A Visit to Scotland

by Meg Osborne

  “It is very kind of you, William,” Anne said again, with a cautious nod to her husband. “We shall look forward to joining you on Thursday. Now, won’t you and Mr Bingley join us? I can make a fresh pot of tea, and -”

  “Thank you, Mrs Wickham,” Bingley offered. “That is a lovely offer, but I am afraid we have plans. Darcy has promised to show me some more of this charming town, and we must make haste before we lose the light. Good day!”

  He saluted both Mr and Mrs Wickham as if they were old friends which, in some sense, they were. If Darcy had known Wickham his whole life, Bingley had known him for half, although the two had never been close.

  They made their farewells and retraced their steps back towards the town. Darcy was silent, unable to formulate words enough to say. Bingley, to his credit, took it upon himself to narrate all they saw, and make conversation in a jolly, carefree manner until they had put quite some distance between themselves and the Wickham house.

  “Look, Darcy!” Bingley said at length. “Is that not our womenfolk?”

  His friend seemed both surprised and amused, and his request was such that he lifted his head to look, and noticed that it was indeed both Elizabeth and Caroline, walking together some yards ahead.

  “I suppose they were tired of resting!” Bingley said, cheerfully. “Come, let us catch up to them and see if they do not welcome our company. Mrs Darcy! Caro!”

  He had hailed the ladies before Darcy could say a word, but he was not disappointed to see the warmth of the smile Lizzy turned towards them. That was quickly replaced by the merest hint of anxiety, and he was not unhappy to reach her side once more, where he might inquire, in low tones, what she and Miss Bingley had found to occupy themselves with that afternoon.

  “We went to call on Anne,” Lizzy said, with a nervous smile. “Forgive me, only -”

  “I insisted we must go at once, and reassure ourselves of her wellbeing,” Caroline said, with a histrionic sigh. “I cannot imagine a worse place, though! Their home is so small and cramped and I am sure it is not at all adequate for a lady to dwell in. Poor Miss de Bourgh said very little, and seemed pleased to see us, but do not you think she seemed a little -” she dropped her voice. “Low in spirits?”

  “I think, rather, that she was a little overwhelmed by all that has happened, and by our sudden arrival, Caroline. Recall, she did not know us to be in Scotland at all, let alone on her very doorstep demanding attention.”

  “Demand!” Caroline’s mouth fell open in surprise, and she sniffed, altogether put out by Elizabeth’s effective silencing.

  “You have spoken to Anne, then?” Darcy asked as the four young people began once more to walk, slowly finding their way back towards the inn they called home. “Do you find her altered?”

  “A little.” Lizzy was cautious with her words. “I meant what I said: I think it the sudden upheaval, and change in circumstances that has wrought the most change. She was delicate even in Kent.”

  Darcy grumbled something in agreement. His concerns were not easily laid at ease by these words. If Anne had been delicate in Kent, how much worse would this scandal hit her?

  “But she seemed very pleased to see us - to see both of us! She said that you had been to call on them already, and was altogether relieved that we have not cast her aside.” She drew her lips into a line. “She said nothing of her mother, and I wager she fears Lady Catherine’s reaction to the news. We must tell her, must not we?”

  “Richard will see to it,” Darcy said, his lips quirking in discomfort. “A task I do not envy him in the least.”

  THE FITZWILLIAMS WERE passing a quiet evening together a day or two later when Lady Catherine called, unannounced and unexpected, at the house.

  “Aunt Catherine!” Philip stood, greeting the aunt he scarcely saw and yet still afforded all due respect and attention she deserved. “Please, do join us. Will you stay to dine?”

  “I will not.” With an imperious nod, Lady Catherine turned to Richard, her eyes alighting momentarily on Mary, who vacated her seat at the piano and moved instinctively to her husband’s side.

  “How lovely to see you again, Lady Catherine,” Mary ventured, when neither gentlemen seemed poised to break the silence. “Are you -” her voice faltered, the last word emerging as scarcely a squeak. “Well?”

  “Well? My daughter has absconded to Scotland with a scoundrel. How can you imagine my faring in any way well?”

  Mary shrank back as if she had been struck, and Richard angled himself between his wife and aunt as if to protect Mary from Lady Catherine’s onslaught.

  “I came only to tell you that I shall no longer trouble you by my presence in London. You may tell my daughter, should she ever care to return, that she need not come to Kent. If she is determined to proceed in this ridiculous effort, she shall do so without my approval or acknowledgement.” She drew in a ragged, dramatic breath. “She is lost to me forever!”

  These histrionics appeared to settle the matter for Richard, and he nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if reaching a decision.

  “I am sorry for your suffering, Aunt,” he said, stiffly. “But if you wish Anne to know of your feelings, you must tell her yourself, by letter if not in person. When she and her new husband return to England -” he had placed heavy emphasis on the first word, affording such a development more certainty than he had in private discussion. “I shall do my best to help them, and welcome them into my home.”

  “Your home?” Lady Catherine arched an eyebrow, but Richard would not be drawn nor distracted from his words.

  “I have never hidden my opinion of George Wickham, and it has not changed now. But Anne is my cousin, and I shall not heap more suffering upon her on account of one mistake.”

  The room had fallen so silent that one might have heard a pin drop, and Mary feared for a moment that Richard had gone too far. Just as she tried to conjure some conversation that might undo her husband’s brash resolve, Lady Catherine straightened, horrified, but unsurprised.

  “Your position has long influenced your attitudes, Richard,” she said, peering down her large nose at him, though she had to tilt her head backwards in order to do so, Richard being quite a bit taller than her. “A mere second son may marry as he chooses. I might expect you to view my daughter’s rash actions with approval, just as you did Fitzwilliam’s ridiculous decision to marry your wife’s sister. I wash my hands of you, each and every one!”

  With a tragic air, she spun on her heel and stormed from the room, her feet echoing loudly from the hallway.

  “Well,” Philip observed, peering over the edge of his newspaper at his brother. “Shall we go down to dinner?”

  Richard turned in shock to Mary, and she saw her own surprise reflected in his features.

  “Our aunt has disowned her daughter, and practically disowned us, and that is all you have to say?” Richard spluttered.

  “What else is there?” Philip shrugged. “Nothing I say will induce Lady Catherine to change her mind, nor resolve the issue of Anne’s marriage. I see neither of them on a daily basis, and so the impact of their trials upon my life will be fleeting.” His eyes narrowed in concern. “You care far too much for others, Richard. It has always been to your detriment. Better to let the world turn much as it desires, and focus only on one’s own concerns.”

  Richard’s mouth fell open as if he was unsure what to say in response to such a speech from his brother.

  “Come, Richard,” Mary whispered. “Let’s go down to dinner with your brother and Louisa, and speak no more of this at present.”

  To her surprise, Richard laughed.

  “You know, brother, oftentimes I feel I do not understand you at all.”

  Philip’s eyebrows lifted, but he did not seem unduly upset by the revelation.

  “We are a decade apart in age and have scarcely spent more than a few months in the same place at once, so it can hardly come as a surprise to you that we are as strangers at times.” He cleared his throat. “But, th
at said, I have appreciated having you here, and your new wife too. You must stay as long as you wish it, for I find it rather entertaining to have my younger brother so close by.” His eyes twinkled in a manner not unlike Richard’s, when he observed something particularly humorous.

  Mary met her husband’s gaze with a surprised smile and saw a sense of peace settle over his features that had not been present yet for their entire time in London. When she took his arm and they walked to the dining room, he took advantage of their proximity to whisper a word or two in her ear.

  “How is it, Mary, that one branch of my family tree is collapsing in upon itself, and the other springs with new life?”

  She had no answer but walked alongside him happier than she had been in a long time. If only Anne might find this happiness with her husband, she thought, her mind wistfully returning to her friend. I hope Elizabeth and Mr Darcy might be able to offer the assistance we may not. Privately, silently, she vowed to be even more welcoming than Richard had suggested. If Lady Catherine intended to cut her daughter out entirely, then Anne would be in need of friends and family around her. Glancing between the brothers as they reached the table, she felt a sense of anticipation that had nothing to do with the delicious scent of food that reached her nose. If Richard and his estranged brother might find a new communion, what was to say Anne might not yet be reunited with her mother? Stranger things have happened...

  Chapter Eleven

  Elizabeth squinted at her reflection in the glass, adjusting a curl, lamenting the lack of another gown, and pretending not to notice the restless figure of her husband who paced behind her.

  “If you do not sit still,” she murmured. “You will be exhausted before the evening begins.”

  “And if I do not burn off some of this energy I shall say or do something we shall all live to regret.”

  She turned, then, to see Darcy’s pace was only matched by the ferocity of the scowl he wore. He must have sensed her attention, though, for when he turned to continue his progress, he caught her eyes, and wrested his features into something that might have been a smile, were it not for the knitted brows that accompanied it.

  “I thought this dinner was your idea?” Elizabeth asked, reaching out her hand and gratified when he stopped his ceaseless marching and came to sit opposite her, taking her hand in both of his and turning it over to examine the palm, as if he might divine the tone of the evening that stretched out before them.

  “Bingley’s.” He sighed. “It seemed wise at the time. Now that the hour is upon us, I am not so sure. What have Wickham and I to say to one another that can be said in the presence of ladies? How can we pretend all is well, that I am happy to see such a match take place?”

  “But it has already taken place,” Elizabeth reminded him, gently. “Continuing to oppose Wickham means to oppose Anne, and I rather think she faces opposition enough in the shape of her mother.”

  Darcy nodded, his gaze straying, reflexively, to the letter that had arrived mere hours earlier, addressed to Elizabeth from Mary and sent with all haste. They had been delighted to hear of Richard’s ongoing recovery, but the news of Lady Catherine’s sudden and surprising arrival in London made his heart sink. She would know, then, for an addendum in Richard’s scrawl indicated his intention to tell her, if she had not already been privy to rumours concerning her daughter’s activities. Darcy had known they could not keep the secret for long, particularly when the worst was confirmed. An indiscretion might be concealed, but a marriage?

  “Is it really so very bad?” Elizabeth asked. It was a question she had posed several times, but her husband’s answer had remained the same. Bad or not, it cannot be helped. “I think Anne truly loves him -”

  “It is not Anne’s affections I doubt,” he said, shortly. “She would never have made such a decision if her heart were not utterly lost to that man. I fear she sees only a part of what Wickham is, though, for he is adept at concealing his true self from those he wishes to deceive.”

  “I do not know Wickham as you do,” Lizzy said, carefully. “And, certainly, do not imagine to understand his true character. But...surely there is some comfort to be sought from the fact that they are married. If he wished only to ruin her...” Darcy’s eyes flashed and Elizabeth said no more.

  “Matrimony is far more advantageous to Wickham’s pocketbook than a mere dalliance would have been.” His lips quirked. “Although he may come to regret it, for if my aunt does not take the news well, and I have no reason to believe she would, she may yet contrive to prevent Anne’s dowry from passing into his hands.”

  “She wouldn’t be so callous, surely?”

  Darcy raised an eyebrow.

  “You have met my aunt, have not you? In fact, I fancy you, more than anyone, knows precisely how callous she might be when she chooses.” He stood, with a sigh. “No, I think there are difficulties ahead for the new Mr and Mrs Wickham far more than the damage to Anne’s reputation such a stunt affords.” He glanced at his fob-watch. “Well, my love, we can tarry no longer.”

  Standing, Lizzy took the arm her husband offered, and the two walked in silence down to the small private room they had secured for the evening.

  “You must forgive me my bad temper,” Darcy muttered, as they approached the door. “I am aware of my moods and whilst I strive to correct them, at times these concerns make moderation impossible.” He smiled, fleetingly at her. “I should reserve such behaviour for Wickham, for he surely deserves it.”

  Lizzy pinched him lightly on the arm, and he looked at her in confusion.

  “Were you not angry at this I should wonder at your being entirely sensible. Yet we must strive to accept the circumstance, to be the best friends we might be to Anne, and by extension to Mr Wickham. Promise me you will try.”

  Darcy considered her request a moment, before permitting her one more wry smile.

  “I promise I will attempt to try...will that suffice, Mrs Darcy?”

  “For now.”

  Reaching the room, Lizzy was glad to see that Caroline and Mr Bingley were already present, and the four friends greeted one another, making polite conversation on the surprising comfort afforded by this small room, the promise of a hearty meal, and their plans for the morrow. A knock brought their affectation of comfortable conversation to a halt, and as the door opened everyone stood.

  “Good evening, sir.” Their proprietor’s eyes sought out Darcy. “Your guests ‘ave arrived, sir. Mr and Mrs George Wickham.”

  “Thank you,” Darcy spoke for everyone in welcoming the new arrivals and Lizzy was pleased to note that his voice remained calm and modulated. Indeed, were she not as well acquainted with the moods of his face, she would presume him entirely unruffled by the presence of their guests. It was only the stiffness to his manner, the eyes that glanced too quickly to Anne, widened fractionally at her appearance, and fixed with a glare on Mr Wickham that indicated anything was amiss at all.

  “GOOD EVENING MR AND Mrs Darcy. Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley.” George turned a wide smile around the room, his hand holding tight to his bride as if she were some prize granting him admittance to this inner sanctum of respectability.

  “What a lovely room this is!” Anne said, breaking the moment of awkward silence that accompanied their entrance. Wickham had not been insensible of the warm conversations that had faded to nought upon their arrival, and he would have to be half blind or stupid not to notice the ferocity of the stare Darcy had fixed him with. Ignoring him, he pulled out a chair for his wife, and everyone returned to their seats.

  “I see you found us without difficulty, Mr Wickham,” Bingley said, leaping headlong into the fray.

  “There being so many alternatives to choose from in so small a town as this,” Wickham remarked, with a wry grin. “As soon as William arrived I knew there was but one inn that would meet with his satisfaction, and even then only by virtue of it being the best, locally.” He flicked his eyes to Darcy’s. “Tis hardly Pemberley, is it, William?”

/>   Darcy said nothing, but Wickham knew that his comments infuriated his old friend just as well as if he had offered some response. He turned his attention to the young lady sitting beside him.

  “And Miss Elizabeth - or Mrs Darcy, as I must address you now. How surprised I was to hear of your marriage to my old friend. Surprised and pleased, of course. It seems to me when we met that you were rather less fond of the gentleman who is now your husband.” He shrugged his shoulders. “How fast things change.”

  “Indeed, Mr Wickham.” Elizabeth smiled, politely, lowering her gaze a moment before speaking again. “In your case, too, things seem to have changed quickly. Where do you and Anne intend to make your home?” She fixed him with a gaze that was not easy to shrink from. “I cannot assume you intend to stay long in your current location. Surely Anne, if not you, will be eager for some pleasant society?”

  There, she had lingered on the word “pleasant” as if to imbue it with meaning. Wickham’s grin faded fractionally. So, your husband has passed judgment on the company I keep and told you of all of my misdeeds. He ought not to be surprised. When would Darcy ever pass up the opportunity to run him down?

  “We have not decided yet, have we, my dear?” he said, feeling the sudden need for Anne’s voice to join the conversation. Of all those present she, and only she, was forever on his side. Even when he disappointed her - and he was not foolish enough to imagine their current cramped accommodations and lonely living were not at least in part a disappointment to her - she would not own it, and offered him such unconditional love and affection that it was a security for him, even when all else was gone. “But we are happy together, and that is more than can be said for many newlyweds.”

  “I rather think most couples accomplish happiness at first, though it may be fleeting.” Darcy’s words were muttered under his breath, quietly enough that they would not reach Anne’s ears, but Wickham discerned them and recognised his old friend’s predictions for the future. You expect me to tire of marriage and abandon my wife ere we are even settled. He bristled a little, but could not deny he had a reason for such a supposition. William had known him long, must know of the love affairs he had begun and cast aside without a thought. That was before, he thought. Things are different now. He turned, on impulse, to look at his new wife and was startled to see her pale, though the room was small and more than adequately heated by the open fire in the hearth. She shivered, and he glanced over towards the fire, wishing they had taken a seat nearer to it.