Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
By the time they arrived at Longbourn, Wickham’s shoulders burned and his legs trembled beneath him.
A seven-mile march ought to have presented no difficulty to a militia lieutenant; yet he had spent the better part of the day upon the box of a jolting chaise, and, being more accustomed to the appearance of exertion than its practice, he had found the effort had taken more from him than he cared to admit.
His companions were considerably more at ease, having the advantage of their horses while he was obliged to proceed on foot. They kept to a slow walk out of necessity, pausing more than once to allow him to regain the ground he had lost.
One of the footmen who had accompanied the gentlemen carried a small canteen and permitted him occasional draughts of water; yet by the time they neared Longbourn, Wickham found himself wishing for something far stronger.
Wickham had little doubt that Darcy possessed the means to furnish him with a mount for the journey, but none had been offered, and Wickham would not have humbled himself to request it.
At another time he might have done so with ease; but not while he was obliged to maintain the appearance of an injured man before Captain Denny.
He could not help but feel the inequity of his position, he had no wish to draw attention to it.
Indeed, he began to suspect the omission was deliberate and that this weary progress on foot was intended as the first instalment of the punishment that awaited him.
The men conversed in low tones as they rode.
Although he did not catch every word, he gathered enough to suspect that Colonel Fitzwilliam had supplied Captain Denny with particulars of his connexion to the Darcy family.
Denny’s manner towards him had altered these past weeks; since the officers had been refused admittance to the principal houses of the neighbourhood, trust had visibly cooled.
Nor was it unnoticed that none of his brother officers now sought his company at cards.
Wickham was several yards behind the others when they dismounted before Longbourn. He quickened his pace, striving to close the distance, and reached the front door just as it was opened in response to their approach.
“We are here to see your master,” Captain Denny said crisply to the servant. “It is a matter of military concern. Before we proceed, however, I must enquire whether Miss Bennet and Miss Mary have returned home and are in good health.”
The butler inclined his head. “The young ladies arrived above an hour before, sir, and are presently upstairs. Mr Bennet has not yet spoken with them; upon their return they were immediately conducted to their rooms to recover from their ordeal.” He spoke coolly, and when his gaze settled upon Wickham, it seemed to sharpen rather than soften.
“What of the coachman?” Colonel Fitzwilliam enquired.
“He has been attended by the apothecary and has given his account to Sir William regarding the events of this morning,” the butler replied. “The magistrate is expected to return this afternoon. A note has already been dispatched to inform him that the young ladies are safely restored.”
“Very good,” Denny said. “Might we see Mr Bennet? We shall wish to hear the coachman’s account directly, and to speak with the ladies as soon as they are fit to receive us.”
Although it had been Wickham’s own suggestion that they arrive at Longbourn together, he had nevertheless entertained a quiet hope that some opportunity for escape might present itself along the road. Such a hope had quickly proved fanciful.
With five mounted men surrounding him, there had been no possibility of slipping away unnoticed; even had he attempted it, they would have overtaken him within moments and dragged him back again.
He shifted his shoulders as if to ease a stiffness that would not be relieved.
There was little doubt that such a spectacle would have been exceedingly unpleasant.
No—his chances, if he had any, would lie at Longbourn.
It seemed improbable that he could persuade anyone there of his version of events—a version that would render his conduct far more gallant than it had ever been intended—at least not immediately.
His jaw tightened briefly before he forced it to relax.
Others, less well informed, might prove more susceptible in time.
He did, however, allow himself a brief speculation: what might Darcy do if Georgiana’s reputation were quietly placed in jeopardy?
The difficulty lay with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Had Darcy been alone in the neighbourhood, such leverage might have been more easily applied. Wickham’s gaze flickered towards the colonel and away again. He was genuinely afraid of the man.
These reflections were interrupted by the return of the butler.
Unlike on previous visits, they had not been admitted into the house to wait, but had remained near the door while Hill informed his master of their arrival.
When at last they were summoned within, they were not conducted to Mr Bennet’s study, but instead to the drawing room.
Wickham suspected the delay had been occasioned by the removal of the ladies of the house from that apartment, and he briefly considered whether Miss Lydia or Miss Kitty might yet be persuaded to offer some useful distraction or to at least provide some excuse for his actions.
This possibility was still turning in his mind as he was ushered in behind the others. To his surprise, the room had been arranged with evident deliberation: only four chairs were available and they all faced in the same direction.
Mr Bennet was already seated in one near the centre. Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and Denny bowed and took the remaining places while the two footmen positioned themselves by the door.
Wickham alone was left standing.
He could do little but remain where he was, exposed beneath the steady regard of his judges.
“Well?” Mr Bennet demanded.
Wickham inclined his head and parted his lips to respond—only to falter as the latch of the door lifted behind him with a distinct click.
The door opened slowly, as though in cautious hope of going unnoticed.
The hope was misplaced. A tall, broad gentleman in clerical dress attempted to edge into the room with what was evidently meant to be discretion.
His shoulder caught against the doorframe; the panel rebounded softly, yet audibly, against the wall.
In his effort to correct himself, he trod heavily upon the carpet and nearly upset a small side table before regaining his balance.
Every eye in the room turned towards the newcomer.
Wickham shifted half a pace towards the opening, calculation flashing through him. The footman nearest the door moved scarcely at all, yet his considerable frame altered just enough to render passage impossible. Their eyes met briefly.
Wickham remained where he was, knowing that escape was still unwise. He would have to wait until there was less attention being paid to him.
Despite the charged stillness that had settled over the room, Wickham found himself faintly amused by the newcomer.
He had been briefly introduced to the Bennets’ cousin—a Mr Collins, rector, and, most ironically, a dependent of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr Darcy’s aunt.
That particular connexion alone rendered the intrusion diverting.
He wondered what business could have brought the man here at such a moment; he had his answer soon enough.
“Mr Bennet, I must insist that I be involved in this matter, since it was my intended whom this gentleman carried off,” the parson declared, swelling with self-importance.
“It is my solemn duty to ensure that her reputation suffers no lasting injury, and I stand prepared—most willingly prepared—to repair any damage which may, however unjustly, attach itself to her name. I cannot, in conscience, stand aside while the honour of a lady so nearly connected to me is brought into question. To do so would be both ungenerous and unbecoming in one so situated.”
A faint tightening at Darcy’s mouth betrayed his displeasure. Captain Denny shifted in his chair with scarcely concealed impatience. As for Colonel Fitzwilliam, he did not move at all; yet the stillness he assumed suggested something far less tolerant than mere irritation.
“She is not your intended,” Mr Bennet replied sharply, the words bitten off with effort.
“Jane’s reputation remains entirely unblemished, and there is no danger to it—however frequently you choose to suggest the contrary.
We have discussed this matter in great detail, and I beg you to say no more of it now. ”
Observing all this, Wickham felt his interest sharpen.
The colonel’s composure was too deliberate to be mistaken for indifference.
Now that he knew who Jane Bennet was, he understood she possessed little fortune to recommend her, and that Fitzwilliam, however agreeable he might appear, must eventually secure a wealthy bride.
If Collins imagined himself triumphant, he might yet find that triumph hollow.
To witness a lady of evident sweetness claimed so officiously—and to be unable, for want of means, to contest the presumption—was a hardship indeed.
The irony did not escape him.
While the others bristled, Wickham watched, considering how the disruption might yet be turned to his advantage.
The reprieve was short-lived. The murmurs faded, the air tightened, and the room’s attention shifted decisively back to him. At last, he was obliged to answer for what had transpired.
“Officious oaf,” Fitzwilliam muttered under his breath as he listened.