Chapter 17
Pemberley
Harness bells rang soft and silver and sweet, filling the frosty air with their chiming. Darcy’s matched black geldings pulled the sleigh along at a snapping pace with as little effort as if it were a feather. Frozen air streamed past red faces, nipping at exposed noses.
Elizabeth relished every moment of it. Snuggled up beside Georgiana under layers of rugs with hot bricks at their feet to warm both them and the full and steaming baskets set on the floor of the sleigh, she was perfectly comfortable.
Fresh bread pleasantly scented the air, the aroma wafting up from the baskets bound for their destination at the Grayson cottage.
Darcy had not accompanied his sister and their guest on this visit to the tenantry, but had entrusted their safety to his husky coachman and a burly and powerful footman who had been in service to the family for ten years.
Mrs. Grayson’s baby had been born but two days previously, a healthy, bonny baby boy who had all the usual baby needs.
Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, had approached Pemberley’s master the day after the baby’s birth to suggest that gifts of food might be appreciated by the new parents.
Darcy had agreed at once and, after a few moments of thought, had recalled the second under-chambermaid, young Amelia Grayson, who had only started service earlier that year.
At fifteen years of age, she was the oldest of the now four Grayson children and had already proven herself diligent and industrious.
Pemberley could do without her for a few weeks or months so that she could go home and help care for her younger sister and brother, so that Mrs. Grayson could focus on the new baby.
Elizabeth approved of this decision wholeheartedly.
Tenant wives, after all, did not have nursemaids to assist them with their passel of children.
It gladdened her heart to see the baskets in the sleigh and to know that they would go to feed the growing family; a dozen precious eggs, and loaves of fresh bread and jars of preserves to sweeten the slices, and a soft woolen blanket for the infant.
It had always been her pleasure to take provisions to the new mothers of the Longbourn tenantry, and she had been both honored and delighted to be invited to accompany Georgiana today.
Moreover, it was a perfect day to go on such an errand.
The clouds had dispersed at last, leaving frosty sunshine that shone across the drifts lining the road with a diamond glitter.
Bare branches shone like glass in their sheaths of ice, icicles dangling like fantastic ornaments from the firs and spruces.
The usual clip-clop of the horses’ hooves had been replaced by a soft crunching just audible past the gentle sighing swish of the sleigh runners through the hard-packed snow.
Beside Elizabeth, Georgiana too was drinking in the wintry beauty.
The two young women glanced at each other and shared delighted smiles before returning their gazes to the passing landscape.
Elizabeth’s eyes drifted over snow-laden boughs and bare shrubs, her thoughts on Georgiana.
She was extremely grateful to have found such a dear friend in the sweet young woman.
Her shyness hid a genuinely kind heart and a concern for the Darcy dependents she had likely learned from her brother.
The very thought of Mr. Darcy caused Elizabeth’s heart to beat faster and made her glad that the cold air had already whipped her cheeks rosy.
She could no longer deny that she was very much in love with him.
He was all that a man should be; honest, firm, kind, strong, conscientious, intelligent, and gentle.
Nor did it hurt that he was also extremely handsome and the master of the magnificent Pemberley, but Elizabeth thought that she would love him just the same if he were squat and homely and the master of a tiny estate.
It was his character that drew her admiration and commanded her respect, not his prospects.
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. She was necessarily mute; ladies were not so brazen as to declare their love for gentlemen, but even if she could find some genteel way to communicate her affection, circumstances forbade it.
Darcy had generously extended his protection to Elizabeth when her own father had cruelly persecuted her.
Honor and common sense both dictated that she give no sign of her feelings that would put him in an unfortunate or untenable situation.
She believed he genuinely liked her as a friend, but there was no sign that his interest extended beyond friendship.
His innate generosity compelled him to take every care with the happiness and well-being of the guest whose safety he had taken into his own hands, but such behavior could not be depended upon to indicate any particular partiality or regard.
So Elizabeth would control her aching heart, and she would enjoy being happy and safe here at Pemberley, surrounded by good friends.
***
Colonel Forster’s House
Meryton
27th January 1812
George Wickham straightened his back, adjusted his coat and hat, and bestowed a nod on the private holding the door for him.
He marched into the office of his superior, Colonel Forster, and found the older man sitting behind a desk with a pile of papers in front of him.
Wickham removed his hat, bowed, and then, when he had straightened, smiled, showing his white teeth. “You called for me, sir?”
“Yes, Wickham,” Forster said and gestured to the simple wooden chair across from the table. “Sit down.”
Wickham obeyed, keeping his countenance calm and pleasing, though internally, he felt a stab of concern. He had not interacted a great deal with Colonel Forster, but the expression on his superior officer’s face was grave, perhaps even a trifle disapproving.
“Wickham,” Forster said, placing his right hand on top of the pile of papers, “I had a visit today from Mr. Bingley of Netherfield Park, whom I believe you know?”
Concern gave way to genuine alarm. He had met Bingley, certainly, and found him a cheerful and congenial soul, but he was also a close friend of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s, and Wickham loathed and despised and hated and feared Darcy.
“Yes, of course,” he said smoothly. “He is a fine gentleman.”
“He is, I agree,” Forster said heavily and then lifted the pile of papers in his right hand.
“That is why I am most concerned about the debts you have run up here in Meryton, which Bingley bought up in the last few days. A full ninety pounds, Lieutenant, which is a shocking amount given that you have been here for only two months. Bingley is insisting that you pay those debts, or he will have you sent to Marshalsea.”
Wickham cringed in horror at the very thought of the debtors’ prison at Marshalsea, but he managed to maintain a game smile. “That … I cannot believe that Mr. Bingley would … that is, that will not be necessary, I assure you.”
Forster sighed and said, “I hope not, Wickham, but Bingley is surprisingly insistent that you either pay him to redeem the debt, or you will be imprisoned. I assume you can pay?”
He had always been a quick thinker, and he said, “Of course, sir. I am a little short on cash at the moment, but several of the officers owe me money, and I have funds at Hoare’s Bank in London as well.”
This was a complete and utter lie, but it seemed a safe lie.
Forster nodded, his brow furrowed, and said, “Well, I have asked Mr. Bingley for you to give him three days grace period, Lieutenant, so if you are unable to collect from your fellow officers immediately, you had best take leave to go to London to obtain your funds.”
“Three days?” Wickham gasped, and for a moment, spots swam in his eyesight. “That is … surely he will give me longer than that!”
“He will not, and by law, he need not,” the colonel said grimly.
Wickham moaned and leaned back against the chair.
“This is Darcy’s doing,” he said sadly. “I know that Bingley is a good friend to the master of Pemberley, who cheated me of a valuable church living, and now…”
“Do you mean the church living referenced on this paper?” Forster demanded in an arctic tone, lifting a familiar paper in his right hand. Wickham froze, his eyes bugging out slightly, as he focused on the accursed document where he had given up the Kympton living for three thousand measly pounds.
His throat was dry now, but he managed to produce an outraged expression and he said, “Darcy cheated me. The living was worth far more than three thousand pounds.”
“But you signed it, Lieutenant,” Forster said coldly.
“Yes, but my father had just passed on, and I had no money…”
“Except for the thousand pounds that your godfather left for you in his will.”
Wickham suppressed a bellow of anger. The one thing that had always been true about Darcy was that he kept his mouth shut concerning personal affairs. Why had Darcy decided to share not only information but documents with Bingley? Why did the master of Pemberley insist on persecuting him so?
“I could not live on forty pounds a year, sir,” Wickham said feebly.
“Many do, Wickham, especially men without a fortune of their own, and with the additional three thousand, even the Four Percents would deliver 160 pounds per year, which is a significant sum. But enough of that. I presume that some of the money Darcy gave you is in your bank in London?”
He had spent every last farthing.
“Yes, sir,” he lied. “By your leave, I will journey to London on the morrow and will return the following day to pay the debt.”
“Very well,” Forster said. “You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”
Wickham stood up, bowed, and left with an outwardly cheery demeanor. Inwardly, he was outraged and, yes, afraid. He had no money to pay off the debts, none at all, and the prospect of debtors’ prison was absolutely terrifying.
He would have to run away from Meryton permanently, but he had no money, and how was he going to live?
Curse Fitzwilliam Darcy!