Chapter XIII #2
Around the corner, the scene heartened Elizabeth rather than feeding her fears for Lydia.
The girl stood arms akimbo, her back to them, but Elizabeth had seen that posture enough times to know of Lydia’s displeasure without seeing her face.
It seemed she had taken something of what she had heard to heart and learned to be skeptical. It had certainly served her well.
When Elizabeth spoke, denying the libertine his prey, Mr. Wickham started with surprise, so much that he froze.
A protective urge for Lydia, the girl who had determined to go her own way since she was ten welled up within Elizabeth’s breast, provoking her to step to Lydia’s side and join her in facing down Mr. Wickham.
Jane took her station on Lydia’s other side, as the three sisters stood united.
“I am all astonishment,” said Mr. Wickham, regaining something of his senses. “Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet.” The sneer came easily to his lips as he jibed: “Are Miss Kitty and Miss Mary about somewhere too, perhaps waiting in my carriage? I am afraid I cannot take all of you.”
Elizabeth shook her head at the man, unwilling to say anything to him she did not need to. This seemed to embolden him, for he flashed her a smile he expected would drive rational thought from her mind.
“I am, of course, happy to see you again, Miss Elizabeth. How fortunate that you have come upon us.”
“Fortunate is it?” asked Elizabeth, her arched eyebrow displaying her skepticism.
“It is,” said Mr. Wickham, “for I have longed to see you again. We parted much too soon in May.”
Lydia huffed her annoyance with him while Jane said nothing, watching him warily as if he were an adder.
That was an appropriate description for the man, for he was nothing less than a snake in a gentleman’s clothing.
Even his comely smile, which had once been handsome in Elizabeth’s estimation, was revealed as nothing more than a veneer to hide the depravity of the man behind it.
“Our parting was welcome, though it did not happen early enough for my tastes,” said Elizabeth, wiping the smile from his face. “It would have been better had you never come to Meryton.”
The man instantly appeared injured. “So, I was correct; Darcy filled your ears with lies and you accepted them.” Mr. Wickham shook his head dolefully. “I had higher hopes for you, Miss Elizabeth, for I did not judge you one to put a man’s fortune above common decency.
“You should take care,” continued he, his manner becoming more menacing, “for there are certain elements of Darcy’s family that would not take kindly to a young woman of your situation setting her cap at him.
” The man laughed, a harsh, grating bray devoid of amusement.
“Darcy is too stuck up to truly give any attention to the likes of you. If you persist, you will end the scorn of all, and ruined in the bargain.”
“It is amusing,” said Elizabeth, speaking quickly to avoid Lydia revealing something she ought not, “to hear you speak of it. Yet it is not surprising, for I understand it is common for wicked young men to accuse others of those depravities that make up their own behavior.”
“I am no better or worse than any other man,” replied Mr. Wickham. “Now, I believe we have had enough nattering. One Bennet sister may do as well as the next, so if you wish to take your sister’s place, I have no objection.”
“We shall none of us go with you,” spat Jane. Sweet and mild Jane standing up to Mr. Wickham and defying him! “Begone, libertine! Else you shall surely regret it.”
“The mouse has grown fangs!” laughed Mr. Wickham. “I would take you, Miss Bennet, but Miss Elizabeth will be much more satisfying. Come, let us go, for I feel a great need to become better acquainted with you.”
For the second time that day, a new arrival interrupted Mr. Wickham’s plans, and this time the man did not leer. Behind her, Elizabeth heard a welcome voice, one she now esteemed more than she had ever imagined possible.
“You had better familiarize yourself with the inside of a cell, Wickham, for that is where you will find yourself.”
Elizabeth had never considered Mr. Wickham a coward.
It had become clear the man was a braggart, a seducer, a libertine, and a scoundrel, but she had never seen his courage tested.
At that moment he failed the test, for he took one look at Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and turned to flee to the other end of the alley.
Unfortunately for him, he never saw those waiting for just such a move, for as he neared the entrance, several figures stepped into view.
One in particular, a massive mountain of a man that Elizabeth had seen with Mr. Darcy, moved to stop Mr. Wickham’s flight.
He did not reach out and drag him down; he did nothing more than set his feet apart and brace himself, turning his body to angle his right shoulder toward the fleeing soldier.
Caught by surprise, Mr. Wickham impacted with the man, taking the shoulder directly in his sternum, and bouncing off him to lie in a heap on the ground at his feet.
So far as Elizabeth could tell, the massive man never so much as flinched from the collision.
“Here now, Wickham,” snarled the man, reaching out one meaty fist and hooking it in Wickham’s collar, dragging the winded libertine to his feet. “On yer feet before yer betters, man.”
Mr. Wickham wheezed and gasped, trying to catch his breath, but he did not struggle for the moment.
A pair of men stepped forward and took him into their custody, twisting his arms behind his back, not enough to cause pain, but enough to exert complete control over him.
The entire episode had taken mere seconds.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy as he hurried up to them, examining them for injury, though Elizabeth could see he reserved most of his attention for her. “If he laid so much as a finger on any of you—”
“We are well, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth hastened to assure him.
“I commend you, ladies,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
He fixed them all with a pleased grin, then stepped forward and took Lydia’s hand, bestowing a kiss on its back. Lydia, for all her pretense at maturity and worldliness, blushed at his praise, presenting a fetching picture. When the colonel rose, he winked outrageously.
“You kept Wickham occupied long enough for us to set the trap. Such courage and spirit are rarely to be seen.”
Catching on at once, Elizabeth grinned and said: “Then our plan worked perfectly.”
“Aye, it did, Miss Elizabeth. You all played your parts brilliantly.”
Lydia might have ruined the ruse—aimed at the crowd gathering at the edge of the alley—for Elizabeth could see her looking on with nothing less than confusion. Then Mr. Wickham saved them from Lydia’s incomprehension, for he sneered.
“Little lightskirt Lydia Bennet? Ha! I cannot think of anything less likely than for Miss Lydia, whose willingness to dispense her favors with any who ask is known to every man in the regiment, to have the wit to take part in a conspiracy.”
The taunt changed Lydia’s confusion to rage at once.
She dodged the men between them, including their father who had put himself between his daughters and Mr. Wickham as if he were a rabid dog, descending on the unfortunate man, all claws and screeches.
Soon he was howling from the kicks to his shins and the red scratches already appearing on his face, from which he had no power to defend himself.
“You disgusting libertine!” cried Lydia as she pummeled him. “You are a braggart and a liar!”
“Now, now, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet, pulling his daughter away from her tormentor. “I agree Wickham is as worthless as any man I have ever had the misfortune to meet, but it is not sporting to attack him when he cannot defend himself.”
Mr. Wickham strained at his captors and twisted this way and that to free himself. The men held tight and prevented his escape, and the large man stepped forward and put himself directly before the villain.
“That is enough, Wickham,” growled he, forcing the libertine to flinch back. “I suggest you be silent, else Mr. Bennet might just let his daughter have another go at you.”
“I hope your daughter’s reputation recovers, Mr. Bennet,” spat Mr. Wickham, looking past the man, making matters worse for himself. “She is a pleasing bit of muslin ripe for the plucking for any rake who happens by.”
With perfect indifference, Mr. Bennet backhanded him, bringing blood to his lips, ignoring his own comment about the advisability of attacking a helpless man.
Elizabeth could not say Mr. Wickham did not deserve it.
“Gentlemen, I deem it best to remove his foul mouth from the presence of the ladies.”
“Convey him to the prison,” commanded Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I shall come directly and deal with him.”
One of his men saluted, and they dragged Mr. Wickham from the alley, leaving three young women, their father, two gentlemen, and a grinning bear of a man behind.
Several of the colonel’s men also went to the end of the alley to disperse the crowd that had gathered there, soon leaving the seven alone.
“Ah, it be a good day, Mr. Darcy,” said the burly man. “It ain’t every day one deals a death blow to the likes of Wickham’s vanity.”
“Indeed, it has been,” agreed Mr. Darcy. “As always, your help was invaluable. I shall ensure you receive your reward for the capture of our runaway.”
Mr. Thompson grinned and tipped his cap, after which he strode to the alley’s entrance, planting himself there like a dragon guarding its treasure. Elizabeth did not think a regiment of mounted troops could force their way past him.
“Well, Daughters, it appears you have had an adventure,” said Mr. Bennet.