A Father's Sins: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (7 page)

After
extending their regrets at leaving so abruptly, they boarded the carriage and
left Netherfield Park. No explanations had been given other than urgent
business in London and Miss Caroline Bingley had to accept that this was all
she would be given to understand. Her own brother was silent on the matter.

Tension
filled the carriage until they stopped in the village of Meryton. Elizabeth’s
luggage was quickly loaded. Mr. Darcy had elected to lower the shades so that
Wickham would not be seen by the two female occupants; thus it was gloomy and
quiet inside. Elizabeth reached beside her and took Georgiana’s hand in hers,
squeezing it in gentle comfort. Georgiana grasped her hand with both of hers
and whispered her thanks. Once they passed the noise of the village, Mr. Darcy
raised the blinds and all three expelled the breaths they had been unaware they
were holding.

“Miss
Elizabeth!” started Georgiana when they heard the sound of gunfire and the
carriage jerked to a halt. Georgiana never finished her thought as a man’s
strong voice yelled to the coachman.

“Stand
and deliver!”

 A
lone horseman rode to the side of the carriage and rapped on the door with the
butt of his pistol. “Get outside the carriage, all of you!” When they failed to
move as quickly as he wanted, he hit the side of the coach again. “Now!” Then
he pointed his pistol inside, not at Mr. Darcy nor to Elizabeth. The
highwayman’s pistol was pointed directly at the side of Georgiana’s head. As
his horse moved closer, his face came into view. It was the older Darcy
brother; George Wickham. Georgiana screamed and fainted.

On the road to London, outside of Meryton,
Hertfordshire

Wickham
had no tolerance for the weakness of his little sister. He had no tolerance for
anything or anyone who came between him and his goal. Kidnapping Georgiana and
turning her over to the cur who was willing to marry her for a large cash
payment would allow him the freedom from a heavy debt owed to the wrong people
and the revenge on Darcy that he so desired. He hated Darcy. Hated him for
being designated the heir and denying him Pemberley and the wealth of the
estate. Hated him for the respect their father gave to his youngest son;
respect that should have gone to the rightful heir. Wickham had nothing against
Georgiana personally. In spite of that, right now his needs far outweighed his
moral obligation to care for her. “Get her out of the carriage, now!”

Darcy
knew that his coachman was armed. He also knew that this same coachman would
never do anything to jeopardize the young sister of his master. Therefore, as
long as Wickham was a threat to Georgiana, there would be no interference. He
looked at his precious sister and knew he would do anything to protect her and
that he would never allow Wickham to harm her. In all her fifteen years, he had
never known her to faint. The terror of this situation was tremendous.
Gathering his sister in his arms, he carried her outside the carriage.
Elizabeth followed. Mr. Darcy held his sister tight to his chest, his right arm
behind her back and his left behind her knees.

“Give
her to me,” Wickham demanded.

“I
shall not!” Mr. Darcy fixed his dark stare on Wickham’s face. All the years of
humiliation as he watched his father indulge George Wickham, all the times he
had to step back as his father thrust George into the front light, all of the
times he was bullied by this wicked man came to the surface and Mr. Fitzwilliam
Darcy had had enough.  “You shall get nothing from me.”

“I
shall take what is mine.” Confidence that he had the upper hand was evident in
his countenance.  “Now, give her to me or I shoot you both and then I get it
all. Your choice, Darcy.” He waved the pistol at his younger brother and the
bloodlust was evident in his eyes. The pistol he had already discharged was now
tucked into his belt and the grip on the loaded pistol was firm.

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!”