Chapter 32
On the Way to Netherfield Hall
“Thank you for bringing me with you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth looked at her youngest sister, who was striding along beside her. Lydia was, like all of the Bennet ladies, dressed in black, but her expression was more irritable than sorrowful. The addition of a bow and a set of arrows on her back added to the peculiarity of the picture.
“I am glad to have you with me,” she said.
Lydia wrinkled her nose and said, “I know that Mamma is sad about Father dying, but it is quite exasperating listening to her wailing all the time.”
This was not a particularly kind thing to say, but Elizabeth could not argue against what was undeniably true. Moreover, she knew that Mrs. Bennet was not particularly grieved over the loss of her husband, but rather the loss of her position as mistress of Longbourn.
“I regret that I was away in Kent when Father died,” she said. “I imagine that Longbourn was chaotic with Mary and me elsewhere.”
Lydia huffed. “Yes, Mamma began screaming immediately, and Kitty and I had no idea what to do. Well, Kitty thought to send a message to Jane at Netherfield, and she came over as quickly as possible. She is far better at soothing Mamma.”
“Jane is a very peaceful soul,” Elizabeth agreed.
“It is a good thing, too, given that Caroline is living with Charles and Jane. Caroline is a very determined person, but Jane manages her very well, I think. If Jane were as strong-willed as Caroline, it would likely be a disaster.”
Elizabeth turned a curious look on her sister. “I understand that you have been spending quite a lot of time with Caroline.”
“Yes, a great deal of time. We shoot arrows together regularly, you know. Indeed, she might well be shooting now, given that it is such a nice day. She goes out most days.”
“Do you like her?”
Lydia frowned thoughtfully at this. “I do like her, though I also find her exasperating at times. She is inclined to be arrogant about her finishing school and interactions with the haut ton. All the same, I am grateful to her because she has taught me and Kitty a lot about the upper classes. I want to marry a rich man like Charles Bingley, and to do so, I need to work on my manners and behavior. Caroline says that rich gentlemen want a wife who is refined and not overly flirtatious.”
Elizabeth worked hard to keep her expression calm, though inwardly she was genuinely astonished.
She and Jane had spoken many times to their younger sisters about the need to be honorable and careful in their behavior and had largely been ignored.
It seemed incredible that Lydia would listen to Caroline Bingley over her own sisters.
On the other hand, perhaps it was not so surprising after all.
Jane and Elizabeth had always lectured Kitty and Lydia from a place of morality, whereas Caroline appeared to have given her advice from a more practical perspective; Miss Bingley wished to marry a rich, eligible man, and so did Lydia.
Perhaps it was not a surprise that such pragmatism had served the youngest Miss Bennet well.
“I will turn off up there,” Lydia said, gesturing toward a fork in the path. “The archery range is …”
She stopped speaking as a feminine scream rang out from their left.
“What is that?” Lydia demanded, turning anxious eyes at her sister.
Elizabeth shook off her bewilderment and began running toward the unexpected sound, which was followed a moment later by another scream.
***
Archery Range
Netherfield Park
A Few Minutes Earlier
The thick woodlands of Netherfield Park afforded excellent opportunities for concealment for any sort of covert business.
Wickham was taking advantage of precisely this cover as he watched the makeshift archery range set up on the sward a few yards away.
It was deserted, even peaceful in the sunlight, but that would all change soon.
Caroline Bingley was in the habit of coming out on every fair day to practice her archery, usually at about this time.
Maggie, the maid at Netherfield who was Wickham’s liaison, had informed him of that interesting little tidbit about her mistress’s habits.
Initially, that nugget of information had meant nothing to him.
As time had passed and his circumstances had straitened, a plan had begun to percolate through his mind, daring and diabolical and deliciously satisfying.
Miss Bingley had never been impressed by him.
She was one of those rare creatures, a woman who was impervious to his charm.
Doubtless Darcy had worked on her long before she had ever met Wickham, poisoning her mind with lies.
Her arrogance and haughtiness grated; she had looked down her nose at Wickham the few times they had met in company.
He did not appreciate being treated as if he was worth no more than the dirt on her delicate slipper.
A wife was not allowed to disdain her husband in company, and when her twenty thousand pounds were safely in his hands, well, she would be a fool to cling to her hauteur when he was deciding on what pin money she might get.
Of course, he need not pay her any heed at all once he had laid claim to that tidy dowry of hers.
Her brother might make trouble, but Wickham did not think so.
Charles Bingley, unlike Darcy, was not in the habit of intentionally causing problems for those around him.
He was more likely to offer to pay Wickham to keep his mouth shut and go away.
Wickham considered this possibility. Bingley was wealthy and could afford to pay a ransom for his sister’s release.
How much of a ransom, though? Twenty thousand pounds in dowry was a great temptation, far more than what Bingley might be able to gather quickly to pay him off.
Moreover, the man was more likely to agree to a hasty marriage.
It would not take more than five minutes alone with Wickham in the carriage, and Miss Bingley would be quite ruined.
If Bingley thought that her reputation could be retrieved in a small town like this, where gossip flew faster than birds, he would soon learn his mistake.
For the besmirched Miss Bingley to marry, Wickham would be the family’s only hope.
Another glance at the deserted clearing, and Wickham heaved a sigh, letting his mind wander.
The last few months had been trying as his circumstances grew harder and harder.
That ill-fated ball at Netherfield Hall had marked the turn in his fortunes, with Darcy’s slander spreading like oil on water.
The other officers were friendly enough, but they doubted his honor, and his vowels were not accepted as currency as once they had been.
Shopkeepers and merchants who should have been honored by his custom viewed him with insulting suspicion and demanded regular closure of his tabs.
It was all very inconvenient, and Wickham had been forced to find an alternative source of ready cash.
His several paramours in the area had provided it, but with increasing reluctance.
Wickham cared nothing for their tears and their resentment, as long as they kept bringing him the trinkets they lifted from their wealthier betters, and as long as they kept their mouths shut.
Suspicion was not likely to organically fall on him, for who would expect charming, urbane Lieutenant Wickham to be behind a group of dishonest, thieving servants?
The problem lay in being certain that the girls would keep their mouths shut.
They were just uncouth tenant and servant girls, susceptible to the flattering attentions of a gentleman who admired them and willing to give up their virtue in exchange for whispered words of fleeting love.
None of them wished for him to go to their fathers and expose their sins, so neither would they expose his.
To be implicated as a thief would mean transportation to Australia, or worse.
It would be a terrible fate, and one that none of them wanted, Wickham least of all.
Unfortunately, he had no confidence in the girls keeping their heads if they were caught.
If, say, Maggie was discovered taking a necklace or a bracelet that belonged to Miss Bingley, she likely would panic and blurt out the entire sordid tale.
Worse, any claims against him were apt to be believed, even if they were alleged by a hysterical maid who plainly could not be trusted.
The petty thefts had been well and good as a stopgap measure, but Wickham could not depend on them forever.
His fence, Mr. Hammond, gave him reasonable prices, but no stolen watch or fob or jewel could be expected to bring even half of its value, and his expenses were once again outstripping his income.
It simply was not reasonable for a man of his tastes and lifestyle to subsist on his meager salary as a militia lieutenant.
He already needed new cravats, and just that morning, had found a tear in one of his silk stockings.
Pratt and Denny were beginning to press him on the negligible debts of honor he owed them.
They were mere trifles, really, and it was churlish of them to insist, but insisting they were.
A quick marriage to a well-dowered woman would at once solve all of his problems, and Caroline Bingley was the fortunate lady. She was handsome, too, should he ever be in a situation where he could not find a local girl or two to his taste. Indeed, the idea was absolutely perfect.
As though summoned by his thoughts, the snap of a breaking twig and the soft thump of footsteps reached Wickham’s ears.
He peered carefully out of his hiding place and exulted at the sight of a lone woman walking rapidly towards where the targets had been set up.
Miss Bingley was approaching with bow and arrows, looking very fine and tempting indeed in a green silk gown and black spencer.
Victory and salvation were very nearly in his grasp.
***
Archery Range
Netherfield Park
As she raced toward the screaming, Elizabeth could hear a masculine voice shouting something, but she could not understand the words, not with the sound of her thundering feet and the blood pumping in her ears.
She emerged into a wide open space, noting with her peripheral vision that a target was set up nearby, with a bow and arrows on the ground beside it.
Most of her focus, however, was on the pair of struggling figures some thirty feet away. Caroline Bingley was thrashing and screaming, but the man dragging her along the ground was obviously far stronger.
The man who was…
“Mr. Wickham!” she cried out in astonishment.
George Wickham turned toward her, his eyes flared wide, and he cursed.
“Elizabeth!” Caroline screamed, “Help me! Help me!”
This provoked Wickham to drop his right arm to his thigh, and a few seconds later, raise it again, this time with a wicked knife in his grasp, which he lowered to place at Caroline’s throat.
“Stop right there, Miss Bennet,” he ordered, and now his handsome face was twisted in a horrific snarl. “Do not come a step closer.”
Caroline, who had been wiggling frantically, froze, her face pale.
“Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth said, obediently halting. “I do not understand. What are you doing? Why?”
The lieutenant bared his teeth at her in a feral grin and said, “You ought to understand very easily, Miss Bennet. Did you really think that you and Smythe could spread rumors about me all over Meryton, and I would just accept it?”
Elizabeth was shaking now, but she managed to say, in a steady tone, “Is this about debts, then? I am certain, that is, my brother by marriage would be glad to pay for the safe return of his sister.”
Wickham maintained his grin. “Oh, I am certain he will, though I think I will marry Miss Bingley. I deserve twenty thousand pounds after all the pain I have suffered.”
Caroline was lying very still, with the sharp blade against her neck and one outstretched arm clutched by Wickham, but her eyes on Elizabeth were pleading.
Elizabeth wanted to save her, of course she did, but what could she do?
“You cannot imagine that you can escape far with Caroline,” she said hesitantly, “not with me as a witness.”
Wickham laughed unpleasantly. “I have a carriage waiting but one hundred feet away, and it will take at least fifteen minutes for you to reach Netherfield Hall on foot. By the time anyone catches up with us, I assure you that Miss Bingley will be thoroughly ruined.”
Elizabeth felt her breath catch in her throat. The reputation of a lady was a delicate thing, and there was no doubt that Mr. Wickham held all the cards here, with his knife and his physical strength.
She took a step back. Perhaps she should start running now?
“Yes, go ahead and run away,” Wickham said with an ugly chuckle, removing the knife from Caroline’s neck and beginning to drag her prone form in the other direction. “You will be far too late and…”
There was a soft hiss, and then an arrow buried itself in Wickham’s right shoulder.
He screamed and bent over in obvious pain, as he released both the knife and Caroline.
“Run, Caroline! Run!” Lydia cried out.
Elizabeth turned wild eyes on her youngest sister, whom she had forgotten about in the distress of the moment. The girl was standing tall, her bow in her hand, some twenty-five feet away from Wickham and Caroline, having crept closer in the midst of the noisy argument.
Caroline began stumbling away from Wickham as he howled in pain. She tripped five feet from her captor, who was now on his knees, sobbing in anguish, his terrified gaze on the arrow in his body.
Elizabeth rushed forward and helped Caroline to her feet and called to her sister. “Run toward Netherfield, Lydia!”
The three women did run as quickly as possible, though not as quickly as Elizabeth could go on her own.
Caroline’s tears were presumably blinding her because she kept falling, and the ladies had only made it one hundred feet before Lydia, who was behind them, said, “Lizzy, let me help Caroline and you race ahead for help. You are the quickest of us.”
Elizabeth stopped and turned, her breath ragged. “Lydia, I do not think it is safe…”
“Wickham will not be pursuing us,” her youngest sister said grimly, “not with an arrow in his arm. If he does, I will shoot him again, and this time I will skewer his black heart!”
Elizabeth hesitated for but a moment, impressed by her sister’s ferocity, and then nodded. She was fast, and it was true that Wickham was likely in too much pain to cause further trouble.
“Make certain he does not creep up on you,” she said and turned and ran.