A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  “Darcy!”

  Darcy’s mind raced. Wickham would be killed for being a deserter if they but left him tied up in the cottage until his leave had run out. “I believe we may finally have the leverage we require.”

  “And where would you put him? If you force Wickham into a different regiment, it will only be a matter of time before his resentment of you supersedes any promise of good behaviour he makes, and then he will be even more determined to gain revenge.” Fitzwilliam frowned. “I wager anywhere in England would be too close.” His mouth fell open as though he’d been poleaxed. “You’re going to send him to the colonies?”

  Darcy hesitated. That had been one of the thoughts crowding through his mind like an unruly litter of pups. But he could not take that option—Wickham would be free to prey on others and if this experience had taught him nothing else, it was that Wickham was unwilling to change and would be a danger to everyone around him as well as to himself. No, he could not let Wickham go free. But Fitzwilliam was right: anywhere in England was too dangerous. He hated the conclusion he had reached, wished his childhood friend had been willing to make different choices, but this would give Wickham a chance, albeit a slim one.

  “No, I’m going to enlist him in the Navy.”

  Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows shot up. “The Navy?”

  Darcy gave a sharp nod. “It is not impossible to work one’s way up, but neither will Wickham’s behaviour be ignored. And he cannot escape—”

  “He’ll be off the ship at the first port,” Fitzwilliam said derisively.

  “Not if we explain his prior behaviour to the captain—especially if he has the right captain,” Darcy said, a plan forming as he considered the few captains he was personally acquainted with.

  Fitzwilliam hummed as though still weighing the possibilities.

  Darcy remained silent. Wickham would not like this solution at all, but if given the choice between death and a potential opportunity for escape later, Darcy thought his old enemy would choose the Navy. It was a harsh life, but it was living.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Penn’s voice rang out.

  Darcy nearly dropped his burden as he whirled in the direction from which the call had come. Through the hedge, he could see his valet with two other men carrying a large man-shaped burden. He and Fitzwilliam set Mr. Havener down and rushed over to the group. The men all appeared to be no more the worse for wear than they would be after a day of tearing through undergrowth during a hunt.

  “You are unharmed?” Darcy asked Penn, clasping his friend’s shoulder.

  Penn nodded as they set the giant down. “And you, sir?”

  “Fine,” Darcy said.

  Penn reached up with a handkerchief to wipe the side of Darcy’s head. “I rather think not,” he said, holding up the handkerchief to show a splotch of blood.

  Darcy put a hand to his head, gingerly feeling the bump there. “I have a headache, but I doubt it will last for more than a couple of days.”

  Penn raised an eyebrow but did not dispute Darcy’s words.

  Fitzwilliam was similarly ensuring the safety of his man.

  “Did he cause you much trouble?” Darcy asked, gesturing towards the man who, according to Tommy’s information, was presumably Mr. Nimbleton.

  Penn shook his head. “Not at all. He was so focused on trying to catch Mr. Roberts that it was simple enough for Mr. Baker and I to render him unconscious.”

  “That was the plan,” Fitzwilliam drawled.

  “A good plan,” Darcy returned.

  Fitzwilliam gestured to the two battered men who had assisted Wickham. “And what do you intend to do with these two?”

  Darcy sighed. “I suppose we cannot have them around to tell tales either.”

  “If I may, sir,” Penn broke in.

  “Of course. What do you suggest?” Darcy asked.

  “Speak to the lad who identified them. If they have a history of such offenses, they may be amenable to going to one of the colonies rather than being otherwise dealt with.”

  “We cannot bring them to trial,” Darcy said regretfully.

  “I doubt they will chance such a thing anyway,” Penn pointed out. “Kidnapping is a hanging offense.”

  “Very well.”

  The small man groaned, and Fitzwilliam, drawing his dagger, strode over to where Darcy and he had left Mr. Havener. “If you cooperate, you will not be killed,” he growled, waving the dagger in front of the bleary-eyed man. “If not . . . .”

  Mr. Havener nodded vigorously, then winced as though his head had violently protested the movement. “It were Wick’am,” he said in a rush. “ ‘E was the one who paid us to ‘elp ‘im. We never signed up for no kidnappin’. We was only supposed to provide a cart and ‘orse for ‘im and take a message to the lady.”

  “Then why did you not stop him once it became a kidnapping?” Darcy asked coldly.

  “We didn’t have no choice, gov’ner. Wick’am knew we’d gotten the ‘orse and cart and where we’d gotten ‘em from. ‘E would ‘ave turned us in for a ‘angin’ offense if we’d’ve squealed on ‘im, beggin’ your lordship’s pardon.”

  “Did you not consider that being an accomplice to kidnapping would be rather riskier?”

  The man nodded once more, more gingerly this time. “But we didn’t ‘ave no choice. We might’ve been all right this way, but not if ‘e had turned us in.”

  “Well, now you shall have to deal with the fact that you’ve kidnapped someone.”

  The man trembled. “It weren’t our fault! Ol’ Jasper and I, we couldn’t’ve done anything else.”

  Darcy nearly growled at him. “And the lady?”

  “What lady?” Mr. Havener asked shakily.

  Fitzwilliam moved the dagger closer.

  “I don’t know who she is!” the man squealed. “She’s the maid to some swell up at Netherfield.”

  “Would you recognise her if you saw her again?” Darcy asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Then I may yet have a use for you, for now.”

  Fitzwilliam drew his pistol and gestured towards Roberts. His man seemed to know exactly what his colonel desired, because he strode forward and searched Mr. Havener, removing two knives from his person. Roberts then proceeded to search Mr. Nimbleton and confiscated his various weapons as well.

  The Bennet sisters were still huddled together on the ground when the men returned. Bingley stood near them, his gun pointed towards the cottage, his face resolute. Darcy had no doubt that Bingley would not hesitate to shoot Wickham if the man emerged—not that the villain would be likely to wake for some time given Fitzwilliam’s rough treatment.

  After depositing Wickham’s two accomplices against one wall of the cottage, Darcy asked Penn to obtain the bandages and whatever else might be useful from the carriage. His friend immediately left, taking Roberts with him lest they run into any other surprises.

  “I believe we should wait to interrogate Wickham until the Bennets are gone,” Darcy said in a low voice as soon as he reached Bingley.

  His friend’s expression hardened even further. “I agree. There are things no woman should hear.”

  Bingley appeared as bloodthirsty as Fitzwilliam did when speaking of Wickham, and Darcy was concerned he would have to be the voice of reason to both men, despite the rage coursing through his own veins. “I do not believe such measures will be necessary. As Fitzwilliam pointed out, if we simply confine Wickham until his leave is up, he will have a death sentence for desertion.”

  “But—”

  Darcy put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Bingley, I am as—distraught as you are. I feel equally to blame for not protecting the Bennets as I swore I would. However, I refuse to allow Wickham to cause me to behave as someone I do not wish to be. Yes, he has hurt the woman I love. Yes, he deserves much misery for that. But I will not become someone who reacts out of hatred.” Darcy recalled the resentment simmering in his chest when he had written the letter to Elizabeth Before. His lack of ch
arity had made him even more reluctant to reach out to Elizabeth later. No, he would not allow Wickham to hurry him into forsaking those character improvements he had worked so hard to effect.

  “I agree,” Fitzwilliam said reluctantly as he walked up to the pair. “The blaggard deserves death or worse, and I would see justice done—” he looked hopefully at his cousin.

  Darcy shook his head.

  Fitzwilliam deflated. “But he is not worth the trouble,” he muttered.

  Darcy was grateful for Fitzwilliam’s support, reluctant though it might be. He could not bear the idea of warping his soul by killing someone in cold blood. It would have been one thing to shoot Wickham in order to rescue Miss Lydia or Bingley; it was another to kill him now as he lay unconscious and tied up in the cottage.

  “Besides, Darcy has come up with a punishment that might be near enough to a living hell,” Fitzwilliam said, appearing more cheerful.

  “What is that?” Bingley asked.

  “The Navy,” Darcy said. “Under a captain who is aware of his misdeeds and who will keep him from telling tales or deserting.”

  Bingley frowned, appearing to consider the idea. “I suppose it would keep him from causing trouble elsewhere,” he said dubiously.

  “Or from returning to cause trouble here,” Darcy added.

  “And some of those captains are merciless,” Fitzwilliam added gleefully. “Wickham will be miserable enough on the open sea with no women and no alcohol. And he will not be able to avoid the gambling debts he accrues.”

  Distaste and something more flickered across Bingley’s face before he finally nodded. “Only if we can ensure he will cause no further difficulties.”

  Darcy glanced to where the Bennet sisters sat. Elizabeth held his gaze, her eyes worried. Yes, he would ensure that Elizabeth and her family were safe from Wickham—even if it took paying a captain to guarantee Wickham’s behaviour.

  His thoughts turned to the practicalities of protecting the Bennets from the more immediate danger: gossip. Patches of dirt covered Miss Lydia’s dress, and her hair was hopelessly tangled. He was not sure that they could pass off her actions as a mere prank—not in her current state. Perhaps a prank gone wrong? Or perhaps they could say that her injuries necessitated immediate care at Netherfield and get her cleaned up before she returned to Longbourn?

  Fitzwilliam gave him a gentle push. “Go. Baker and I will keep an eye on these two,” he said, gesturing to Wickham’s lackeys.

  Darcy’s feet moved before he even had time to consider his actions, Elizabeth’s concern drawing him to her. He crouched down beside the three women. “Do you require anything?” he asked Elizabeth.

  She made a face. “I do not know.”

  “Miss Lydia, is there anything I can offer you to ease your pain and distress?”

  Miss Lydia’s sobs began again. “How can you be so kind to me?”

  “Pardon?”

  “George said—I heard him talking to those men about how he was being paid to—to ruin my family, ruin your chance at happiness with Lizzy, and cause Mr. Bingley to reject Jane. I could have—it would have been my fault if—”

  Darcy shook his head. “No, Miss Lydia. Do not let Wickham convince you that his actions are your fault. I have too often fallen into that same trap. Merely take responsibility for your part and try to make it right.”

  Miss Lydia gulped a breath. “I—I do not know how to do that.”

  “Wickham said you were injured trying to escape,” Darcy said gently. “It sounds as though you had already realised your actions were detrimental to your family.”

  “I couldn’t—I swear,” she looked up at Miss Bennet, “I swear, Jane, I wouldn’t have done it if I’d have known that’s what he planned to do.”

  “I know, dearest,” Miss Bennet said soothingly.

  Elizabeth appeared to be biting her tongue, and Darcy decided to give her a moment’s respite before she said something she might end up regretting. “Miss Elizabeth, might I trouble you for a moment of your time?”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow but allowed him to draw her away from her sisters. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

  “You looked as though you needed a moment,” Darcy murmured. “As one who has already had a sister experience something similar, I am familiar with the need.”

  Her eyes widened. “Thank you. I admit I am somewhat overwhelmed by the situation.”

  “You appeared to be frustrated by Miss Lydia’s response.”

  “She still does not seem to realise that she did anything wrong!” Elizabeth burst out.

  “She sounded contrite a moment ago.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “She is contrite that she did not grasp Wickham’s intentions—not that she attempted to elope with a penniless soldier who had no reason to marry her.”

  “Perhaps Miss Lydia merely requires time for the reality to sink in.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together.

  “Georgiana was angry with me at first,” Darcy confessed. “She believed that I had precipitated Wickham’s plot by refusing to give him the living at Kympton. She went through a great many emotions, settling on guilt only the month before I arrived at Netherfield.” Darcy grasped her hand. “Your sister may not see her wrong at first, but I do not believe that trying to convince her of the reality now will be beneficial. Miss Lydia has been through an ordeal, and she requires kindness and compassion to recover from it. As she is a Bennet, it seems likely that berating her will only cause her to dig in her heels and attempt to go the opposite direction,” he said dryly.

  Elizabeth’s frown deepened before she finally gave a small chuckle. “I suppose you have had ample experience in that matter.”

  “I have,” Darcy said with a small smile. “If she does not realise her error once the magnitude of her situation has had time to sink in, then you can confront her.”

  “You are right.”

  Darcy’s smile grew. The fact that Elizabeth no longer hated him but instead respected his opinion and cared about what he had to say had not grown old—particularly after her harsh denunciation of Before—and he doubted it ever would.

  “Have you considered how best to return Lydia home?” she asked.

  “I was just contemplating that very thing. I do not know. Her condition and mien do not lend themselves to the appearance of a prank.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Nor could we pass off the injury to her neck as a simple scrape.”

  “I was wondering if it would be best for us to take her to Netherfield,” Darcy said hesitantly. “You and Miss Bennet could return her appearance to a semblance of normality and then take her home. Perhaps we could claim that she fell while hiding in the midst of her prank.”

  Elizabeth stared over towards Miss Lydia. “So she wrote the letter and then hid as a prank, but was injured in the midst of hiding?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do not know,” Elizabeth said, her fingers tightening on his. “If my mother does not see her, she will believe the worst, regardless of what anyone says. But if we return to Longbourn while she is in this state, it is unlikely that Lydia will recover given my mother’s attentions. She will berate Lydia for not taking into account her distress.”

  “Perhaps Miss Bennet will have a suggestion,” Darcy said.

  “I will ask her once Lydia is calmer.”

  Darcy glanced towards the sky. They had approximately another hour until dusk. If they returned Miss Lydia before nightfall, their chances of concealing the matter were much greater.

  “Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked, concern filling her voice.

  “Yes, I was merely determining how soon we need to leave in order to return to Longbourn before dusk.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I meant, are you all right?” she raised a hesitant hand to trace the side of his face where he felt a tightness—most likely due to Wickham’s punch.

  “Nothing that a few days will not cure,” he said stoutly.

  “I was so worried,�
�� Elizabeth said. “I could not bear it if you—if Wickham had—I was so worried,” she repeated, clasping her hands together tightly as though preventing them from reaching out again.

  Darcy unclasped her hands, taking one and chafing it to warm it. “I know. I was worried when I realised that Mr. Havener must have passed right by you. I am grateful that he did not find you.”

  Elizabeth exhaled a shaky breath. “It was rather more nerve-wracking than I expected, but Jane and I merely remained very still in the bush, and he did not notice us.”

  “I am glad,” Darcy said, pressing her fingers.

  “I do not know what we would have done if you had required assistance.”

  Darcy smiled down at her, a fierce Elizabeth filling his mind’s eye as she knocked out one of the men with a branch. “I am certain you would have managed something. But I am glad you did not try to assist—I do not like the thought of you in danger.”

  “Then perhaps you ought to avoid dangerous situations,” Elizabeth retorted.

  “I shall do my best.”

  Penn and Roberts arrived, carrying supplies, and Elizabeth, after a final squeeze of Darcy’s hand, hurried to Miss Lydia and Miss Bennet. Darcy followed them, unsure if there was anything he could do to assist but wishing to be available. The ladies cleaned and bandaged Miss Lydia’s neck and then wrapped her ankle until someone more qualified could examine it.

  Fortunately, Miss Bennet pointed out that Miss Lydia had brought her things away with her, and Miss Lydia informed them that her bag was in the cottage. Fitzwilliam and Darcy collected them, verifying that Wickham was still unconscious while they were at it, and the Bennet sisters repaired to the carriage where they tidied Miss Lydia’s appearance to that of a young woman who could have believably fallen rather than been flung about on a dirt floor. The men re-tied Wickham’s two lackeys to trees some distance from each other so that they did not require such careful watching and the group could conference regarding Miss Lydia’s return to Longbourn and her mother. Darcy was hopeful they could contrive some method of preserving Miss Lydia’s reputation.

  “I would rather go home than to Netherfield,” Miss Lydia said sullenly, as she sat on a carriage blanket spread on the ground.