Chapter 8
Eight
The following day Elizabeth was glad to see a letter in her Aunt Maddie’s hand.
Of course she had written to inform the Gardiners of her betrothal.
She had been disappointed that the incredible coincidence of running into Mr Darcy in Hertfordshire—not Ramsgate or any other fashionable seaside destination, not London, not Derbyshire, but Hertfordshire—had failed to surprise her aunt much, but she was certain her relatives would be stunned, though pleased, at the news that she would become Mrs Darcy and the mistress of Pemberley.
Her assurance was, once again, misplaced.
Her aunt had written:
“Your uncle and I had treasured thoughts that, despite the disparity of your standing, you and Mr Darcy are very well suited to one another. There is so much likeness in the breadth of your knowledge, the rapidity of your thought, the directness of your speech, and especially the core values that make both of you such excellent people.”
Elizabeth pondered those words. How did her aunt know such things about Mr Darcy?
She herself had known some of his worth from years of Georgiana’s letters, but her aunt had never read them.
Her own letter from the day after meeting him again at the Meryton assembly had expounded on the coincidence, not his knowledge or character.
She had thought that her relations had not seen nor corresponded with Mr Darcy since shortly after meeting him at Ramsgate, as they enabled Georgiana to start up the correspondence, and she knew from Georgiana that she and Susan Gardiner had only exchanged one letter.
Obviously, the Gardiners had more of a relationship with Mr Darcy than she knew. Or could it be that they had merely heard so much about him, living in London, that they only seemed to understand his temperament and rectitude?
When her beloved Fitzwilliam called that day, and they went for their customary walk, Elizabeth reminded herself not to sound accusatory as she asked her questions.
Thus she started by merely relating that she had received congratulations from her uncle and aunt who lived in London, on Gracechurch Street.
“How are the Gardiners?” Fitzwilliam asked her.
“All are well, thank you. My eldest niece, who Georgiana got to know best, is now twelve, and every inch a young lady. I do not know if you heard that the family has a fourth child, another girl, who is now three.”
“Yes, I did know that. Two girls, two boys—quite the perfect family!”
“I had not realised that you know the family so well. How did that come about?”
Fitzwilliam smiled. “Why do I feel like this is the main reason you brought up the Gardiners?”
“Are you dodging the question, sir?”
“Not at all. As you know, your uncle and I exchanged cards so we could facilitate your correspondence with Georgiana.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“After we wrote to one another to get that set up, I asked your uncle for a tour of his warehouses, and shortly after that I became a silent partner of Gardiner Emporium.”
“You invested in his business!”
“I did. Your uncle is a very capable businessman. My involvement has been mutually beneficial.”
“And how often have you seen my uncle or the Gardiners?”
“Not very often; however, we do correspond, and some personal news is exchanged; hence I knew of little Sarah’s birth.
“My aunt was not the least bit surprised that we saw each other in Meryton, it seemed to me, and she was not at all surprised that we became engaged. Is there some reasonable explanation for her lack of incredulity, astonishment, even shock?”
Fitzwilliam laughed the deep sort of laugh that Elizabeth dearly loved. “Could it be that she is very wise?” he posited.
Elizabeth’s mother had spent many hours making arrangements for the wedding breakfast, which she was determined to be worthy of a man of Mr Darcy’s consequence.
She seemed to wish for no input from Elizabeth, although the latter had insisted on making her own choices when speaking to the seamstress who was making her wedding gown.
Elizabeth did not much care who came to the celebration nor what they ate, so she allowed her mother to have her fun.
Soon Mama had the menu set, the flowers ordered, and an agreement from Mr Bingley as to borrowing chairs and dishes from Netherfield.
At that point, Elizabeth’s mother insisted on telling her every particular of her plan.
After one evening and another morning of detailed examination of Mama’s lists, Elizabeth felt that there was no need for further effort in that regard.
Therefore, when she awoke the day the militia was coming to Meryton, even though they anticipated a visit from the gentlemen shortly after luncheon, Elizabeth was delighted to spend the morning supervising her younger sisters as they gathered with the townspeople to watch the soldiers march into Meryton in formation.
It was a time of excitement for Lydia and Kitty; a time of anticipation for the inn, the alehouse, and the taverns; and a time of trepidation for fathers of maidens.
Jane had agreed to go, too, but Mary felt the urge to stay home and read. “Come, Mary,” Elizabeth pleaded in a whisper. “You must help as well. You know we need one and a half sensible Bennets for every insensible one.”
Mary laughed aloud at Elizabeth’s wordplay, and she went along with her sister’s request.
Soon they joined the other residents and neighbours lining Main Street in Meryton as the militia regiment approached, marching in time to a drum cadence, their guns at their shoulders.
Even Elizabeth had to admit that the soldiers and officers looked very dashing in their red coats.
But one face looked very familiar, and Elizabeth almost immediately realised it was the man Wickham.
He was supposed to be locked up in prison!
She did not know quite what to do, but she realised that John Lucas, who stood watching nearby, had his horse Ajax alongside him, and she swiftly moved to him and asked if Mary could borrow Ajax for an emergency.
He said, “I would be happy to loan him out.”
She turned to Mary, whispering, “Please ride to Netherfield as swiftly as you safely can. Tell Mr Darcy that Mr Wickham must have escaped prison; he is currently entering Meryton, marching in the militia!”
Then Elizabeth informed Jane that she was determined to keep an eye on a very bad man, while Mary rode for help, and that Jane was therefore fully in charge of Lydia and Kitty.
“There is a dangerous man among the officers and soldiers, Jane. Do not allow our sisters to speak with any of them, please.”
Then she ran behind the residents who were still watching the militia’s formations. She remembered that one of the soldiers in the same line as Mr Wickham had been unusually tall, and since it was not difficult to find that line, she was soon able to spot Mr Wickham.
He was on the outer edge of the formation, and he used that spot to smile and even wink at the girls and young ladies watching.
Following the giggles and titters was another way of spotting the reprobate, Elizabeth realised.
Wickham smiled widely at Mary King, and Miss King moved among the crowd so that she could watch him a little longer, just as Elizabeth was doing from further back, although presumably with a different motive.
She felt a jolt of fear for her neighbour as she saw Wickham lean his head towards Miss King and murmur something.
Miss King looked delighted and stopped in her tracks.
Elizabeth wondered if Mr Wickham could have suggested a place and time to meet, although it seemed to Elizabeth that even a thoroughgoing rake would not attempt to lure a gently born lady so swiftly. No, it had to be a compliment of some sort, calculated to eventually pay off….
She continued to keep her eyes on Wickham, all the way to the Boar’s Head Inn. She watched as the formations broke apart. Many soldiers escaped into the inn, but Elizabeth watched as Mr Wickham spoke with some other officers and then started to stride towards the row of the largest houses in town.
Elizabeth thought hard. Had she heard where all the men would be housed? She had seen some tents in a field, but there were not nearly enough tents to house all those she had seen marching into town. The inn seemed to be housing some, but were the officers renting rooms from private homes?
There had not been enough time for Mary to get to Fitzwilliam, she supposed, let alone for him to ride to Meryton, and Elizabeth truly did not wish to lose sight of the man—especially not into a home with female servants who would be at risk from a rake.
She could call out his name to stop him, but he was an escaped prisoner. Surely he would not be enlisting under his real name.
Mere flirtation? Could she stall him long enough for Fitzwilliam to reach her?
Pretending to be Lydia-like, Elizabeth called out, “Excuse me, sir!”
Wickham stopped and turned, graceful in his movements and warmly courteous in his manner, “Can I help you in some way, Miss?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I believe that you are the officer assigned to stay with my aunt, Mrs Philips. Are you not?”
Elizabeth was a bit pleased that Wickham turned towards her fully, apparently interested in whatever she was saying. But she was also entirely horrified that he did so.
He said, “No, miss; I have taken lodgings at the King residence.”
“Oh, dear! I was so certain that you were to come to my aunt. And now I cannot remember the name of the officer I was to look for. Do you have someone named…Dennison or Derby or Denton or Benton or Bixby…?”
The smile Wickham sent her way seemed entirely sincere and quite attractive, but just as he had set her alarms ringing five years ago, in Ramsgate, Elizabeth felt it was too practiced, too smooth to be genuine. He said, “There’s an officer named Denny. Could that be the one?”