Chapter 7
A MEANS OF ESCAPE
Elizabeth had always possessed high standards for honesty; however, in this case, her reputation depended upon a very quickly devised falsehood, and she would not feel guilty for misrepresenting her case to a near-stranger. As they departed Mr Partridge’s shop, she found the courage to proceed.
“I wonder, Mr Wickham, if you would mind participating in a very unusual scheme of mine? Some would not approve, and I would not wish to cause affront.”
Did his eyes light up at her words, or was it her imagination? Well, she could not be concerned with his delight in unusual schemes; all she cared about was her opportunity to avoid a marriage neither she nor, frankly, Mr Darcy, could ever want.
“I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, I am not easily offended. If I may aid you in any manner, I would be happy to put myself at your disposal.”
She made herself giggle again. “Wait until you hear! My maid, Hannah, has a man in town who has decided to go to America! He wrote that she must join him immediately before he set sail. Papa, the sour old crosspatch, says she would do better to find a husband who will remain in England! He has refused to give her anything beyond the wages she is owed, even knowing it is not enough! My father does not possess the smallest bit of empathy! He rejects utterly the notion of true love! Have you ever heard anything so terrible?” She changed her expression to a tragic one.
Mr Wickham solemnly agreed that he had not.
“I cannot stand by and watch two lovers torn apart, simply because my father is a miserly old fogey!”
“How will you prevent it?” he asked smilingly.
“That is just it,” she said, adopting a mournful air.
“If I were to go into this inn and try to buy passage for her on this afternoon’s post to Cheapside, the innkeeper, Mr Taylor—he is a great friend of Papa’s, you know—would suspect that something was up.
I just know he would send someone to tell my father, and then the fur would fly! ”
“Why not give her the money and allow her to buy her own passage?”
She forced her lips to form her best imitation of Lydia’s most petulant pout.
“Oh, but giving her filthy lucre is so vulgar! I am quite enchanted by the idea of bestowing upon her a ticket, instead! Papa would be unable to stop it! Is it not romantic? Just think—not only am I thwarting Papa, but I have been called to frustrate an unkind fate, and spirit her away to her own true love!”
“Very romantic,” Mr Wickham agreed, with an indulgent grin. “Although she might better appreciate the filthy lucre.”
Elizabeth contrived to look stupidly perplexed, as if she could not at all take his meaning. “Oh, I did think you were an understanding gentleman! You must be as uncaring as my father.”
He laughed, putting his hands up as if in surrender. “No, no, do not condemn me thus. What is your plan, then?”
“You need only go in and purchase the ticket,” she cried, beaming at him. “And then discreetly hand it over to me once you have it. I have this much—do tell me, is it enough to buy her passage to Cheapside, near Gracechurch Street? If it requires more, I am in a pickle.”
He looked at her handful of shillings. “It is likely almost enough. I daresay, I could throw in the few pence you are short.”
She clapped in overeager enthusiasm. “Why, how compassionate you are, Mr Wickham! Hannah will owe her whole life to you and your good will. I suppose she will wish to name her first child for you, if it is a boy…of course, it will be ‘Elizabeth’ if it is a girl,” she pronounced vacuously.
“I will go and sit on that bench over there on the village green, to await your return. Many thanks, sir!” She handed over the coins, dipped him a curtsey, and feeling both triumphant and slightly ill with nerves, briskly walked to the bench to wait.
Darcy had decided to insist upon a private audience with his Elizabeth; he could not imagine another awkward encounter such as the one at Sunday service, and nor did he believe that the dinner at Longbourn tonight, surrounded by her family, would make anything better.
Her father’s hostility was acidic and bitter, while her mother showered him with anxious approval.
Both approaches seemed to make everything worse between himself and his future wife.
It was difficult not to feel resentment.
Yes, his unusual ‘night wandering’ had put them in an uncomfortable situation, and he was nearly beside himself with mortification about such a loss of personal control. However, he had offered marriage! Immediately! Surely becoming Mrs Darcy was more than enough compensation for his error.
Unfortunately, as he passed through Meryton on his way to Longbourn, he was struck by a scene straight out of a bad dream.
Halting abruptly, Darcy saw the man whom he hated most in the whole world strolling along beside his bride!
She smiled, she laughed, she chattered happily away—as she would not do, seemed never to do, with her soon-to-be husband.
Frozen, he could not even bring himself to move, although his mind urged him to run, to knock the dastard off his deceitful feet, to carry her away, that she might not be sullied with Wickham’s infecting lies.
Before he could make himself act, however, he saw a very strange thing: Elizabeth clapped, bouncing on her toes like a giddy schoolgirl.
It was a very un-Elizabeth-like action. He could not say why he thought so, just that it seemed curiously childish, and Elizabeth was never childish.
Then, in an even stranger move, from her pocket she withdrew what appeared to be money, which she counted over to Wickham.
He slipped it into his own pocket, bowed to her curtsey, and disappeared inside the inn.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth turned towards a bench several yards away and seated herself.
Then, she slumped. It was the only word for it. It was as if all the light and happiness that usually surrounded her had drained out, leaving only raw misery.
Darcy dismounted, tethering his horse to the nearest post. It was time for a conversation, but he somehow knew that nothing about it would be easy.