Chapter IV #2
She crossed the room to Jane and whispered, ‘Wickham is here.’
Jane’s eyes widened, but, always calm, always collected, she replied, ‘Lizzy will know what to do.’
Indeed, back in the hall, Elizabeth acted swiftly to limit scandal or mischief, persuading her husband, who was shaking with rage, that they should secrete the pair in another room until Georgiana had retired for the evening, and then, for the remainder of their stay, sober them up and keep a close eye on them.
An hour later, the Wickhams were admitted to the drawing room, after Elizabeth and Darcy had discreetly alerted their guests as to who was about to join them.
Wickham’s expression as he entered was smug.
He had got his way and was happy to be the centre of attention.
He left his wife immediately and, spotting a fellow officer, settled himself down next to Fitzwilliam.
He beckoned over a servant and asked for two glasses of brandy.
The colonel was cool and unsmiling with him but seemed to understand that keeping the peace was in everyone’s best interests at present.
As the night wore on, the jubilant, easy atmosphere of the earlier evening returned.
The disruption caused by the arrival of the Wickhams had now dissipated, and lively conversation had ensued again, lubricated by punch, port and wine.
Lydia was in a corner, chatting gleefully with Kitty, and Mr Wickham was being talked at by Mrs Bennet.
The Gardiners were settled happily on the settee, satisfied as ever with only one another’s company but Mr Bennet had announced he must retire before either he finished off the port, or the port finished him.
Charlotte, for once, had allowed herself to indulge, and while she was not quite drunk, the mix of the punch had given her a bad headache, and she said to Elizabeth that she, too, had better retire, loath as she was to miss the fun.
‘Oh, stay, Charlotte – do not retire yet!’ protested her friend.
‘I do not wish to, but my head is swimming, Eliza! I am making a spectacle, wincing and holding my temple as I have been! I just need a little quiet – perhaps if I step onto the terrace and get some fresh air…’
‘You’ll freeze! Come with me’
Elizabeth dragged her friend out and down a corridor, then pushed open two large doors, showing the small music room where they had heard some of the ladies play earlier. In it was a piano, a harp, and an inviting settee. The fire was still lit, and Eliza set about lighting a few candles.
‘There. Sit here and regain yourself, then come back and join us – it is still early!’
‘Early, do you call it? It is past eleven! But I thank you; this is perfect.’
‘Should you like me to play the pianoforte to soothe you?’ asked Elizabeth, grinning.
‘Not unless you wish my headache to worsen.’
‘Charlotte!’
‘Forgive me, Eliza, but I am not friends with you for your musical ability.’
‘But for my wisdom?’
‘No, for your wealth,’ replied Charlotte quickly.
Elizabeth laughed, and she squeezed her friend’s shoulder. ‘Come and find me when you feel better.’
‘Go – I will recline here like a fine lady. Oh, my nerves!’
‘Now you mock my mother! It is too much!’
It was not too much, and she heard Eliza giggling as she stepped down the corridor.
Charlotte closed the doors and moved to the settee, where she slumped down heavily, enjoying the chance to fully relax, unseen by anyone.
The day had been very long, and the drink very strong, and only a few moments after closing her eyes, sleep took her.
‘It has been a long time, Miss Lucas.’
Charlotte was jolted awake by the words and scrambled to sit up. The fire had gone out, and only candlelight remained.
‘Who is there?’
Slowly, her eyes attuned to the dim light enough to see Mr Wickham standing in the entrance, the dark corridor behind him.
She already felt the awkwardness, the impropriety of them being removed from the party, alone.
She could hear the distant sound of lively conversation from the room at the other end of the hall, and she looked in that direction, as if she could transport herself there by willing it.
He saw her looking and smiled. He stepped farther into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘Why are you in here, all alone?’
‘I felt a little unwell and was seeking solitude. I have not been successful, it would appear.’
‘Ha! You are as sharp as you ever were, I see, Miss Lucas.’
‘Mrs Collins.’
He paused. ‘Ah yes. Mrs Collins. You are married now. Quite unchanged, though. You know, you always looked young for your age, and you look quite the same as when I last saw you, if a little less damp.’ He smirked and looked her up and down.
Charlotte recognised that look from the last time she had seen him.
‘That is to say, you look very well,’ he said, his voice low and a little slurred from drink.
‘You speak as if we have met several times, Sir, and in fact we have met but twice, and briefly,’ Charlotte said lightly, seeking to diffuse the situation that she could feel rapidly slipping from her control.
‘True. Why did you not tell Lizzy that we had met before? She introduced us as strangers tonight. Why would you keep it a secret?’
‘It is no secret; it is only of no consequence. I talk to my friends about things that interest me.’
His smile remained fixed, but she could tell he was irritated. ‘I do interest you a little, though. I saw you earlier, in the hall, peeping,’ he said, his eyes challenging hers.
Charlotte’s brisk smile faded. She felt him provoking her, but did not know how to respond.
He continued to goad her. ‘You were watching us from the shadows. Rather prying, but then, you are a rather watchful person, I think. So am I.’
Wickham began to walk towards the settee, so Charlotte rose from it quickly, not wishing to share a seat with him. He was enjoying her nervousness. As he sat, he seemed struck by genuine exhaustion for a moment, and he rubbed his hands over his face and groaned.
Charlotte, now standing, felt chiefly the impropriety of the situation, and more disgust towards him than any threat from him: she knew too well that his interest was in young girls, and she had always felt far beneath his attention – a lucky escape on her part, she thought.
She did not wish to be alone with him, but she also sought not to incite his temper or make a scene, which she knew Elizabeth and Darcy were keen to avoid. She was treading a fine social balance.
‘Marriage disappoints us, does it not, Mrs Collins? I always thought a wife would be a firm companion, a match for my own spirits – you understand? I thought I would have a wife who was my intellectual equal. But that has not proven to be the case.’
‘You are lucky in your marriage, sir. Lydia is very devoted to you.’
‘Yes. Devoted, besotted, easy. She was easy to catch, and she remains eminently available. But I have known enough women now to know the value of a real lady – a woman of substance. You must know a man wants some mystery, a lady who holds something back, someone modest, demure… a little hard to get.’
He was looking at her again, his eyelids low and his breath heavy. She felt a shift in his intentions, and she wished to be away from him. But she felt afraid and incapacitated by her fear. Her instinct told her to keep him talking.
‘I do not know what a man wants, sir,’ she answered, distracted, looking at the closed door.
Wickham grinned, wolf-like, and said, ‘So you claim. But you’re clever; I bet you could learn.’
Charlotte heard the implication, felt the alarm. She wished to leave now and did not know why her body felt so paralysed when urgency was required.
Wickham rose surprisingly quickly from the settee and started to approach her. ‘As a man, you want to feel you are uncovering something that hasn’t been seen before, that you are making a discovery, Miss Lucas—’
‘Mrs Colli—’ she automatically corrected him. He was standing in front of her now. She felt her hands grow rigid with anxiety.
‘Yes, yes, Mrs Collins,’ he said irritably, then, with a sneer, ‘Yes, you have some experience now, although I can’t imagine it has been very satisfying.’
‘I will not talk to you further,’ she said abruptly, wrenching her feet from where they had felt stuck to the floor and turned from him.
Charlotte made quick progress towards the door, but a moment later, she felt her wrist caught firmly and pulled back.
She cried out in surprise. Wickham spun her around and pushed her back, and back again, nearly tripping her, pinning her against the wall.
His body was now pressed firm against hers, and her face craned away from his as he loomed over her, close enough that she could smell his sour, stale breath.
‘But I want to talk to you, Miss Lucas. You think you are better than me. I saw it the first time we met. You judged me then, and you’re judging me now.
’ He was ranting. His eyes looked wild, and he spat as he talked.
He looked as if reason had left him entirely.
Disdain, anger and drunken lust were a terrifying combination to see up close.
‘Let me go,’ she managed to utter.
It was as if he did not hear her. ‘You do not like me, but you do want me, do you not?’
Charlotte’s breathe was short; she could hardly reply. ‘I do not,’ she managed to utter.
‘I know you do. Always so detached, so proper, but I bet you were burning for me.’
One of his hands gripped her at the waist, squeezing painfully, while his other held her arm against the wall. She was pushing with her other hand at his chest, but it was pointless.
‘Please!’ she cried. She closed her eyes tightly, wishing herself away.
His lower body pinned her against the wall, and his hands pulled sharply at the neckline of her dress, grabbing at her breasts.
As he did so, he slammed his lips hard against hers, knocking her head back against the wood.
She turned her face to the side, his lips dragging across her cheek.
He grabbed her jaw and painfully turned her face back to his.
And then, suddenly, she felt herself free. She opened her eyes to see Wickham’s face moving quickly backwards, away from her, his mouth open in shock. Only then did she see a strong hand around his neck, pulling him back by the throat.
Wickham staggered, losing his footing, even before Colonel Fitzwilliam threw him to the floor. The colonel then positioned himself between Charlotte and the rather pathetic figure now panting on the ground.
A few tense moments passed, only the sound of ragged breaths from all breaking the silence.
Wickham slowly rallied himself, stood up, rubbing his neck, and turned to look at Fitzwilliam, then at Charlotte.
‘Is this your protector, Miss Lucas?’ He laughed.
‘I had no idea you would be so gallantly defended!’ He started to walk towards Charlotte, his eyes on her, as if Fitzwilliam were not present.
‘We could ask him to leave again?’ He chuckled to himself.
Charlotte would not look away. She met his eyes without blinking or response.
Irritated by this, Wickham turned his gaze to Fitzwilliam and said, ‘What a fuss, Colonel. Is it just that you hoped to have a go yourself? I warn you, she’s a little frigid at first but—’
Fitzwilliam’s fist had met Wickham’s face before he uttered the last word, and Wickham’s body had twisted and fallen from the blow before Charlotte fully knew what had happened.
This time, Wickham remained down.
Fitzwilliam turned now, to look at Charlotte fully for the first time.
He sought her eyes, and she, seeing his concern, felt the force of the moment upon her, and her composure broke.
She sobbed, and her body was wracked by trembling as she stood.
Her shoulders rounded over, and her arms folded in, as if making a protective shell.
He so wanted to wrap his arms around her, to be an armour for her, a shield, but that seemed like the last thing she would want in this moment.
Charlotte felt flooded by feelings, and she had neither the capacity nor the desire to convey them to Fitzwilliam; she did not wish to be close to any man at this moment.
Just then, as if a silent prayer had been answered, Elizabeth entered the room.
‘Charlotte, I heard—’ She paused at the threshold, saw Wickham on the floor, not moving, and then turned and took in Charlotte, huddled over, in tears, and Fitzwilliam, standing a little way from her.
Within a moment, she had an idea of what had happened.
It was something like what she had always feared.
Elizabeth was enraged and brimming with feeling, but like Charlotte, she could be relied upon in a crisis. She did not give in to her inner wish – to walk over to Wickham and stamp on his neck. It would help neither her friend nor the situation.
She was decisive. She deftly took Charlotte’s arm, gently moved her hair from her face, put a firm hand on her waist and said, ‘Come with me, Charlotte.’ And then, turning back to Fitzwilliam, ‘Find Darcy, please – tell him what has happened, and he will know what to do…’ She paused a moment, and added, ‘I am glad you were here.’
Fitzwilliam, himself rather shaken, simply nodded, but his eyes were only on Charlotte as she was led out the room.