Pride & Prejudice Villains Revisited – Redeemed – Reimagined: A Collection of Six Pride and Prejudice Variation Short Stories

by Renata McMann

  My personal frustrations and failings didn’t affect my work, however, and Alder House prospered. We had four or five dinners a week, as people liked our cook and a dining room that seated ten. All of the rooms were rented. Even those in the attic, which went to servants who worked in nearby houses that didn’t have space for them.

  As the memory of our encounter in Miss Hodges’ parlor grew less fresh, Mr. Thompson and I settled into a pleasant routine. Though he worked in the law firm three days a week and helped with the books of several local businesses, and his private clients filled the rest of his time, we began to see more of each other. We ate breakfast and dinner together daily, and we had many brief meetings concerning the running of Alder House. Winter passed into spring, and then summer.

  Mr. Thompson increased my salary by ten percent, saying I’d earned it. For some reason, his doing so made the gulf between us seem greater. It was almost as if, by paying me more, he was reminding me of my place in his life.

  I couldn’t be anything but grateful for the increase, though. My savings were growing, although slowly. I had a stable job where I was given the freedom and power to do the best I was able. Overall, my life was good. Perhaps better than it ever had been before. At least, that’s what I logically told myself, trying to ignore the gap in my happiness where Mr. Thompson’s affections should be.

  Summer was winding down when I heard a loud, persistent knock at the door. I knew the maids were in the kitchen, helping prepare the dinner we were hosting that evening, so I went to answer it myself. Walking past Mr. Thompson’s office on my way, I glanced inside to see him hard at work, alone. I tried not to mind that he didn’t even look up as I passed.

  I pulled the door open and nearly closed it again. There was a Hackney coach outside, waiting. None other than Mr. Wickham stood on our steps. The man I most wished to avoid in all the world.

  “Mrs. Younge,” he greeted, his smile easy and wide. He was dressed in an officer’s uniform, which would have made him quite handsome and dashing, if I didn’t find him repugnant. A tall, attractive and very young woman was on his arm. She reminded me of Miss Darcy.

  “Mr. Wickham,” I said, my tone flat.

  “This is Miss Bennet,” he said, tugging her forward a little.

  Miss Bennet smiled an almost vapid smile. “Heavens, it’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Younge,” she said. “Georgie has been promising me a proper place to stay for ages now.” She leaned forward, looking over my shoulder to peer inside.

  I reevaluated my initial comparison of Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy. The girl before me may have mirrored Miss Darcy in youth, height and comeliness but, if she had a brain in her head, she was hiding it well. I stepped out, pulling the door closed behind me. Peering past them into the coach, I couldn’t see anyone else with them. Miss Bennet appeared to be without a chaperone.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “We need a place to stay,” he said. He emphasized the word we, giving me a meaningful look. His smile didn’t falter, though he had every reason to be ashamed of himself and his request.

  “Not here,” I said, automatically. “I don’t have room.” I was lying. We had a small room that had just been vacated, but I wanted no part of Wickham’s schemes. It was one thing to be passably polite to the man, but quite another to become involved in whatever he was plotting.

  Wickham’s smile hardened in place, his eyes darkening with anger. I was reminded that he was a man who wouldn’t hesitate to cause me trouble. I suddenly didn’t feel quite safe out there on the steps with him, though I wasn’t truly afraid. Still, I decided it was best to show him that I was no longer alone in the world, at the mercy of his machinations.

  “Just a moment,” I said. “Mr. Thompson might know a place.” I deliberately didn’t refer to him as my employer. Let Mr. Wickham think we were more to each other than that. It would make him hesitant to bother me again.

  I turned and opened the door, calling to Mr. Thompson. As I did, I winced. I knew the maids were farther away than he was, but I hadn’t realized I’d reached the stage where I would shout for someone. I recalled the day Mr. Thompson labeled the gentry our former class. For the first time I realized he was right. I was no longer a gentlewoman.

  “Coming,” he called back.

  I was grateful for his quick response, and that he was working from Alder House that afternoon. He appeared in the hall, his face worried and his long strides carrying him to me. He cocked his head to the side, and I realized he must have picked up the anxiety in my tone.

  I brought my hand up to the side of my face that was toward him and pushed back my hair before drawing my finger down my forehead, to my eye, down my cheek and to the corner of my mouth. I didn’t know if he’d recall the meaning of the gesture, for we hadn’t needed to use it until now. It was ironic, I reflected, that with all of the people we dealt with, most of whom a man like Mr. Darcy would consider vulgar and low, the first time I needed Mr. Thompson’s and my secret gesture was for one of Mr. Darcy’s associates.

  “My friend Mr. Wickham needs a place to stay,” I said, hoping Mr. Thompson would recall the name even if he didn’t remember the gesture. I pulled the door open wider as I spoke, revealing Mr. Thompson fully to them. Miss Bennet’s eyes went wide in her head, and Mr. Wickham’s smile faltered. She pulled on his sleeve, taking a half-step back. I tried to see Mr. Thompson as they did, looming and disfigured, but couldn’t. “I informed him we’re full, but thought you might know someplace for him.”

  “I know of three places not far from here,” Mr. Thompson said. He turned to Mr. Wickham. “I could show you. I can walk back,” he added, nodding toward the Hackney still waiting in the street.

  I pressed my lips together over my annoyance. That wasn’t quite what I’d asked him to do. I wanted Mr. Thompson to intimidate Wickham.

  I shot him a look but held my peace. I knew his way was better. There would be no menace, no reason for Mr. Wickham to get angry with me or plot revenge. A part of me, though, had anticipated seeing that fake smile wiped from his face.

  “We’d be grateful,” Wickham said.

  I could tell he didn’t mean it. I was sure Mr. Thompson could as well, but he smiled and nodded, coming out to stand beside me. Wickham, I thought, had expected me to make room for him. Well, he would have to take what he could get.

  Miss Bennet looked back and forth between us. She turned to me, her smile bright. “We’re going to be married,” she said, leaning toward me. “That’s why we need a place to stay. Together.” She giggled.

  Sadly for her, I was quite sure she believed they would be married. A glance at the pained edge to Wickham’s brittle smile cast doubts on the assertion, though. I looked over Miss Bennet’s clothes. She looked like a lady, but I doubted an heiress would be dressed in anything that unfashionable, and I doubted Mr. Wickham would marry a woman bereft of a fortune.

  “My family will be so surprised when I write them and sign the letter Lydia Wickham,” the girl prattled on. I couldn’t tell if she always talked a lot, or if Mr. Thompson was making her nervous. “I left Harriet a letter. I bet she was surprised. I told her in the letter to have her maid mend a ghastly tear in my gown. Do you think she’ll do that?” She glanced at Wickham, who shrugged.

  “I also told Harriet to tell a lieutenant I promised a dance to that I was sorry I wouldn’t be there, but I had to go off to get married,” she continued, apparently oblivious to how inane she sounded. “It will be nice to dance with him as a married lady, too. I love my Georgie, and I know he won’t object to my dancing with others once we’re married, will you Wickham?” She turned to him, batting her lashes in an idiotic way.

  “Of course not,” he said, looking embarrassed, as well he should.

  Miss Bennet opened her mouth again.

  “You don’t want to keep that Hackney waiting,” Mr. Thompson said, before she could speak.

  He pushed past them, heading down the steps. Miss Bennet tried to drop a cur
tsy to me, but Wickham pulled her away, following Mr. Thompson. She settled for a wave instead, looking back over her shoulder.

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Younge,” she called. “Isn’t it a lark that you only just met Miss Bennet, and now I shan’t be her any longer?”

  I tried not to gape at her as Wickham dragged her away. I’d met more than my share of young misses. Rarely had I come across one as devoid of sense as Miss Bennet. I suppressed a shudder and headed back inside to attempt to focus on my work while I waited for Mr. Thompson to return.

  He wasn’t gone as long as I expected, so I assumed he’d found them lodging at the first of his three locations. I looked up from my ledger as he came into the dining room, which I used as an office during the day. “Where did you take them?”

  “Not far, to the Green House,” he said.

  I nodded. It was an inexpensive place, but decent enough so that Miss Bennet should be safe there. I didn’t want Wickham in a place that nice, but I supposed she, no matter how vapid she seemed, deserved something acceptable. “A good choice,” I admitted.

  “I helped him negotiate a good price as well,” Mr. Thompson said.

  “Why did you bother?” I asked, still put out that he hadn’t chased Wickham away, as I’d hoped.

  “For two reasons,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “The first is the girl. No one gets to be as self-centered and thoughtless as she is without being cared for. The world tends to kick people like that around until they learn, so she’s obviously been protected by someone. She may be worthless, but someone will be hurt by what happens to her.”

  It was an odd analysis, but I accepted it as a reason. I was surprised by his empathy. “And the second?”

  “Mr. Wickham is the sort to form a grudge, and to overreact when he finds a way to repay it. You conveyed as much when you told Miss Hodges and me of your time in Ramsgate, and of Mr. Wickham’s actions against his fellow law student. Not making an enemy of the man when you didn’t need to was your own reasoning.”

  I recalled myself saying that very thing and knew he was right, but that didn’t make me happy about helping Wickham, not in any way. I realized, also, a part of me was hurt that Mr. Thompson had been so accommodating to a man he knew had wronged me. I felt as if he should have stood up for me. He should have done something to show he cared about me. Of course, for all I could tell, he didn’t.

  “I know that makes sense, but I hate that you helped Wickham in any way. He harmed me,” I said, angry.

  “Did he?” Mr. Thompson asked, his tone gentle. “Have you been hurt by your year here?”

  “No, but he’s deprived me of a choice. I am here at your whim.” I glared at him. He gazed back with something that looked suspiciously like pity on his face. “It’s all well and good for you to be forgiving. The man who wronged you is dead. Wickham cost me the future I was striving for, and he’s still gadding about, obviously unrepentant and just as horrid as ever. His actions haven’t hurt him at all, only me.”

  Mr. Thompson frowned at me. I gazed back, unable to quell my ire. A knock sounded at the door. Mr. Thompson grimaced. “That will be my appointment.”

  “You’d best go, then,” I snapped.

  He didn’t move. A woman’s voice, one I recognized as a regular client of his, called. Mr. Thompson said, “I have to go.”

  I nodded. Shaking his head, he went to open the door. I kept my face a ridged mask of anger until they settled in his office, in case he looked my way, but neither of them did. I hurried to my room, blinking back tears. How dare Wickham come to my door with some young girl he’d carried off? How could Mr. Thompson be so cordial to the man?

  I let myself cry for a moment and then washed my face. My anger faded, replaced by shame. I shouldn’t have lashed out at Mr. Thompson. He was right, only good had come from my time at Alder House, even if I had to endure the daily torture of living alongside a man I was beginning to suspect I loved just as deeply as any silly girl in a novel could.

  Chapter Nineteen

  …I aided him, against your wishes…

  Mr. Thompson and I didn’t speak at dinner. I tried to pull a veneer of normalcy over myself, but my growing awareness of how I felt about him, coupled with the turmoil of the day, made it difficult. I was relieved when the meal was over and we stood.

  “Mrs. Younge,” Mr. Thompson said before I could leave the room. “I would like to speak to you in my office.”

  I nodded, turning away from the route that would take me to the sanctuary of my room and heading down the hall toward his office. His tone was so formal that I worried he had some form of reprimand in mind for my overly harsh words earlier. I tried to pull my anger back to me, to steel myself. Instead, I could only find remorse.

  When we entered, he shut the doors behind us. Typically, that wouldn’t trouble me. We usually kept the doors open for propriety, but sometimes difficult tenants required us to speak in private. I’d stopped being uncomfortable with it a long time ago, until tonight. Tonight, the room seemed smaller than usual, especially as he brushed by me to cross to his desk. He didn’t go around it, but rather leaned against the corner, facing me. He gestured to the seat in front of him, but I shook my head.

  He regarded me for a long moment. The room was dim, lit by the fading daylight coming in the corner windows. His good side turned toward the light, he looked more handsome than ever.

  “Mrs. Younge, let me make one thing perfectly clear,” he said. “I would be a fool to drive you away. The profitability of Alder House comes from you. I realize I could sell the house for a decent sum, but it’s better to keep it and live off the income, leaving it, in effect, as the principle. I have some good jobs right now but, like you, I am saving. We both know that fate can be fickle. You are not here because of a whim, but because you are very good at what you do. I need you.”

  “I . . .” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Are you apologizing to me?”

  “I am,” he said. “I should have complied with your wishes. You are more important to me than anyone, let alone Mr. Wickham and a foolish young girl. It shouldn’t have been a question of logic or even of trying to show you how to let go of your anger. Mr. Wickham wronged you, and was obviously in the process of doing more wrong, and I aided him, against your wishes and my own conscience.” He shook his head, as if at his own foolishness. “I’m sorry.”

  “I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did,” I said, my mind and heart racing. I wrestled with coherent thought, fixated on the way he’d said he needed me. “I’m sure, in truth, it was painful for you, for many reasons, when your former employer died. I know that, at one time, he was a friend.”

  “It’s a pain which has long since faded, since any feelings of friendship died when I found out his true character,” he said, shrugging. He pushed off his desk, coming over to where I stood in the middle of the room. I tilted my head back to look up at him. “I don’t want what happened today to come between us. I don’t want any more dinners like the one we had tonight.”

  “Nor do I,” I said. I realized I was shaking slightly. I hoped he couldn’t see it. In what way, I wondered, did he mean that he needed me? He’d started off speaking of Alder House, but his declaration had sounded more personal than that.

  “Alder House needs you,” he said, his gaze on my lips. “And I am not a fool.”

  I stared at him, unsure where reality left off and a world of my conjuring began. Was he about to kiss me? Was I imagining the look in his eye? My own eyes slid shut.

  There was a swish of air and sudden footsteps. The doors to the office flew open. I opened my eyes in time to see Mr. Thompson stride from the room.

  Chapter Twenty

  Here is where you belong.

  The following day, Mr. Thompson wasn’t at breakfast. I didn’t see him all day, for it was one of the days he normally spent at the lawyers. I tried not to think much of it, but I was fraught with misgivings.

  Did he care for me? Had I horribly misread his desire t
o kiss me and made fools of us both? He’d said Alder House needed me. Maybe his feelings toward me were only physical, and he was striving not to take advantage of the foolish way I’d all but offered myself to him, again. I knew men were possessed of a trove of base desires. Wanting me and loving me could be two very different things.

  When he wasn’t at dinner either, I began to suspect that was, indeed, the case. Mr. Thompson wanted me. I wasn’t wrong there. He didn’t wish to wed me, however, or love me. He knew giving in to his desire, something I seemed to quite wantonly encourage, though I didn’t really mean to, would be a brief relief before it turned into ruin. Clearly, the long-term success of Alder House was more important, to both of us, than a brief dalliance.

  After three days, he appeared at breakfast again. There was no denying the tension that had formed between us, but he spoke and behaved as normal. I tried to do likewise.

  Everything was not normal, though. I was constantly on edge. I tried to act as I had before, but I kept finding myself gazing at his face like some sort of lovelorn fool. I was sure he noticed, and it must have embarrassed him as much as it did me. Added to that, I could hardly sleep at night, my dreams even more scandalous than my waking thoughts.

  I began to feel trapped. I loved my work at Alder House, but I was more and more afraid that I loved Mr. Thompson, as well. I had no other prospects for work, though. No way to save myself from endless days of pining after a man who didn’t love me.

  Worse, how long could I go before throwing myself at him, which would only make things more terrible? He might be strong enough to resist me again, putting us back into a state of embarrassment. If he wasn’t, I was sure we would have a brief, wonderful passion, with even more dire consequence. I hadn’t spent a year on the stage avoiding that sort of trouble only to give in now.

  I was sitting at the dining table, attempting to focus on the accounts, when I heard footsteps in the doorway. I looked up to find the widow who rented the parlor across from Mr. Thompson’s office. I’d long since learned that two of the children she watched were her own, but she was paid to mind the others.