The Road to Pemberley

by Marsha Altman

  After breakfast, the boys went to their rooms to gather their arsenal for play. Edward entered his bedchamber, followed by Darcy.

  “What?” Edward said as he scowled at the younger boy.

  Darcy shrugged. “Nothing. I thought today you could be Robin of Loxley.”

  “Really?” Edward said and grinned. He no sooner began to rejoice at his good fortune than Richard came running into his bedchamber, looking ghastly.

  “Edward! There in my room!” Richard pointed hysterically. Edward gasped. “What? What is it?”

  “Something on the floor of my bedchamber!” Richard yelled. “You must go and fetch it!”

  “I am not going to fetch it!” Edward screamed back. “It is probably a bat!”

  Darcy stood behind Edward and nearly laughed at his older cousin’s distress. “You are the oldest, and besides you are a fine hunter, or so you say,” Darcy taunted him. “Richard and I are merely infants!”

  “That is right! You are infants!” Edward said, sneering.

  “Well, I am not afraid of a flying rodent!” Darcy went to Edward’s bureau and found a small box on top of it. He emptied it of its contents and he opened the secretary drawer and took out a few sheets of paper.

  “What are you doing?” Edward yelped as he watched his younger cousin.

  “I am going to catch it in this box. I shall put the box over it, slide the paper underneath, and turn the whole thing over. Then I shall take the poor creature outside and let it go!”

  Edward stood with his mouth open as he watched Darcy leave the room. Richard began to follow his younger cousin. “Richard! Where are you going?”

  “I am going to help Wills catch the beasty,” Richard said matterof-factly.

  “You are out of your minds!” Edward screeched.

  “And you are fainthearted!” Richard lambasted his brother.

  Edward was beside himself. He had boasted of his courage and daring to his younger sibling and cousin. Now here he was, standing idly by as the younger boys risked life and limb to rid the household of a scourge.

  Darcy returned to Edward’s room within a few minutes, with the box in his hand and the paper over it. “I got it!” he exclaimed with a grin.

  “Nay, you are pulling my leg, you are!” Edward smiled. “There is nothing in that box.”

  “There is so!” Darcy protested. “Here, take a look!”

  Darcy moved forward and slid the paper off the box a bit. Edward backed up and nearly fell on his backside in his haste to get away. “You are bluffing! There is nothing in that box!”

  Darcy took the box and tilted it to the side. Edward heard something in the box scratching, and then bump the other side of the box. Edward’s eyes opened wide and he started backing up farther and faster.

  “Do you not want to see it, Edward?” Richard asked with a grin. “I saw it in my room. It is black and ugly, with big wings and fangs!” Richard imitated the creature the best he could.

  “Uh…n-no…no…” Edward stammered, as the panic in him grew worse. “Get it out of here!”

  Darcy moved the paper away from the box a little more and looked inside. “It looks harmless enough.”

  Edward became desperate. “Wills, take it away! It will surely bite you, and then you will be frothing at the mouth!”

  “Not from a little thing like this!” Darcy grinned and pulled the paper from the box. He looked inside, and then with a jump, heaved the box up, letting its contents fly out in Edward’s direction.

  Edward shrieked and fell to the floor, and then quickly crawled out of the room, screaming at the tops of his lungs. The younger boys were overcome with delight as they fell onto Edward’s bed in fits of laughter.

  Richard ran over and picked up the pinecone from the floor and held it in the air. “Some great hunter he turned out to be! Afraid of a big, ugly pinecone!”

  In summer time when leaves grow green

  ’Twas a seemly sight to see

  How Robin Hood himselfe had drest

  And all his yeomandrie.

  He clad himselfe in scarlett red

  His men in Lincoln green

  And so prepares for London towne,

  To shoot before the lovely queen.6

  The boys had planned to run into Lambton that day to play cricket on the green. Young Wickham had told them a few of the boys from the village were organizing a game and all those willing and able were to be invited.

  When they arrived at the green that morning, the scene looked like a knightly tournament, with young men waiting to show their expertise at sport, and young ladies lined up along the sides of the field to cheer on their favorites. Miss Mary Chaney was there, eager to see young Richard Fitzwilliam. Richard obliged the young lady, walking over to where she stood with her friends and taking a moment to play the flirting game, which he had tried to explain to Darcy after the assembly, but to no avail.

  Darcy stood some ways back and watched his cousin’s amiable nature with those of the opposite sex. It was no matter whether young Darcy wished to participate in this particular game; in his opinion, he would never have a talent for it. He noticed Miss Annabelle Martin amongst the girls, and for some reason he felt obliged to make sure she noticed his presence. Edward threw Darcy a ball, and Darcy began to make several practice bowls, while Edward took a few swings.

  Darcy was convinced that there was no better way for a chap to be noticed by a girl, than while engaged in a little sport. Each time he bowled, he would steal a glance over in Miss Martin’s direction, to make sure she was thoroughly impressed with the figure he cut on the playing field. Miss Martin watched and smiled as Master Darcy did his best to look impressive for her benefit. Darcy was annoyed, however, when young Wickham made his way over to the group of girls and began to monopolize their attentions.

  Darcy bowled the ball again, and then looked over in Miss Martin’s direction, only to see her laughing and her eyes sparkling at the amiable conversation of George Wickham. Edward hit the ball and it went flying in Darcy’s direction.

  “Look out, Wills!” Edward yelled, and Darcy fell to the ground just in time to avoid having his bell rung, much to his embarrassment.

  When Darcy scrambled to his feet, he stormed over to where Wickham and Richard were entertaining the girls.

  “Are we going to play this game?” he huffed. “Or are you going to lollygag all day?”

  Darcy was selected the captain of one team and Robert Leyton the captain of the other. Young Leyton was a year older than Darcy, and the two boys were neighbors, although they did not play much together. Leyton’s father and Mr. Darcy were not the best of friends, even though their estates bordered each other’s. The Darcys and the Leytons had been involved in many land disputes throughout the years, going back as far as the boys’ great-grandfathers. It seemed, in the opinion of the Darcys, that the Leytons were always making claim to Pemberley lands. The feud had been perpetuated throughout the years, but both boys knew little of the particulars, only that their families were not on good terms.

  Wickham was chosen as umpire, much to the chagrin of both captains, for Wickham was known to make questionable calls. The teams were nominated, and play commenced near noon that day. The constable was taking his midday turn about Lambton when he stopped to watch the friendly play on the green. Seeing no problems, he decided to continue on, although he decided it best to come back by the green after some time.

  Unbeknownst to Darcy and his cousins, there had been a match a fortnight earlier, which had turned into an all-out brawl. The constable was in no humor to see the same thing happen on this day, and he swore to himself that if there was any mischief, someone would face the consequences.

  The midday sun beat down on the green, and after about an hour, most of the boys began to feel hot and testy. There were a few occasions when Darcy and Leyton argued over a call of Wickham’s. However, Edward, Richard, and a few friends of Leyton’s did their best to keep the peace.

  A new boy walked
onto the field for Leyton’s side, and upon seeing this, Darcy ran over to Wickham.

  “Who is he?” Darcy questioned in annoyance.

  Leyton came out onto the field and said, “I am making a change in players!”

  “You cannot do that!” Darcy looked at Wickham. “I say, he cannot do that! It is against the rules!”

  “’Tis not!” exclaimed Leyton.

  By now, the rest of the boys had gathered around as Leyton and Darcy argued the rules of the game.

  “You nominated your players, and the rules state that you cannot make a change in the middle of the match without my consent!” Darcy huffed, quite put out by Leyton’s audacity.

  “Darcy,” Wickham said as he smiled nervously, “give him your consent, so we can get back to the play.”

  Darcy began to waver in his determination to stick with the rules, especially because he was hot and tired. He made a move to give his consent when Leyton interrupted him.

  “He will never consent! Like father, like son!” Leyton quipped. Darcy frowned resentfully. “What is that supposed to mean?” Richard held onto Darcy’s right arm and Edward held onto his left as the irritated boy tried to charge at his accuser.

  “It means you are as unbending as a fence post,” Leyton said and smirked.

  Darcy screwed his face up in revulsion, but Richard and Edward kept their hold on him. Wickham quietly moved around the outer edge of the circle, careful to stay on the side of his benefactor’s son, yet also near an escape route.

  “At least I can win and play by the rules, instead of cheating by moving the fence posts!”

  Leyton’s face was red with anger as he came within inches of Darcy, shoving the boy’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers, “You are stubborn and absurd.”

  “Here now, Leyton, there is no need—” But Edward was not allowed to finish, as he let go Darcy’s arm to move Leyton’s hand away. Darcy had heard enough.

  With a quick jab to the belly, Darcy knocked the wind out of Leyton. A boy came flying across the line, intent on defending his captain from Darcy’s attack, but knocked into Richard instead, sending them both to the ground.

  Within a few moments, there were boys flying everywhere, knocking each other down and tumbling about in the grass. Girls were screaming at the horrifying scene, although in truth they thought it fairly good sport to watch the boys fussing and fighting.

  There was a market at one corner of the green where local farmers sold their fruits and vegetables during the summer months. Wickham ran by one farmer’s cart, trying to flee one of Leyton’s supporters, but the other boy was too quick, as he reached out and caught Wickham by the coat, flinging him around.

  Wickham reached behind into the farmer’s cart and grasped a melon in his hands. He raised it above him and let it down hard upon the boy’s head. Thankfully, the melon was extremely ripe and only succeeded in making the lad look like a salad. When he had cleared away the juice that was dripping down into his eyes, Wickham was gone. That did not much matter, though, as he grabbed two more melons and ran back to the fray. Soon boys were pulling out melons left and right, pelting one another in frenzied assault. The poor farmer tried his best to protect his crop, but every time he went to interfere, he was splattered with another of his own melons.

  Darcy and Leyton were rolling around on the ground, punching and kicking each other, when Richard came up behind them with a melon.

  “I say, break it up!” Richard yelled, but the boys kept punching and rolling. Richard waited until Leyton was on top of Darcy, and then let the melon crack onto Leyton’s head. Darcy scrambled to his feet as Leyton rolled off, confused by the surprise attack.

  “Thank you, Richard!” Darcy said and grinned.

  “Do not mention it, Wills!” Richard said, laughing.

  No sooner had they turned around to join the rest of the brawl than someone caught them by the scruffs of their collars.

  “I never thought I would see it come to this!” bellowed the constable. He and some of his men gathered the boys that had not run off and took them back to the constable’s office. They placed all the boys into a cell, including Darcy, his cousins, and Leyton. “Now, there will be no trouble out of you boys! Your parents will be notified of your whereabouts, and you shall remain here until they can fetch you!”

  Darcy looked about the cell. There were battered and bruised boys everywhere, and each and every one of them was covered with melon pulp and seeds. Darcy made his way to one of the wooden benches and sat down with his head in his hands. He thought he might cry as he imagined the anger of his father and the grief of his mother upon hearing the news that he was incarcerated.

  He looked up to see Edward and Richard looking much the same way. “Father will have our heads, or worse,” Edward moaned.

  “Edward, do not speak of it.” Richard’s heart pounded at the thought of their father’s likely rebuke.

  There was a commotion at the door, and every boy in the cell stood at attention, believing that his father was about to enter the room to claim him. You could hear a pin drop as a figure entered the room and came around the corner to peer into the cell.

  The constable’s keys jangled as he opened the lock and called out, “Robert Leyton, you are to go.” Robert Leyton left the cell and stood next to the constable. Darcy saw Mr. Leyton come around the corner with a mortified look on his face. He grabbed the back of his son’s collar and pulled him out of the room. Every boy in the cell jumped as they heard the front door slam and the driver of a carriage call out huskily to his team as the horses sped away.

  It was not long before Mr. Darcy and the earl got word of their sons’ whereabouts and drove to Lambton to fetch them. The earl came around the corner of the room and stood before the cell. His face was stone cold as he glared at his sons. Darcy had never seen Edward and Richard look so timid, or his uncle so furious.

  The constable opened the cell door, and the earl growled, “Get into the carriage, both of you!” Both boys did as they were told, leaving Darcy still within the cell. The earl looked at his nephew, frowned, and then left the room. Darcy wiped the sweat from his palms, wondering where his father was as he turned around to look at the remaining boys.

  “Darcy!” the constable’s voice boomed through the silence, causing the boy to jump. Darcy turned to take leave, but froze where he stood, upon finding his father waiting for him, ominously silent.

  “Come out, boy. Your father is waiting,” the constable chastised him.

  Darcy could not look up as he came to stand before his father and the constable.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir,” the constable started apologetically, “your son has never before been in trouble here. If it were not for…well, sir…if it were not for his part in this mess, I’d gladly have let him go without another word on the subject.”

  Darcy glanced up to find his father glaring at him, “Are you responsible for this scuffle, Fitzwilliam?”

  Darcy searched his father’s eyes, desperate to find any hint of leniency as he justified his involvement. “Papa, I had no choice! Leyton insulted me…our family…” The smoldering anger in his father’s eyes told him his defense was useless. Hanging his head in dismay, Darcy admitted quietly, “So I hit him.”

  The constable cleared his throat before venturing tentatively, “Aye, sir, and there’s more to the story, if you please.”

  Mr. Darcy frowned darkly as he pointed his son to a bench along the wall, “Fitzwilliam, sit yourself down. I will hear out the constable.”

  While trying to appear disinterested, Darcy strained to hear the conversation taking place across the room, but all he could hear were snatches of information.

  “…came running for me…reluctant to say…said he’d be getting someone in trouble whom he’d rather not…”

  “Where is he?”

  “Sent him home, like a good lad…what else am I to think… Master Darcy standing in the middle of it all…”

  “…lost the entire cartful?”r />
  “That he did, sir. I cannot let your son…”

  Unfortunately, as his father turned toward him, the last was pronounced with great clarity: “You have my assurance that he will be thoroughly punished. Please see that Mr. Landers receives this.” Mr. Darcy took out his money clip and handed a five-pound note to the constable. “And please accept my apologies for the trouble you have endured.”

  Darcy stepped into the Fitzwilliam carriage and slipped quietly into the space next to his cousins as his father took his place beside the earl.

  “Brother, Fitzwilliam has admitted to starting the fight,” Mr. Darcy informed the earl sadly. “And according to young Wickham, Fitzwilliam was also the first to raid the farmer’s cart.”

  Young Darcy exchanged wide-eyed looks of disbelief with Edward and Richard before sputtering an objection: “But Papa, I did not—I never—”

  Edward, feeling the responsibility fell to him as the eldest among the boys, interrupted his cousin: “Father, it is not right—what Wickham told the constable.”

  “You are in no position to judge Wickham’s actions,” the earl growled, believing his son to be condemning the boy for telling on the others. “I want to hear nothing more from you—from either of you,” the earl said, eyeing his sons sharply.

  Mr. Darcy rapped the ceiling of the carriage with his walking stick, and the carriage began its silent journey to Pemberley.

  Darcy and his father walked in the front doors of Pemberley house. Lady Anne was waiting for them in the hallway, and Darcy stood before her, trembling as he saw the grief on her face.

  “Oh! Fitzwilliam, are you injured?” Lady Anne cried as she knelt down to her son, immediately using her handkerchief to wipe away the grime left by the dirt and pulp. The gentle strokes of her cloth revealed a small cut on his lip and a tenderness on his cheek. “My dear boy, you are injured,” his mother pronounced with alarm as she scanned his person for other signs of injury.