Chapter 1 Re
Orange Street, St. Giles, London
Sophia
A single glance at the repulsive figure on her doorstep was all Mrs. Sophia Younge needed to decide whether or not to admit him inside. No, not with him!
“There are no vacant chambers, sir. You might want to try another inn.
Head right down the road; there's one about half a mile away,” she suggested, desperately wishing to be rid of the unpleasant man.
To her horror, the man erupted in a thunderous laughter that sent shivers down her spine. Merciful heavens!
"Ah, Sophia. I had hoped you, of all people, would recognize me. Does that mean you've garnered other admirers by now?" the man inquired with a smirk.
That voice! Dear Lord above.
"George, is that truly you?" she exclaimed.
Sophia could never forget Wickham, at least the charming Wickham of yore who had once filled her every waking thought.
The man standing before her now, however, bore no resemblance to that erstwhile figure.
His face bore numerous scars, with the one above his left eye being particularly gruesome.
His complexion had darkened, and his once-thick hair had vanished entirely.
Even his eyebrows were missing, as though he had deliberately removed them.
His lips, which had once kissed her with ardour, now appeared repulsively dark and scarred.
All of a sudden, a surge of dread swept over Sophia, much like the trepidation she had felt when Colonel Fitzwilliam and a group of the most imposing men she had ever encountered had visited her home seven years ago to inquire about George.
Oh no! Is he here to seek retribution for my revealing his hiding place to the Colonel?
"Is this your manner of greeting an old friend? Will you not admit me inside?" George inquired with a sardonic grin. Clearly, he had no inclination to leave.
"What is it that you seek, George? I have other guests here; I cannot simply admit you. Where have you been all this time?" she asked, attempting to hide her unease.
How on Earth could George have journeyed from the Caribbean islands to England? Did Colonel Fitzwilliam deceive me about George's punishment?
Wickham
Other guests? So nothing changed then. She still receives guests here.
Wickham easily perceived Sophia’s fear. He relished the sensation of being intimidating, a feeling as gratifying as being charming. Yet, he harboured no intention to charm Sophia today. He had come to her for a wholly different purpose.
Conveniently disregarding her reluctance to welcome him inside, he barged in and occupied the chair beside her table. He gestured for her to take the other chair, but she merely shook her head. She was trembling now, not even attempting to hide her fear.
"Sophia, I am aware that you disclosed my whereabouts to Richard seven years ago. Yet, I have no intention to harm you. I seek only one thing from you. Once I obtain it, I shall leave without a farewell."
He chuckled as she swiftly adjusted her gown and clasped her hands over her bosom.
"No, Sophia, I have no need of you for that particular purpose, although I must admit you do look alluring in that gown.
What I seek is information—anything you can provide about a certain gentleman we both know.
Tell me everything you know about Darcy," he inquired, his gaze fixed unflinchingly upon her terrified eyes.
"I haven't seen Mr. Darcy since I was removed from his service. I possess no information about him," she replied in a feeble tone.
Wickham knew she spoke the truth. There was no reason for Darcy to keep tabs on Sophia once the threat of himself had been eliminated. He had indeed been removed, or so they believed, to a place where he was entirely out of their lives.
“Sophia, I trust your word that you haven't encountered Darcy since my departure from England.
But he's Darcy, and rumours are bound to circulate about him.
Where is he now? What is he doing? Is he married?
Has he fathered children? I understand you can't be completely isolated from gossip.
It is, after all, your livelihood," he inquired further.
"George, all I know is that Mr. Darcy has not resided in London for the past seven years.
He did accompany Miss Darcy during her debut season, around five years ago.
He himself participated in the season next, albeit for a month, before returning to Pemberley for good.
That was the last time he attended any events in London.
As for rumours, there is talk that he remains unmarried, although his sister wed after her first season.
There are also murmurs of him having taken a mistress and residing with her at Pemberley, although I am sceptical of such claims," she replied.
Wickham scoffed at the notion of Darcy taking a mistress. Pigs might fly before such an event ever occurs.
"Tell me about Miss Darcy and her husband," he inquired. He had unresolved matters with Georgiana as well.
Sophia proceeded to inform him about Miss Darcy's union with Mr. Hugh Ashford, a man Wickham was acquainted with from his time in Derbyshire.
So, both Darcy and Georgiana are in Derbyshire. Confound it! It would have been simpler if they were in London. Someone might still recognize me in Derbyshire.
It was an inconvenience, a minor one. Wickham had no intention of allowing it to deter him from his life's mission.
He rose to depart, casting a direct glance at the woman who continued to regard him with fear.
She remained as captivating as ever, and Wickham yearned to seize her and lead her to a private chamber.
She might resist at first, but in the end, yield.
Yet, he shut his eyes, bowed to her, and walked out. He had a journey to prepare for.
Friday, December 10, 1819
Bakewell, Derbyshire
Elizabeth
Mrs. Elizabeth Goulding made a weary attempt to adjust her position. Her entire body ached; this had indeed been a gruelling journey in every sense of the word.
“Are you cold, Aunt Lizzy?” The question came from five-year-old Sam, nee Samuel Bingley. He had been nestled in her lap ever since they resumed their journey that morning. Five elders and three children, one of them an infant, were indeed too many for a barouche.
They were on their way back to Netherfield after a visit to Mrs. Elliot, formerly Caroline Bingley, at her estate in Hull.
Miss Bingley had married the same year as both Jane and Elizabeth.
She had multiple suitors, and she chose the one whose estate was the farthest away from London.
Little was heard from her for nearly seven years.
However, two months ago, they received an express with the tragic news of her two-year-old son's fatal tumble down the stairs.
Charles, ever affectionate and forgiving towards his sisters despite past grievances, decided to make the journey to Hull, even if it meant parting from Jane and their children for an extended period.
Jane would have none of it and succeeded in persuading her husband to take her along.
Their daughter was just seven months old at that time, so Jane asked Elizabeth to accompany her.
She knew she could never manage both Sam and the infant alone.
“Yes, Sam. I am cold, just like you,” Elizabeth replied to the inquisitive kid.
“Is mama ill?” came the next question.
Elizabeth cast a worried glance at Jane, who nestled beside her husband.
Jane had awoken that morning with a fever, prompting them to consider postponing their journey and staying in the inn in Baslow.
But Charles expressed concerns about lingering in the Derbyshire area, fearing that the onset of winter might trap them for an extended period if they delayed their departure.
"I believe so, Sam. Your Mama is resting. Let her rest so she can get better," Elizabeth replied to the young boy, who sought comfort by curling up to her. The snow was getting heavier by the minute.
She glanced at the other passengers in the carriage.
Louisa, Mrs. Hurst, cradled Jane's youngest daughter, nine-month-old Elizabeth Bingley, affectionately called Beth. Mr. Hurst sat with their six-year-old son, George, in his lap. Both Beth and George slumbered peacefully. Charles occupied the rear, his gaze fixed upon the passing countryside. Elizabeth could see the concern in her brother’s countenance.
"What is it, Charles? Are you worried about the weather?” she asked in a hushed tone, so as not to wake the sleeping children.
"I am indeed worried about the weather. However, in truth, something else weighs on my mind,” Charles responded in an equally subdued voice.
As moments passed without further explanation, Elizabeth gently clasped her brother's hand. Charles met her gaze, revealing not worry, but sadness.
“What is it, Charles?” she inquired immediately.
“I was remembering these vistas that we were passing through.
I have visited this place before and hold cherished memories of it," he paused momentarily before resuming, “Elizabeth, if my understanding is correct, we are just four miles away from Pemberley, Darcy’s estate. I was thinking about him. No, to be honest, I find myself missing him for some inexplicable reasons.”
Elizabeth involuntarily took his other hand as if in support, though she was no longer thinking about her brother's melancholy.
Hurst
Hurst was genuinely concerned about the snow, but his foremost worry rested upon his wife. He had noticed her subdued demeanour ever since their departure from Hull. It was evident that something weighed heavily on her mind.
Could it be that the young boy's tragic death triggered memories of Amelia? Is she grieving for her after all this time?