The Darcys of Pemberley (33 page)

The departure of the expedition left the
great house nearly bereft of men. Most of the male servants had
gone, and even Fitzwilliam’s coachman could not resist the call to
adventure. The group, having thus swelled to the size of a small
army, exhibited all the nervous excitement of a hunt party at the
meet. Those who were not so emotionally connected with the missing
women had seemed in very high spirits indeed at the prospect of the
chase.

The elderly butler remained at his post,
however. About ten o’clock he brought the mistress of the house
word that there was a man, whom he most pointedly did not call a
gentleman, wanting to speak to her.

“Who is it, Henderson?” Elizabeth asked.

“He did not give his name, Madam, and since I
am not familiar with him, I left him waiting in the hall. Shall I
turn him out?”

“No. I will see him.”

“Very good, Madam.”

It was not uncommon for strangers of high or
low rank to appear at the door uninvited, with some sort of request
or petition. Henderson did his best to sort them out but, since he
had been instructed not to turn people away without cause, it often
fell to his master or mistress to decide the case. As Elizabeth
currently had no other occupation, she followed the butler back to
the front hall to investigate. There she found Mr. Wickham in a
state of obvious agitation, pacing and wringing his hands.

Elizabeth could not have been more surprised
to see anyone. Her mind raced to reorganize her thoughts. Until
that moment, she had imagined Wickham miles away in the midst of
some nefarious activity when, apparently, he had been here at
Pemberley all along. Although she was far from pleased to see him,
if it meant that Georgiana and Charlotte were in less dire straits
than she had supposed, the sight of him was not totally
objectionable.

“Mr. Wickham! You should not be here,” she
stated with cool authority.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Darcy, truly
I am. I would hardly have come were it not an emergency,” he said
hurriedly. “I had nowhere else to turn.”

“What is the matter? Is it Lydia?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. There has been an
accident.”

“An accident! Is she all right?”

“She fell down a flight of stairs. Now she is
bleeding and fears she will lose the baby. I have never seen her
like this before; she is quite frantic and calling for you,
Elizabeth. Will you come? I know I have no right to ask anything
for myself, but please come on Lydia’s account, I beg you.”

Wickham seemed so miserably contrite that
Elizabeth softened. She was ashamed for having so recently thought
the worst of him. Humbling himself like this for Lydia’s sake
proved there was some redeemable aspect to his character after
all.

“Of course I will come,” she said, “but how
did this happen?”

“To own the truth, I think she may have done
it intentionally,” he said in a low voice with an eye to the butler
standing by. “Now she is frightened and sorry for it.”

“Foolish girl! I was afraid of something like
this. Naturally, I will be glad to do what I can, but shouldn’t we
summon the surgeon for her?”

“That was my opinion, too. Yet Lydia insisted
I come to you first, and you know how headstrong she is. Once you
are with her, I shall go immediately for the surgeon if you deem it
necessary – whatever you advise.”

“Then we must go at once.”

“Yes. Sarah is a capable girl, but, all the
same… If you are ready, I can drive you in my gig. Or would you
prefer to follow with Mr. Darcy in your own equipage?”

The question drew Elizabeth up short. She had
few options and none of them particularly good. Mr. Darcy was
obviously unavailable, and she doubted if anyone remained who could
make ready a carriage. Moreover, arranging her own transportation
would consume valuable time that she dared not take with Lydia’s
health, and possibly her very life, hanging in the balance.

“I will come with you, and Mr. Darcy can
follow us directly,” she said, instinctively concealing the fact
that her husband was nowhere at all nearby. “Wait for me outside
while I get my wrap and tell him what has happened.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you. I’m very much
obliged.”

When Wickham was safely outside and the door
closed behind him, Elizabeth collected her things and dashed off a
note to her husband.

My dear D,

Lydia has taken a fall and may be seriously
hurt. I must go to her. Please come as soon as you can. All my
love,

E.

Handing the folded note to the butler,
Elizabeth told him, “My sister is ill and needs my help, Henderson.
If Mr. Darcy returns before I do, please see that he gets this at
once. It is very important that he reads this message as soon as he
returns. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Madam, I will attend to it.”

Elizabeth paused to consider if there was
anything else prudence required her to do. She knew her husband
would disapprove of her going, yet what alternative did she have?
She could not ignore her sister’s plea for help, and she dared not
wait for Darcy’s return. At least this errand of mercy would allow
her to be of some use to one sister whilst taking her mind off
another for whom she could do nothing at present. So, with a
whispered prayer for Lydia … and one for herself, Elizabeth took up
her wrap and went out to meet Mr. Wickham.

He helped her into the gig, and they set off
in the direction of the Wickhams’ cottage at a good clip.
Elizabeth’s head was filled with images of what she might find upon
their arrival, and her thoughts focused on how best to help her
sister. Having no inclination for idle conversation, she was
relieved that her brother-in-law seemed likewise content to keep
his own counsel, at least at first. When they had left the manor
house far behind, however, he broke his silence.

“You wear the mantle of mistress of Pemberley
well, Elizabeth,” he mused. “I have often pictured you there and,
just as I supposed, the role suits. You were meant to inhabit a
higher station than the one into which you were born.”

“Mr. Wickham, this is hardly the time or
place for compliments.”

He continued, undeterred. “I must own that I
have always had the same notion about myself, that had it not been
for a cruel accident of birth, I should have been the master here
at Pemberley instead of what I am now – one of the downtrodden
tenants.”

“By the same logic, Mr. Wickham, you or I
could just as easily have been born beggars. Speculation of that
sort is pointless.”

“Still, as you well know, my talents,
education, and the particular attentions of old Mr. Darcy prepared
me for the life of a gentleman. It is all thrown away if I am to be
a farmer the rest of my days. No, I was destined for better things,
and I am determined to have them.”

Elizabeth sighed impatiently. “You certainly
have at your disposal all the elements necessary to prosper, Mr.
Wickham. If your ambitions tend in the right direction and you are
willing to work hard, I daresay you will fashion a very good life
for yourself and your family. I sincerely hope that you do.”

“That is a fine speech, Elizabeth, but well
off the mark. It will be quite impossible for me to achieve
anything in my current situation. Your husband will always see to
that. As long as I remain at Pemberley, he will hold me down. No
doubt that is why he brought me back here, for the sport he hoped
to enjoy at my expense. I have my pride, though; I will not sit
idly by and be made a fool of. He may fancy himself a ‘prince’ of
sorts,” he sneered, “but I refuse to be his whipping boy.”

“Enough, Mr. Wickham. You misjudge my
husband, and I will not listen to any more of your slander,”
declared Elizabeth, angered by this more extreme version of the
same shopworn complaint she had heard him spout before.

“You shall hear whatever I choose to say,
Mrs. Darcy,” he said with a sidelong look at her. “You are in no
position to do otherwise at present.”

Wickham did in fact hold his peace for a
time, though, returning his full attention to his driving. He
slapped the reigns and urged his horse to a quicker pace. This
suited Elizabeth exceedingly well. The remaining ground could not
be covered soon enough for her. Wickham’s distasteful conversation
seemed inappropriate on more than one level. His familiarity with
her and his criticism of Darcy were offensive enough. But that he
should have more anxiety over his own disappointments than for his
injured wife at such a time was most unseemly.

Elizabeth kept her eyes on the road ahead and
could soon make out the lane that led to the string of tenant
farms. Although she had no cause to come into this part of the
estate with any frequency, she had toured every aspect of the park
with her husband on more than one occasion. She knew which cottage
the Wickhams occupied and that it was now only a few minutes
off.

As they approached the lane, Wickham showed
no sign of slowing. “Here is our turn, Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth
reminded him, supposing him lost in thought and unaware of how far
they had come.

“No, you are mistaken. There is a shorter
route.”

“Surely not. I remember the way quite
distinctly. This is where we must turn.”

“What is the matter, Mrs. Darcy? Do not you
think I know the way to my own house? You forget that I grew up
here. I am far more familiar with these roads than you are, I
should imagine. Trust me; I know what I am doing,” he said, driving
the horse still faster.

As they swept past the lane and continued
down the main road at a high rate of speed, Elizabeth began to
comprehend that trusting Mr. Wickham was the very last thing she
ever should have done. In silent vexation, she cursed her own
stupidity. How could she have been so foolish, so rash as to put
herself within this man’s power?

Wickham was clearly up to no good; that much
was certain now. Whether he only meant to frighten her or something
worse … Elizabeth shuddered. The bleakness of her situation bore in
upon her. If he truly intended to do her some kind of injury, she
had very little chance of stopping him. Still, it seemed incredible
that he would be so reckless.

“Consider what you are about, Mr. Wickham,”
Elizabeth ventured, praying he was not yet beyond the reach of
reason. “So far, no harm has been done, but if you carry this
mischief much further, you will be liable for some serious charges.
Now do be sensible and turn the carriage about. We must think of
Lydia.”

Wickham’s tight-lipped smile sickened
Elizabeth, as did more deeply his reply.

“Have no anxiety for
her
,” he said
disdainfully. “Your sister needs none of our help; she is
completely uninjured. Oh, she did feel the back of my hand when she
told me about the child, and I admit I was tempted to give her a
sounder sample of my displeasure. That little tumble down stairs
that I mentioned might have been highly therapeutic. As it happens,
though, I invented the whole story – a necessary deception. I doubt
you would have agreed to take this little ride with me otherwise,”
he said in a light, almost playful, manner.

With each exchange, the stakes of the game
they played mounted higher. Elizabeth had but one card left in her
hand. She prayed it would be enough.

“I warn you, Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy follows
close behind and is probably even now hard upon our heels,” she
declared in a steady voice that belied the fear welling up inside
her. “If you do not repent of this foolishness immediately, you
will soon be in the hands of the law. Or worse yet, my husband may
deal with you himself.”

At this, Wickham did slow the mare, but only
to direct her onto a different road. With that accomplished, he
slapped the reigns, and turned to watch Elizabeth’s reaction as he
played his trump.

“I do beg your pardon. I know it is
considered very bad form to contradict a lady. However, you are in
fact quite mistaken on that point, Elizabeth. You see, I happen to
know that your gallant husband rode off this morning and left you
quite unprotected. He will not be coming to your rescue anytime
soon, now will he?”

Fears Confirmed

Elizabeth barely flinched at Wickham’s last
remark. Observing the preternatural brightness in his eyes, his
grotesquely exhilarated expression, she dared not excite him
further by becoming hysterical herself, and she refused to give him
the satisfaction of seeing her sink into tears. Now that the danger
was confirmed, an icy calm stole over her, born not of resignation
but of the certain knowledge that she must keep her wits about her
to survive.

Taking a slow, steady breath, Elizabeth
evaluated her limited options. She quickly concluded that leaping
from the moving carriage would be far too dangerous in her
condition. Overpowering such an imposing man was, of course, out of
the question. And there would be little chance of anyone hearing
should she scream for help. Wickham had pulled onto a rough,
little-used dirt track that led deep into an isolated expanse of
woods on the outskirts of the estate. The cottages and fields from
which help might have been expected to come were now far behind
them, and growing more remote by the moment.

Rather than risk everything on a hasty act of
desperation, Elizabeth resolved to wait and watch for an opportune
moment to effect her escape. She silently counseled herself to be
bold and decisive when her opening came. She must seize the first
opportunity for she was unlikely to get a second chance.

Elizabeth very deliberately smoothed her
skirt, running her hand over the pocket where her penknife was
concealed, verifying that it was still there. She had taken it on
impulse without a coherent thought as to why a weapon might be
needed on an errand of mercy. Now Elizabeth thanked God that she
had some means to defend herself and her child; she prayed for the
courage to use it if she must. But that had to be as a last resort,
when all other hopes were exhausted. First, she intended to exploit
Wickham’s gift of conversation, and his penchant for talking about
himself in particular.