A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  “You do know that if you tell anyone else what happened with Mr. Wickham, even Mama, he will have accomplished his goal?” Elizabeth asked.

  Miss Lydia’s chin came up. “I am certain no one would hold Wickham’s falseness against me—it is not my fault that he lied about his love for me.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth, her eyes shooting darts, but Darcy put a hand on her shoulder.

  “It is true that those who understand about Wickham’s character will not hold his behaviour against you,” he began, “however, there are those who will hold your decision to elope with such a person against you and your family. Wickham intended to ruin your reputation and, through you, your family’s honour. Allowing anyone to know that you were unchaperoned with him for an entire day will only play into his hands. You will accomplish what he failed to do.”

  Miss Lydia cast an apprehensive look towards Miss Bennet.

  “He is right, Lydia,” Miss Bennet said softly. “If your reputation is ruined, it will affect the rest of us.”

  “But you do not have to worry about that. Mr. Bingley knows the truth,” Miss Lydia said. She turned to Bingley. “I did not intend to ruin Jane’s reputation. You will not withdraw your courtship, will you?”

  Bingley hesitated as though seeking the right words to say. “I will only withdraw my courtship should Miss Bennet wish it, but I do see the dangers of your reputation being ruined. Even if a hint of scandal should surround this event, it may prevent you from doing things you desire in the future, as well as affecting your sisters.”

  “Oh, very well,” Miss Lydia said petulantly. “Then what do you suggest I tell everyone?”

  “That you were playing a prank,” Darcy said firmly.

  “A prank?” Miss Lydia shrieked.

  “Yes. You pretended to elope and then hid somewhere nearby where you could watch the resulting pandemonium. Unfortunately, you were injured and unable to return.”

  “I see how that will suffice for her ankle injury, but the cut on her neck is somewhat different,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “A tree branch,” Penn said.

  Elizabeth blinked at him. “Pardon?”

  Penn looked to Darcy who nodded. “Miss Lydia received a scratch across her neck as she was walking through the woods,” Penn said. “If she keeps it bandaged, no one will be the wiser.”

  “That could work very well,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “Yes, thank you for the suggestion, Penn,” Darcy said.

  “Mama will be upset about your prank, but it cannot be helped,” Miss Bennet said. “I believe she was mostly upset that she would not get to plan your wedding,” she told Miss Lydia.

  Miss Lydia crossed her arms. “Having a wedding will be all right, I suppose, but eloping is so much more romantic.”

  Darcy only just kept himself from rolling his eyes. He could see why Elizabeth appeared to be on the verge of losing her temper: Miss Lydia did not seem to have any conception of or care for the trouble she had caused. Darcy reminded himself that she was only fifteen and needed compassion and care to process the events of the day.

  “If I may say so, sir,” Penn began, “your injuries would be rather more difficult to explain, as will Mr. Bingley’s and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s. You appear to have been in a scuffle.”

  Darcy frowned. “That is true. But will the servants be more likely to talk if we do not return?”

  “Why would they?” Penn asked.

  “We have been in and out of Longbourn all day. Will they not suspect that things are much more complicated than a mere prank if we fail to return?”

  “I do not believe so.”

  “Besides, it is not as though the servants haven’t heard Mrs. Bennet’s reactions,” Fitzwilliam said with an apologetic look towards Elizabeth and Miss Bennet.

  “That is true. I believe they are loyal enough that they will not gossip though,” Elizabeth said.

  Penn cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the servants are likely aware of Miss Lydia’s intentions and of your comings and goings, but as Miss Lydia’s ‘prank’ was intended to send searchers out, we need only return Miss Lydia and have Mr. Bennet send a message to you that Miss Lydia was found.”

  “Ah. Of course,” Darcy said.

  “And how do we explain Bingley’s carriage coming to collect Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth?” Fitzwilliam asked. “I suppose if Miss Lydia were hiding halfway between Netherfield and Longbourn, it would be reasonable that we might request a carriage from Netherfield to bring the Misses Bennet to Miss Lydia. But why the deuce would she be that far from home if she desires to watch the chaos?”

  Miss Lydia crossed her arms. “I do not know why I would be watching for that long, anyway! I have better things to do than watch people come and go from my own home.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Perhaps Lydia got bored and went for a walk on the path between Longbourn and Netherfield and was injured. The gentlemen noticed her on their way back to Netherfield—” She turned to Darcy. “Were you not returning to Netherfield before you sent for us?”

  Darcy nodded. “Our young friend spoke to me at Netherfield.”

  “Then it is perfectly reasonable that you noticed her on your way between the two places and that you did not notice her before as, before, you went into Meryton and from there to the main roads, not back to Netherfield,” Elizabeth said.

  “And the reason Bingley sent a carriage for you?”

  “A carriage was required to bring Lydia home due to her ankle injury, and you believed she would be more comfortable with her sisters present, in addition to ensuring her reputation.”

  Fitzwilliam frowned. “It seems a little silly to leave Miss Lydia sitting for so long, but then again, many of the rules of propriety are a little silly.”

  “If we discovered Miss Lydia, then why did we not accompany you all home?” Darcy asked.

  “Because you were called away on urgent business,” Elizabeth said, a faint twinkle dawning in her eyes.

  “Urgent business?” Darcy repeated skeptically.

  “Yes. And should anyone be rude enough to request specifics regarding your business, it is simple enough to reply that you cannot disclose the nature of it—it has the benefit of being true: I surmise you will wish to speak with Mr. Wickham, and it is urgent that my mother not witness your injuries.”

  Darcy smiled, then winced as the muscles pulled at the throbbing pain in his cheek. “Very well.” He turned to Miss Lydia. “Miss Lydia, are you satisfied with this story?”

  Miss Lydia’s arms remained tightly crossed. “I suppose so.”

  “It really is for the best, Lydia. Besides, think of how jealous Maria Lucas will be that you out-pranked her,” Miss Bennet said with a forced smile.

  An answering smile spread over Miss Lydia’s face. “That is true! She will be green with envy.”

  “But you cannot tell her the truth,” Elizabeth said sternly.

  “I’m not an idiot, Lizzy! I understand what I’m supposed to do even if it is ridiculous to care about what all those stuffed shirts think.”

  “Is there anything else that needs addressed?” Darcy asked after glancing again at the sun. They needed to get Miss Lydia home quickly or all their efforts would be for naught.

  No one replied, so Darcy asked Roberts to return the Bennet sisters to Longbourn and promised Elizabeth that he and Apollo would speak with her on the morrow. She seemed reluctant to leave him, but time was not on their side and so the Bennet sisters left, Miss Lydia’s fractious exclamations sounding from the back of the carriage even after they had begun moving.

  Chapter 41

  Afterwards, Darcy turned back to Fitzwilliam and Bingley with a sigh. “Now, what shall we do with Wickham’s lackeys? Do you desire to speak to Wickham tonight, or shall we leave him until morning?”

  Fitzwilliam frowned. “I am not certain we can leave him until morning, but perhaps we ought to send a message to Miss Bingley that we have been detained.”

  “You do
n’t think we ought to speak with her tonight in case she has any other schemes?” Bingley asked, raking a hand through his hair.

  Darcy ran a hand across his face. The last thing he desired to do on this already exhausting day was to confront Caroline Bingley. “I believe she will wait to see if her current scheme has succeeded before she sets another in motion.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded. “Though I still do not understand what she wished to accomplish with this. Are you certain your informant was correct?”

  “I do not see what Tommy would have to gain from lying about such a thing.” Darcy glanced towards the cottage. “Wickham may have more information.”

  “May I suggest that Mr. Baker and I remain here to keep an eye on the miscreants who assisted Mr. Wickham?” Penn asked.

  “Of course,” Darcy said. With leaden steps, he led the way to the cottage door. Wickham had finally gone too far. Miss Lydia’s terrified face when Wickham had held the knife close flashed through his mind. What had Wickham hoped to gain? Did he not know that Darcy would hunt him to the ends of the earth on Elizabeth’s behalf if she so desired? Or perhaps Wickham had not thought at all—it seemed to be a habit of his to ignore the ramifications his actions might have on the future in favour of the immediate results.

  He was so tired, exhausted from riding up and down the countryside and weary of Wickham’s tricks. If there were any way to leave the man to rot until the morning, he would do it, but they needed confirmation of Miss Bingley’s involvement. Nor did he wish to leave Wickham even a moment to weasel his way out of this—not that Darcy foresaw any means of doing so, but he knew that Wickham was more than capable of turning any situation to his own advantage, given the time and the least of resources.

  Fitzwilliam held up a hand as they approached the cottage. “I’ll go first. He is a slippery bastard.”

  Darcy studied him, then nodded. His cousin cautiously opened the door, pistol at the ready. After several moments of waiting in breathless silence, he ducked his head into the cottage, then called for the others to enter. Wickham had awoken at some point and had slid himself into a sitting position against the back wall. Fitzwilliam collected a rickety wooden chair from one of the corners, tested it, dusted it off, and then sat on it backwards, his pistol never wavering from Wickham through the whole. If the circumstances had not been so weighty, Darcy would have laughed: his Aunt Matlock had given Fitzwilliam countless lectures on the subject of not abusing chairs thus, but they had never stuck.

  Darcy stepped forward. “You have certainly gotten yourself into a difficult position this time, haven’t you, Wickham?”

  Wickham sneered. “Rather, I should say that you have gotten yourself into a difficult position, Darcy.”

  “Oh?” Fitzwilliam said, raising the pistol to aim it at Wickham’s head.

  Wickham cast a fearful glance at the pistol but then stiffened as though he were steeling himself. “You do not want your precious Georgiana’s indiscretions broadcast, do you?”

  Fitzwilliam chuckled. “Word to the wise, Wickham: don’t threaten the person holding a gun on you. Or did you forget that Georgiana is my ward too?” He glanced over at Darcy. “I am certain keeping him permanently silent would not be a problem.”

  “Darcy doesn’t believe in killing,” Wickham said with another sneer.

  Fitzwilliam bared his teeth. “But I do.”

  “You may be Darcy’s brains, but he holds you in check—he always has.”

  Bingley cleared his throat as though recalling them to the task at hand.

  “Why did you take Miss Lydia?” Darcy asked, his tone making it clear he would brook no answer but the truth.

  Wickham looked at him incredulously. “I have already answered that question: I needed the money.”

  “And Miss Bingley offered you a large sum to kidnap Miss Lydia?”

  “Perhaps a trade,” Wickham suggested.

  “Oh?”

  “If you pay me double what Lydia was worth,” Wickham said craftily, “I will not tell the world about her little lapse in judgement. If you double that, I’ll even keep my mouth shut about Georgiana.”

  Darcy shook his head. “No, I shall not pay you.”

  “Then I’ll proclaim both indiscretions to the world.”

  Darcy held Wickham’s gaze. “No, you will not.”

  “Killing doesn’t seem your style, Darcy, and it’s the only way I’ll stay quiet if you don’t pay me.”

  Darcy shook his head again. “No, it’s not.” He waited until a flicker of concern crossed Wickham’s eyes. “You’re absent from your regiment.”

  Wickham’s lips turned up, his smile showing bloody teeth. “I have leave.”

  “Only for the next three days,” Fitzwilliam said menacingly.

  Wickham paled.

  “All we have to do is return you to your regiment in a week, and you’ll be facing a death sentence,” Darcy said as though conversing about the weather.

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  Darcy leaned forward. “Try me.”

  Wickham studied him, then finally grimaced. “Fine. I will answer your questions in return for my freedom.”

  Darcy straightened. “No, Wickham. You have hurt too many people. You relinquished your right to freedom long ago. You will answer our questions for your life—nothing more and nothing less.”

  As Wickham studied him, his face began to fall. Darcy held his gaze unwaveringly, convinced that this course of action was both correct and more than Wickham deserved. In the silence, Wickham fidgeted, his shoulders hunching and fear snaking across his features as though the reality of his situation was dawning: No one would let him go. He had no friends to speak on his behalf, only the hundreds of people he had wronged who would be crying for his blood. Darcy found he pitied Wickham.

  Wickham swallowed hard. “And what will become of my life if I do not have freedom?”

  Darcy’s shoulders loosened as he realised that, even if Wickham was not fully aware of it, he was beaten. “If you do not wish to go to debtor’s prison, you will join the Navy.”

  A crafty look crossed Wickham’s face. He cast a wary glance towards Fitzwilliam. “And Fitzwilliam has agreed with you?”

  “Only if you answer our questions,” Fitzwilliam growled.

  Wickham settled back against the wall, looking as at ease as though he were hosting a hunt. “What do you want to know?”

  Darcy surmised that Wickham expected an easy escape from the Navy, and he would not disillusion the man; it would be much easier to get him on the boat if he were cooperating.

  “Did my sister pay you to kidnap Miss Lydia?” Bingley asked.

  Wickham sneered, whether at Bingley or the thought of Miss Bingley, Darcy could not tell.

  “No, she offered me a large sum to ruin the Bennets. She didn’t seem to care much how it was done, nor did she wish for details, and Lydia is a good sport—she wouldn’t have minded about such things as marriage licenses, at least not for a while.”

  “And did she give you a time frame for this commission?” Darcy asked, wondering how long they had before Miss Bingley enacted another plot.

  Wickham shrugged until Fitzwilliam straightened the gun once more. “Only that the time frame needed to be moved up!” he squeaked. “She had said she didn’t much care when I did it as long as it was before the new year, but then, two days ago, she arranged another meeting and was adamant that I deal with the Bennets immediately.”

  Darcy and Fitzwilliam exchanged looks. Perhaps Miss Bingley was more concerned about her brother’s courtship than they had realised. Darcy had expected the many complaints he had been subject to and the pleadings to assist Miss Bingley in “rescuing Bingley.” He had not expected anything more drastic, although Before she did lie to him about Miss Bennet’s feelings and manage to drag the entire party back to London, which was extreme—though not in comparison to this scheme. He had not considered that her actions Before showed her willingness to take harsh measures; certainly,
he would not have expected her to arrange for a kidnapping.

  “And how were you to let her know that you finished the job?” Fitzwilliam asked. “After all, I doubt she paid you all your money up front.”

  Wickham shifted uncomfortably. “I was to meet her here in two weeks, and she would give me the other half of my money. Or, if she had already returned to London, I could leave a message with her maidservant.”

  Darcy frowned.

  “I swear that’s all there is to tell,” Wickham said.

  “And did you hurt Miss Lydia?” Darcy asked fiercely. “How did you treat that child?”

  “As you arrived just after I had completed preparations to house Lydia elsewhere, I would not have had time to do anything.” Wickham smirked. “Besides, she is no prime article.”

  Fitzwilliam stood deliberately, the gun never wavering, and Wickham scrambled back against the wall. Darcy put a hand on Fitzwilliam’s arm, and Fitzwilliam lowered the pistol slightly.

  “I—I swear!” Wickham squawked. “I kissed her before you got here, but that was all. I did not have time for anything else!”

  Darcy suppressed a shudder, wishing they could have reached Miss Lydia minutes earlier, before Wickham had even had time to do that much. He turned to his friend. “Bingley, do you have other questions?”

  “How much did Caroline agree to pay you, and where is the money she has already paid you?” Bingley asked.

  “—— pounds. And I don’t see how you expect me to manage life on the sea without funds,” he whined.

  “I don’t care how you handle life on the sea,” Fitzwilliam said baldly. “Answer the man’s question.”

  “In my saddlebag,” Wickham blurted.

  “Which is where?” Fitzwilliam prodded.

  Wickham gestured to a pile of rotting blankets in one of the corners, and Darcy moved towards it, gingerly moving the disgusting mass to disclose a saddle bag, presumably Wickham’s. A small sum of money was inside a hidden pocket along with several other trinkets. Darcy did not doubt that more money was sewn in the bag’s lining, but he intended to look at it more closely later.