by Greer Boyd
They immediately turned their horses and galloped to intersect with her. Through her sobs she quickly told them that her father was injured and where to bring a wagon. As she turned back toward the woods, urging her mare into a run, Mr. Carpenter sent one apprentice to the stables to procure the wagon, notify Mrs. Reynolds, and bring additional help, and the other into Lambton to find the doctor and bring him to Pemberley House as quickly as possible. Once the orders were issued, he turned his horse toward the woods as well.
Mr. Carpenter’s horse outran the girl’s small mare, but he arrived at the stream only a moment or two before Georgiana. The scene caused his heart to clinch in his chest. Darcy sat in the grass clutching his father, whose head and shoulders lay across the younger man’s lap and lower chest. A great splay of blood covered Darcy’s hands, waistcoat, and trouser leg. His greatcoat was thrown across his father’s upper body and extended down to cover over the wet trouser- covered legs. He was slowly rocking back and forth, great tears streaming down his face.
Georgiana flew from her mare to her father’s side and took his hand in her trembling fingers. His hand was as cold as ice, and that cold seemed to travel throughout her body, making her shiver uncontrollably. She would have thought that her father might already be dead, except for the small, almost imperceptible pressure as he squeezed on her fingertips.
Darcy placed his arm around her small shoulders and drew her closer to his side. Mr. Darcy’s eyes opened, but they were dull and he struggled to focus his vision. At first, he did not move his arms or his body in any way, but simply increased the slight pressure on his daughter’s fingers. Then, tilting his head slightly and looking into Darcy’s face, he simply said, “Son,” before shifting his eyes to his daughter, “Geo . . .” and then he was gone.
Georgiana began to wail, “NO! PAPA! OH! NO! PAPA,” and threw her small body across the now lifeless body of her father.
Mr. Carpenter helped Darcy as he slowly withdrew himself from beneath his father’s body and carefully laid it onto the grass. He sat on his knees and enveloped Georgiana in his arms, as she gave herself over to grief. He did not know how long they held onto each other. It felt like hours, but surely it could only have been a few minutes.
When the stable staff and groomsmen entered the woods with the wagon, the scene they witnessed was to be forever etched into their memory: Mr. Carpenter kneeling beside the body of Mr. Darcy as it lay on the grass, the siblings wrapped together in their grief with Darcy covered in blood, and the horses standing beside the small rushing stream grazing peacefully.
Everything had happened so quickly. Mr. Carpenter could not describe it well to the rescuers, for he did not really know himself. The only thing that was sure was that Mr. Darcy was dead.
Darcy moved as a mindless creature, numb. When Mr. Carpenter had finally managed to wrest Georgiana from his embrace and moved her onto the back of the wagon, Darcy followed immediately, taking her back into his arms. Mr. Darcy’s body was laid on the floor of the wagon at their feet. One of the groomsmen took the reins of the Darcys’ mounts in his hand. He, along with the wagon containing what remained of the small Darcy family, and the members of the somber rescue party slowly made their way from the woods, across the fields, toward Pemberley House. Mr. Carpenter directed the groomsman leading the horses to go ahead to the stable and then to alert Mrs. Reynolds and the house staff that they were on their way.
Mrs. Reynolds was waiting at the open door when they arrived. Her face was tear-stained, and soft sobs emanated from her body. She knew that she had to maintain control of the situation, although her heart was breaking. When the wagon reached the house, Darcy carried his sister up the front steps and into the foyer. When he met Mrs. Reynolds, he instinctively knew that he could count on her to manage everything for the next few hours. He needed time to gain control again.
Mrs. Reynolds had already directed the staff to prepare warm water for a bath for each of the Darcy siblings. Once he had released his sister to the care of the housekeeper, who was almost a substitute mother for them both, Darcy went to his father’s, now his, study to wait for the doctor’s arrival.
He was more than surprised when, less than a quarter hour later, he heard a knock on the door. In response to his murmured “Come,” Georgiana entered, still in her muddied, blood-speckled clothes, walked to him, took his hand in hers, and then sat beside him on the couch so that they might together await the doctor.
Less than an hour after he had been summoned, the doctor arrived and went directly to Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber to examine the body. Then, seeking Darcy, he was directed to the study. The doctor was struck by the appearance of the brother and sister as they rose from the couch to meet him. Darcy was almost a carbon copy of his father, a big man, standing six foot three or four at least, with broad shoulders, a trim but muscular frame, and a mass of dark curls on his head. The dark, brooding look was Darcy’s own though, not his father’s, and the doctor was amazed by Georgiana. It had been several years since he had last seen her. Here she stood, appearing for all-the-world to be a miniature of her mother, albeit disheveled and tear-stained. Most of all, he was struck by their show of solidarity with each lending support to the other by their tightly clasped hands.
He approached the pair with his hand extended toward Darcy, “Mr. Darcy, I am so sorry to have to meet you again under such circumstances.” Darcy winced at the appellation “Mr. Darcy.” Already the mantle of master had been placed squarely upon his shoulders.
“I have completed my examination of your father’s body,” he glanced from Darcy to Georgiana, not sure whether to continue or wait until the girl left the room. But, she only held Darcy’s hand more firmly.
Glancing down at this sister, Darcy said, “Please continue.”
“The wound to the head was the only injury that I could find. Unfortunately, we still know very little about treating head injuries. Had he lived until my arrival, I could not have guaranteed a more favourable result from further treatment. Again, I am grieved by the loss of your father.”
Looking at Darcy, he asked, “Can you tell me more of what happened? I can speak to the magistrate about the matter, and he will probably have no need of further inquiry.”
“His horse slipped on the muddy bank, throwing both of them onto the rocks in the stream. I went to him immediately, but the damage had already been done,” Darcy said.
“Well, that certainly agrees with my findings regarding the nature of the injury. I will leave you now. Please call me if you should need anything else. I will show myself out.”
“No,” Georgiana said abruptly, and then added more calmly, “I will show you to the door. Thank you for coming so quickly. It is very much appreciated.”
That was her last act of bravado. Turning from the foyer after seeing the doctor out, she walked back toward the study. From the door of the study, she saw Darcy lean forward into Mrs. Reynolds’ gentle caress as he broke into racking sobs. She quietly closed the door and went to her bedchamber where she gave herself over to her own grief.
When he was again himself, Darcy sent an express to his Uncle and Aunt Fitzwilliam (Lord and Lady Matlock), Lady Catherine (his Aunt de Bourgh), his cousin Richard, and finally his father’s solicitor. As he did so, he realized his already small family was now very much smaller.
Climbing the stairs to his bedchamber, he looked down at his clothing still covered in his father’s now dried blood. He barely made it to the chamber pot before emptying the contents of his already nearly empty stomach. Once in the hot bath that his valet had prepared, he bathed mechanically. As the hot water soothed the knots from his tired muscles, his mind screamed. How would he survive? Did he even want to? Then, he pictured Georgiana and knew that he would make sure that she would always be safe and never have to worry about anything.
As he dressed, he noticed that the attire laid out by his valet already reflected mourning, black trousers and coat, and black waistcoat, bright white shirt, and white cravat.
No doubt his frock coat and greatcoat would also be black for the next six months. Back in the study, he asked Mrs. Reynolds for a luncheon tray to be sent to him there, and noticed that she had already requested that the seamstress from the modiste shop in Lambton be sent to assist with Georgiana’s immediate clothing needs.
∞∞∞
The next few days quickly passed. He moved through them as though he were in a fog. The Fitzwilliam family (his uncle and aunt, along with Richard and Richard’s brother, Viscount David Fitzwilliam) were the first to arrive. Now Major Fitzwilliam, Richard was currently stationed in London but had been on leave visiting his parents at Matlock Estate along with his brother when they received Darcy’s express. Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Lady Anne, arrived late in the afternoon the day after the funeral.
Lady Catherine barely constrained herself until later that same evening, when she demanded that Darcy immediately marry Anne. She also informed Georgiana that she would be coming to live with her at Rosings Park. Horrified, Georgiana looked pleadingly at her brother, before she ran from the room crying. Fortunately, Uncle James knew the terms of George Darcy’s will and quickly negated Lady Catherine’s plans.
The very next day, Mr. Rowland Foxglove, who was solicitor for both George and Fitzwilliam Darcy, brought the will and all other necessary legal paperwork to transfer ownership of George Darcy’s holdings to his son. Everything was straightforward with the exception of two items.
According to the first, Georgiana was placed immediately under the guardianship of both her brother and her cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, and she was to continue to reside with her brother.
The second item involved George Wickham. Wickham was to receive a bequest from the estate in the amount of £1,000 along with a living. The living at the parish in the village of Kympton was to be his the next time it came vacant, on condition that he take holy orders and commit himself to the church.
Totally infuriated, his face a mask of barely contained rage, Darcy confronted his uncle, “Did you know about this?”
James Fitzwilliam looked from the hands resting on his stomach to Darcy’s face before he spoke. “Yes, I did. And,” he paused, “I tried to talk him out of it.” Darcy and his cousin both sat back in their chairs, looked at one another and then at Richard’s father.
“Your father told me that he had talked with John Wickham. He agreed that should anything happen to Mr. Wickham he would take care of his family and provide for George in his will. That was less than a week before the fire that took Mr. Wickham and George’s remaining family.”
“Impossible,” shouted Darcy as he jumped from his chair and walked toward the window in the study. “You cannot possibly be serious in giving a living as a clergyman to someone like George Wickham. Is he the type of person you would like leading your parish? Is he, Uncle?”
Clearly concerned, James looked between the solicitor and Richard then to Darcy and back to the solicitor, before he offered a possible solution followed by a query. “What if Darcy makes an offer of a certain sum of money to George Wickham instead of the living at Kympton? And, if Wickham takes the money, would that mean he could later come back and demand the living?”
The solicitor thought briefly and then his face lightened, drawing a faint hint of a smile at the corner of this lips, “I will prepare a document for Wickham’s signature, stating that for a certain sum of money, which I will leave blank to be filled in later, preferably in Wickham’s own hand, he rejects the living at Kympton specified in the late Mr. George Darcy’s will.” Looking at each of the faces of those in the room, he said, “That will hold up in any court in the land.”
“Excellent,” said Richard. “Well, then, we can hope that Wickham is stupid enough to take the cash instead of the living.” Everyone nodded their heads in agreement, especially Darcy.
Darcy stood and continued to look out of the window of the study. “There is something else,” he said before his grief overtook him, leaving his throat tight. Leaning his head against the window he cleared his throat and spoke again. “There . . . there is something else that I must tell you.”
Turning away from the window, he looked at the three men whom he trusted above all others. “Georgiana is the only other person aware of what I am going to tell you.”
He paused, took a deep breath and leaned heavily on the frame of the window before he continued: “We had just entered the woods behind Papa and were following him down to the stream when we heard a shot ring out. The startled horse reared up into the air and slipped on the mud.”
While the two other men looked at one another with shocked expressions on their faces, Richard sprang to his feet. “Do you think . . .”
Darcy angrily interrupted, “I do not know what I think.” Knuckles now white as he strained to rein in his emotions, he continued, “I wanted you to know should . . . should anything unusual happen to me. I need to make sure that Georgiana is properly provided for and secure. There is no entail on Pemberley Estate. Everything will pass to her, and in that fact lies danger.”
CHAPTER 2
George Wickham was nothing, if not predictable, and he showed up at Pemberley House the very next day. When he was shown into Darcy’s study, he plopped down into the chair before the desk and simply stated, “I have come for what is rightfully mine.”
“And what would that be?” asked Darcy, struggling to maintain his composure and façade of calm.
“My inheritance, of course,” said Wickham.
When Darcy showed Wickham the amount of his bequest and the terms of the living that had been given to him, Wickham’s face grew flaming red and twisted in rage. “£1,000 and a living,” he said as he walked to the window. “£1,000 and a living,” his voice rose verging upon anger, “as a CLERGYMAN, ME A CLERGYMAN?”
Turning abruptly toward Darcy, he spat out his question, “Just how long will it be before the post becomes vacant?”
Darcy looked at Wickham and hid the smile that wanted to leap upon his face and curve from ear to ear, “I should think quite a while. The clergyman currently at Kympton is a fairly young man and only took the position less than five years ago, I believe.”
“YOU . . . you have cheated me. You are cheating me just as you have always cheated me. You know I deserve more, so much more,” shouted Wickham. Then, more quietly to himself almost as a thought spoken aloud, “But I need money now not at some far distant time in the future.”
He spat out his demand, “I will take £10,000 and you can keep the living.”
Darcy simply stared and thought to himself, “Bless you, Uncle James.”
“I will give you three and not a pound more,” countered Darcy.
“Five,” said Wickham.
“Three,” Darcy reiterated calmly as he steepled his fingers to his chin.
“Agreed. Damn you, Darcy,” said Wickham.
“Fine, I will simply need you to sign a receipt for the £1,000 bequest and another for the £3,000 received instead of the living at Kympton,” said Darcy, presenting both forms for Wickham to sign.
“Oh, ho. Pretty damn sure of yourself, were you not?” Wickham said as he signed the pre-prepared forms provided by the solicitor and begrudgingly filled in the amount of the money given in place of the living, doing so only after Darcy indicated the blank space for the second time.
Darcy handed Wickham a draft for £4,000. “No Wickham, I was only sure of you. Do not ever come back to Pemberley again or to Darcy House or to any other Darcy property holding. You will not be welcomed.” He did not even rise from his seat behind the desk, instead simply indicated the door with a dismissive wave of his hand. With resolution, he lowered his eyes back to the paperwork on his desk and continued with the work he had interrupted when Wickham arrived.
“We are not through yet,” Wickham stated resolutely, as he grasped at the handle for the door. “Not by a long stretch.”
“Oh, but I think that we are,” Darcy responded without even looking up from
his work. After he dismissed Wickham as curtly as possible, he heard the door to the study slam so loudly the window near the desk rattled in its frame.
∞∞∞
Four years later, after the holder of the living at Kympton had been struck down by an exceedingly sudden and unexplained illness, Darcy returned from a tenant visit with his steward to find George Wickham casually sitting on a couch across from Georgiana in the main sitting room at Pemberley House and chatting with her quite companionably.
When he saw Darcy, Wickham stood. “Darcy, how good to see you again. Georgiana and I were just talking about our exploits during our youth.”
Darcy turned to Georgiana and calmly said, “Georgie, would you mind leaving us to discuss a matter of great importance?”
Georgiana immediately stood and said, “Of course not, Wills.” Turning to Wickham she smiled, “George it was nice seeing you again,” curtsied and left the room.
Darcy then turned on Wickham, “What are you doing here?” he demanded in a barely controlled voice.
