us four weeks ago. That he survived to face his sentence is surprising, and to witness his resignation upon hearing it was …dissatisfying. I do not know why.”

  De Bourgh watched him and put forth his argument, “But to see the sentence carried out, would that not be satisfying? To know for certain that he no longer walks the earth, and can never touch you or your family again?”

  Darcy spoke without emotion. “There is no question in my mind that he is forever gone from us, that was decided when he attacked. I know what will happen. I saw a man hung in Lambton; Father insisted that I witness it. He wished me to understand that it was not meant to be entertainment, but a deterrent.”

  Turning his head to stare out of the window, he spoke quietly, “I saw a highwayman dressed in his very best, bowing to the crowd, a glass of brandy in his hand as he was led to the gallows. I saw the nightcap of his favourite prostitute drawn over his face, and the noose tightened around his neck. I heard the invocation of the vicar and then heard the creak and slam as the floor dropped out from below his feet. I saw his legs kick, heard his desperation to breathe, the gurgle in his throat, and saw the twitching and struggle of his body as his bound hands rose and his fingers clawed at the rope.” He swallowed and clasped his hands. “I watched him strangle for twenty minutes before he at last succumbed. And there he swung; twisting in the air for another hour to be sure the sentence had succeeded. All this while the crowd cheered and ate treats as if they were at a fair.” Darcy stared at his boots. “I watched his family fight to claim his body and fail. I saw it dipped in tar and hung on chains at the crossroads, and I saw it for years as it rotted away. No, I know what this sentence looks like. I thought that I would wish for Wickham to suffer in anticipation of it. To look at him today, I believe that he will welcome it. He knows what he lost. He knows that he should never have come to me again. He knows that the day I gave him Father’s money, he should have listened when I told him to never come near my home again. He has learned his lesson at last.”

  “Too late.” Fitzwilliam murmured. “He was never a good man, not even a good boy, Darcy. Perhaps he was not destined for the noose, but I have no doubt that he was never destined for the life your father tried to give him.”

  “I know, and I believe that is what has left me so dissatisfied, the waste. The waste of my father’s love and attention …” Darcy turned to feel the breeze from the open window. “The whole time as I sat through the hearing, I imagined having to face that bastard, to still be alive, and my Elizabeth gone.” He drew another deep breath and closed his eyes, “I cannot begin to contemplate having to return to Darcy House after this with her not there.” He opened his eyes to find Harwick’s steady gaze. “How did you ever survive?”

  “I lived for my children.” He said simply. “I had no will for anything else, not for years. But I did go on, and now I am happy again.” Harwick smiled softly, “And to be a father, again. Life goes on.”

  “A baby.” Darcy at last relaxed. “You will have your baby with Laura; I cannot begin to express my happiness for you both.” His sentiments were echoed by the other men and Harwick accepted handshakes from them all.

  “Thank you, she is thrilled as am I, and we cannot wait to tell our girls that a sibling is coming to join them. I suspect you will have another child with your Elizabeth before too long. Stop dwelling on what might have happened, and rejoice in what you have. She is well, and as gloriously wonderful as I have ever seen her. If I had seen her first …”

  “Now, Harwick, I would have taken that opportunity, I was at the ball before you.” Fitzwilliam winked.

  “But I saw her at the dance in Cheapside before that!” Bingley reminded them.

  “And if I had not been an idiot about far too many things, I would have had her as my bride
long ago.” Stewart smiled to see the deep frown that formed on Darcy’s face. “But then I would not have my beautiful Julia.”

  “Nor I my Eva.”

  “Nor I my Laura.”

  “Nor I my … Well, my nameless angel, one fine day.” Bingley smiled to see Darcy’s expression soften, and heard him chuckle slightly.

  “So friend, when you enter your home, what will you do? Present this glorious creature with that thunderous frown of yours, or greet her with the joy you feel to have her alive in your arms, and she feels to have you in hers?” Harwick looked pointedly at the ring beneath Darcy’s fingers and saw a slight lift come to his lips. “She needs you to be strong for her, and she will take her cue from the first sight of your face. I do not say to bounce into the house with a song on your lips, but perhaps a sense of relief would do just as well.”

  “HIGH DIDDLE DIDDLE, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, and the dish ran away with the spoon.”9 Elizabeth sang and rocked as Rosalie fed. She did not notice the nursery door open and close until Darcy was by her side and reaching out to tenderly caress the baby’s cheek. Rosalie looked at him and kept drinking. “Leave some for Papa.” He said softly.

  “I think that she needs it more than you do.” Elizabeth took his hand and he met her eyes. “Is it over?”

  “It will be Wednesday.” He kissed her palm and sat down beside her. “I do not wish to bear witness, but I do not wish to leave town until it has taken place.” He closed his eyes. “I cannot …bear the crowds. There will be five others that day. You know how they love the spectacle.”

  “I understand; I would not wish to see it either. There was a gibbet outside of Meryton once.”

  He caressed his lips over her fingers, then held her hand to his pale cheek. “I plan to wait at Surgeon’s Hall and see the body before it is … examined. Stewart will take us to the door where it will be brought in so we do not need to be near the crowd that witnesses the procedure.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He opened his eyes to see the concern and love in hers. “I need to witness that proof with my own eyes. I need to know that you are safe forever.” Leaning forward, he kissed her lips, and gently traced over them with his tongue. “I need you.” He whispered and kissed her cheek, and then her ear. Tenderly, he caressed his mouth over her throat. “Please.”

  “Is everyone still here?” She asked when he settled his face on her shoulder.

  “No.” Darcy murmured against her pulse. “Please.”

  Rosalie let go and Elizabeth lifted her up to stroke her back. Darcy kissed his daughter’s cheek and touched Elizabeth’s. “I will be right there, Fitzwilliam. I need you, too.”

  “Thank you, love.” He kissed her lips and rose to his feet. “I will be waiting.”

  “SEEMS YOU HAVE AN ADMIRIER, WICKHAM.” The guard announced as the door to his cell was unlocked.

  “Who?” He whispered and looked at the box that was set down on his cot. The area was littered with empty bottles, and remnants of meals. The condemned were afforded every indulgence from the day their death warrant was signed to the moment they walked up the steps to the gallows that were in clear view from their windows, and most of them preferred to indulge in drink.

  “Dunno, woman.” He lifted the lid. “Ahhhh, well, well, won’t you be looking fine on your walk?” He held up the topcoat and lawn shirt.

  “Dotty.” Wickham was left alone with the box and picked up the yellow feather that was tucked in the coat. There was no note, she could not risk it. He sank down on the cot and stared at the clothes, and remembered how he was going to save them to wear when they started over in America. A loud noise caught his attention and the cries of the other men in the condemned yard filled the air. He looked up and saw that the gallows were being tested. He began to shake as the tolling of the bells began.

  “Wickham.” The guard returned. “Better get dressed; it’s almost time for services.”

  Swallowing, he stood and mechanically began removing his clothes and putting on the fine suit. It hung off of him. From the next cell he heard another man. “God forgive you, Wickham.”

  “You, too.” He choked and ran to the corner where he retched.

  The door opened, “Let’s go.”

  His hands bound, he was led to the chapel and sat down. Hearing a chorus of voices, he looked up to see the leering faces of the spectators, then glanced once at the open coffin by his side, then up the aisle to see the line of coffins for his fellow travellers to justice that day. The room began to spin and he felt his stomach clench. He closed his eyes and thought of his father, and how he had laughed at the good man, then Mr. Darcy’s kind eyes appeared in his mind. “Fool.” He whispered. Darcy’s face appeared, haggard with the pain of his father’s death, and he heard his own voice sneering at him when he demanded more money, and Darcy’s, warning him to stay clear of his family. “I am a stupid fool.” He looked up to see the vicar delivering his words of comfort to the condemned. He attempted to listen, for once in his life. “Too late.” He muttered.

  Outside the sounds of the gathering crowds grew. He felt a hand on his arm and he was pulled to his feet. “It is time.” He heard a woman pleading to be let go, claiming that it was all a mistake. He heard her being dragged along, screaming for someone to help her. A man behind him cursed her for not facing it with dignity. Everything else around him was lost in the buzz of noise and the sickening fear that was welling up in his chest. The doors opened, the prisoners were lined up, and the slow march forward began.

  “George!” Wickham searched the crowd of people lining the narrow passageway leading to the gallows, and spotted the woman dressed in blue with the bright yellow feathers in her hair. “Dotty.” He croaked. He kept his eyes on hers as the guard led him forward and felt her hand on his arm when he passed. Numbly, he followed the four men and one woman up the steps, and stood before the dangling noose. Licking his parched lips, he searched the milling crowd until he spotted the feathers again, and kept his eyes on her until the black hood and the noose were slipped over his head. Somehow it was not quite so frightening in the dark; was it? Within seconds, the floor dropped out from under him.

  Fitzwilliam watched every step of Wickham’s last walk, and noticed the woman with the feathers. He marked her location and murmured to de Bourgh to keep his eye on Wickham while he watched her, and saw her hands fly to her face when he heard the bodies simultaneously drop and the crowd’s cheer as the woman’s skirt flew upwards to expose her flailing legs. Noting Wickham’s progress, he turned his attention back to the woman in the crowd. “I believe that may be Mrs. Younge.”

  Lord Matlock, happy to look at some other scene, leaned over. “Where?”

  Pointing, Fitzwilliam indicated the woman. “Shall we?”

  “We will never get there through this crowd.” De Bourgh said as they observed the party atmosphere.

  “I can get through anything.” Fitzwilliam stepped down from their prime viewing spot, and with the authority born of leading men into battle, easily parted the way so that they were eventually standing behind the woman. They heard her sob, then watched as she pulled the feathers from her hair and dropped them to the ground. De Bourgh nudged him and they saw that clutched in one hand was a handbill describing Wickham’s crimes. By now his body was still, and twisted gently while two others continued to strangle and twitch.

  Lord Matlock glanced at Fitzwilliam and nodded. He touched her shoulder and she turned, and recoiled, recognizing him. “Mrs. Younge? We have been looking for you.” Fitzwilliam’s cold gaze travelled down her face and stopped. “What is this?” He touched the pendant hanging around her throat, a butterfly made of blue sapphires. “Father?”

  Leaning forward, Lord Matlock’s eyes narrowed. “I know this necklace. It was a favourite of my sister’s. She wore it when she was being courted by her future husband, George Darcy.”

  “I believe that Darcy pre
sented this Fitzwilliam heirloom to Georgiana in exchange for the pearl, Father.” Richard watched her. “You know, Georgiana Darcy, your student?”

  “I … I do not know what you mean …” She stuttered.

  “Well, we will just see what the magistrate has to say about that.”

  25 JULY 1810

  I am sitting on our bed right now, carefully balancing this journal over my legs, and hoping that I do not drip ink over the sheets as I write. Beside me lies Fitzwilliam. His eyes are closed, but I know that he does not rest. On his chest is our sleeping daughter. It was all that he wanted when this day at last ended, to come to our rooms and be together.

  The events of this day will live on in all of our minds, and to record them will only force us to refresh our memories of images none us care to recall. Fitzwilliam put on a stoic front when he returned, but the mask he wore over his emotions did not fool me. He had left the viewing only to find himself with a magistrate. He left the magistrate only to interview Georgiana, who in turn admitted that she feared his disappointment when her mother’s necklace disappeared, and so never told him it had been lost. She remembered too late his warning to watch her purse when school began, and was careless with it. Fitzwilliam had the necklace in his hand as she spoke, and when she finished, he gave it to me. It will be given to Rosalie now, when she is old enough to appreciate the gift.

  “Lizzy.” He whispered. “Are you finished?”

  “I can be.” Elizabeth set the pen down and closed the inkpot and book. “What do you need?”

  “Perhaps it is time to put Rosa to bed.” He opened his eyes and kissed the baby’s curls. “I wish to sleep with you.”

  She smiled and carefully picked her up. “Come, baby.” Rosalie protested losing her pillow and immediately curled up in Elizabeth’s arms.