Chapter Twenty-One – Hertfordshire Reached
Mr. Bennet was pleased to be home. He was delighted to be in his own library, with his own books. He made sure not to show it, but he was also delighted to be interrupted by his nattering wife and silly daughters. Even Jane was a bit silly now, as she floated about Longbourn in a daze of joy, pining for Mr. Bingley’s arrival at Netherfield Park, which he leased sight unseen.
Mr. Bennet’s only regret in leaving Pemberley was that Miss Darcy hadn’t had time to finish her portrait of Jane. He had the feeling Miss Darcy was destined for great things in the artistic realm. He should have liked Jane to have what he was sure would be a beautiful and valuable piece.
Thoughts of paintings were pushed aside, however, by the arrival of a militia to Meryton shortly after his and Jane’s return. Very much aware of how even a young woman as shy and well behaved as Miss Darcy could be lured into trouble by a man, Mr. Bennet putting restrictions on his three younger daughters, limiting their access to the officers. Chiefly, that they couldn’t attend parties unless they spent an hour a day doing something useful of his choosing. Mr. Bennet hoped this might, in some way, impress a sense of responsibility on them.
Mary was the least distressed, and the easiest. Mr. Bennet instructed his wife to impart some of her household wisdom to their middle child. Specifically, the handling of the account books. Mr. Bennet felt the idea might reap long-term benefits for both him and Mary. His household would be run better and Mary would gain useful skills.
Mrs. Bennet complained bitterly about being pushed aside in her own home, but Mr. Bennet could tell she was happy to hand over the task of doing the household accounts. After Mary got the accounts in order, the task didn’t take her an hour a day. Mr. Bennet then supplemented it by saying she should spend the extra time teaching Kitty to play the pianoforte.
That effectively took care of two of his daughters, since Kitty would practice while Mary was doing accounts. Lydia, however, was rebellious. It took her several missed parties before she comprehended that her father was serious. After being deprived of enough chances to meet the officers, she took over mending linen. She grumbled, but did it.
When Lydia’s mending became unacceptable because the task bored her, Mrs. Bennet found another task. When boredom resurfaced, yet another was selected. Mr. Bennet was amused to note that Mrs. Bennet desperately wanted to find enjoyable work for Lydia to do that would also satisfy her inexplicitly demanding husband. Mrs. Bennet’s efforts were hampered by the fact that there were no worthwhile tasks that Lydia enjoyed. His youngest daughter was a mercilessly frivolous creature.
After the fifth new task, Mr. Bennet told his wife, “My dear, you’ve been very clever in getting Lydia to learn about many aspects of household management. She will be a much better manager for your care.” To his surprise, he found he almost meant it as a compliment, not a statement on the slipshod way she was handling Lydia.
“Thank you, Mr. Bennet. I’m pleased you realize the effort I’m going to in order to meet your unduly harsh demands,” Mr. Bennet replied, but she preened a bit at his compliment nonetheless.
Finally, Lydia was allowed to attend a party with the officers. This meant Mr. Bennet might as well, for he hadn’t been to a one. Instead, he’d taken it upon himself to remain home with Lydia. He said it was to keep her company, but they all knew it was so she wouldn’t sneak out.
As he settled into their carriage with Mrs. Bennet and their three younger daughters, for Jane had no wish to do anything but reread letters from Mr. Bingley, Mr. Bennet spared a wistful thought for Mr. Darcy’s larger conveyance.
“I bet Jane’s Mr. Bingley had a grand carriage,” Mrs. Bennet said, squeezing in.
“What about Lizzy’s Mr. Darcy? Isn’t he wealthier?” Kitty asked.
“Yes, but he married Elizabeth without asking.” Mrs. Bennet’s mouth pulled down in an all too familiar frown. “I can’t like a man who duels over one of my daughters and then runs off to Scotland with her, no matter how wealthy he is.”
“I shouldn’t hold it against him,” Lydia said. “I wish he had a brother, not a sister. Jane owned up that Mr. Darcy is very handsome.”
“He can’t be as handsome as Mr. Williams,” Kitty said. “Even Mary goes dreamy eyed for Mr. Williams, and he’s been ever so attentive to us.”
“Mr. Williams?” Mr. Bennet asked, in spite of his better judgment. It didn’t do to encourage his daughters.
“One of the officers with the regiment, Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Papa, Kitty and Mary talk about him every night at dinner,” Lydia said. “How can you not remember?”
“He doesn’t listen to talk of officers,” Mary said.
“He doesn’t listen to talk of anything important,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I don’t know how we live with you, Mr. Bennet.”
“Neither do I,” Mr. Bennet agreed. His daughters then proceeded to yammer on about the handsome Mr. Williams for the entire journey. Mr. Bennet paid little attention, but he could tell by the reckless look on Lydia’s face that she meant to make up for lost time with the man. She was a very competitive girl and couldn’t bear the idea someone would find Mary or Kitty more attractive than her.
Sure enough, the moment they arrived at the party, his youngest two daughters ran off to locate Mr. Williams. Mary angled toward the pianoforte. Mrs. Bennet waded into her usual sea of gossip.
Mr. Bennet considered cards, or a quiet corner to sit. Instead, he steeled himself to remain in the main room, with the dancing. The fatherly thing to do would be to at least assess Mr. Williams. Mr. Bennet was resolved no more of his daughters should wed scandalously, and none of them would end up like Miss Darcy.
Mr. Bennet walked the perimeter of the room. To his surprise, he didn’t spot Kitty or Lydia anywhere. Slightly worried, he checked the refreshment area, the card room and the foyer. Finally, he stepped out to the garden. The weather was a bit inclement, and no one appeared to be outside, but his worry drove him.
Once on the terrace, he could distinctly hear Lydia’s and Kitty’s giggles. A man’s voice, too low to make out the words, intermingled with them. Mr. Bennet had no idea what was afoot, but he couldn’t imagine it was appropriate.
“Kitty, Lydia, are you near?” he called, raising his voice.
The giggles fell silent, as did the man.
“Let me rephrase,” Mr. Bennet called. “I know you are near. If you aren’t on this terrace by the count of ten, this is the last party you shall attend this year.”
This was met by gasps. His youngest two daughters appeared from behind a hedge. They didn’t look in any way disheveled, but their eyes shone with guilt.
Mr. Bennet pointed behind him. “Inside, now.”
“But Papa, Mr. Williams--” Kitty broke off when Lydia’s elbow collided with her midsection.
“You never used to care if we went into the garden together, Papa,” Lydia said, her lips pressing into a pout.
“Well, I care now. Inside to dance or into the carriage to return home. The choice is yours.”
Lydia looked rebellious, but Kitty grabbed her hand, dragging her up the steps, past him and inside.
Mr. Bennet scanned the unmoving garden. “Mr. Williams, I shall not remain to speak with you, but please note that my daughters are not here for your amusement.” Mr. Bennet turned on his heels and went in.
He did not, however, go far. Moving off to the side, he lingered near the wall, attempting to look uncaring as he watched the door. He wanted a look at this handsome officer who would take two young girls into the garden. Perhaps, if the man appeared as unsavory as his actions made him seem, Mr. Bennet would lodge a complaint with his superior.
Several long minutes later, an officer stepped in from the terrace. He cast a quick glance around the room, turning toward Mr. Bennet and away again. After a moment, he moved off. Glancing in the direction he walked, Mr. Bennet spotted Kitty and Lydia.
Mr. Bennet stared after the ma
n, shocked. He knew the officer’s face so well, he was surprised the man had overlooked him. Though, in truth, there was no reason for Mr. Williams to recognize Mr. Bennet. After all, they’d never met. Even in view of that fact, Mr. Bennet would recognize William’s face anywhere. It was Wickham, the man who’d convinced Miss Darcy to elope and struck Elizabeth.
Anger the likes of which he’d rarely felt blossomed inside Mr. Bennet. Mr. Wickham. The man who’d attacked his daughter. Before he realized it, Mr. Bennet was stalking after the man.
Halfway across the room, sense reasserted itself. What did he expect to do, strike Wickham? Call him out? No, Mr. Bennet’s days for such behavior were behind him. There was someone, though, who would surely know how to handle Mr. Wickham.
As soon as they returned to Longbourn, late though the hour was, Mr. Bennet wrote to Mr. Darcy. He was pleased to receive a prompt response. Doubly so because it arrived before the next event, an officers’ dinner. If needed, Mr. Bennet had planned to invent a reason why none of his daughters could go. Now, in view of Mr. Darcy’s plan, he looked forward to the event. As speedily as Mr. Darcy had done, he sent back word of where and when the dinner would be.
When the evening arrived, Jane again remained behind. This time, however, unbeknownst to her mother and sisters, Jane wasn’t remaining in Longbourn all evening. On his way out, Mr. Bennet gave her a conspiratorial wink. Jane answered with a smile that would tell anyone with half a brain she was about to see Mr. Bingley. Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty and Lydia didn’t have a half a brain between them.
Mr. Bennet brought with him several of the pages he’d acquired at the Sleeping Cat and Miss Darcy’s oil painting, carefully wrapped. Waiting until everyone was seated for dinner, Mr. Bennet stood, calling all eyes to him. “As you all know, I was away for quite some time recently. It was quite the adventure, I assure you, and most of you know it resulted in one of my lovely daughters married and a second soon to be.”
This was met with cheerful acknowledgement. Everyone, as he planned, seemed to feel his interruption of their meal was one of fatherly boasting. Mr. Wickham, he noticed, had his face angled toward the table.
“What you don’t know is that I was a day shy of missing a spectacular event. I have an account of it, which I would enjoy sharing.”
This was met with raised eyebrows, but his neighbors were good natured and, he supposed, accustomed to a bit of foolishness from the Bennet household, though not normally from him. Having everyone’s attention, Mr. Bennet read the description of the duel. While he read, Wickham started out by appearing uncomfortable, but eventually appeared to calm down, perhaps assuming Mr. Bennet couldn’t make the connection between the Williams and Wickham.
“That certainly is interesting,” Colonel Forster, the commander of the militia regiment, said. He looked about, as if testing the local sentiment. “Not what I expected our meal to be delayed with.”
“Yes, it certainly is interesting,” Mr. Bennet agreed. “To make it more so, I’ve obtained from another source a picture of Mr. Wickham.” Mr. Bennet pulled out the oil painting, holding it up for everyone to see.
A murmur of shock went through the room. Mr. Wickham looked up, going white. When Mr. Bennet angled the painting toward Colonel Forster, he surged to his feet.
“You best be certain of your identification,” Colonel Forster said. “I won’t have one of my officers slandered.”
“Oh, I am,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice cold. He glared at Wickham through narrowed eyes.
“Mr. Williams,” Colonel Forster said, turning to Wickham. “What is the meaning of this? Are you Mr. Wickham?”
Wickham’s gaze darted around the room. He inched his chair back from the table. All around them, people babbled, whispering to each other and gaping at Wickham. Even Lydia stared at him with a look of horror on her face, for Mr. Bennet hadn’t left out the event which instigated the duel, Wickham striking Elizabeth.
“Answer me, Mr. Williams. That’s an order,” roared Colonel Forster.
Mr. Wickham sprang to his feet. He dashed out the door.
“Go after him,” Colonel Forster ordered, gesturing to the officers seated nearest the door.
They jumped up, hurrying out. For a long, stunned moment, everyone stared in the direction Wickham had fled. The room erupted into a babble of talk. Most wanted to find him and bring him back. There were cries of justice for Elizabeth. Some few, calmer heads, pointed out that he’d already answered for it. Mr. Bennet decided not to mention dueling was illegal.
“This promise he was supposed to have written,” an officer said. “Do you have a copy of it? I have a receipt for debts he owes me. I would like to compare the handwriting.”
Mr. Bennet handed over the page. The receipt and the page were put on the table for all to see. Others brought out similar promises of payment. It turned out that not only did the writing match, but Mr. Wickham owed a surprisingly large total to various members of the militia. This launched another round of grumbling.
One of the officers said, “If Mr. Williams and Mr. Wickham are the same person, he has broken his oath.”
“What do you mean?” Colonel Forster asked.
“I’ve heard him say Mrs. Bennet was silly and stupid. He promised here,” the officer said, pointing to the note, “that he would never insult any woman.”
“I’ve heard that too,” another man said.
While this new complaint was aired, Mr. Bennet carefully rewrapped the painting. He stowed it and the report of the duel away. He smiled, satisfied. He never thought his wife’s undeniable silliness would be an asset in any circumstance. He wouldn’t want to be Mr. Wickham right about now.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Justice Done
Seeing a figure come flying out of the home Mr. Bennet had indicated in his letter, Darcy stepped away from the wall. Long, sure strides carried him into the man’s path. Across the street, he could see Richard approaching from the other side.
“You look like you’re in a hurry, George,” Darcy said.
Wickham’s eyes flew wide. He whirled away, but skidded to a halt at the sight of Richard and three soldiers behind him.
“Mr. Wickham,” Richard greeted in a hard voice. “You disgrace that uniform.”
Wickham turned back to Darcy. A sneer warped his even features. “Brought your cousin to do your dirty work, Darcy?”
“Dirty work?” Darcy raised his eyebrows. “I daresay seeing you jailed or transported is the opposite.”
“Jailed?” Wickham scoffed. “On what grounds? I’ve done nothing illegal. You can’t jail a man for doing what I did with your little sister.”
Darcy drew his arm back to hit Wickham, but stopped himself. Ever since Wickham had reentered his life, Darcy had been acting like a savage, like a man who didn’t know the rule of law. But laws ruled England, and he wasn’t going to let himself become someone who felt himself above civilized behavior. True, his situation with Elizabeth had invited mad behavior, but that problem was solved. Wonderfully solved.
“Say what you wish, but if you speak ill of Miss Darcy, you brand yourself an oath breaker. Considering your other petty crimes, it hardly matters. You will be transported regardless. But your term of sentence might be increased by a judge who knows you have a gentleman’s education and broke your word.”
Richard ordered the soldiers to take Wickham into custody.
“Yes, sir,” the group barked in unison and obeyed the order.
Darcy stood where he was, drawing in deep breaths. Wickham seemed to bring out a kind of insanity in him. Darcy would be glad to hear that his childhood friend was out of the country.
“I’m surprised you had so much control,” Richard said.
“I didn’t want to stoop to his level.”
Richard shrugged. “I wanted to hit him.”
“I did, when he struck Elizabeth. I also humiliated him in a duel. But that didn’t stop him.”
“No, but four instances of petty larceny will s
top him. Wickham was a thief of opportunity, but he did it too often. We have the evidence.”
“Will it be enough to get him transported?”
“Yes. I’m going in there to see where things stand and speak to the commanding officer,” Richard said.
“Right.” Darcy drew in another steadying breath.
Richard scrutinized him. “Why don’t you go back to Netherfield and tell your wife she’s safe? I’m sure I can prevail upon Mr. Bennet to drop me there later.”
“Not with the rest of his family,” Darcy reminded.
“Surely not. Miss Bingley would skin me alive if I ruined the tea she has planned for everyone tomorrow. I’m aware she’s looking forward to playing hostess at the meeting of the two families.”
“Thank you for coming, Richard. Especially in view of . . . circumstances.”
Richard looked away. “She’s your sister now. I’m sure to see her from time to time.” He turned back and offered his hand. “Even Wickham won’t be able to charm his way out of the mass of offenses we’ve assembled. We have him, Darcy.”
Darcy answered that with a smile. They shook. “We do,” he agreed.
Leaving Richard to deal with what was surely a chaotic situation inside the home where the dinner was taking place, Darcy returned to his carriage. He told his driver to take him back to Netherfield and got in. Darcy took in the idyllic Hertfordshire scenery as they drove, seeking to put the last vestiges of his anger aside. Wickham was done for this time, perhaps forever.
By the time they reached the drive to Netherfield Park, Darcy had regained his composure. When they reached the front and he got out, he took in the towering structure with a knowledgeable eye. It was a fine manor, and a good estate. Bingley had done well, although he would have liked him to live closer to Pemberley. Another happiness discovered due to the Bennet’s, for Bingley had been thinking of purchasing an estate for some time. He could live at Netherfield Park and decide if it suited him. He may never have found this fortuitous location if not for Miss Bennet.
Foiled Elopement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 18
