Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4

by Jennifer Lang

  ‘You are not Mrs Wickham, then?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘No,’ said Lydia. ‘I only said that so the innkeeper wouldn’t turn me away.’

  ‘Where is George?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘Off drinking somewhere,’ said Lydia.

  She spoke with a resigned air, as if this were usual. Then she brightened a little as she added, ‘Celebrating.’

  ‘Celebrating?’ enquired Elizabeth.

  ‘Yes.’ Lydia smiled, and there was a trace of the happy girl Elizabeth remembered. ‘We have a son.’

  Elizabeth pulled back and realised that the bed covers were bunched over Lydia’s stomach, so that she had assumed Lydia was still enceinte. But as Lydia reached over to the other side of the bed, Elizabeth saw that her figure was trimmer than expected. Then Elizabeth saw that her sister was reaching over to a crib, which was out of sight on the other side of the bed. Lydia moved with some difficulty but she lifted a bundle of blue blankets out of the crib and sat up with the baby in her arms.

  ‘Meet your nephew,’ she said to Elizabeth.

  ‘Oh, Lydia, he is beautiful,’ said Elizabeth, enchanted.

  The babe was an innocent and not to blame for his unorthodox entrance into the world.

  Lydia passed him to Elizabeth, who cradled him gently in her arms. He had a crown of fair hair and chubby little cheeks.

  ‘He arrived soon after I wrote the letter,’ said Lydia. ‘I had just enough money to pay for a midwife. I sold my locket a few weeks ago and I did not tell George. He would only have spent the money on drink. But now she has gone and I have only Moll, who has had no sleep for days, and I do not know what I am to do.’

  Her face was anxious again.

  ‘You need to rest,’ said Elizabeth, seeing how tired her sister was. ‘Sally is here, and between us we will look after you.’

  She turned to Lydia’s maid, Moll, who, she now noticed, was almost asleep on her feet.

  ‘You had better go to your room,’ Elizabeth said kindly to the girl. ‘Sally and I will care for your mistress until morning.’

  ‘Yes, Miss, thank you, Miss,’ said Moll, dropping a curtsey before departing.

  Lydia lay back against the pillows.

  ‘Did you tell Mama?’ asked Lydia.

  ‘No. Jane and I thought it wise not to tell her until we knew how matters stood. But I wrote to Aunt Gardiner and I expect a letter from her shortly, or perhaps she will even arrive.’

  ‘And no doubt lecture me,’ said Lydia, pulling a face.

  ‘Can you expect any less?’ asked Elizabeth reasonably.

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Lydia with a sigh. Then she said, ‘How did you get away, if Mama does not know? Did you tell Papa?’

  ‘No. He will not hear your name mentioned. You were very wrong not to write, Lydia. We have all been terribly worried, not knowing if you were alive or dead.’

  Lydia looked ashamed.

  ‘I kept meaning to, but I always thought I would be married in a few days, or a few weeks at most, and so I waited. I did not want to write until I could sign myself Lydia Wickham. What fun it would have been! But that moment never came.’

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘You are tired,’ said Elizabeth kindly. ‘Rest now. Sally will stay with you and I must eat, but afterwards I will sit with you tonight.’

  ‘Thank you, Lizzy. With you here I feel safe. I have been afraid to sleep in case . . .’

  ‘In case what?’ asked Elizabeth with a frown.

  ‘Oh, nothing. I am sure everything will be all right now you are here. Thank you for coming.’

  Elizabeth stroked her sister’s hair reassuringly. Lydia looked very young in her present weakened condition and although Elizabeth was exasperated by her, and appalled by her conduct, still Lydia was her sister and needed her help.

  ‘Yes, everything will be all right. Sleep now, Lydia.’

  Of course, everything would not be all right. But Lydia needed rest and this was the best way to ensure she could have it.

  Gradually, Lydia fell asleep. Elizabeth lay the baby back in the cradle. She then went downstairs for her dinner. She was glad of the hot meal and the respite it gave her. She had just finished, and was enjoying a quiet cup of coffee, when Sally burst into the parlour.

  ‘Oh, Miss,’ she said, highly agitated. ‘He’s taken the baby.’

  ‘What?’ Elizabeth put down her cup in bewilderment. ‘What do you mean, Sally? Who has taken the baby? What has happened? Take a deep breath and tell me everything.’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’ Sally did as Elizabeth said. She took a deep breath and then said, ‘Some of Miss Lydia’s clothes needed mending. Her petticoat had a tear in it and some of the buttons were dangling from her pelisse. Miss Lydia and the baby were sleeping peacefully so I slipped out of the room and went along to our room to fetch a needle and thread. When I got back, Miss Lydia was awake and hysterical. I calmed her down and she said Mr Wickham had come back. He had heard that Mr Darcy was back at Pemberley and he was determined to take his son and show him to Mr Darcy, in the hope of getting money off him. Miss Lydia told him not to do it, but he went anyway and now she is beside herself, saying Mr Wickham was drunk and will drop the baby, and oh dear, Miss, I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Calm down, Sally. Breathe deeply and listen. You must go back to Miss Lydia and tell her that I will go after Mr Wickham. Reassure her. Tell her everything will be all right and induce her to rest if you can. Tell her I will return with the baby.’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ said Sally, bobbing a curtsey.

  ‘Oh, and Sally,’ said Elizabeth, as Sally was about to leave the room.

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  ‘Do not leave Miss Lydia again.’

  ‘No, Miss,’ said Sally, looking ashamed.

  Elizabeth lost no time. She put on her pelisse and bonnet then set out for Pemberley. It was several miles away but she was a good walker and she had no doubt she would soon overtake George Wickham. He was drunk and she was sober. He was used to lounging about and she was used to brisk walks. He was carrying a baby and she was unburdened. She would soon catch up with him and return her baby nephew to the safety of the inn.

  She set off, remembering the way from her previous visit. Then she had been in her aunt’s carriage, but the road was the same. She hoped to catch up with George Wickham very quickly but after a while she realised she could not see him on the road ahead. She stopped for a minute and looked round. The light was starting to fade. It was December, and the days were short. She strained her eyes and then saw him in the distance, cutting across the fields. He had been raised in the area and no doubt he knew all the short cuts.

  She set out after him. The exercise warmed her and she alternately walked and ran as she struggled to catch up with him. His shorter route had given him a greater advantage than she had anticipated but she was slowly drawing closer.

  At last she recognised the walls of Pemberley as they loomed out of the twilight and there, just going through a break in the wall, was Wickham. She ran swiftly and caught up with him just as he wriggled through the gap in the wall. She followed more quickly, for she had a trim figure and Wickham was already going to seed. It had taken him some time to wriggle his drunken bulk through the gap. By the time she went through he was in touching distance. He had set the baby down on a broken piece of wall for a minute and she knew this was her chance to reason with him.

  ‘Mr Wickham,’ she called.

  He turned round and looked at her through bleary eyes.

  ‘I have come to take the baby,’ she said. ‘Let me have him. You cannot look after him in your condition. It is cold and you are drunk.’

  He swayed on his feet and said, ‘Elizabeth Bennet, as I live and breathe! What are you doing here? Want me after all, do you? Come all the way from Longbourn to see me, by the look of it. Too late now. This has nothing to do with you. Go away. You had your chance.’

  ‘You cannot take the baby to Pemberley,’ she said, ign
oring his insults and edging closer to the baby as she spoke. ‘Mr Darcy will not be blackmailed. This is a foolish venture. Let me take my nephew back to the inn.’

  ‘He should have been your son, not your nephew,’ said Wickham, lunging at her in a drunken manner. ‘He could have been our son. Should have married you, Lizzy.’

  Elizabeth dodged him easily.

  ‘I am going to take my nephew back to the inn and we will discuss this in the morning when you are sober,’ she said.

  ‘Not taking him anywhere,’ said Wickham, lunging again. ‘I’m going to show him to Darcy. Tug at his heartstrings – and his purse strings!’

  Elizabeth dodged him again and he stumbled, falling forwards. He caught at her to save himself and pulled her down with him. She heard a crack and felt a searing pain as she hit her head on the wall when she fell to the ground. Wickham fell beside her and did not get up, but a loud snore showed that he was dead drunk rather than dead.

  Elizabeth sat up, holding her head. She was finding it difficult to focus and she was confused. There was something she had to do. What was it?

  She heard a cry. Why, there was a baby! Where was it?

  She followed the cry and found a bundle of blue blankets with a baby inside.

  She had been going to take the baby somewhere . . . her head was hurting . . . there was something she had to do. There had been something about taking the baby to Pemberley . . . Yes, that was it. She had to take the baby to Pemberley. Only . . . what was Pemberley?

  She looked around. It was growing darker by the minute. But there in the distance she saw the glow of lanterns. She picked up the baby and staggered towards the light. If it was a house she was sure there would be someone there to help her. The thought urged her on. She was unsteady on her feet, but all the time the light was growing stronger, until at last she could see that it was cast by lanterns. They were hanging outside a stable block. Beyond the stables there was a house. She was feeling woozy. She would not be able to reach the house, but there was a stable drawing closer by the second. She reached it and fumbled with the catch. It came undone and she went inside. It was warm. There was clean straw on the floor and there was a manger. She could lay the baby down just for a minute and she could sit down herself, just until her head felt better.

  She put the baby carefully in the manger and then sat down, but her head was hurting and she began to slide down onto the floor.

  How long she lay there she did not know, but after some time she heard footsteps. She heard the door opening and she saw a man’s boots. She forced herself to sit up. It was slow and difficult work but at last she managed it. She turned her face upwards and saw more of the man who belonged to the boots. He was tall and handsome. His face was serious and she wondered if he ever smiled. She did not know who he was, but there was some tug of recognition that went deeper than thought.

  ‘Miss Bennet!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Do I know you, Sir?’ she asked.

  The rest of their conversation passed by in a blur. The next thing she knew, the baby was crying and she was lifting him gently out of the manger. And then the gentleman picked her up, equally gently, and carried her inside.

  She felt safe in his arms. Cared for a cherished. She no longer had to struggle. It brought her peace and contentment to know that the gentleman would take care of her. The gentleman would take care of everything.

  Chapter Four

  Two hours later

  Mr Darcy was sitting in his library with his long legs stretched out to the crackling fire. The flames leaped and danced in the hearth, and it seemed to him that his soul, long encased in ice, had finally started to thaw. It was not difficult to discover what had cracked the ice around his heart. It was the presence of Elizabeth in the guest room upstairs. She had turned the cold and lonely Pemberley into a living, breathing home. Even in her bedraggled state, with matted hair and crumpled clothes, she had been more beautiful to him than any other woman he had ever seen. He could not believe that he had once thought her not handsome. Every line of her face was dear to him, from the furrowed brow – which he longed to smooth – to her graceful neck. He longed to see her happy and well again. Then, perhaps, he would have a chance to make amends for the events of earlier in the year, when he had behaved in an ungentlemanly fashion – yes, she had been right to tell him so – and perhaps he could win her respect and esteem. Perhaps he could win her friendship. And perhaps – he scarcely dared hope it – he could win her love.

  But for now, it was enough for him to know that she was safe. He had sent for the physician, who was even now examining Elizabeth, and soon he would know the extent of her injuries. Anything she needed to make her well again he would willingly provide. The blow to her head gave him some anxiety. It was no doubt this injury which had caused her memory loss, but he hoped that in time both her head and her memory would recover.

  The baby had fortunately been unhurt and, being well wrapped in blankets, seemed to have taken no hurt from the cold.

  The sound of footsteps came from the hall and then the door opened. The physician entered the room and Mr Darcy sprang from his chair.

  ‘How is she?’ asked Mr Darcy.

  He tried to make his voice neutral, as it would occasion notice if he was too passionate in his concern, but it was very hard. He wanted to declare that he would pay any fee if only Elizabeth could be restored to full health. But he must speak with the kind of aloof concern he would display if any other guest of his had had an accident.

  ‘Miss Bennet has taken a blow to the head, as you saw. She also has bruising on her arms and legs. I would hazard a guess that she took a tumble and hit her head on something as she fell.’

  ‘But she will recover?’ asked Mr Darcy, feeling his heart beating quickly in his chest.

  He could scarcely breathe until the physician replied.

  ‘There is always some risk in such cases, but I do not despair of her making a full recovery,’ he said with a reassuring nod. ‘She is young and healthy. I am sure we will see a happy outcome.’

  ‘And her memory?’ asked Mr Darcy. ‘When will that return?’

  ‘It is difficult to say. Each case is different. Sometimes the memory returns within a few hours. Sometimes it takes days or even weeks.’

  ‘But usually?’ asked Mr Darcy.

  ‘A few hours, perhaps a day,’ said the physician. ‘It is possible that she will regain her memory by morning, and it is likely she will regain it before the end of the week.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mr Darcy with relief. ‘You have set my mind at ease. Does she need a nurse? She is a guest in this house and she must have the best of care. Anything less would be a failing in my duty as her host.’

  ‘No, she does not need a nurse. Mrs Reynolds is very capable and I have told her what she must do. I will call again in the morning to check on both patients, but for now they are both comfortable and not in any danger. I have done all I can.’

  Mr Darcy thanked him and the physician departed, leaving Mr Darcy feeling much easier in his mind. He longed to go upstairs and sit by Elizabeth’s bed but such a thing was impossible. He could not watch over her, or soothe her if she were restless, or comfort her or reassure her. He could only make sure that she was well looked after, and hope that tomorrow she might be well enough to sit in the drawing-room. And then, perhaps, he might learn what had happened to her.

  He could do nothing more, so he took up a book until it was time to retire for the night.

  For the first time in months he was looking forward to the morrow.

  At the Lambton inn, Lydia and Sally were becoming increasingly impatient for Elizabeth’s return.

  ‘They are dead,’ sobbed Lydia. ‘Wickham has dropped the baby and Elizabeth has berated him and he has killed them both.’

  ‘Now, now,’ said Sally, ‘what kind of talk is that? You’re sounding like your Mama, Miss Lydia, expecting such a catastrophe. They’ve gone to Pemberley, most likely, all three of them. Why, I
expect Mr Darcy is making them welcome at this very minute.’

  Lydia was calmed, but both women continued to be anxious.

  At last they had some news, for George Wickham staggered into the room a few hours later, clearly very drunk.

  ‘Where is the baby!’ cried Lydia. ‘What have you done with him?’

  Wickham looked at her with bleary eyes.

  ‘Your interfering sister took him. The last I saw she was heading for Pemberley,’ he said in a slurred fashion.

  ‘There you are, Miss Lydia. What did I say?’ asked Sally. ‘It was cold and dark and Miss Elizabeth did the sensible thing, making for the nearest house. You see, they’re both safe. I expect they’ll stay the night and return in the morning.’

  ‘Darcy will love that, Elizabeth spending the night with him,’ said Wickham with a leer and a drunken laugh.

  ‘Why, Mr Wickham, shame on you,’ said Sally, shocked.

  ‘You are wasting your breath, Sally. Wickham will never change,’ said Lydia in a resigned fashion.

  ‘Then you must be glad I never married you,’ retorted George.

  ‘If it were not for the baby then I would indeed,’ snapped Lydia.

  ‘As for that, I think Miss Elizabeth will have something to say on the matter, and Mr Darcy, too,’ said Sally. ‘They’re respectable people, both of them.’

  But Wickham did not hear her. He had fallen into a drunken stupor and was snoring loudly in the corner.

  Lydia began to cry.

  ‘There, there, Miss Lydia, don’t you fret,’ said Sally. ‘It will all work out in the end, you’ll see. Now just lie down, Miss. Things will seem better in the morning.’

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth woke late the following morning. Daylight was creeping in around the edges of the curtains and she could see she was in a large bedchamber which was prettily decorated with sprigged wallpaper on a cream background. There was an ornate fireplace and elegant furniture. The bed was a four poster with light gold curtains and a gold counterpane. For the first few minutes she did not know where she was or how she had come there, but slowly she began to remember. She had seen Lydia, she had followed Wickham and she had grappled with him, and then . . . things were indistinct, but she had a memory of picking the baby up and staggering with him towards the light.