Chapter Six #5
“And when you find him?”
“That will depend upon what he has done, and what proof we can command.” The Colonel’s expression was grim.
“If he has carried her through some sham ceremony, we may be able to show it invalid. If he attempted to compromise her and failed, we must ensure he understands clearly the consequence of speaking of it.”
“I want him silenced,” Darcy said, his voice low and dangerous. “Permanently.”
“As do I. But we must be cautious. Any misstep might lead to questions, and questions to gossip.” The Colonel shook his head.
“We manage this quietly. We find Wickham, secure his silence by whatever means prove expedient, and make him comprehend that any attempt to approach Georgiana again—or to speak of this matter to any one—will end very ill for him.”
Darcy’s hands gripped the reins. Every instinct urged that Wickham be made to pay. But the Colonel was right—this must be conducted with absolute discretion, if Georgiana’s name was to be preserved.
“You are confident you can find him?”
“I am confident I shall succeed. Wickham has never been so clever as he supposes himself.” The Colonel paused. “He had an injured hand, according to what we heard at the inn. An injured hand will make him conspicuous to any who have seen him of late. That may serve us.”
They rode on in silence for a while. The road stretched before them, rutted and frozen.
It was little more than an hour after the gentlemen had quitted Longbourn when the sound of hooves in the lane announced their return.
Elizabeth, who sat with Jane in Georgiana’s chamber, started at the noise.
Georgiana, roused from the light doze into which she had fallen, looked anxiously towards the door.
“Do not be alarmed, my dear,” Jane said gently. “It is likely only my father, or Sir William.”
The next moment, however, Hill appeared to say that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam begged leave to enquire after Miss Darcy, and, if she were equal to it, to wait upon her for a few minutes.
Georgiana caught Elizabeth’s hand.
“Pray let them come,” she whispered. “I had rather see my brother at once than be wondering how he does.”
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Jane, then nodded.
“Very well, Hill. She is quite equal to it, if they will not stay long.”
A few minutes later there was a light tap at the door, and the two gentlemen entered.
Darcy stopped on the threshold, as if the sight of his sister in a strange bed, with Jane’s neat work-table drawn up beside her and Elizabeth’s shawl thrown over the back of the chair, struck him more forcibly than he had expected.
His eyes looked first to Georgiana, then, almost immediately, to Elizabeth.
“You are better this afternoon?” he said to his sister, coming to stand by the bed. His voice was very quiet.
“Much better,” Georgiana replied, mustering a smile. “Jane would not let me say I was well, but I am nearly so. Are you—are you very angry with me, Fitzwilliam?”
“Angry?” He took her hand. “No. I am exceedingly angry with the man who frightened you, and with myself for having been from home. That is all.”
He said no more on that subject. But the look he gave Elizabeth over Georgiana’s hand made her colour. She did not know whether he thanked her or accused her.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had taken up a place on the other side of the bed, began at once to talk in his easy way.
“You have chosen your sick-room well, Miss Darcy,” he said. “If I were to be confined, I should like nothing better than a pleasant room, a good fire, and two such nurses. It is a pity I am never ill.”
“It is a pity for your nurses,” Elizabeth said lightly. “I fancy you would be a very troublesome invalid.”
He laughed.
“I should certainly expect to be read to, and entertained, and permitted to grumble as much as I pleased. I own I envy Miss Darcy her privileges.”
“They are privileges she never wished for,” Elizabeth said, glancing at Georgiana, whose colour had risen.
“You must not accuse yourself so much,” she added, turning more directly to the girl, and wishing to keep her from dwelling on the recollection.
“You were frightened and deceived. If any one has earned a little indulgence now, it is you.”
Georgiana’s eyes filled, but she smiled.
“You are all too good to me,” she said.
Elizabeth heard a slight movement across the room and, without looking up, was suddenly conscious of Mr. Darcy’s attention.
The words she had spoken, meant only to soothe Georgiana, sounded, in recollection, almost presumptuous.
She bent over the bed to straighten the coverlet and tried to think only of the patient before her.
“I am very much obliged to you,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, after a short pause, “for the care you have taken of my cousin. Darcy and I are joined in her guardianship, you know, though I generally leave the better part of the business to him. It is not often we have such efficient allies.”
“You must not thank us too much,” Elizabeth replied. “We acted from selfish motives. We should have been exceedingly mortified if Miss Darcy had perished in our barn.”
Georgiana gave a little cry of protest at the word, half laughing, half on the edge of tears. Darcy’s hand gently squeezed hers.
“You may make light of what you have done,” he said to Elizabeth, his voice low. “I shall not easily forget it.”
Elizabeth did not know how to answer this. The words were stiff, yet there was something under them that made Elizabeth’s heart beat quicker. She told herself it was only the awkwardness of a man unaccustomed to find himself obliged.
She was relieved when Jane, perhaps sensing that Georgiana’s spirits needed relief, enquired after their journey from town.
The conversation turned to safer topics.
Colonel Fitzwilliam described, with a mixture of sense and nonsense, the miseries of January roads and the delights of escaping London dinners.
Elizabeth responded readily. Before long they were comparing the inconveniences of smoky drawing-rooms and country mud, of formal visits and village gossip, with so much animation that even Georgiana was amused.
“You are very severe upon town pleasures, Miss Elizabeth,” the Colonel said at last. “I shall know, when next I meet you in a crowded room, that you are despising half of it.”
“I shall be discreet,” she answered. “I will despise it all in silence and only praise the country when I am at Longbourn.”
“All?” Darcy repeated involuntarily.
She met his eye with a smile that held more composed than she did not quite command
“Except Pemberley, perhaps,” she said. “Georgiana would have me believe Derbyshire has some beauties.”
It was meant as a simple civility. She had only half an instant to wonder whether she had presumed, but in that instant she saw a change in his expression which she did not know how to interpret.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s look flickered from one to the other.
He said nothing, yet there was a glint of amusement in his eye that suggested he found the exchange more interesting than the weather.
They did not stay long. After a few more questions as to Georgiana’s comfort and the arrangements for her attendance, Colonel Fitzwilliam rose.
“I must take my leave,” he said, looking from the bed to the two sisters. “Duty recalls me sooner than I could wish. You have all been too kind to a wandering soldier.”
Georgiana’s face fell. “Must you go so soon, cousin?”
“For the present,” he replied, his tone light but his glance determined. “There is a little business to be settled before I rejoin my regiment. I hope it will end as well as your adventure has done, and with less alarm to your friends.”
Elizabeth, catching something in his look that spoke of more than drill or paperwork, smiled. “We shall all wish your business success, whatever its nature.”
“Your good wishes may do more for me than you suppose,” he said. “Pray believe, Miss Bennet, that I shall not forget the kindness you have shown my cousin. You have made Longbourn a name to be remembered in our family in truth, and not merely as your father and I pretended.”
He took Georgiana’s hand with real affection, then bowed to Jane and Elizabeth. “If I have the honour of meeting you again, I trust it will be under happier auspices, when no one is thinking of barns or brigands.”
“We shall endeavour to provide more regular entertainment,” Elizabeth replied.
He laughed, and the gentlemen were gone.
When the room was quiet again, Jane observed, in her gentle way, that they seemed greatly attached to Georgiana.
Elizabeth agreed, and owned that Miss Darcy could scarcely fail to be beloved where she was so gentle and good.
She told herself that any peculiarities in Mr. Darcy’s manner were fully explained by anxiety for Georgiana and the obligations her rescue had laid upon them all.
Their visit over, the cousins returned to their carriage and were driven back to The George.
The short journey was performed in almost total silence.
Darcy’s ill-humour, so firmly restrained at Lucas Lodge and in the sick-room, seemed only to deepen as the wheels jolted over the rutted road.
At the inn, however, the Colonel declared that he had letters to despatch at the posting-house before he departed, and proposed that they should go out again on horseback.
Darcy, whose temper would not endure the confinement of remaining in the inn, readily agreed.
Within half an hour they were mounted and riding out together, the winter air doing little to cool his resentment.
“We must engage a proper companion for Georgiana,” the Colonel said as they completed their errands. “We were both deceived in Mrs. Younge. Her references appeared unimpeachable.”
“They were forged,” Darcy said bitterly.
“Yes—which suggests Wickham had planned this some time.” The Colonel considered. “This time, we must be more scrupulous. Speak to every reference, instead of trusting solely to written testimonials. If possible, speak with the families they have served—not merely read their characters.”
“I shall take every precaution,” Darcy said.
“I know you will. We both must be more vigilant, henceforward.” The Colonel’s voice held a quiet resolve. “Wickham shall not have another opportunity to harm her.”
Darcy did not reply.
“How long will you remain in Hertfordshire?” the Colonel asked.
“As long as is necessary to secure the lease of Netherfield, and until the story of her illness has thoroughly settled in the neighbourhood and I am satisfied our fiction is believed.” Darcy paused. “After that— it depends on what we learn of Wickham.”
“Then I shall send word as soon as I have anything to report.” The Colonel drew up as they reached the turning for the North Road. “Take care of her, Darcy. I trust you will govern your temper with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, however much she may have offended your pride.”
“I have no intention of—”
“You are furious with her for deceiving you on that road. I saw it in your countenance when you looked at her.” The Colonel’s expression was knowing.
“But she protected Georgiana. I suggest you consider that she accomplished, in a fortnight, what you and I, with all our consequence and connexions, failed to do—she kept your sister safe.” He paused.
“Though I allow, she did it at the cost of making you look somewhat foolish, which cannot have been agreeable.”
Darcy opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. There was no use denying what his cousin had plainly observed.
“I shall restrain myself,” he said stiffly.
“Do. You have a remarkable talent for making enemies of people who ought to be your friends. It would be something new if you avoid it on this occasion.” The Colonel gathered his reins.
“I shall write when I have news. In the mean time, lease Netherfield, engage a companion, and endeavour not to alienate the one family in Hertfordshire that has shown your sister real kindness.”
He touched his hat and rode off towards London without waiting for a reply.
Darcy saw him go, then turned his horse back towards the inn. There was much to be done, and little time in which to do it. He would write to Bingley that evening about Netherfield, and on the morrow he would begin making enquiries respecting a companion.
The Demand
Friday Morning
Sir,
The liberty which I am about to take with you must, I am sensible, appear extraordinary, and I should be very far from presuming upon your patience, had not circumstances arisen in which your own feelings are perhaps as deeply interested as mine.
You are already acquainted with the unfortunate misunderstanding which has so long subsisted between us, and to which I shall not now advert, except to say that I have ever been desirous of avoiding any exposure that might wound the peace of those whose happiness you most value.
It has lately been my misfortune to be involved in a transaction, respecting a young lady under your protection, which, though begun in all honour on my side, has been so cruelly misrepresented, that, were the particulars generally known, much distress might be the consequence to families who have never injured me.
I write to you in the confidence that you would prefer preventing so useless an evil.
There are persons, who, from motives of resentment or curiosity, would be quite ready to enlarge upon what has passed, to the injury of more than one name.
A very small exertion on your part would enable me to remove myself at once from all connexion with those whose indiscretion has occasioned the mischief, and to place myself where my silence, and theirs, may be equally secured.
If, therefore, you should be disposed to show a disposition less unfriendly than that which you have hitherto entertained towards me, and to assist me, by the advance of the sum of five hundred pounds, a trifling sacrifice, when weighed against the peace of a family who have never injured me, and the preservation of a young lady’s name from the most malignant constructions, you may depend upon my never, by word or deed, reviving a subject which must be as painful to you as it is unfortunate for me.
The favour would be received in strict confidence, and without the possibility of your name being brought forward.
A line, addressed under cover to “G. W., to be left at the Post Office at the Inns of Court till called for,” and enclosing an order on your banker, will reach me safely, without obliging me to obtrude my direction upon you.
I have the honour to be, Sir,
Your obedient humble servant,
G. Wickham