Chapter Five #3
“Then we shall send word to him,” Mr. Bennet said simply. “We shall do it in a manner that allows you to face him when you are ready, not before.”
He stood and moved to his desk, pulling out paper and ink. Then he paused and turned to look at Elizabeth.
His expression held no anger. Instead, there was something that might have been pride, mixed with a rueful acknowledgement.
He held her gaze for a long moment—long enough for her to understand that he knew what she had done, and why, and that he did not entirely disapprove.
Long enough, too, for her to understand that she should have trusted him sooner.
Heat rose in Elizabeth’s cheeks. She lowered her eyes.
“Well,” Mr. Bennet said, turning back to his desk. “Let us compose this letter.”
He sat and drew the paper toward him, dipping his pen. “I shall write to your brother at The George. A simple message: that you are safe, that you are under my protection, and that he may call upon us at his earliest convenience to arrange your return.”
Georgiana let out a shuddering breath. “Thank you, sir.”
“You may go back to the nursery for now,” Mr. Bennet said, his tone brisker but not unkind. “My daughters will attend you. You will eat whatever cake Kitty smuggles upstairs, and you will not fret yourself into a fever before Mr. Darcy arrives.”
A faint, incredulous smile touched Georgiana’s lips. She rose and curtseyed. “Yes, sir.”
To the Rescue
The grind of carriage wheels sounded on the gravel of the drive.
Mr. Bennet paused mid-sentence, his pen suspended above the paper. He laid it aside and crossed to the window, drawing back the curtain.
“It seems our letter will be unnecessary,” he said, his tone composed. “We have a visitor.”
Elizabeth’s heart gave an uneasy leap. Georgiana rose from her chair, every trace of colour deserting her face.
“Is it my brother?” she whispered.
Mr. Bennet glanced out once more.
“It is a curricle, well appointed. The gentleman descending is unknown to me, though his attire is decidedly military.”
Georgiana moved to his side. Mr. Bennet stepped away to give her room to look.
“It is Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“My cousin Richard. He shares the guardianship of me with my brother.” She turned to them, and for the first time since she had entered the house, her expression was entirely relieved.
“He will listen. If my brother sent him, it is because—” She pressed a hand to her breast. “He is kind. He will not condemn me unheard.”
A heavy knock echoed through the house.
The stillness that followed seemed protracted.
Hill’s footsteps approached along the passage, and with them came the rustle and whisper of the other Miss Bennets, who had plainly flown from the breakfast parlour at the first intelligence of a visitor.
Their voices rose and fell just beyond the study door, eager and ill suppressed, until a low word from Hill and the sound of the latch recalled them to a hurried semblance of composure.
Mr. Bennet looked at Georgiana.
“This Colonel—you trust him?”
“Yes, sir. Entirely.”
“Then we shall discover what manner of man he proves to be.” Mr. Bennet set his coat and cravat in order. “Lizzy, Jane—remain. Mary, Kitty, Lydia, you may go.”
Mary inclined her head and turned. Kitty escaped with evident relief. Lydia pouted and flounced, yet obeyed.
Hill appeared in the doorway.
“A Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir. He requests a moment of your time upon a matter of urgent delicacy. He says he comes on behalf of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.”
Mr. Bennet’s gaze flickered to Georgiana before he answered.
“Show him in.”
They heard firm steps in the corridor, and Colonel Fitzwilliam entered. He looked to be about thirty, his greatcoat marked by travel, his countenance open and intelligent. He held his hat under his arm, his eyes taking in the room with practised alertness.
He stopped short when he saw Georgiana.
For an instant neither moved. Then Georgiana took a hesitant step forward.
“Richard,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Georgiana.” He crossed the room with rapid, long strides and caught her in his arms. “Thank Heaven. We feared—” He checked himself, his jaw working. “We feared we had lost you.”
He drew back enough to hold her hands, examining her face with anxious care.
“Are you hurt? Did that blackguard—”
“I am safe,” Georgiana said, tears spilling over. “The Miss Bennets sheltered me. They have kept me safe.”
The Colonel looked up, still holding her hands. His gaze met Mr. Bennet’s, keen at first, then softening into deep gratitude. He released Georgiana and bowed low.
“Then I am in your debt, sir, more than words can express.”
“You are welcome to whatever hospitality Longbourn affords,” Mr. Bennet replied. “Though I must own I learnt only this morning of Miss Darcy’s residence under my roof. My daughters have been rather more enterprising than I supposed.”
The Colonel’s look sharpened. He glanced from Mr. Bennet to Elizabeth and Jane, then back to Georgiana.
“Perhaps I had better know the whole. Darcy has been half out of his mind. We must understand what has passed.”
Georgiana sank into the nearest chair.
“I—” She pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment. “Mrs. Younge took me from the house. She said we were going to the modiste, but instead she carried me to a place I did not know. Mr. Wickham was there.”
At the name, the Colonel’s expression hardened, though he did not interrupt.
“He had a paper—a licence. He said we should be married.” Georgiana’s voice sank almost to a whisper. “I told them I did not consent. I said it clearly. The man they called a clergyman read the words notwithstanding, and Mr. Wickham—” Her hands clasped n her lap.
“Did he harm you?” the Colonel asked, quietly.
“He endeavoured to do so. At the inn.” Her throat worked.
“I cried out, and he restrained me. When he covered my mouth, I bit his hand. He cried out so loudly that Mrs. Younge came and bade him be silent. His anger—” She shuddered.
“He swore he would wait until later, but he drank till he scarcely knew where he was, and I climbed from the window and ran.” She raised her head, tears running freely now.
“I ran until I could go no further, and at last I found shelter in a barn. Miss Lydia discovered me there in the morning, nearly frozen.”
The Colonel was silent for some moments. When he spoke, his voice contained fury.
“Wickham. Of course.”
He turned to Mr. Bennet.
“How long has she been here, sir?”
“That I cannot state with confidence,” Mr. Bennet said. “I learnt of Miss Darcy’s presence only to-day. My daughter Elizabeth can give a clearer account.”
The Colonel looked to Elizabeth.
“My sister Lydia found her in our barn twelve days ago, sir,” Elizabeth said. “She was half-frozen, bruised, and in great distress. She spoke of a man hunting her, claiming to be her husband and vowing to ruin her.”
“She would not give her true name at first,” Jane added. “Her terror was too great.”
“We placed her in our nursery,” Elizabeth continued. “It lies on the upper floor, away from the principal rooms. We believed that if Mr. Wickham came searching, he would have no cause to look there.”
The Colonel’s brows drew together. “You took a stranger into your nursery, hid her from your parents, and set yourselves against a man who claimed her as his wife,” he said. “Did you know who she was, then? Any part of her connexions?”
“Nothing beyond the Christian name she gave then,” Elizabeth answered. “We supposed her a gentlewoman, and that her friends must be of consequence, but she would give us no more. It did not matter, she was distressed and injured. We could do no less.”
His gaze moved from her to Jane, weighing them both. “You undertook all this, ignorant that she is the granddaughter of an Earl and sister to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?”
Jane coloured. “We undertook it because she was in need, sir.”
“Did Wickham come searching?” the Colonel asked.
“He did. He lodged at the White Hart in Meryton for several days,” Elizabeth said. “He went from house to house, describing a young wife who had deserted him. He offered a reward for any intelligence.”
The Colonel’s jaw clenched.
“Did he call here?”
“He did,” Mr. Bennet said. “I received him in this room. A plausible fellow—very smooth in his manners. He told me his young wife had wandered off whilst the horses were changed, that her mind was disordered and required a firm hand.”
The Colonel’s expression grew darker still.
“I disliked him exceedingly,” Mr. Bennet continued.
“His tale smelt of rehearsal. His hand was bandaged. When I enquired how he had injured it, he became evasive. He told some Banbury tales of a spooked horse and a gate post.” He glanced at Georgiana’s small, clenched hands.
“I sent him away with my regrets that I could not assist him.”
The Colonel returned his attention to Elizabeth.
“What followed his visit here?”
“He remained in the neighbourhood another day or two,” Elizabeth said. “Then he departed without warning.”
“Mayhap he heard of Darcy’s presence and fled,” the Colonel said grimly. He looked back at Georgiana. “You were fortunate he did not reach you first.”
“We kept her entirely out of sight,” Elizabeth said. “We carried food to her, kept a fire in the nursery, told no one—not even our parents at first.”
“You had no notion Miss Darcy was under your roof when Wickham applied to you?” the Colonel asked Mr. Bennet.
“None whatsoever,” Mr. Bennet answered. “My daughters managed their concealment admirably, until this morning, when they at last took me into their confidence—though I confess the coal and the breakfast trays had begun to excite my curiosity. Smuggling domestic stores up the back stairs is not so imperceptible as one might wish.”
The Colonel’s mouth quivered, though his countenance remained grave.
“How many persons know of her presence now?”