Chapter 20
On the Main Street of Meryton
An Hour Later
The middle three Bennet sisters and their governess stepped out of the dressmaker’s shop onto the main street of Meryton. It was cool but not cold, the breeze was light, and the sun was shining. It was a very pleasant November day.
“I am not certain if Mamma and the others will be done with the milliner yet,” Elizabeth remarked, looking up and down the street. “Do you wish to check there or go on to Aunt Phillips house?”
“We might as well go to the hat shop,” Kitty said. “It is on the way.”
“Lizzy?” Mary said timidly.
She turned to Mary and said, “Yes?”
“Would you mind very much if I walked home by myself?” she asked. “I have some calculations to complete with Father.”
“You ought not to walk alone, Miss Mary,” Miss Fairchild said gently. “Not with so many unknown men wandering the streets of Meryton.”
Mary’s face fell, and Elizabeth, who knew that her next younger sister had already endured a great deal today, said, “I will walk home with you.”
“Oh, that is not necessary,” Mary replied, though her expression was wistful. “I daresay we will not stay at Aunt Phillips too long.”
Given how much Lady Bennet enjoyed gossiping with her sister, Elizabeth was confident that they would stay far longer than Mary wished.
She stepped forward, hooked her arm in Mary’s, and said, “We will walk home together. Kitty, Miss Fairchild, please tell the others that we walked home. I need to speak to Father anyway about some correspondence.”
Miss Fairchild nodded and said, “Very well. We will see you both at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth watched as Miss Fairchild guided Kitty in the opposite direction and then said to Mary, “Shall we?”
“We shall,” Mary replied with a grateful smile, and they began walking toward Longbourn in silence.
Mary was probably thinking about calculations concerning moons or planets or asteroids, while Elizabeth mused on the various matters which she needed to bring to her father.
Sir Thomas despised business, but there were a few issues she needed to talk to him about.
For example, ought Mr. Collins be permitted to visit?
On the one hand, it would mean a guest in a house already inhabited by an eccentric genius, his wife, and their five daughters, which might or might not go well.
On the other hand, the man was the heir to the estate, and it would be advantageous to be courteous and gracious given that Mr. Collins could, if he chose to, toss the ladies out of the house within a week of Sir Thomas’s death, which would be most inconvenient.
“Miss Elizabeth!” a voice cried out, and she turned as Captain Denny and a very handsome stranger, both garbed in militia uniforms, stepped out of the Pig in the Poke pub, which was positioned near the end of Main Street.
“Captain Denny,” she said, curtseying. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day to you as well, Miss Elizabeth. May I please introduce my friend, Lieutenant George Wickham? Wickham, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Mr. Wickham was indeed remarkably handsome, perhaps as handsome as Mr. Darcy, but unlike the reserved master of Pemberley, the lieutenant’s face was wreathed with smiles.
It seemed impossible that the man could be anything but charming and good, but then again, as Miss Fairchild had warned, the outward appearance did not always reflect an individual’s true nature.
“It is pleasant to meet you, Lieutenant Wickham,” Elizabeth said, and turned to Mary. “May I please introduce both of you to my sister Mary? Mary, Captain Denny and Lieutenant Wickham.”
Mary dipped a curtsey and murmured. “It is good to meet you.”
“Miss Mary,” Captain Denny said, “it is an honor to make your acquaintance. I understand that you and your esteemed father were recently working elsewhere?”
“Yes, on astronomy,” Mary said rapidly. Elizabeth knew that Mary was rather shy around gentlemen, partly due to her nature and partly because Lady Bennet often harped on her lack of beauty compared to her sisters.
“How interesting,” Lieutenant Wickham said. “You are obviously a very intelligent young lady, Miss Mary.”
“She is,” Elizabeth agreed. “Now, if you do not mind, gentlemen, we must return home.”
“We are planning to call at Lucas Lodge,” Lieutenant Wickham said. “Might we walk with you?”
There was no way to politely avoid this, and in any case, Elizabeth was curious about Mr. Wickham, who seemed entirely pleasing but whom Mr. Darcy apparently disliked.
She did not pretend to know Mr. Darcy well, but apart from that initial insult at the Meryton assembly, he had never behaved dishonorably and, moreover, was a close friend to the generous and kindly Mr. Bingley. It was all very odd.
Captain Denny held out his arm to Mary, who took it with a blush, and Mr. Wickham held out his arm to Elizabeth, which she took.
“I believe I met your other sisters a few days ago, Miss Elizabeth,” Wickham said as the pair began walking down the road toward Longbourn and Lucas Lodge.
“Yes, my sister Jane mentioned that,” Elizabeth agreed.
Mr. Wickham’s pace slackened a little, and he looked at her askance.
“I daresay,” he said ruefully, “that she observed my unfortunate interaction with Mr. Darcy.”
“She did, yes,” Elizabeth said, and despite her best efforts, she could not suppress the curiosity in her tone.
He sighed deeply and said, “I do regret that very much, Miss Elizabeth, and can only be thankful that thus far, no one seems inclined to reject me as a friend in spite of Darcy’s actions.”
“I do not think you need to worry about that, Mr. Wickham. We are a friendly community and make our own decisions about newcomers.”
“I am very glad,” Wickham said and then turned a grave eye on her.
“I know that this is forward of me, but might I explain the situation between Darcy and myself? I dislike speaking negatively of that gentleman, especially as I was the godson of old Mr. Darcy, but I believe I have the right to explain my side of the story.”
Elizabeth hesitated. None of this was her business exactly, but she was very curious about Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham. Besides, she had a responsibility to her family to learn more about this newcomer.
“Very well,” she said.
“I am most grateful,” Mr. Wickham said with a flash of his very white, even teeth. “I was born at Pemberley, the estate of the Darcys, and…”
She listened attentively to her companion’s continued remarks, of his childhood friendship with Mr. Darcy, which gave way to envy in the face of the older Mr. Darcy’s preference for his godson.
She heard of the church living intended for Mr. Wickham, which the master of Pemberley had callously and cruelly given to another.
She heard of how Mr. Wickham had been forced to make his own way in the world, without the benefit of family or patronage.
At the end of his monologue, she found herself more confused than ever. Mr. Wickham certainly spoke very well, and he sounded sincere, but it seemed peculiar that his godfather had not clarified the matter of the living in his will.
“Why did you not seek legal redress?” she asked slowly.
“There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from the law. A man of honor could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it, or at least to treat it as simply a conditional recommendation and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short, anything or nothing.”
“I see,” Elizabeth replied thoughtfully. Extravagance? Imprudence? She did not know what Mr. Darcy would consider either of those things. It might merely be spending a little more than was…
“Lizzy!” Mary called from behind them. “A carriage is approaching. Pray move to the side.”
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and then obediently shifted over to the very edge of the road as the vehicle in question, pulled by four trotting horses, approached rapidly. Then, to her surprise, the coachman pulled the horses to a stop next to them.
“Lizzy?” Mary asked in bewilderment. “Do you know who…?”
The door to the carriage opened, and an unknown man of some thirty summers, dressed in the red coat and white breeches of an officer in the Regulars, jumped out of the carriage with a broad smile on his face, followed by a stern-faced Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes in confusion and then felt Wickham’s hand tighten hard on her arm.
She turned toward him indignantly, which gave way to concern. Mr. Wickham’s face was absolutely white, and his eyes were flared with alarm.
“Good morning, Wickham,” the Unknown said, and Elizabeth looked back at him with a frown. “It is so good to see you today. I suggest you bid farewell to your friends, as Darcy and I are graciously giving you a free ride to Marshalsea Prison for your unpaid debts!”
Wickham dropped Elizabeth’s arm and retreated a pace. “Marshalsea! No, no! You cannot…”
“We most certainly can, Wickham,” Darcy said coolly. “I have the receipts for hundreds of pounds in debts which you left in Lambton and that I paid off. Now come along. Richard and I have no intention of allowing you to prey on the shopkeepers and butchers of Meryton.”
“Your father would not wish this,” Wickham said, frantically shaking his head.
“My father is dead and has gone onto his reward,” Mr. Darcy said icily. “He never knew of your profligate ways. Now, enough talk, Wickham. I will not be swayed by your … stop! Wickham, stop!”
Elizabeth turned to discover that her former companion was running away with great rapidity, and not along the road, but toward a turnstile in a fence some twenty feet from the road. What on earth was the lieutenant doing?
“What does the fool think he is doing?” the Unknown asked in an exasperated tone.
“Running, obviously,” Darcy said drily and then continued, “Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Captain Denny, my apologies for interrupting your walk. May I please introduce my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Cousin, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, and Captain Denny.”
Elizabeth curtsied a trifle and said absently, “It is good to meet you, sir.”
The colonel murmured something in return as the entire party turned back to watch Wickham, who had now successfully climbed over the fence and was running across a field.
“Whose field is that?” the colonel asked curiously.
“It is a Longbourn field,” Elizabeth replied, and then her eyes widened in horror. “And Marcus is in there!”
“Marcus?” Darcy repeated in bewilderment, but Elizabeth was already running toward the fence as quickly as she could. This could be catastrophic.
“Mr. Wickham!” she screamed. “Mr. Wickham! Please come back! Our bull is in that field!”
Elizabeth drew up short as she came to the fence before scrambling up onto the first step of the turnstile beside her. There she stopped, prudently choosing to go no further. One plank up was sufficient to afford her a commanding view across the field.
Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight that met her frantically scanning eyes.
Mr. Wickham was no longer running flat out, perhaps aware that the men pursuing him had fallen considerably behind.
He had attained a distance of possibly fifty feet or so and fallen into a swift stride, his eyes on the opposite fence line still some hundred feet away.
He did not look back or around, as he was obviously intent on his goal.
Elizabeth, aware of what was housed in the field, did look around, her heart pounding. She felt sick with anxiety as she saw a large black beast, snorting and pawing the dust and shaking his head, his mean little eyes on the intruder in his pasture.
“Mr. Wickham!” A scream in Elizabeth’s ear startled her. Mary had arrived as well, her face white with apprehension, both hands clutching the top rail of the fence. “Mr. Wickham, you must come back! Please!”
Elizabeth added her voice to her sister’s. “Mr. Wickham, you will get hurt! Mr. Wickham!”
Perhaps he could not hear them, or maybe he was merely ignoring them.
Either way, he stood in ignorance of his terrible danger!
Marcus, his own warnings to the intruder ignored, lowered his head and shook it, bellowing.
Wickham took no more notice of the bull’s angry sounds than he had of the four people behind him, all shouting for him to return.
“Wickham, do not be a fool!” Colonel Fitzwilliam yelled. “Get back here!” His voice only seemed to spur the other man further into danger, and Wickham’s increased speed was the last straw for the incensed bull. With another bellow, Marcus lowered his head again and charged.
Mary’s and Elizabeth’s screams mingled in wordless horror, as the earth itself seemed to shake from the bull’s galloping footsteps.
This, at last, drew Wickham’s attention, and he looked towards Marcus’s enraged bellowing, but it was too late.
The bull was a mere twenty feet from him and crossed that short distance in a flash, before Mr. Wickham had managed more than two desperate steps.
Elizabeth could not look away as the scene unfolded, her horrified gaze drawn as though by a magnet as poor Mr. Wickham was thrown on Marcus’s wicked horns like a rag doll.
He fell limply to the ground to vanish beneath the sharp trampling hooves, Marcus’s head down as he bellowed and snorted and stamped.
A flurry of movement beside Elizabeth drew her attention.
Mr. Darcy was scrambling up the turnstile beside her, face white with horror as he watched the tragic display in the field.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, face set in grim lines, lunged forward to drag Mr. Darcy back by double fistfuls of the back of his coat.
“I have to help him!” Darcy cried out, but Elizabeth turned and said, with tears in her eyes, “It is too late, Mr. Darcy. Too late! And if you go in, you will be a victim too. Marcus has sired many a good calf, but he is dangerous and aggressive. There is nothing anyone can do for Mr. Wickham.”