Chapter Twelve
Things had gone too far.
They came back four hours later. I was furious with her. Mr. Wickham looked like a cat that had gotten into the cream. He took one look at my face and made no effort to come inside, bowing over her hand before taking his leave. I was glad I’d sent a letter to Mr. Darcy, but I didn’t need his intervention anymore. Wherever he was and whatever he thought of Mr. Wickham, I now had every excuse I needed to keep her away from the man.
Georgiana hardly looked contrite as I took her into the parlor and lectured her extensively on running off and on what happened to young misses who ruined their reputations. I stood before the sofa she sat on and spoke at length and with considerable passion, but she remained silent. Finally, I realized I wasn’t getting anywhere. She was simply too infatuated with the miscreant.
I took a deep breath, deciding to try a new tactic. “What kind of man is Mr. Wickham?”
“He’s wonderful,” she said, as starry-eyed as I’d ever seen a young woman. “He’s good and kind and noble and smart. He’s like Saint-Preux.”
A cold feeling came over me. “Where did you get Julie, ou la nouvelle Héloïse?” Saint-Preux was the hero of that story. That book was not suitable for her to read. Things were worse than I’d realized. I thought she and I had come to terms on her illicit reading.
“Madame Falconet leant it to me.” She tipped her chin up, defiant.
“She shouldn’t have without my permission.” I would deal with the book issue later. I was impressed that she had read an eight hundred page book in French, but now was not the time to say so. “Mr. Wickham is after your dowry. He is not a good man,” I said, hoping to shock her into seeing the truth.
“He loves me. He said he’s loved me since I was a child. I’ve always loved him. Can’t you understand?”
“If he loved you, he would safeguard your reputation by treating you as a gentleman should,” I said. “He would go to your brother and ask permission to court you.”
“My brother is jealous of Mr. Wickham,” she said, and I could almost hear him feeding her the words. “Our father preferred George.”
“Mr. Wickham,” I said, emphasizing the name, “is the sort of man who would let a child drown so he could secretly court you.”
“No. You had rescued the child. He said you would be embarrassed to be seen with your clothes soaking wet and we should leave.”
“So, instead of embarrassing me, Mr. Wickham took advantage of a child nearly drowning to whisk you away to court you?”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, her expression so earnest it pained me. “I’ve longed to have private time with him. He wouldn’t leave until we saw you catch the child.”
“A gentleman would have been in the water saving the child before I could even reach her,” I said.
She bit her lip, tears forming in her eyes.
I sighed, sitting down in the chair beside her. “What liberties did you allow him?”
She hung her head. “He put his arms around me,” she whispered. “He kissed me.” She brought her head up, her eyes flashing. “I enjoyed it. I kissed him back. If it was wrong, wouldn’t I feel guilty?”
“Your guilt is not the issue,” I said, though I suspected she did feel at least somewhat guilty or she wouldn’t have confessed. “If you and Mr. Wickham really love each other, you will wait until you’re of age.”
“That’s not for six years,” she cried, glaring at me.
I resisted the urge to rub my temples. She had a point. Six years was a long time for me. It would be an eternity for her. I couldn’t admit as much, though. “This is not a decision you can make at this time,” I told her, using my most stern tone. “Mr. Darcy is a fair man. You must rely on his fairness in this matter or wait until you’re considered old enough to make your own choice.”
She pressed her lips into a thin, mutinous line.
What was I to do? I didn’t dare stay in Ramsgate any longer. Not with Mr. Wickham about. Who knew what lengths he’d be driven to by a willing girl and thirty thousand pounds?
We had a carriage and could return to London. Mr. Darcy might be angry with me for doing so without his leave, but it was the best thing for Miss Darcy. Aside from locking her away, I could see no alternative.
“Go to your room and stay there until morning,” I said.
She glared at me but obediently got up to leave.
“Miss Darcy,” I called.
She turned back.
“We will discuss this more. I know that six years is a very long time. Please understand that I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”
She gave a jerky nod and stomped from the room.
Things had gone too far. I sent for the coachman and told him we would be returning to London in the morning, but not to tell anyone else of the plan. In the morning, I would see that Miss Darcy’s things were packed quickly, without her having a chance to notify Mr. Wickham. I could pack my things this evening without her knowing.
All that remained was for me to inform Mr. Darcy, though it occurred to me to wonder where he was. He’d been in London, and was under no obligation to inform me of his travels. I couldn’t help but think he might be away, however, for he hadn’t yet responded to my first letter. Thinking that perhaps I’d been too subtle, I opted for straightforwardness.
Dear Mr. Darcy,
Because I do not trust Mr. Wickham’s behavior with Miss Darcy, I am returning to London tomorrow morning. I am not notifying Miss Darcy until shortly before we leave, as I am concerned she will rebel. I hope I have made the right decision. I don’t wish to give any offence, but in spite of his satisfying the condition you gave of having dined with Miss Darcy at Pemberley, I don’t believe Mr. Wickham-
I was interrupted by the heavy tread of a man’s footsteps coming toward the parlor. I looked up, worried that Mr. Wickham had set all pretense of propriety aside and come calling again already. To my relief, Mr. Darcy entered the room.
“Mrs. Younge,” he said, looking about.
I set down my pen and stood. “Mr. Darcy! Thank goodness you’ve come.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked, a frown darkening his already austere features.
“I was writing you.” I handed him the letter. “You must speak to her.”
He read it quickly, favoring me with a withering look before slapping the half-written note down on the desk and hurrying from the room.
I sank back into the desk’s chair. Based on the look on Mr. Darcy’s face, I doubted I would remain employed. Drawing in a shuddering breath, I fought to keep my composure. Being Miss Darcy’s chaperone was supposed to have been my security, and I really had done my best. Now, it was unlikely I’d even be able to get a recommendation, though I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Gathering myself, I went up to my room and packed, deciding it was best to be prepared for the worst, though I couldn’t help but cling to the idea that I’d done everything Mr. Darcy had told me to. If he took exception to my distrust of Mr. Wickham, well, I couldn’t help that, but I would stand by my decision to take Georgiana away. From the look on Mr. Darcy’s face, I could tell he was greatly displeased with me. I just wasn’t sure if his displeasure was for me not keeping his childhood companion away, or my declaration of distrust for the man.
I realized I was standing in the middle of my room, holding the damp garments I wore earlier. I had everything else packed, but they were still damp from the dip in the sea. I hung them back up. I would have to pack them in the morning.
For something to do, I took out my book of household accounts. I returned to the parlor and went over it, making sure it was up to date. Mr. Darcy found me there.
“You will take the carriage to London in the morning.” He put some money on the table, his face creased in lines of disapproval. “This should cover your expenses and your wages to date. You will go to the house you shared with my sister and remove all of your things. The coachman will then take you anywh
ere in London you wish to go.”
“No, sir,” I said.
“You wish to remain here? The rent is paid for the month.”
“I will go to Darcy House. You will give me the name of a servant you trust who will come with me and oversee my packing. The servants where we lived will expect to be let go. Some of them may be tempted to take things. I want you to be certain that I did not.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said stiffly.
“Because you will blame me regardless?” I asked. I kept my tone neutral. My words were inflammatory enough.
“Very well.” His tone was cold enough to chill ice. “You will also take this filth with you.” He slammed two books down on the table. One was the last volume in Julie, ou la nouvelle Héloïse. The other was Les Liaisons Dangereuses. He was right, that was filth.
“I have never seen these books before,” I said. Then I realized I had, on Madame Falconet’s bookshelf. “She didn’t get them from me. Nor did I know she was reading them.”
“Don’t add perjury to your crimes,” he said. “I don’t anticipate having to see you again, Mrs. Younge.” Scowling, he turned on his heels and left.
I wanted to argue with him, but there was no point. Nothing would save my job. Nothing I said would give me a good reference. Even if I could make him see that I’d done nothing else wrong, the truth was, it was my role to make sure Miss Darcy wasn’t reading things like he’d found her reading, and I had failed. I was on my own. I had nowhere to go and no prospect of getting work.
Chapter Thirteen
No one wanted to remind Mr. Darcy of Mr. Wickham.
I sat down to a solitary breakfast the next morning, finding a note from Mr. Darcy by my plate. It contained the name of a servant at Darcy House and of the maid he’d ordered to accompany me there. It also had a sealed note to the servant. At least he’d remembered my request for a witness. I didn’t need to be blamed for any more things that I hadn’t done.
I ate more than usual, for I didn’t know how long the money I’d saved would last. Every meal might count. As I was finishing, the cook appeared at my shoulder, placing a towel-wrapped bundle on the table beside me while clearing away my plate, a job normally reserved for a lesser servant. She hurried away so quickly that I didn’t have time to say thank you, but I’m sure it was understood. The towel contained an entire loaf of bread and was, in itself, fine enough that I could sell it for a small amount after the bread was gone. Reluctantly, I left the towel and wrapped the bread in my shawl. I was not reduced to stealing. Not yet.
As I stood from the table, Miss Darcy’s maid skittered into the room. “Mrs. Younge,” she asked in a near whisper, her eyes wide. “Do you think Mr. Darcy will let me go too?”
“Why would he?” I asked. I didn’t bother trying to find out how the servants knew. Servants spied, and gossiped, and I’d already expected my circumstance to be the talk of the house.
“Cook said he’s so angry, he’ll let us all go, just in case we were in on Miss Darcy’s conspiracy.”
“What conspiracy?” I asked sharply, dreading her answer. I was sure it would have something to do with Mr. Wickham.
“Miss Darcy told Mr. Darcy that she’d planned to elope with Mr. Wickham, this Friday at dawn.” It was Thursday. “He was going to get a carriage. She was going to sneak out.”
“Don’t tell anyone that,” I said. I knew the maids often listened at doors, especially if they thought their jobs were in jeopardy, but that didn’t mean I could encourage anyone spreading that sort of gossip about Miss Darcy. It could ruin her. She was a naïve, love-struck girl, but she didn’t deserve to have her life thrown into shambles for it, even if mine had been. At least now I knew for certain why Mr. Darcy was so angry. “He’s less likely to let you go if he thinks you don’t know,” I added, thinking that a better injunction against her repeating the tale than protecting Miss Darcy’s reputation would be.
She nodded. I’d probably confirmed what she already knew. “We’ll miss you here, missus,” she said, looking down.
“And I shall miss all of you,” I replied. I would, too, in a way. The staff Mr. Darcy employed tended to be good, hard working and loyal. Though my position between worlds hadn’t allowed me to form friendships with any of them, they’d been pleasant to work with. It was bitterly amusing to me that Mr. Darcy employed so much more care in selecting his servants than he did his sister’s governess.
There were many things I wanted to say to Mr. Darcy, but there was no point. I’d never convince him of my lack of culpability. At this point, convincing him wouldn’t even matter. I knew he wasn’t the sort of man to go back on the decision to let me go. He was too proud for that.
I didn’t speak with the maid Mr. Darcy sent with me. Instead, all the way back to London, I thought about what I could have done better. I should have kept Mr. Wickham away from Miss Darcy from the start. I’d guessed what he was. I wasn’t a fool.
I tried to tell myself that I’d allowed him to stay because, technically, he fit Mr. Darcy’s criterion. I knew that wasn’t completely true, though. In honesty, his adherence to the rules set up by Mr. Darcy was what I’d hoped to use as an excuse for my behavior, should I need it. The truth was, I’d been enamored myself. Not with Mr. Wickham, but with how much happier, more open and freer Georgiana was when in his company. I’d also known, deep down, that if I kept him away, the delicate rapport that I’d been cultivating with her would have been ruined. As Miss Darcy’s growing affection for me had been central to my plan for my life, I’d taken the risk of Wickham to help it along.
I gazed out the window at the passing scenery. I didn’t feel guilty for taking joy in Georgiana’s happiness, or for encouraging our growing rapport, but I did for not working harder to keep Mr. Wickham away. How could I have known things were already so out of hand, though? He’d seemed gentlemanly enough. He’d been raised with Mr. Darcy, after all. Though my instincts had said Mr. Wickham would have made Georgiana a terrible husband and I’d worried he was trying to do something to trap her, I’d had no reason to think him so low that he would persuade her to elope.
Sighing, I tugged the curtain closed. No matter how I tried to justify myself, Miss Darcy’s attempted elopement had happened while I was in charge of her. It was my fault. It was precisely the sort of thing I’d been hired to prevent.
Mr. Darcy was right to let me go. Though he was cold and arrogant, he wasn’t actually being unreasonable or unkind. He’d paid me and given in to my demand, as well as provided me with a carriage. He’d even sent a maid with me for propriety. Propriety! I would soon have no reputation. No one would hire me as a governess or a housekeeper. I would be lucky to get a job as a maid.
When I reached Darcy House, the servant whose name he gave me was not a somewhat elderly servant, as I’d expected, but a footman named James who was close to my age. I gave him Darcy’s note. James informed me he was supposed to help me with my luggage and see that it all got to my destination in London.
I found myself oddly angry at that. I wanted to have a grievance against Mr. Darcy, yet he had seen to my comfort and safety. As James helped me pack, he asked, “What happened? We heard you were getting along very well with Miss Darcy.”
“Mr. Wick--” I started to say but stopped myself, shaking my head. Even though I would never get a similar job, I didn’t want to gossip about Miss Darcy’s indiscretion.
“He’s a bad ‘un,” he said, obviously recognizing the name in spite of my attempt to catch myself. I must have looked surprised, because he added, “I grew up at Pemberley, and saw a side of Mr. Wickham that old Mr. Darcy never saw.”
“Mr. Darcy did not like him associating with Miss Darcy,” I said.
He nodded as I said it. “Mr. Wickham was asking the servants at Darcy House where she was. I didn’t tell him, but another footman did.” One of Mr. Darcy’s servants, not one of the ones I managed. I was relieved, although it didn’t change anything. “We didn’t tell Mr. Darcy, becaus
e last time Mr. Wickham visited, they had words. No one wanted to remind Mr. Darcy of Mr. Wickham.”
I wished they had told Mr. Darcy, but there was nothing for it now. My possessions packed, we carried them out front and loaded them up. I directed the coachman to take me to Miss Hodges. I had nowhere else to go. I only hoped I was welcome there. James carried my meager possessions up the steps and waited until the door was answered.
To my surprise, Mr. Thompson, not the woman who usually came to the door, greeted me. I was so pleased to see him, I felt a wave of emotions lodge in my throat. As distraught as I was over Miss Darcy, I wasn’t even sure what emotions they were, only that I’d missed him.
“Mrs. Younge,” he said, looking over my pile of belongings. “It’s a pleasure to see you. Would you like me to bring those inside?”
James set down my cases and left as I nodded, not trusting my voice at that moment. Mr. Thompson picked up my things, managing all of them at once, save two small cases I took. Wordlessly, he carried them up to Miss Hodges’ room, pausing on the landing outside her parlor.
“We don’t have any vacancies, but you can sleep on the sofa tonight. Unless you would prefer a maid’s room in the attic?” His look was questioning, and the sympathy in it made me want to cry.
“The maid’s room,” I said, mastering my voice. “I don’t want to inconvenience Miss Hodges.” That wasn’t the real reason. I might as well begin as I would have to go on.
He nodded and led me upstairs to one of the attic rooms. After depositing my possessions, he handed me a key. I was surprised the room had a lock. Most attic rooms didn’t.
“I’ll come back and check on you after you’ve had a moment to get settled,” he said.
Pride & Prejudice Villains Revisited – Redeemed – Reimagined: A Collection of Six Pride and Prejudice Variation Short Stories Page 19
