Chapter 21
I was still properly harassed by my temper the following morning, as evidenced by Carsten, who tied my neckcloth while maintaining the dreadful silence of a lion tamer forced to pull a nettle off of his beast’s tail.
What better time than now, when I was in such a foul state, to pay a call on my aunt and uncle? I felt suitably dangerous, and more than that, I was grimly certain of my errand. Upon being ushered into the breakfast room where they both sat, I bowed stiffly.
“Well, Darcy. Imagine you have come to us,” my uncle remarked drily as greeting. “Do you wish me to repair relations with my sister, or have you come to tell me what has befallen my youngest son?”
“Neither, sir.” I said, taking the seat he offered and asking only for coffee. “I have come to properly thank my aunt for all she has done for Georgiana.”
“There are two or three gentlemen she might consider,” that lady said with a supercilious smile, “though she is still so very awkward. It is a great shame that Anne died young, for that poor girl would have turned out better if she had not.”
This slighting remark coupled with that bit of glibness when speaking of the loss of my mother did little to improve my temper. I held it, however, solely for the sake of speaking with the cold power of restraint.
“I am in no hurry to marry her to anyone, ma’am. We plan to leave early in July, though I have not yet settled on a date. And given the press of engagements we have before we leave, I thought I ought to come now to pay my respects and to thank you sincerely.”
“July? The Season is not closed before the end of August. You do not mean it.”
“Yet I do. I am her guardian,” I said pointedly, a fact that annoyed my uncle still.
“Not only has the press of engagements for so many weeks been fatiguing for my sister, but I am of the opinion the city is likely to become unwholesome in the heat. I would prefer she not end an invalid like Anne because we have pushed her too hard.”
“As you wish,” Lady Matlock said with a shrug. I knew then that our connexion to the Earl and Countess of Matlock had weakened to the point of strain, and I was glad of it. What good had their influence done me other than make me proud of being the nephew of a peer?
To cap it all, upon taking my leave, Lord Matlock had turned back to his letters and with an air of great distraction, he said, “Oh, and Darcy, if you see my other son, tell him he owes his mother a look at him at least once this year.”
Even after so little physical effort, the restraint required and frigidity of my reception during that unhappy errand left me spent.
Upon my return to my house, I cancelled all commitments save for the dinner party I had committed my sister to attend some time ago.
On many levels, I was bone-weary, though it was nothing like the healthy exhaustion of seeing Miss Elizabeth safely to London from Kent.
I felt strangely filthy and longed for something like a good internal scrubbing.
The image that returned to me again and again was that of sleeping on a bedroll next to Mrs Hamilton’s meagre little fire with a belly full of righteous stew.
After several hours of staring out the window in my library, I went to my bookshelves and pulled out a book on the northern fortifications.
That same afternoon, as I watched streaks of rain blight my window, I made a decision.
Upon returning my sister to Pemberley, where she was most comfortable in all cases, I would spend what was left of the summer on a long tramp far from all comforts, all privilege—far from all persons with easy means, and as far from the man I used to be as I could reasonably get.
Fitzwilliam arrived the following week, though on Saturday—not Friday as he had said he would. I did not quibble over his tardiness, for he stumped irritably into my study, and to be frank, I did not dare.
“You are here,” I said stupidly.
“As you see. Where is Georgiana?”
“She is out visiting with Mrs Annesley. I do not believe it is too early for brandy, do you?”
“After a day on the road, it is never too early,” he grumbled, sinking into a chair.
I poured him a drink and sat across from him, glancing him over as discreetly as I could.
As Miss Elizabeth had noted in her letter, he was haggard, and indeed, his arm was tied in a sling and strapped closely to his chest.
“I see your right wing is clipped,” I remarked with calculated unconcern.
“It is the stupidest thing, Darcy,” he said.
“If my left shoulder had been hit, I would have recovered by now, I think. But no. I must struggle with everything and aggravate my shoulder repeatedly. Writing is a miserable contorted business. Dressing is much the same but so much more painful besides. I do not even dare eat in public. Thank God I have learnt to use my left hand to drink,” he said, downing his brandy in one swallow.
I refilled his glass. “Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I to pretend to believe you fell off your horse.”
“You know what happened. He shot me, the bastard.”
“You could not avoid meeting him, could you. I should never have told you where he was.”
“To be fair, I tried not to. I meant to run him off so he could take his chances as a vagrant, but he made some passing reference to your sister—that she was fair catch and he might have another try at her—and I slapped him in full view of all his mates.”
“Is he mad? He did not dare the same with me. I wonder that he thought he could do so with you.”
“The case is I caught him unawares at a tavern, stumbling drunk, with me standing in a cold rage between him and the door. I believe his only option was insolence for which I slapped him. Apparently, even he is not so craven he could sink to his knees and beg for mercy with an audience of his fellows.”
“ He issued the challenge?”
“I could hardly do so, since he is not a gentleman.”
“No. Still, I did not think he had sufficient spine for a meeting.”
“Nor did I. But he was drunk and, as I said, emboldened by the presence of his friends.”
I motioned to his shoulder, and said, “I did not think he was so fair a shot. I own I am surprised. Did you also nick him?”
“I did not have the chance! Donaldson and I were on the field the afternoon before the planned meeting, having arranged with his seconds to meet there to satisfy ourselves that the ground was level and fair. As we stood waiting for his friends, I heard a loud report, and thinking absently that it sounded like gunfire, I was surprised as all hell to suddenly see clouds passing overhead.”
“He shot you unawares? From behind some cover?” I cried.
“There is a woodland there by a tributary to the River Lea.”
“I know the place.”
“He aimed at me with a steady arm from the shadows and ran for his life rather than face me with a quaking hand at dawn.”
“How bad is your wound?”
“It could be worse. He could have killed me. My scapular bone is likely cracked, but not shattered, and the arm is damnably stiff. Time will tell how much movement I might regain. Thankfully, Donaldson was with me. He has seen so many wounds in war, and having attended to more than his share of them, he managed my recuperation without the meddlesome interference of a doctor.” He sat silently for a moment.
“I had a fever, though by the grace of God, only for a week.”
“And Wickham?”
“I cannot say. I do not want to speculate. Donaldson felt duty-bound to avenge me. He left Colonel Forster’s that same night, after assuring himself I might live, but believing the odds against it were high.
He went in search of the gipsies that run the roads in northern Hertfordshire.
He laid information with them that there was a felon on horseback somewhere within the range of thirty miles all round Meryton, and further, that if the rider was never found, he would bring them a brood mare. ”
“How can you be sure?—”
“They had Wickham’s boots. Truly, Darcy, ask me no more. I do not love my part in this.”
“The consolation must be that if he had been caught legitimately, he would have hung for treason.”
“I could not, however, lay evidence against him. We had agreed to an illegal meeting for one thing, and more to the point, I could not risk the matter of his attempted seduction of your sister coming to light.” In frustration, he threw up his left hand.
“I suppose I should consider it a blessing that no one could confirm it was he who shot me. Colonel Forster had his suspicions, since Wickham stole a horse and absconded, but in a moment of lucidity, I was able to suggest that to be branded a deserter and thief would suffice to see him hung without mentioning me.”
I sat speechless for a moment, which was just as well since my cousin had seemingly come to the end of his disclosures.
“The less said of it, the better. If it were not for one high point, I wish I had never gone to Hertfordshire. But enough of our reunion, Darcy. If I do not rest now, I cannot face your sister later.”