Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth

by Greer Boyd

  Looking at Darcy, Richard said “If Wickham is indeed a deserter, I have a plan. It is not perfect, but it just might work.”

  Just as Richard released his mother and finished speaking, Dr. Crawford knocked on the door to Darcy’s study. Darcy called out “Enter,” and as Dr. Crawford came into the room, all three occupants faced him with concern.

  “How is she?” Darcy asked.

  “I have to admit I have not seen anyone as despondent as Georgiana is without showing signs of physical abuse.” Dr. Crawford paused as he took in those present in the room, “Can you tell me what happened to her?”

  Dr. Crawford was not only the family physician but also a close friend of the family. Although Darcy normally would not have shared such information outside the family circle, he felt that Dr. Crawford would not betray their trust.

  After listening to the tale of Georgiana at Ramsgate and then to the happenings earlier that day on Bond Street, Dr. Crawford finally spoke, “Well, the only thing I can suggest is that you take her back to Pemberley. If there is one place that can help to soothe her mind and bring her peace, it would have to be there.”

  Pemberley. Yes, Pemberley. It had been the family home for the Darcys since the Norman Conquest in the 11th century, when the D’Arcys came to England from France with William the Conqueror. No matter where Darcy traveled or how much property he held, Pemberley had always been his true home, and he knew that the same thing held true for Georgiana.

  “I agree. We will prepare to leave in three days’ time. Could I persuade you to travel there with us?” Darcy asked Dr. Crawford.

  “I cannot travel with you in only three days but I can be there within a week,” the doctor answered. As they walked together to the door, he continued: “I do not know what can be done to Wickham, but I do know that Georgiana is going to need a woman’s presence to help her with what she is going through now. I am so sorry that Amanda will not be here to help. Although you are only halfway through your period of mourning, I think you may need to start the search for another wife, not only for your daughter’s sake, but for Georgiana’s as well.”

  Taken aback by Dr. Crawford’s straightforward and sincerely meant words, he calmly replied, “I see. Well, thank you, Doctor.”

  Darcy had too much on his mind and felt that he could only deal with one crisis at a time. He spoke with his housekeeper, Mrs. Wyatt, directing her to start the process for their departure. At the same time, he requested that his steward send express messages to the inns where they would stay on the trip home. An express was sent to Mrs. Reynolds at Pemberley House to let her know of their pending departure from London.

  ∞∞∞

  That night he lay awake long into the early hours of the morning. He only hoped that the plan he and Richard had put into action, when they found that Wickham was indeed listed as a deserter from the militia, would prove to be successful and thereby allow them to leave as planned.

  Wickham arrived at White’s Gentlemen’s Club a full quarter hour before his scheduled meeting with Darcy. He seated himself in a far corner, where he could easily watch for Darcy’s arrival at the front door, but not be seen quite so easily himself. He realized that he was taking a chance meeting, after his treatment of and threat to Georgiana, but what did that matter to him? He had been biding his time and waiting for this day.

  More than two long years he had waited. When he had discovered that Georgiana was going to be presented, he knew that this was going to be his crowning moment. His opportunity to make up for the way he had had to eke out an existence since being denied his living for a second time, and then the incident at Ramsgate. He intended to make Darcy pay over and over and over for taking his living and Georgiana’s £30,000 dowry from him.

  Wickham had felt humiliated when he had been forced to join the militia. His gambling debts were monstrous, and, as he sank deeper into debt, he was not able to continue to impress the fashionable ladies of the “ton.” Finally, he had been able to raise enough money to buy a commission in the militia group stationed in Hertfordshire. It took blackmail, but the “lady” was glad to see him gone.

  He had been in Hertfordshire for almost a year, when that unfortunate situation had sent him running back to London and into hiding for yet another year.

  “Yes. Darcy has to pay,” thought Wickham. “He should have given me the inheritance I truly deserve.”

  He had settled into his seat. The brandy that he had ordered had just been placed on the table in front of him when he saw a colonel from the Regulars enter the front door with two armed guards. Instantly, he broke into a sweat. This was something he had not counted on. He had watched White’s for weeks and had witnessed that same colonel come inside periodically and stay for an hour or two, but the officer had always come in alone.

  Wickham slouched down into his seat a little more, trying to appear invisible, but when the colonel slowly looked around the club, his eyes found him. As Wickham watched warily, the colonel and the guards approached his table and stood on either side of where he sat.

  “George Wickham, let me see your leave papers,” the colonel spoke in a low, controlled voice.

  “I am sorry, Officer. You must have me confused with someone else,” stated Wickham slowly, as he looked toward the front of White’s. Standing just inside the door was Lieutenant Frederick Denny, his “friend” from the militia group that had been quartered in Hertfordshire the previous year.

  Wickham did not know that Denny was in London to give up his commission in the militia for a slightly higher position in the Regulars. The last time they had seen each other was in Hertfordshire at one of the local gambling dens. When they left together, he had picked Denny’s pocket and taken nearly all of his friend’s winnings.

  That was the day before the situation that had preceded Wickham’s desertion. Obviously, Denny was not likely to consider their friendship still alive, if he had figured out who relieved him of his purse. But how could he have known that he was in White’s at this particular time?

  As the colonel looked to the front door for verification, Denny nodded his head, and the two guards grabbed Wickham by the arms, one on each side, and physically dragged him out of White’s onto the street. Wickham was about to be placed in a military coach when he saw Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam step down from their carriage and start to walk across the street toward White’s. The gentlemen appeared to be deep in conversation and not to see Wickham immediately.

  Wickham shouted to Darcy, “This is not the last of this Darcy. I will tell all of London about your precious sister. This is not the end. It will never be the end. NEVER! You hear me Darcy. NEVER!”

  During the entire time he had been shouting, he had been struggling with the guards who were holding him. Suddenly, he wrenched himself free, turned away from them, and began to run as fast as he could.

  He had gained the opposite side of the street when, looking over his shoulder at the guards chasing him, he ran into a small young woman and nearly knocked her to the ground. As she instinctively grabbed for his arm in an effort to right herself, she looked into his face.

  “WICKHAM!!” she shouted with disgust, and held on even tighter to his arm when she saw that the guards were chasing him.

  She knew if she could just hold on a little longer, they would be able to apprehend him. Immediately, rethinking her initial strategy, she began to release her hold when he violently twisted his body and threw her to the ground with a hard punch to the side of her face. As she fell, she struck her head hard on one of the cobblestones and lost consciousness as a small pool of blood began to ooze onto the street. Wickham groped for the gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers and concealed by his waistcoat, and quickly drew it out.

  Because of the efforts of the now-unconscious woman, the guards were almost upon him. On seeing the gun in his hand and the woman collapsed on the street, they immediately fired their weapons. One of the shots struck Wickham squarely in the chest. He fell to the street, c
ollapsing over the unconscious woman’s body, and breathed his last.

  Just steps from their carriage, the cousins witnessed the entire scene and immediately rushed to give aid to the injured woman. Both lauded and at the same time questioned her bravery. Darcy, however, was immediately struck by her beauty and youth. She appeared to be only slightly older than Georgiana and was dressed completely in the black of mourning.

  The guards hurriedly removed Wickham’s body from atop the woman, who was now covered in blood, when Richard noticed that her breathing was so shallow that she appeared not to be breathing at all. He grasped the woman’s hand and checked for a pulse. It was barely discernible. Richard turned suddenly to his cousin and said, “Darcy, she is alive, but her pulse is weak, very weak.”

  A few moments passed, and the woman failed to regain consciousness. For some inexplicable reason, Darcy did not want anyone looking at her as she lay there on the cobblestone street, so he quickly removed his greatcoat and draped it over her body. The coat covered her almost completely, so that only her head and the toes of her tiny walking shoes stuck out from beneath it.

  Although the situation was originally considered to be a military matter, a civilian had become involved and subsequently injured. Immediately, Colonel Fitzwilliam sent Lieutenant Denny to summon the magistrate.

  Since his carriage was merely steps away from where the injured woman lay on the street, Darcy turned to his cousin. “Have the guards carefully place the woman on the floor of my carriage. It is a very short ride to Darcy House, and I will summon the doctor right away. The guards can accompany me there while you wait here for their return, and for the arrival of the magistrate.”

  “Excellent idea, Darcy,” agreed Richard. “I will come with the magistrate as soon as I can get matters straightened out here.”

  ∞∞∞

  When the carriage arrived at Darcy House, the butler sent a runner at once for the family doctor, while Darcy explained quickly to Mrs. Wyatt what had happened. She promptly spoke to a footman and one of the maids then directed the guards that were carrying the unknown woman to follow her up the stairs to one of the guest bedchambers. Darcy followed only steps behind the servants. They hurriedly brought in hot water, bundles of rolled cloth, and Mrs. Wyatt’s apothecary chest.

  Seeing him standing just outside of the doorway peering in at the young woman, the housekeeper quietly informed him, “Mr. Darcy, I will send you word immediately should her condition change.” Then, she calmly closed the door in front of his face.

  After more than a few moments, Darcy remained standing exactly where he was. He did not want to leave. For some reason that he could not quite fathom, he was inexplicitly drawn to this unknown and injured woman.

  Shortly, Dr. Crawford arrived for the second time in as many days and was immediately directed to the guest bedchamber occupied by the woman. After three quarters of an hour, the doctor knocked on the door of Darcy’s study.

  “Come,” he replied, marking the place in his ledger before he closed it.

  As Dr. Crawford entered, Darcy stood up from behind his desk and asked, “How is she?” Then, he motioned for the doctor to be seated and again seated himself behind his desk.

  “As well as can be expected, considering that she sustained two rather severe blows to the head,” stated the doctor as he set his case on the floor beside the chair. “The bruising to her face will take a couple of weeks to heal and will look much worse than it actually is before it gets better. She has a small wound and quite a large lump from the blow to the back of her head. Mrs. Wyatt had already cleaned the wound nicely before I arrived, so it will only need to be bandaged for a few days. But you and I both know that the recovery from a head injury is hard to predict.”

  Then, the doctor repeated exactly the words that another doctor had told him about his father’s injury, “Unfortunately, we still know very little about treating head injuries.”

  Darcy’s insides roiled as the doctor continued. “Hopefully, she will awaken soon. The longer she remains unconscious, the greater the potential that the injury may be worse than we know now.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Fortunately, it is already being done. Mrs. Wyatt is keeping her warm and looking out for any signs of fever or infection, and someone will be with her at all times. Once she regains consciousness, I have given Mrs. Wyatt instructions to administer a measured dose of laudanum for pain. She will have an extremely severe headache for several days, most likely accompanied by dizziness and violent nausea. I would recommend that she not be moved for at least a week after she regains consciousness. Then, as the dizziness and nausea subside, she can be allowed only to walk around within the room for at least another week after that.”

  “You will continue to check in on her?” Darcy queried without looking the man fully in the face.

  “I will be here again in the morning or at any other time that you need me. On my next visit, I will be able to check on Georgiana’s progress as well.”

  As the man grasped his case and stood to leave, Darcy reached across the desk to shake his hand saying, “Thank you for coming so quickly. Your assistance is always appreciated.”

  It had now been two hours, and still the woman lay unconscious. Darcy knocked on the door of the guest bedchamber. When the housekeeper opened the door, he was surprised to see Georgiana in the room, sitting in a chair situated beside the bed, gently holding the woman’s hand, and speaking softly to her. She was asking the unconscious woman, “Can you tell me your name? Do you have family nearby that we could notify? We will be glad to send for them. We know that they will be worried about you. We will not leave you alone. Can you tell me your name?”

  Darcy looked from the unconscious woman to Georgiana, but his eyes immediately traveled back to the woman. He remembered that she had been dressed in black while she lay in the street, although, now she was under the bedcovering dressed in one of Georgiana’s dress robes and, he supposed, one of her nightgowns as well. Darcy’s pulse rate increased.

  “So, she must be in mourning for a deceased relative,” Darcy thought, “in mourning, just as I am. I wonder for whom she is mourning.”

  Like a moth drawn to an open flame, his eyes returned to her face. The bruise high on her cheek where she had been struck by Wickham’s fist had begun to turn black and ugly. It looked repugnant on such a beautiful face and contrasted dramatically with her pale alabaster complexion. NO, not alabaster. She looked soft and supple, not hard like stone. Her eyelashes were dark, long, thick, and lush, as they formed twin crescents above her cheekbones. Her lips looked luscious and full, and he could imagine their taste. He let his eyes slowly travel down over the full length of her body. Her hands were delicate, small with long fingers perfectly proportioned. He noticed her generous curves, then looked back to her face and up to the mass of dark, almost black curls cascading over the pillow, surrounding her face like a gentle caress and falling gently over her shoulders. She looked like perfection personified.

  “Although she is smallish and somewhat slight of form, she certainly is generously endowed. Yes, very generous indeed, but not obscene,” thought Darcy. He could remember that much, although it had only been a few moments that he had looked upon her as she lay on the street before he had covered her with his coat.

  Georgiana had watched her brother as he entered the room, and before she caught his attention, she saw how his eyes had traveled over the face and then the body of the young woman. He blushed at having been caught in his perusal, then turned to leave the room, but quickly glanced from Georgiana’s face to the young woman one more time before finally exiting the room and returning to his study.

  ∞∞∞

  Knowing he would not be able to return to Pemberley for at least another two weeks and probably longer, Darcy sent an another express to Mrs. Reynolds notifying her of their sudden change of plans. He directed his steward to contact the inns where they normally lodged along the way to Pemberley to let them know
that he would not be arriving as scheduled. One of his express riders was dispatched to deliver the messages and a monetary thank you for their efforts. It had been the Darcys’ longstanding practice to maintain a very good relationship with the inns where they lodged, since they made the three-day journey from Pemberley to London and back several times a year.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam and the magistrate arrived at Darcy House shortly after he had once again returned to his study. Pacing behind his desk, he told them what Dr. Crawford had said and informed them that the injured woman was still unconscious. Before he departed, the magistrate made note of her injuries, and Darcy assured him that there would be swift notification of any change in her condition.

  As the magistrate closed the door, Colonel Fitzwilliam stayed behind. “Well, Darcy,” he stated succinctly, “this has been quite a day.” He walked over to the brandy decanter and, picking up two glasses, splashed a goodly quantity into each of them, then handed one to his cousin as they both sat down in the wingback chairs arranged before the fireplace. Darcy set his glass on the small table near his chair.