by A K Madison
“So, there is no hope of recovery for Aunt Catherine?”
“None whatsoever. It is as though her mind—her intelligence, her reason, all of it—is being stripped away. You would notice astonishing changes even from the time you saw her a few weeks ago.” Matlock sighed. “It grieves me, for she is still my sister. But I shall see that she is decently cared for during her lifetime.” He stood. “Now, let us join the ladies.”
On the last full day of their visit to London, Darcy invited the ladies to tea at Darcy House so that his bride-to-be might get a look at her future home. Elizabeth, on Darcy’s arm, saw a number of the more public rooms on the ground and first floors including a magnificent dining room, a series of drawing-rooms, and one or two smaller parlors. Darcy showed her his study, which appeared quite comfortable, and the equally comfortable room next door to it which would serve as Elizabeth’s study and parlor. Her impression of all that she saw was favorable. As with the entry hall, she saw nothing but simplicity, quality, and exquisite taste. “It is a beautiful house,” she said to Darcy. “But it is also a home.”
When they were ready to visit the family wing, Darcy sent for Mrs. Ryland, the housekeeper. A comfortable-looking woman in late middle age, she came bustling up and made her curtsy to Elizabeth and the other ladies. “Welcome to Darcy House, Miss Bennet. I hope you are finding everything to your liking.”
“It is delightful, Mrs. Ryland. Very imposing, but very much a home.” The housekeeper blushed and led the way down the hall to a door, which she opened with one of the keys at her waist. “This is the mistress’ suite,” she said, stepping aside to allow Elizabeth to enter. “It has been repainted and given fresh linens and hangings, but little else has been done. Please tell me if there are any changes at all you would like us to make, ma’am.”
Elizabeth, still on Darcy’s arm, found much to like about the room. The silk hangings were light, fresh, and airy, and the room looked out onto a peaceful side garden with several large trees. Mrs. Bennet exclaimed over the furniture, while Elizabeth commented on the soft colors, predominately a sea green which she had always favored. There was a comfortable settee by the fire, and a small escritoire had been placed in a sunny corner. “It is perfect!” cried Elizabeth. “There is not a single thing I would change.”
A look in the dressing-room proved equally satisfactory. It incorporated not only a large set of well-organized cupboards and drawers, but a dressing-table and mirror, a screen which hid other necessities, and a large copper bathtub. “Why, ‘tis large enough for two,” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, occasioning a great deal of merriment between herself and the Countess. Mrs. Ryland led the way to the guest apartments, and Elizabeth and Darcy found themselves momentarily left behind.
Without a word, Darcy pulled Elizabeth into a powerful kiss that left her breathless and faint. When she finally signaled her need to breathe, he moved back, but his eyes held hers, and he held her face between his two hands. “Shall you like sleeping with me in that bed, Lizzy?” His voice held notes of both suggestiveness and urgency, a tone she had never yet heard from him.
Elizabeth wanted nothing more than for him to take her to the bed that instant, but she was aware that it might be her turn to provide the self-control they needed. Even so, she smiled and looked into his eyes and said, “And is that all we shall be doing, sir? If so, I will be disappointed.”
The dangerous look in Darcy’s eyes fled before her smile, and when she leaned in to kiss him on his nose, he laid his forehead against hers and laughed softly. “Oh, Lizzy. How did I ever think you were not a temptation. I must have been out of my senses.”
Elizabeth brushed the wayward curl out of his eyes before stepping reluctantly away from him. “Am I presentable?” She shook out some of the wrinkles that seemed to have gathered in her gown.
“Entirely so.”
“Good, then let us catch up with the others before it is too late.” Darcy kissed her lightly, gave her his arm, and they quietly caught up with the group of ladies standing in the doorway of the principal guest apartments.
Downstairs again, the family took tea in one of the smaller parlors. Georgiana had been carefully schooled in the art of being a hostess, and she presided over the tea things. “Georgiana, I am so looking forward to the time we will spend together before the wedding,” said Elizabeth. “I am longing to introduce you to my other sisters, and I hope you will like them. Netherfield and Rose Cottage stand near to each other, so we can visit often and not stand on ceremony.”
Georgiana gave her a rare, beautiful smile. “I shall be beside myself having all those sisters. It will be wonderful.”
The Gardiners joined them at Matlock House for a final dinner, and Elizabeth had a few moments to spend with her aunt. “Thank you for everything, Aunt Gardiner. It has been a wonderful week, and I cannot wait for you and Uncle and the children to come to Netherfield.”
“Do not fear, we shall be there in plenty of time, Lizzy. Have a pleasant trip home, and enjoy your last few days of freedom.” Her aunt laughed and embraced her.
Darcy arrived at Matlock House with his carriage in time for breakfast, and after a flurry of thanks and fond goodbyes, he handed Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth in and they were on their way to Hertfordshire.
Chapter 24
“Oh, look! It is adorable!” Lydia stood in the milliner’s shop exclaiming over the bonnet. Its ribbons exactly suited the color of the gown being made for her at the dressmaker’s, and she was ecstatic when she saw it. With but two weeks remaining before the wedding, the Bennet ladies were shopping in Meryton.
“Lydia, try it on,” said Jane. “You must have it, dear. It is a gift from Charles and myself because your deportment during the mourning period has been near perfect. You deserve a little something.”
“Ohh!” Lydia embraced her sister and kissed her soundly on the cheek, dancing all the while.
“Now, let us find something equally adorable for Kitty and Mary,” smiled Jane.
“No need!” cried Kitty as she brought over another delectable bonnet. “Lydia, this is nearly perfect. Could we not replace the dark green ribbons with this paler green? Tis a near perfect match.”
“Let me see you try it on, Kitty.” Lydia was suddenly all business, regarding her sister with a critical eye. “I am not so sure. I like the darker green as a contrast to your pale green gown, Kitty. I think we should change the flowers.”
The hunt was on, and soon a bunch of cream roses with soft green leaves had been selected for Kitty’s bonnet. “It will be perfect,” she sighed, kissing Jane affectionately.
Mary professed herself delighted with her new cream-colored straw, and Lydia searched out pale pink ribbons and flowers. Within a few minutes, each younger sister carried a new bandbox.
Before long, they had canvassed every shop in Meryton for the ribbons, buttons, and other bits and bobs required by two vivacious young ladies, and one quiet one, emerging from mourning. Even Elizabeth, who would have been much happier at the circulating library, joined in the hunt. When they left the last shop, their mother called the carriage over.
“Your father’s headstone has finally been put into place,” Mrs. Bennet announced. “I had it from Mrs. Clarke in the butcher’s shop. We will drive past the churchyard at Longbourn. We will watch very carefully, and if Coachman sees anyone, we will simply drive past. If it appears to be quiet, we will stop for a few minutes.” Tears stood in her eyes, and she wiped them away with her handkerchief. “I simply must see that all is well with your father’s grave. We owe him that little service, girls.”
Elizabeth and Jane regarded each other helplessly, for both shared the same concerns about Collins. “All right, Mama,” Jane said finally. “I will speak with Coachman.” She directed him to pass the churchyard and inspect carefully to see if anyone was about. The footman was to be extra-vigilant. If all was quiet, they would spend a quarter-hour at the grave and then leave. The coachman repeated his instructions, and the footman nodded, f
ully understanding the situation.
After the short drive to Longbourn’s village, they found the churchyard deserted. The footman descended and looked around. Finding nothing, he beckoned the ladies to come to him through the lych-gate. He conducted them to the gravesite and returned to the lych-gate, turning towards the lane to afford them some privacy.
Mrs. Bennet, having inspected the headstone, knelt beside it and wept silently and bitterly. Her daughters, unsure of how to comfort her, surrounded her. Focused only on their mother and on the grave, none saw what was happening around them.
Lieutenant George Wickham, Captain Denny, and several of the younger officers of the __shire Militia strode down the country lane, their regimentals handsome in the sunlight. Their objective was Lucas Lodge and one of Lady Lucas’s nuncheons. Though she did not set so fine a table as Mrs. Bennet, her younger daughters were lively and attractive, and the young officers missed the comforts of home cooking and genteel female society. Wickham in particular had been lonely. He had been obliged to face the fact that he had run up debts in the little town, and that he would have no peace until he paid some of them off. He had satisfied most of them with his last three months’ pay. Unfortunately, it took the entirety of his money each month, and he was subsisting on small bits of help from his friend Denny until the end of May, when he expected to be debt-free, at least in Meryton.
Denny’s “fee” for the small loans was a requirement that Wickham behave like a gentleman. There were to be no romps with the daughters of farmers or merchants, no card games unless Wickham had money to lose, and no extravagances committed at parties, taverns, inns, or shops.
Wickham had complied with bad grace, but he had complied. Unlike most of the other officers in the regiment, Denny was a true gentleman, the son of a country squire in reduced circumstances. His father had done his best, and Denny had been raised with a sense of obligation and as careful an education as his father could provide. It was a shame to see such a promising young man wasting away in the militia, but it had been the best his father could do for him. Denny desired a commission in the regulars, and he was accustomed to saving every farthing he could towards that end. His honest soul had hoped, by assisting Wickham with the debts, that Wickham might begin to establish habits of thrift.
Denny was laboring under a delusion. Wickham was no fool, and he knew when he was cornered, but he still hoped to accumulate a substantial fortune and live as a gentleman. Darcy had snatched away the glittering prize of Georgiana’s dowry. He had also won for his bride the girl who with luck would have been warming Wickham’s bed at that very moment. There had been no choice but for Wickham to go to ground and live respectably, but he was by no means defeated, and his plan was masterful. These thoughts and others occupied him as the group of five officers made their way down the pleasant lane towards Lucas Lodge.
Mrs. Bennet rose from her knees and looked across to see a furious William Collins emerging from the side door of the church nearest the sacristy. She gasped, and her daughters stood and surrounded her. Unfortunately, their footman’s attention was occupied at that moment by the officers approaching on foot, and he did not see the threat.
“Why, Mr. Collins, you startled me,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“You have no business setting foot in this churchyard. You are trespassing.” His voice was quiet, his complexion mottled with anger, and any trace of his normally obsequious manner had vanished. “And you, Elizabeth. You persist in this nonsense of marrying above you. You will be stopped.”
He stepped forward, and before anyone could intervene, seized Elizabeth by both shoulders, shaking her like a rag doll. He had suddenly seen a clear path to his stated objective of preventing her marriage, and to that other objective which must never be mentioned. He intended to press his advantage.
“Let me go, Collins, or you will face dire consequences.” Elizabeth’s voice was low and earnest. Terror gripped her, but it also made her strong. Her thoughts were of Darcy, and she wondered if she would ever see him again, for she was resolved to die before allowing Collins to prevail.
Collins reacted to her cold statement by slapping her across the face with his open hand. There was a scream, but it did not come from Elizabeth. Collins grabbed her elbow and began dragging her toward the church. An angry Elizabeth kicked and dug her heels into the earth, as her mother and Mary attempted to compel the man to let go of her.
“You are insane!” cried Mary loudly. “Take your hands off her.” She ran at Collins, who pushed her away.
“You are to leave her alone,” shouted Collins. “She is mine. She is to be my mistress, and I have undertaken the expense of keeping her by increasing the rents at Longbourn.”
“And by setting up a schedule of fees for the holy sacraments,” spat Elizabeth.
At that, Collins struck her again, and she knew no more.
Mrs. Bennet took hold of his arm and held on for dear life as he dragged her daughter back towards the church. He shook her off easily, but she had managed to slow his progress.
Another shout broke the peace of the churchyard. Dragging his burden, Collins managed a few steps before sensing, rather than seeing, the sharp point of a sword just at the pulse in his neck. He dropped Elizabeth unceremoniously and turned, pushing her limp form out of the way with his toe.
“A little more respect, Collins. Else I might find good reason to run you through with this.” George Wickham, cold with anger, worked the tip of his sword a fraction of an inch further into Collins’ neck. “You, there! Carry the lady over to the shade of that tree. Gently.” The footman hastened to obey.
“Ah, Mr. Wickham,” Collins began. His voice was nervous and obsequious, his face was red, and he stank of nervous sweat. “Surely a gentleman such as yourself would not wish to interfere, sir.” His voice grew sly and conspiratorial. “You see, my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not wish to see this young woman married to her nephew, Mr. Darcy. I intend to prevent that union.” He gave a nervous bark of a laugh. “After trying to reason with the jade, I have decided to set her up as my mistress. Darcy won’t want her when I have done with her.”
The blade pushed a little further into his neck, and Wickham replied. “Collins, I do not wish to kill you. But you are making it difficult. You have stood here and described your plans for abduction and rape in front of a group of ladies, a footman, and five officers in His Majesty’s __shire Militia, not to mention the intended victim herself. Give me one good reason why I should not end your miserable life right now.”
Collins began to weep and beg, citing his upcoming blessed event, his clerical status, his standing as a gentleman, and of course the wrath of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Wickham managed to press the blade a little closer with each utterance without drawing so much as a trickle of blood. Collins ended by saying, “What say, Wickham? We could share her. There’s more than enough of that to go around.” His eyes wandered to Elizabeth’s unconscious form, now cradled in her mother’s lap. “My treat.”
Wickham regarded Collins in astonishment before dealing him a backhanded blow that brought him whimpering to his knees. The blade returned to his throat.
Denny, meanwhile, had not been idle. The carriage horses had been taken out of the traces, and his two best riders, farm boys both, had been sent off bareback, one to fetch the apothecary and the constables while the other rode for Netherfield. Two other men had been set to check the church and its outbuildings for any accomplices.
The churchyard was quiet as the ladies crooned over Elizabeth, washing her face with cool well water. The only other sound was Collins’ sniveling and begging. No one noticed the small, obviously pregnant, form of Charlotte Collins walking cautiously up the lane toward the lych-gate.
Collins’ kneeling form heaved as he tried to stand. “Charlotte!” he cried. “Return home on the instant!”
Wickham’s back was to the lane and the lych-gate. He would later say that he had no intention of killing Collins, only of subduing
him until he could be placed under arrest. This was undoubtedly true, but he had placed his blade so close to that vital pulse that the moment Collins began to struggle, he was a dead man. The last words he heard before the darkness set in were “you bloody fool.”
Darcy, back at Netherfield, hardly knew what to make of the young officer’s story, for the youth had a stammer that made him difficult to understand. He made out “Miss Bennet, Mrs. Bingley, and Longbourn Church,” and that was enough to set him shouting for Bingley and for his horse. They set off moments later, neck or nothing, with the young man following, still mounted on the carriage-horse. The ride to Longbourn took only a few minutes, and they arrived just after the apothecary and the parish constables from Meryton.
Darcy went immediately to Elizabeth, who was being attended by the apothecary. He could not get near her because she lay in her mother’s arms with the apothecary bending over her, so he knelt beside her and took her hand. The red mark on her face made him angrier than he had ever been in his life.
“Collins,” said Lydia quietly. “That hateful man. Mr. Darcy, I should not say this to you, but he wanted to do something dreadful to Lizzy. Something so that you—so that you would no longer wish to marry her.”
