Some Particular Evil

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A fter a second fitful night’s sleep, Elizabeth awoke to yet another lovely spring day and felt all the strangeness of it. To all the world, it was as if nothing had happened, as if nothing was amiss. There was not a respectable gentleman hiding from mercenaries somewhere in London, afraid for his life. For as little as she had thought of Mr Darcy before this, she could not stop thinking of him now. She sat upon the edge of her bed, her hands stationed on the mattress at either side of her, and just stared out the window wondering where he was, what he was doing, how he was surviving.

This rumination followed her through the house and out into the lane as she made her way towards her favourite path. Mr Darcy would not meet her there this morning. The thought gave her a twinge of pain. Did she miss him? Or was this small yearning niggling at her heart just a result of her sympathy for the inhumane treatment he had experienced? He had not been loquacious during their walks, but he had been faithful, punctual, and shown honest interest in her life.

Where she had felt he was asking after her family to denigrate them, she saw now that he had been nothing but respectful. And when she had answered him with assumption and impertinence, he had smiled and debated with a modest deference she never would have expected from the proud man.

Why was she just realising this? Was it because he had avowed his affection for her that she was only now seeing evidence of it? Or was it because of the sweet elation, the tender care, the profound comfort she had felt in his arms that day in the study?

Elizabeth shook herself. It was no use thinking about these things.

She had found it diverting yesterday to think of the great Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley having to button his own waistcoat and pull on his own boots. Today, however, she meditated on how jarring such a circumstance must be for a man used to having so many things done for him. A picture appeared in her mind of his dressing room, where his valet had pressed and brushed his every garment, hung his snow-white stockings and cravats, and even slept so that he might be always at Mr Darcy’s command. Had he ever shaved himself? Bathed from an ewer and basin? Has he ever even emptied his own chamber pot? The thought made her blush. She hoped he had found an inn which at least offered that service.

It was while she was lost in this brown study that she heard footfalls behind her. She expected, and indeed hoped, to see Jem—for she had yet to thank him and Molly for their assistance—but instead, her eyes fell upon Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Miss Bennet,” he called with apparent surprise. How he did not expect to find her on this path when she had been walking it at dawn for three weeks now, Elizabeth did not know. It was she who should have been surprised; why had he not yet left to run after Mr Darcy? What was keeping him at Rosings?

“Colonel, good morning,” she replied as he came into step beside her.

The expected trivial matters passed between them, and they walked quietly for several yards. Elizabeth became lost in the thought that if the so-called constables had truly been constables, should they not have taken the colonel into custody? After all, Colonel Fitzwilliam had given them his word as a servant of the Crown and then allowed Mr Darcy to escape? If the men really were officers of the law, surely they would not have left him at Rosings. The fact that he was here before her proved yet again what nefarious impostors they had been. Elizabeth waited, as the colonel seemed to be on the brink of speaking every moment. Finally, however, it was she who broke the silence.

“I understood you to be at Mr Darcy’s disposal, sir. Has something changed, or shall you join him in Tonbridge soon?” she asked, hoping to ascertain just how much he could be trusted.

He cleared his throat before answering, “I am indeed. However, his current errand is of a personal nature, and so he wished to go alone. I expect to hear from him soon as to whether he shall return to Rosings or go straight on to London from there to join his sister.”

“I see,” she said, swallowing down the discomfort she felt at being so boldly lied to. “He takes prodigious care of his sister, I think.”

“That he does. She is the only immediate family he has, after all. Darcy guards her interests very closely, and it is a good thing, too, for she has already been the object of a fortune hunter, though she is only just sixteen.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened momentarily before lamenting, “Poor dear. Though, if she is anything like her brother, I am sure she can sniff out avarice a mile off. She probably set the scoundrel down in no uncertain terms.”

“I only wish it was so. Tragically, this was an old family friend, her father’s godson, who used his position of trust to ingratiate himself to her with the intent of carrying her off to Scotland. Darcy was in London, you see, and Miss Darcy was visiting Ramsgate with her companion,” Colonel Fitzwilliam confided. “She, being the innocent she is, had no idea his visits were anything but cordial. I showed up just in time to foil his plans and to protect that innocence. To this day, she still believes he was just acting a brother figure with his daily visits.”

“You do not speak of Mr Wickham, surely?”

Now it was the colonel’s turn to raise his brows. “You know the devil?”

“I do, though I would not have described him so,” she told him in disbelief. “He has made himself quite a friend to my family. What you say shocks me.”

“That is right, you are from Hertfordshire. I had forgotten that,” he said with a nod. “And well it might shock, for Wickham has such charming manners as to ease his way into any society he chooses. Unfortunately, it is all a guise. Inside, he is a predator of the worst sort—a seducer, a gambler, a drinker. Why, I do not know how many times Darcy has had to rescue him from his own recklessness.”

“But why should Mr Darcy do so? Should the man not be forced to pay for his sins?”

“Indeed. And Darcy has since seen the folly of his ways. Before the snake set his sights on Miss Darcy, I suppose he held somewhat of a soft spot for Wickham; they did grow up together after all. And the man being Old Darcy’s godson, I suppose he wanted to honour that. Darcy is, in general, too generous for my liking. I would have run Wickham through years ago!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam must have meant the last statement as a jest, but Elizabeth found it in rather poor taste given the, albeit unspoken, truth of their current circumstances. Surely he would not murder a man in cold blood?

“I am sure Mr Darcy had hoped Mr Wickham would better himself after having been shown such mercy,” Elizabeth offered. “He certainly has the appearance of goodness; perhaps your cousin saw in him a potential for it as well.”

“Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises,” Colonel Fitzwilliam quoted matter-of-factly.

“Shakespeare?” she guessed, trying to force her mind to stay in the conversation rather than reeling over what the colonel had just revealed to her about Mr Wickham. And Mr Darcy, for that matter—too generous? Never in a million years would she have thought such a panegyric would apply to such a man.

“I believe so, yes,” he answered in a faltering voice.

“I cannot place the quote.” To be sure, the words were familiar, but Elizabeth was unable to remember where she had heard them, which of the Bard’s characters might have uttered them.

The colonel gave a quizzical grimace to the sky before confessing he shared her ignorance. “Perhaps I have just heard that line in reference to myself so often, I have memorised it without knowing.”

“Not possible!” Elizabeth retorted in a laughing tone. “A colonel in His Majesty’s army, with such elegant manners and depth of understanding. I am sure your family has nothing of which to be ashamed in regard to you, sir.”

“Alas, I am just a lowly officer, a slave to the Crown, and a burden to my family. We cannot all be born a viscount,” he said with a self-effacing grin.

“Oh yes, the second son of an earl must endure terrible poverty and affliction, I am sure. I heartily pity you, sir,” Elizabeth said with an affected pout.

“I thank you, Miss Bennet. It seems you truly understand the drudgery I face. Now,” he whined playfully as he opened the gate of the parsonage garden, “I must put off my travails no longer and join my aunt for hot chocolate, cold pork, fresh brioche, and an abundance of cream in my tea.”

“What privation! How shall you survive it?” she scoffed before nodding him an amused farewell and making her way to the cottage door.