“Oh, Hill, thank you. I think we forgot to ring for some scones — would you be so kind as to fetch some? I will take this in for you,” she said, quickly relieving the housekeeper of her burden. Mrs. Hill gave her a deeply suspicious look, but soon left to return to the kitchen. Glancing around, Elizabeth placed the honey on the tray and stashed the bundle of herbs in her pocket before entering the room.
Elizabeth stood by her sister as Kitty went through the service, preparing the water and leaves accordingly, and walked her through the steps. She remained silent as Kitty made a cup for their mother, but then quickly spoke.
“Mr. Wickham, Kitty and I have discovered a delightful new way of taking our tea, sir,” she told him across the room. “We acquired this wonderful honey when we were last in Meryton, and are quite in raptures. May I interest you in trying our concoction?” she asked, drawing her words out. With a wolfish grin she realized that she sounded impeccably like Miss Bingley. Apparently, when about to enact a magical scheme, it was easier to channel the personalities of those she most disliked.
“I would be delighted for any new experience you offered me, Miss Elizabeth,” he announced, drawing a withering glare from Mary and a high pitched laugh from Lydia.
Elizabeth smiled at him then turned her back to him in an attempt to block his line of vision, and held her breath. Holding the strainer over his cup, Elizabeth removed the herbs from her pocket and put them in the strainer as inconspicuously as she could, and motioned for Kitty to pour the tea over it. She waited for it to mix, then removed and discarded the leaves and herbs and reached for the honey.
Placing one hand on the tea tray, she motioned for Kitty to lay her hand on top of hers, and she carefully removed the spoon from the honey. As quietly as they could, she and Kitty recited the incantation as Elizabeth drew the necessary sigils in honey at the bottom of Mr. Wickham’s cup, and then stirred the entire concoction counter-clockwise.
She knew the moment the spell had been completed, as the steam in the cup increased suddenly, and both she and Kitty flinched as though they had been struck in the stomach. But then the steam cooled and the temporary breathlessness passed, and Elizabeth motioned for Kitty to hand Mr. Wickham his tea.
Elizabeth felt her throat catch as Mr. Wickham accepted the cup from her sister with a nod, and she stared eagerly as she waited for him to sip out of it. He raised the teacup to his mouth, and she heard Kitty take a sharp intake of breath beside her.
“Mr. Wickham, put down your tea!” Lydia shouted from across the room, causing Elizabeth and Kitty to jump. Mr. Wickham paused with his lips barely touching the edge of the cup and stared up at Lydia, who was making her way toward him and pouting. “Put down your tea and come play cards with me!” Elizabeth exhaled quickly and smiled, moving across the room to Mr. Wickham at lightening speed.
“Really, Lydia, let the poor man drink his tea! He will need his strength if he is to be thoroughly whipped by you later,” Elizabeth said with a laugh, taking up her own cup and settling in the chair next to him. She tipped her cup to him and nodded, taking a long drink of her own tea. After a painstakingly long moment, Mr. Wickham raised his own cup in salute and followed suit.
Elizabeth smiled into her cup and took a deep, steadying breath.
“Mary, would you play for us please?” she called to her sister. Mary looked up suspiciously, but nodded her consent and quickly moved to the piano.
Elizabeth made idle chatter with Mr. Wickham as he finished his tea, asking questions about his health and recent activities. The man looked around the room uncomfortably several times, and Elizabeth couldn't help but suspect he was nervous about something.
“Is anything wrong, sir? You look uncomfortable,” she asked finally, leaning closer to talk in a quieter tone.
“I need to ask you for an uncomfortable favor and I'm attempting to find a way to bring it up naturally,” Mr. Wickham responded immediately. No sooner were the words out of his mouth then his eyes went wide in surprise. “Miss Elizabeth, forgive me, I did not mean to say that,” he added hastily. Elizabeth cleared her throat daintily and smiled.
“Do not think anything of it sir. What did you wish to ask me?”
“I was going to ask you to complete a spell for me,” Mr. Wickham replied immediately. Panic descended over his face and he coughed, as if in an attempt to conceal his words.
“Sir, as I've told you several times, I'm afraid I can not help you in such an endeavor. I have not the skills you wish for,” she said tightly. There was a pause as she attempted to raise her own point organically.
“I must thank you for your warning about Mr. Darcy’s intolerance to magic, though. Even though I am in no danger, it was well placed. Though as I said earlier, it is difficult for me to fathom. Is the gentleman’s opinion on magic truly so harsh?”
“I haven't an idea, honestly. He was fascinated with it as a boy, but I've rarely heard him speak of it in adulthood, except to decry it as unfashionable. His mother was terrified of it, though. Hated the stuff. She and the late Mr. Darcy would bluster anytime it was mentioned,” Mr. Wickham responded tightly. His hand crept up to his throat, and he stared around the room. Elizabeth knew that she only had so much time before Mr. Wickham would realized he had been spelled and fled the house.
“But I thought you said your father was employed by the late Mr. Darcy to work magic on the land!” She exclaimed, remembering almost too late to keep her voice down. “Did your father not practice?”
“No, my father was not magical at all. He never practiced,” the man responded, his voice rising in panic. Elizabeth’s eyes went wide in surprise as she stared at him. She had suspected perfidy, but had never expected his lies to go so deep.
“Mr. Wickham, I must confess to some confusion. You seem to be contradicting your earlier story! Sir, what then is the source of your conflict with Mr. Darcy, if it is not magic?”
“Devil if I know, the man is an arrogant beast,” Mr. Wickham said, his voice hot with anger. “He’s so proper and rigid, and has no care for those he thinks are below him. He robbed me of an inheritance that was supposed to be rightfully mine.”
“So Mr. Darcy did disregard his father’s will?” Elizabeth pressed. She knew she had overstepped, that her behavior was deplorable and her actions inexcusable. But for the first time in months she felt that she was close to clarity, and Mr. Wickham’s words were finally true.
“He claimed he had already fulfilled his father’s wishes by giving me the price of the living, but refused to hear me out when I later asked for the position,” Mr. Wickham hissed through gritted teeth. Elizabeth gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
“I must be going, forgive me,” he said, gripping the side of his chair in anticipation of standing, but Elizabeth gave him a very direct look, which she hoped appeared withering and intimidating. Something about her expression must have looked fearsome, for the gentleman froze.
“Mr. Wickham, you have been exceedingly untruthful with me. Tell me now, is there any truth to your story of Mr. Darcy’s sister? Were you in love? Did he accuse you of witchcraft?” she asked in an icy voice.
“She was going to marry me, yes. We were going to run to Gretna Green, but Darcy arrived and she told him everything, blast her. Miss Darcy has no will of her own. He was enraged, threw me out, and accused me of attempting to get her dowry,” Mr. Wickham said. “He, who has so much, refuses to give to someone who has nothing. Darcy was so lucky to be born into fortune, though he deserves none of it.”
Elizabeth stared at the man before her in horror. How many times had she spoken to him as a friend, invited him into her home, even believed his wild stories! And yet the whole time he had such hate in his heart, and was nothing less than a knave. To know that he had not only fabricated such stories, but demeaned and damned Mr. Darcy all across the county! Elizabeth did not know whether she felt nauseated or enraged, and for a brief moment felt she could lash out at the gentleman. But she refrained.
“
Mr. Wickham, leave this house this instant,” she told him in a low voice. “And do not return. Do not speak to my sisters or my family ever again.” Mr. Wickham stared at her for a long moment, before leaning in close.
“I know your secret, Miss Elizabeth. You are a witch, and I know you’ve spelled me. I have the ability to ruin you if you speak of these matters to anyone,” Mr. Wickham responded.
“Do you intend to scare me, Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth asked the gentleman, her voice steely. “You have known me for many months now, so surely you know there is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”
XVII
The cool wind picked at Elizabeth’s hair as she let a small smile stretch across her face. The sun beat down on her bare head, warming her cheeks and casting a yellow glow against her closed eyelids, and she felt content for the first time in months. She let a long sigh escape her as she repositioned herself on the hill, her head nestled in her hands. A long stalk of grass itched at her nose slightly, but she ignored it.
How much more like herself she felt! She had taken a long walk and, upon reaching the hill that looked over Longbourn’s back garden, she had chosen to relax in the unseasonably warm weather. She could hear the tunes of the piano drifting from the house, and she had caught snippets of her sisters squabbling as a door opened. All was as it should be.
Indeed, Mr. Wickham had proven to be far worse than she had imagined, but she knew the truth now. She worried slightly that the man would seek some form of petty revenge for the spell, but that was a problem for a different day. Today she would relax in the knowledge that her instincts had been right: Mr. Darcy was innocent.
Mr. Darcy.
Unbidden, a small laugh escaped her mouth as she thought of the gentleman, imagined him there with her, lounging on the hill near her childhood home. His unreasonably long legs would be crossed, his hat placed over his eyes to protect them from the sun.
He would stoically attempt to ignore the sharp grass digging into his back and the midge buzzing around his ear, and she would smile as she watched the buttoned up gentleman lose his composure and given in to annoyance. Such a relaxing, meaningless activity would be good for him, she felt; having now learned of his sister’s treatment at the hands of Mr. Wickham, she realized how taxing that must have been on him; his love for his little sister was evident, as was his fierce protectiveness. Indeed, a happy day in the sun would be very healing for a man with such heavy thoughts on his shoulders.
She sighed again as the sharp pang that always followed such picturesque daydreams appeared. Mr. Darcy was not in fact here to enjoy the weather with her, and the likelihood of such a scene ever playing out in reality was, she was loathe to admit, virtually impossible.
And besides, would such a gentleman ever be content with such simple pursuits? She giggled again as she imagined the look on his face should she ever suggest he lounge in the grass while wearing one of his impeccably tailored coats.
“What has you so tickled, my dear girl?” came a familiar voice from nearby. Elizabeth’s eyes opened lazily and she beamed a smile at her father, who tipped his hat to her.
“Nothing, papa, just imagining absurd things,” she responded, pushing herself to her elbows. “Would you care to join me? The fresh air is delightful.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled and shook his head.
“No, no, I’m afraid I have business to attend to, though I’m sure I would rather enjoy a good daydream on Longbourn’s hill. No, instead I’m afraid your mother is looking for you. Lady Lucas is here. You had best run on in,” he said gently. Elizabeth let out a huff of air and collapsed back onto the ground in fake exasperation.
“How can anyone think of taking tea in a drawing room when nature is begging for companionship! I declare, I should be very happy to spend my life in the woods and never set foot in another parlour so long as I draw breath,” Elizabeth exclaimed, eliciting another chuckle from her father.
“I’m sure you would enjoy that very much, my dear, but your hair would be an awful state. I could never live with your mother if she were to see it. No, its best you avoid such dangers, and run along now before your resistance fails you and you turn truly wild.”
Elizabeth laughed and held her hands out to her father, who helped her stand with quite a bit more effort than had been required in years past. Dusting off her skirt and hands, she stood on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on his cheek, and headed toward the house with a shake of her head.
The women were gathered in the large sitting room as Mr. Bennet had promised, and as Elizabeth opened the door she heard a chorus of gasps. She paused awkwardly, thinking for a moment that the gasps had been in response to her entrance, and she glanced down at her skirt to see if it was in worse condition that she had previously thought. But upon looking up it was clear that no one had even noticed her entrance, and instead all eyes were focused on Lady Lucas and her daughter Maria.
“He did not say that!” Lydia yelled at Maria, her voice growing shrill as she let out a harsh laugh. “Take it back, Maria, you cannot possibly mean that! Whyever would he say something like that?”
Maria Lucas flushed slightly at Lydia’s outburst, but appeared to stand her ground.
“Indeed, he did! Mary King heard it as well, for she was the one who asked him to recount the story, and he told her plain as day,” Maria insisted. Lady Lucas shot a smug look over at Mrs. Bennet, whose mouth was practically hanging open.
“Obviously we have barred the gentleman from Lucas Lodge. Sir William talked to Miss King’s uncle, a delightful man, and they are quite agreed that until the militia is decamped, this is not the most appropriate place for our daughters. Miss King will go to family in Liverpool, and Maria shall be visiting Mrs. Collins in Kent. I confess, I am distraught when I think of what may have happened!” Lady Lucas brought a hand to her chest as if this thought had brought on heart palpitations that very moment.
Elizabeth moved to a chair in the corner, still confused, and looked to catch Jane’s eye in search of an explanation, but Jane appeared too distressed and unaware of her presence still. Instead it was Kitty who caught her attention as she stared at her older sister, her eyes as wide as saucers and her hands shaking in her lap.
“Lady Lucas, I’m sorry, I appear to be very late to some momentous news,” Elizabeth said loudly as she took her seat, breaking the spell in the room as all eyes snapped to her. Lady Lucas turned her attention on Elizabeth, a hard and almost victorious look on her face that deeply unsettled Elizabeth.
“Yesterday Mr. Wickham told my Maria and Miss King that he wished to marry Miss King for her money. When Miss King’s uncle went and pressed the scoundrel, he confessed a story of the most shocking nature, I daren’t even repeat it,” Lady Luca said haughtily, and Elizabeth felt as though she had been struck and her organs forcefully transplanted to her throat. “It appears that his story of woe and mistreatment at the hands of Mr. Darcy was pure fabrication. Indeed, he told Mr. King…” she trailed off, looking at Maria and Lydia as if suddenly realizing that her story may be inappropriate.
“He told Mr. King what, Lady Lucas? What could be worse than admitting to being a mercenary?” Elizabeth pressed, breathless. Jane shot her a look, but Elizabeth cared nothing for her impropriety. She had to know how much Mr. Wickham had confessed.
“It would appear that Mr. Wickham spun a long tale about his former engagement with a Miss Georgiana Darcy, none other than Mr. Darcy’s younger sister! Apparently he seduced the poor girl and convinced her to run off to Gretna Green with him.”
Elizabeth felt as though the room had been tipped upside down, and her vision began to swim and she wondered momentarily if she was going to be sick.
“Apparently Mr. Darcy arrived just in time to stop it! The two men must have dueled, don’t you think?” Maria chimed in excitedly. “I have heard that Miss Darcy has a dowry of thirty thousand pounds, and Mr. Wickham w
as willing to fight to the death for it! I am very sure they must have dueled.”
“What of Miss Darcy?” Jane asked quietly, shooting Elizabeth a concerned look. Elizabeth was thankful that Jane had asked the question she hadn’t dared voice.
“Mr. Wickham did not say. But we are very lucky that Hertfordshire girls seem to have far better heads on their shoulders than poor Miss Darcy, and were able to resist the man’s allures,” Lady Lucas said, pausing for a moment as her eyes raked over Lydia, then Elizabeth. “For the most part, that is.”
Elizabeth went beet red, though Lydia seemed to not hear any of it.
“It must all be lies! I cannot fathom why Mr. Wickham would ever confess to such a thing. He must have been joking, Maria.”
“I wish I could have your faith in the man, Miss Lydia, but since his confession several merchants have come forward in regard to outstanding debts Mr. Wickham owes.” Lady Lucas scolded gently. “It appears that, at last, his character is fully transparent, his sins on display for all to see.”
His sins and Miss Darcy’s entire reputation, Elizabeth thought to herself.
“What I don’t understand is why the gentleman is suddenly confessing,” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Why be truthful now, after he has perjured himself in every house in the county for months!”
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 17
