A Father's Sins: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by J Dawn King

  Mr. Darcy bent and laid Georgiana carefully on the ground and then stepped in front of her, between his sister and Wickham. He felt Elizabeth put her left hand inside the crook of his right arm and realized she had stepped between the two as well. Elizabeth had to be terrified, yet she was protecting Georgiana with her courageous stand. Defiantly, he repeated, “You shall get nothing from me.” Outwardly, Darcy appeared calm. Elizabeth could feel him shake and knew not if it was fear or anger.

  Outraged beyond reason, Wickham raised the gun to sight on Mr. Darcy’s heart. “Nothing?” Disdain and hatred dripped from his mouth with every word. “You are not the Grand Master here, Darce.” He waved the pistol again. “You took everything from me; Pemberley, the wealth and position of being Master of Pemberley, the respect of my peers. You took it all! Father loved me! He loved me!” Wickham pounded his chest with his left hand. “He loved my mother! We…. we were his family; his true family. You were just an afterthought; someone for Mrs. Darcy to preen over and to pet. You do not deserve to be Master of Pemberley. You do not deserve to live at all, Darcy. You will die and then I will have it all, just as I deserve. You will have NOTHING!”

  “It is good that father is not alive to see what you have become.” Darcy spat the words out. “That you would attempt to sell his daughter, your own sister, into servitude to a vile moneylender so that you would be temporarily free of debt would have broken his heart. You already broke the hearts of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham and your sister by them, Constance. It is good that those good people are not here to see how you have turned out. I doubt Mrs. Wickham would survive the pain.”

  “You leave the Wickhams out of this,” George screamed. His eyes were almost glazed over, as if he were being influenced by a drug or an overuse of drink. The hand holding the pistol started quivering.

  It was as if time suddenly stopped; events appeared to move in slow motion. From where she stood, Elizabeth could see the pressure from Wickham’s index finger squeezing the trigger. His intentions were clear. Mr. Darcy would die. Elizabeth knew in her heart that this would devastate Georgiana to the point that she would never recover; and it would devastate her. The kindness and tenderness he showed his sister and his loyalty to his friend Mr. Bingley, whose family came from trade and who had received ridicule from the ton at this provenance, were a fine testimony that he was a remarkable man. His bravery and courage were a testament to the dignity and honor by which he comported himself. She recognized his intelligence and wit from the few conversations they had while she had been tending her own sister at Netherfield Park. However high his station, this would be a man she could admire and respect.

  A flurry of activity came from behind the carriage. Pounding hoof beats and a man’s voice was heard shouting from down the lane. Elizabeth’s heart rapidly beat in time with the racing animal. Never had she looked down the barrel of a gun. It was frightening and she longed to have time reverse so they would not be here at this particular moment. Elizabeth saw Wickham flinch, whether at the sound of the horseman or his intent to be rid of his hated younger brother, it was not known. Wickham’s finger tightened on the trigger. Elizabeth could not look away. Tension was at an extreme high and fear filled the air. Wickham stared at Mr. Darcy with complete hatred in his eyes. As Wickham fired at Mr. Darcy, the man who was rapidly approaching on horseback and the coachman, both fired at Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth heard a woman’s scream; not realizing it was her own. Before impact, her hand tightened on Mr. Darcy’s right arm and pulled him towards her. The bullet meant for his heart instead pierced through his left arm. The sound of the gunfire roused Georgiana and she sat up in the middle of the melee.

  The two footmen from the back of the carriage ran to assist their master and young mistress. At impact, Mr. Darcy had fallen backward and landed with his back on the front carriage wheel. His long legs were draped atop Georgiana’s. Only the skill of the coachman kept the carriage from moving forward and having Mr. Darcy crushed between the two axles. The bullet was lodged in the side of the carriage. Elizabeth went to Georgiana for a moment and determined she was terrified, but physically unharmed. Then, she turned to Mr. Darcy. Blood was pouring from the wound in his upper arm. While she applied pressure to the wound as best as her small hands were able, she heard the rider stop, descend from his winded horse, and approach. When she was able to look around, she saw that the tall man held a pale and shaking Georgiana tightly in his arms. Looking past them, she spied Wickham laid out on the ground, his horse now grazing nearby. Blood was seeping from a wound in his skull and from his heart. There was no movement, no rise and fall of a chest that continued to take in needed oxygen. He was dead.

  “Richard,” gasped Mr. Darcy through the pain, “I have never been so happy to see you, cousin.”

  “Darcy,” Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam quickly surveyed the scene. “Looks like I got here just in time.” His words were said in relief. His grip on his young cousin tightened. She was in shock, a condition he had witnessed repeatedly during battle. Talking softly to her, he observed the young woman attending Darcy. It appeared that she knew the proper treatment of wounds and was grateful that he did not have two fainting females on his hands as well as an injured cousin. He was proud of Georgiana for not fainting again.

  Elizabeth whispered to the footman, requesting the footman’s name. “Gideon, please help me get Mr. Darcy back into the carriage.” Turning to Georgiana and, apparently her cousin, she ordered him to assist Georgiana into the carriage also. Then she closely looked at the man. He was a soldier; an officer. “You will see to Mr. Wickham while we quickly return to Netherfield Park to tend Mr. Darcy’s wounds. Meryton is but a short distance in the opposite direction we are currently pointed. There you will find the constable, who is also the butcher. His shop is at the far end of town on the left. The magistrate, Sir William Lucas, is at Lucas Lodge. Netherfield Park is two miles past town. It is the current residence of Mr. Charles Bingley. Please ask anyone in the village for directions. We shall proceed there immediately to care for Mr. Darcy. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Miss.” He had served under generals during battle that had a less commanding presence than this young woman. As he helped his cousins into the carriage, he wondered at her identity. He was certain to find out soon enough. While Darcy was getting help inside the carriage from both the Elizabeth and the footman, Gideon, the other footman, Gideon’s brother Gabriel, helped Colonel Fitzwilliam lift Wickham’s body to his horse. Draping it over the saddle, Colonel Fitzwilliam pondered at the end of such a selfish, self-centered man. Justice had been served.

  John Coachman tucked his used pistol under the driver’s seat and held the two matched pairs of carriage horses until the occupants were as settled as they could be. At the tap on the roof, he skillfully turned the team and headed back to Netherfield Park. Each bump or rut in the road jostled his poor master, so he used as much caution as possible while still proceeding quickly. Even slight scratches were a serious danger from infection and often were life-threatening. Many a healthy young man lost his life to such a seemingly minor injury. Mr. Darcy’s injury was more than a scratch and the risk was tremendous.

  Inside the carriage, Elizabeth and Gideon removed Mr. Darcy’s outer coat and jacket, being careful to keep pressure on his arm. Elizabeth requested that Georgiana, who was seated across from Mr. Darcy, tear strips of cloth from her petticoat to use as bandages. Mr. Darcy was down to his waistcoat and linen shirt when Elizabeth took the knife from Gideon and cut the left sleeve away from his arm. By then, Georgiana, after using the same knife, handed the fabric to Elizabeth. With her back still facing Mr. Darcy’s sister, Elizabeth inquired of her, “Are you holding up well, Georgiana?”

  There was no answer. Elizabeth looked back and saw that the young girl’s face was white; her sight glued to her brother’s wound. Firmly, Elizabeth called to her, “Georgiana! Move to the right side of Mr. Darcy and take his hand, please.” She brooked no argument with the girl. Turning back to attend Mr. Darcy�
�s arm, she felt rather than saw Miss Darcy move. “Thank you,” she reassured her. “Dear girl, I am going to need your help and your brother is going to need it as well. We have but a few moments until we arrive at Netherfield Park and there will be many, many tasks that I can only trust to someone who loves your brother as much as you do.” She paused to look at the young lady. “Will I be able to trust you to help me?”

  “You may,” Georgiana whispered quietly, looking down at her lap.

  “No, Georgiana,” Elizabeth took the hand that was not clutching Mr. Darcy’s arm and lifted Georgiana’s chin. “This will not do. I need you to be fierce, determined, and to remember that you are a DARCY. Stand tall, Georgiana! Stiffen your spine, sweet girl, because between the two of us, we shall do all we can to save your brother’s arm and his life. Now, will I be able to trust you to help me?”

  “Absolutely, Elizabeth, absolutely!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire

  Mr. Bingley was surprised, to say the least, when the carriage rapidly pulled up to the front of Netherfield Park. The butler, footmen, and housekeeper all followed Mr. Bingley outside as something of a dreadful nature must have occurred to have the Darcys return so soon and at such speed. The two footmen at the back of the carriage, Gideon and his twin brother Gabriel, hurried to open the door and help a very pale Mr. Darcy into the house. Mr. Bingley was stunned to see the always impeccably dressed Mr. Darcy with his clothing askew and crimson spreading down his arm. Elizabeth and Georgiana followed close behind, Elizabeth giving directions as they went. The shocked look on Mr. Bingley’s face precluded him from offering immediate assistance. Mrs. Nicholls, the housekeeper, was tasked with clearing the dining hall table, getting clean towels, hot and cool water and rooms prepared. Mr. Burton, the butler, was to get the strongest spirits available on the premises. After laying Mr. Darcy on the tabletop, Gabriel ran back to the carriage to get Elizabeth’s apothecary case.

  Elizabeth knew the value of cleanliness in the care of wounds, so asked that no person be allowed into the dining hall without washing with soap and water first. She stationed Georgiana at her brother’s head and handed her the first of the clean towels dipped in cool water to be used to soothe his brow. It was a simple task that would have much effect. The cook started to come into the room with some of the requested supplies when Elizabeth asked her to go back to the kitchen, wash her hands and the items thoroughly in hot soapy water and then return as quickly as possible. When she returned to the dining room, Elizabeth had the butler pour Scotch whiskey into one of the empty bowls. She then requested Cook to hold the towels tight around Mr. Darcy’s arm. Pulling bottles from her case, she inquired of Mr. Darcy, “Are you able to take laudanum for pain?”

  “I am,” he answered in a weak voice. Mixing a few drops of the bitter medicine in a glass of cool water, she added the same powers she had used for Jane’s fever, a mixture she had used before coming back to England. It was vile tasting, but seemed to have a good effect on a strong body. The cook moved to the other side of Mr. Darcy and the two women helped him sit up enough to drink the concoction. The expression on his face indicated his agreement with the liquid being of bitter taste. He laid back down and Georgiana began wiping his brow with the cool rag.

  Elizabeth called across the Hall to the doorway where she spied the butler. “Mr. Burton,” she called out.

  “Yes, miss,” he walked closer as he answered.

  “Does Mr. Bingley happen to have a sharp sword or a loaded rifle on the premises?” Elizabeth felt a pistol being evident on this occasion would not be appropriate.

  “He does, miss, in the library over the mantel.” He paused, “Are you in need of something sharp to care for Mr. Darcy’s wound, miss? The cook has several knives that are much sharper and would be easier to handle.”

  “Thank you for asking and for the suggestion, Mr. Burton, but, no, I do not need a sword for Mr. Darcy’s arm.” She peered down into Mr. Darcy’s face as he lay on the hard wooden surface. She could already see that his expression was starting to relax from the drug. Looking back at the butler, she caught his eye so he would know she was not in jest. “Please, Mr. Burton, take up the sword and if any person attempts to enter this room without washing first, you are to run them through. Am I understood?”

  The butler, having known Miss Elizabeth as long as Mrs. Nicholls, looked again to see if there was a twinkle in her eye at this suggestion and found nothing but utter seriousness. She truly meant that he was to use force, if necessary. However, Mr. Darcy chuckled from the table. Through his haze of pain, he was coming to a new and clearer understanding of Miss Elizabeth Bennet and he deeply appreciated that she was an unusual woman. Certainly, she was not one of the mindless, simpering women of the ton who shunned intellectual pursuits and who would have diverted attention by swooning at the first drop of his blood. He looked back at his sister standing behind him and thought that Elizabeth Bennet would be a positive role model for Georgiana to imitate. His heart ached for his dear sister. To have witnessed his injury and the killing of a once-beloved brother must be traumatic for her innocent heart. For one-third of her lifetime he had been responsible for her protection and he had again failed her. She was just starting to recover from the events with Wickham at Ramsgate and this undoubtedly would set her back. His heart ached with the thought.

  Elizabeth pulled the towels and scraps of petticoat away from the wounded arm and surveyed the damage. Bits of fabric were embedded in the now congealed blood. They would all have to carefully be removed and the wound cleaned thoroughly or the dreaded red streaks would appear to signify poison in his bloodstream. Dropping the tweezers, a needle, and string into the whisky, she instructed Georgiana to continue to dip the cloth into the cool water and wipe Mr. Darcy’s face, brow, and neck to soothe him as much as possible before she started. As Georgiana settled into a rhythmic motion, Elizabeth rolled a cloth into a small cylinder and, after asking Mr. Darcy to open his mouth, put it firmly between his teeth. She was afraid to give him more laudanum as she had heard of more than one injured man succumbing to the drug. Not knowing whether their deaths were from indiscriminate use of the drug or their injury, she did not want to take that chance with the man on the table.

  Earlier, she had directed the Darcy footmen, Gideon and Gabriel, and John Coachman to assist with the surgery. They had proven themselves at the scene of the crime to be steady of character and sound in thinking and John Coachman had steady hands. While she continued to cleanse the wound and pick at the threads, she heard Mr. Burton stop the three gentlemen and inquire if they had washed. Since they had, he let them come into the dining room. Assigning the footmen, one on his right side to hold steady his right arm and one at his feet to hold his legs still, she politely asked the coachman to stand at her side, between herself and Miss Darcy and hold Mr. Darcy’s shoulder. This would require immense strength, as the wound would need to be stitched closed on both the front and back of his arm, causing great pain. Directing her new surgical assistants, they carefully turned Mr. Darcy onto his right side. The mood was somber and Elizabeth’s nerves were rising and the last thing she needed was to have her hands shaking. She could hear Mr. Bingley’s footsteps outside in the hallway, pacing.

  “Gentlemen and Miss Darcy,” she slowly made eye contact with each one standing around the table, “due to the fact that my usual employment with a needle and thread is to embroider my initials on the corner of my ladies handkerchiefs, I am certain that if Mr. Darcy is not held still, I am afraid I may end up sewing my initials both on the front and the back of his arm in distraction. I am also fairly certain that is a scar that he would not like to have.” She heard Mr. Darcy’s chuckle. She carefully squeezed his arm, just then realizing she still had a grip at his elbow. “What say you, gentlemen? Can you hold Mr. Darcy firmly?” At three men speaking “yes, miss” she looked to Georgiana. “Georgiana, are you prepared to continue your wonderful care of your brother under these circ
umstances?” She was pleased at how firmly Miss Darcy spoke her agreement.

  “Very well then, we shall proceed.” By then, Elizabeth knew that the laudanum was having the fullness of the effect of the dose that had been administered. She was grateful that Mr. Darcy was situated so that the sun that came through the window reflected the amount of light she needed to see the wound clearly. Elizabeth went to work, probing into the wound to get the rest of the debris left from the shot. It took a steady hand and much patience, but Elizabeth was determined to leave nothing behind. Parker, Mr. Darcy’s valet, was asked to come inspect the hole in the greatcoat, the jacket, and the sleeve of the shirt to determine if he felt there were any remaining threads that might have been missed. Parker and Miss Darcy’s maid had yet to leave Netherfield Park when their master and mistress returned. They were just finishing packing the rest of the Darcy’s belongings when they were notified of the carriage’s sudden arrival.

  Parker had served his master since he was in Cambridge and he had deep respect for this young man. It was difficult seeing him struggle with the pain, as it had been difficult watching him struggle with the tremendous burden his father left him at his death. Yet, he was extremely proud to be servant to such a good and honorable man. He observed closely the young lady working on his master’s arm. As she worked, she spoke soothingly, both to his master and to young Miss Darcy. Cook routinely brought clean bowls of steaming water for Miss Elizabeth. Each time she came in the room, she was asked by the butler if she had washed. Parker watched Miss Elizabeth’s reaction the last time Cook entered. The exchange between butler and kitchen staff, Cook’s terse reply to his question, bespoke familiarity overlaid with respect. Miss Elizabeth recognized this with a small smile as she never once took her eyes off her work. Mr. Darcy’s servants could not help but be impressed with the care she was giving their master.