An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Virginia Brand

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he responded, his deep voice reverberating through the room. “I did not expect — forgive me, I did not know — is this—” he trailed off.

  “Please forgive me arriving unannounced and uninvited. I have something of great urgency to speak to you about, and it was my understanding that you are not taking visitors. Your cousin helped me achieve an audience, and I pray you forgive my forwardness,” she said in a rush, pushing through the speech she had prepared.

  He sat at his desk awkwardly and tilted his head.

  “Is this in regard to our —” he stopped, his face flushing slightly.

  “Before I start, pray tell me, how is your sister? I heard she was ill.”

  He went rigid in front of her and winced slightly, and she realized how desperately tired he looked. He must not be getting any sleep, and the worry was eating away at him. She longed to reach across, to take his hand and call up her magic and soothe his worries, but she could not. Not now, when so much was at stake.

  “She is recovering. Thank you for your kind solicitation.”

  He spoke to her like she was a stranger, like so much had not passed between them, as though they had never argued, never expressed feelings, and never kissed. She thought of that kiss now, and colored as she attempted to expel it from her mind.

  She could see him looking at her expectantly, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself for the task before her. Clutching her hands together, she sat up straighter and looked him in the eye.

  “I have imagined this conversation many times, and it never went like this. But I believe it is best to be blunt, and to come to the point,” she said, drawing another breath. “You were right, sir. In basics, you were correct. I am a witch.”

  She had expected him to jolt in surprise, for his eyes to widen, or for him to spring from his chair and pace, but he did neither, except for one slow blink. Otherwise, he remained still, and she understood that he intended to not interrupt her.

  “I have not behaved well, but not so badly as you suppose, and I believe it is owed to you to give a full account of the situations that bring me to this conversation. I must confess that no one — not even my dear sister or father — knows all of what I must now confess. As you once told me that certain information was mine to do with what I wished, I now return the sentiment; when I am done, I urge you to take any course of action you see wise and just.”

  He sat, impassive, as she explained that she had magic from her father’s side, along with all her sisters, and detailed the entailment, which would rob them of their powers and ancestral magical rights. She told him of her ancestor’s punishment, which bound their powers to the land, and confessed to having made it rain so that Jane could stay at Netherfield a night.

  “But it was only in my hope of allowing them to come to know each other better on their own terms, together, so that my sister could have a clearer understanding of her affections for Mr. Bingley before Mr. Collins arrived and she felt honor bound to marry him,” she added. This alone was the only defense she made during her speech, though her guilt over her sister’s ensuing illness was difficult to hide.

  But these confessions were nothing compared to her true sins and the terrible actions she had made later, and as she began to detail the events of the Netherfield Ball, she felt herself stumble.

  “My goal was to aid Jane and Mr. Bingley in coming to know their own feelings better. There is a spell, which simply helps you reveal or unlock feelings that you are either suppressing or hiding. It is often used for such cases; in helping an individual to come to terms with feelings of love.”

  Mr. Darcy was even more rigid than she had earlier believed possible, and she charged on.

  “I believed Mr. Collins planned to propose to Jane the next day, and I knew Jane would not accept him if she truly loved another. I knew, with full confidence, that Mr. Bingley felt for her, and believed they may have needed a simple push. In my arrogance, I felt it my place to provide such a service,” Elizabeth said. “And I could not see her settled with such a man as Mr. Collins; she is too kind and gentle and does not deserve to be wife to a man like him. I am far more jaded and have none of her goodness, and as such found it to be an acceptable sacrifice on my part to wed him. On this point I was quite determined.”

  “What happened to the spell?” he said tightly. Elizabeth flushed, not daring to meet his eyes.

  “Two other people were in the alcove where the rite was to happen, and were recipients of the spell instead of Jane and Mr. Bingley.”

  “Who were those people?”

  “Us, I’m afraid.”

  The room was silent as a heavy tension hung between them, and at last Elizabeth raised her eyes and attempted a smile.

  “Indeed. I did not spell you to love me, but I’m afraid my interference made you aware of it long before you were amenable or prepared for such a revelation. My sister Lydia cast the spell — she is much stronger than the rest of us — and I believe that I underestimated the effectiveness of her magic. That night was no credit to me; I was also the one who extinguished the candles during dinner.”

  He nodded slightly, as though he had often thought as much.

  “I went home and prepared to marry Mr. Collins, but I sunk into a terrible mood in which I made a horrible decision. I attempted an ancient rite, one passed down from my great-aunt, which I did not fully understand. I have done many foolish things in my life, but none as severe as this,” she said, holding up her hand to reveal the scar. “My spell went horribly awry, and instead of cutting out my feelings and emotions, I instead banished you and Mr. Bingley from the county.”

  “But Bingley and I chose to leave of our own accord. I woke up two days after the ball and was determined to be off; I had already spent the day before convincing Bingley to leave with me,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice bewildered.

  “That is often the way such spells work; you feel a great need to leave, and believe it to be of your own account. Whether Mr. Bingley would have truly left or not will never be clear, as it was my magic that removed him,” she said sadly, but Mr. Darcy shook his head.

  “Be that as it may, I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, we had resolved to go barely hours after the ball was over. Bingley was convinced that Jane cared nothing for him, and was merely leveraging his affections to determine the best match between her and Mr. Collins. I eagerly supported this notion, and we were decided. Whether your spell was badly done or not, in this alone, you are not solely guilty.”

  Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, torn between horror and an urge to berate him for thinking so of Jane, but she controlled herself, remembering why she was there.

  “Those spells and actions, while regrettable, are not what brought me to you today, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “For I have yet to confess the worst of my sins.”

  Mr. Darcy’s face clouded over for a moment, but he nodded and sat back at his desk, nodding for her to continue.

  “As I’m sure you remember, we spoke several times about your acquaintance with Mr. Wickham,” she said, steeling herself. She saw his eye twitch out of the corner of her vision, but he said nothing, so she continued. "It will come as no surprise to you that he had many stories of your actions and reputation, and it was soon common knowledge to my family that Mr. Wickham had been a childhood friend of yours who was promised a religious living by your late father; yet, upon his passing, you cast him out and refused this living, on the grounds that Mr. Wickham had magical heritage. According to Mr. Wickham, in a fit of anger you accused him of bewitching his younger sister, a sweet girl who had become attached to him over the years. Fearing your witch hunt and wishing for her best happiness, he gave up the living and exiled himself from Pemberley.”

  Mr. Darcy’s hands, which had been settled on his desk calmly, were now fully clenched, and if she were not so unsteady herself, she would have thought he was shaking.

  “I now know this to be false on every count, sir,” she rushed to say, “but for a tim
e we all truly believed it. I understood you to be intolerant and hateful of magic, and believed you had used a former friend abominably. For this, we, many of us, hated you.”

  He appeared to have calmed slightly at her words, and so she continued, relentless in her desire to finish this confession.

  “But after you quit the neighborhood, I began to doubt Mr. Wickham, and it was difficult for me to align his words with what I witnessed and felt the day that you two met while in Meryton. At length, I grew so—”

  “What do you mean, what you felt?” he said, interrupting. Elizabeth felt like she blushed over her whole person.

  “At times, I can feel other individual’s emotions. It has only happened twice — one such time was during your meeting with Mr. Wickham, where I came to understand that I felt your emotions; a great anger, and a terrible sadness. You felt injured and betrayed, and to me, that did not align with the man that Mr. Wickham had portrayed you to be,” she said.

  “What other time? Who else have you channeled?”

  “Sir, I understand your curiosity, but there are more important things to discuss. This is not why—” but he silenced her with his hand and a shake of his head.

  “I have listened to your confessions with patience, and I ask for only one answer on this count,” he said, tightly. Bewildered, Elizabeth stared at him. Why did he care so much about this? But she obliged him and shrugged gently, feeling greatly embarrassed.

  “Once more, the night after — the night before you left Rosings,” she said, catching herself before she mentioned their ill-fated meeting in Hunsford. “I awoke and felt fear, greater than I have ever felt in my life. I believed it to be your fear.”

  “That’s when I received the messenger,” he said, almost dumbfounded by her confession, and she nodded.

  “Later, after I learned more of your sister’s situation, I came to assume it was something of the sort.”

  The mention of his sister seemed to jostle him out of his ruminations on their shared feeling experiences, and he settled back into his impassive behavior once more.

  “As I said, I grew very suspicious of Mr. Wickham and his story, and my doubt increased as he routinely would single me out to request spells. Though I never told him of my family’s secret, he had heard rumors in the neighborhood and was determined to get the truth of it from me. And though he asked for great confessions on my part, he refused to answer any questions I posed.”

  “At length, desperate for answers and truth from the gentleman, I begged the help of my younger sister Kitty to weave a truth spell on him. It is the first time I have deliberately used active magic on a man, and I understand how serious an action it is. I felt I needed answers in order to protect my family from unsuitable companions, as it was generally assumed by many that a marriage would occur in short time between Mr. Wickham and my younger sister, and he had already begun plying her for magical favors.”

  “Miss Lydia is not yet sixteen, correct?” Mr. Darcy interrupted, and Elizabeth nodded. He made some kind of noise, but did not speak again.

  “Kitty and I mixed a truth spell into his tea. During a visit, he confessed all to me; the truth of his dealings with you, that he has no true magic, and his entire seduction and attempted ruination of your sister. You must believe me; I was horrified, and I sent him from the house directly with a warning to never address my family again,” she said.

  “I had sworn myself to keep your sister’s secret, and I felt sure that Mr. Wickham would never willingly divulge the details, but things went so wrong. These spells are small magic, not meant to last more than an hour at most. But Kitty is clumsy and bad at magic due to a poor education, and the spell lasted much longer than it should have. I do not know when it would have worn off if my father had not intervened and lifted it. In short time, the entire neighborhood knew the full of his actions, including those of your sister.”

  Mr. Darcy looked as though he had been punched.

  “It is little solace, I know, but Mr. Wickham’s reputation was so severely injured, and his dealings with Meryton’s young women suspect enough, that many looked on him as a villain and your sister as a pawn in his games to be pitied. My sisters and I did what we could to cast doubt on the story and minimize it, but it obviously spread all the way to London. And so, the gossip your sister overheard that day, which sent her running from the shop and into danger, is solely my responsibility: I am the one to be blamed, who laid her mistakes open to the world, who has ruined her and now placed her in mortal danger.”

  Mr. Darcy stood from his seat behind the desk suddenly and strode to the window, turning his back to her as his hand came up to his mouth and he rubbed at his chin in frustration.

  “I have chided myself for acting as a fool in the past, but until this moment I never knew myself. I have been arrogant, prejudiced, and wildly foolish, and I would beg your forgiveness if I felt I was deserving of it,” she said quietly. “While in Kent, I vowed to give up my magic and my practice, as it is the only proper thing to do, after I have caused such distress and disaster for so many. I had just as soon resolved to never use them again as I was given a reason to break my vow. Your troubles are entirely of my making, and I beg your permission to aid how I may. I wish to make things right while I can."

  He remained at the window for several moments and the silence in the room grew until he turned back to her, resumed his seat at his desk and nodded once.

  “What do you propose?” he said tightly.

  “My sister Jane is a talented healer — in truth, it is the only occasion in which she uses her powers. She is here today, and we have brought our supplies. If you consent, I wish to offer our services in healing your sister.”

  “Miss Bennet is here and willing?” he asked tersely, and Elizabeth nodded.

  “And you believe your efforts would be successful?” Elizabeth wavered for a moment.

  “As my confessions show, magic is never predictable. We are not very powerful away from home, and London naturally dampens magic, so I cannot ensure its success. But healing magic is made directly from earth and nature, and I have never known nor read of its twisting on the user or afflicted. The worst situation would be that we do not succeed — but I can promise no harm will come to her from us trying.”

  “Does Bingley know?” he asked suddenly, as if switching subjects, and Elizabeth attempted to understand his question.

  “I am unsure, but I believe so. I believe he understands some of it, or has some suspicions — or at least he will now, after seeing Colonel Fitzwilliam smuggle me in here. I have not spoken to him of it. I have told a small amount of it to Colonel Fitzwilliam, as he ensured me that anything I told you would become his knowledge soon.”

  Mr. Darcy stood up from his desk and walked to the window, turning his back to her and clasping his hands behind his back as he stared out. What would she give for even half of his composure! She had no idea what he thought of her confession. Did he hate her? Was he angry? She could not tell if he would turn to her in the next moment and throw her from his house.

  At length he did turn, but his face was still impassive as he nodded.

  “Yes, you may try. But not today. Our discussion has left you drained, and me as well. Return tomorrow, and you and Miss Bennet may see my sister.”

  ***

  “Tell me what happened,” Jane commanded as she ran a comb through her younger sister’s hair. “Your letter was full of half nonsense, but you can’t hide this from me. Something happened between you and Mr. Darcy. How did your conversation go?”

  Elizabeth sighed, turning to face her sister in the small bed they shared at the Gardiners. She had missed Jane terribly, she realized now, and for a moment she considered confessing it all, allowing her sister to ease her pain and fear and disappointment. But she didn’t deserve that; not yet.

  “I told you already; he will let us come to heal her tomorrow. As for what happened in Kent… in time Jane, I promise. Please, I beg you, let us speak of somethin
g happier. What of you and Mr. Bingley?” she entreated. “In your letter you called him Charles,” she added with a small giggle. Jane blushed prettily and looked down at the coverlet.

  “I was writing rather fast and I suppose I forgot myself,” she said with a small smile, biting her lip. “He has asked me to marry him, Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth smiled a toothy grin and threw her arms around her sister.

  “I knew it would happen. When? Was it today? Have you told him your secret?” she asked, her face clouding over. Jane blushed slightly and nodded.

  “It was some weeks ago, to be truthful. We have delayed announcing it because of Mr. Darcy. He is Charles’ dearest friend and it seems unfair to be so joyful while there is so much pain in his friend’s life.”

  “Does he know about our magic?” Elizabeth pressed again, and Jane nodded.

  “I told him all before he proposed. I knew it was dangerous, but I wished him to have the full of it.”