Chapter 11
“Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth!” Mrs. Gregory exclaimed. “How pleasant to see you this morning!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gregory,” Bennet responded sedately. “Lizzy, kindly do your shopping so that we can visit the bookstore before returning to Longbourn.”
“Of course, Father,” Elizabeth answered, darting off toward the back of the store where the mistress of the establishment kept the lace and ribbons and shoe roses.
“Has it warmed up outside, Mr. Bennet?’ Mrs. Gregory inquired, mixing respect for her social superior with long familiarity. As both milliner and dressmaker of Meryton, she had long been patronized by the Bennet ladies.
“It is quite cold,” Bennet stated, forcing himself to bestow a genial smile on the woman.
He was not much for small talk, but in this instance he would suffer through it in order to gain information from Mrs. Gregory, whose position in the village provided her with knowledge of both gentry and commoners alike.
“In a way, that is a mercy, as it will keep the ... erm ... corpse from ... erm...”
“Quite,” Bennet agreed, pleased that it had not taken long for the conversation to turn to the dead George Wickham. “My brother Philips is having some difficulty collecting a jury for the inquest, so it will not be until Monday.”
“Well, it seems a great pity, sir. Lieutenant Wickham was such a fine gentleman – so elegant and engaging, not to mention handsome. I do hope that Mr. Philips determines what truly happened. I understand Mr. Darcy to be quite a proud, unpleasant sort of gentleman and I do wonder if ... but I suppose I had best not speak of my suspicions.”
“Likely you should not, Mrs. Gregory,” the gentleman responded drily.
“Mr. Darcy is the nephew of the Earl of Matlock, after all, along with being quite wealthy. In any case, I wonder if the lieutenant was as fine a man as his outer appearance suggested. I spoke to Mr. Darcy at some length after his conflict with Wickham. According to Mr. Darcy, Wickham attacked him with a knife, and Darcy was stabbed, as was his horse.”
“Well, that is dreadful!” Mrs. Gregory exclaimed with all the rabid enthusiasm of an inveterate gossipmonger. “Absolutely dreadful. I do hope the injuries are not severe?”
“Mr. Darcy will survive so long as his wound does not become infected, and the stallion is well enough. It is quite distressing that such a thing should happen on Longbourn land.”
The draper shuddered openly and nodded, “Indeed! We must be thankful none of your daughters were in the area when this fight occurred!”
“Yes,” Bennet agreed, keeping his expression relaxed. “Fortunately all my daughters were in bed late after the ball at Netherfield.”
“Of course! Ah, Miss Elizabeth, that green is lovely. It matches the tints in your eyes!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gregory,” Elizabeth said warmly, placing her items on the counter. “What do you think of this pink ribbon for Lydia?”
The woman tilted her head and regarded it thoughtfully before nodding. “I believe that will do very well for her, Miss Elizabeth. Shall I put this on your account?”
Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth exchanged glances and the gentleman frowned dramatically, “No, I will pay for it now but that reminds me; Mrs. Gregory, I hope this is not an improper question, but did Wickham owe you money?”
The draper blinked in surprise and nodded, “Yes, he did, but I presume his debt will be paid out of his estate?”
Bennet shook his head sadly, “I fear not. Mr. Darcy informed me that Wickham was in the habit of running up debts wherever he lived, and he had no expectations of any kind.”
“Surely ... surely not! As a militia officer, he must have some kind of allowance from his father, or ... or his relations...”
“His parents are dead and he was quite alone in the world,” Elizabeth explained gently.
“Mr. Wickham was educated at the expense of his patron, Mr. Darcy’s father, and was blessed with a considerable inheritance when the older man died; sadly, he frittered it away with gambling and the like.
I fear he has no assets at all and likely many debts to the people of Meryton. ”
Mrs. Gregory grabbed a small notebook and quickly paged through it, then groaned at the sight of the account for Mr. Wickham.
“He owes me a little more than two pounds,” she whispered. “He purchased a number of items only last week – he said for his mother and sisters for Christmas, but you say he has no living relations – oh dear!”
Elizabeth sighed sympathetically. As the daughter of a gentleman with a good income, two pounds was nothing. To Mrs. Gregory, it was a significant sum indeed.
“I will pay for Wickham’s debt,” Bennet said, “along with the entirety of my own account.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Gregory exclaimed, torn between hope and worry, “you have no obligation to do that!”
“Do not be concerned,” her customer said with a smile. “Mr. Darcy will pay me in turn for my disbursement of Wickham’s debt. He is quite determined that no one in Meryton should suffer for the sins of his father’s reprobate godson.”
“Mr. Darcy offered to do that?”
“He insisted,” Bennet said gravely.
“Well, that is very kind of him. That will be five pounds, two shillings, sir.”
Mr. Bennet dove into his pocket to produce the requisite monies, then said casually, “Mrs. Gregory, if anyone else has extended credit to Wickham, let me know, and I will pay them, though I will need receipts. I have no interest in any debts of honor he left unpaid.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bennet.”
***
Darcy was resting comfortably in the drawing room when the door opened and his cousin Richard’s voice sounded from the vestibule of Netherfield. Darcy climbed to his feet, being careful not to jostle his left arm, and took a step toward the door just as it opened.
“Richard, it is so good to … Georgiana!!!”
“Brother!” the blonde lady exclaimed, rushing forward and then halting with an expression of concern. “Oh Fitzwilliam, your arm! Tell me the truth; are you badly injured?”
“I am not, my dear,” her brother assured her, stepping forward to wrap his healthy right arm around her body. “Indeed, I am well enough but come, why are you here?”
“Richard showed me your letter,” Georgiana murmured, her head tucked against his chest in relief.
The master of Pemberley shot a look of betrayal at the colonel, but Richard Fitzwilliam refused to either look or feel guilty.
“I did tell her, Darcy. She deserved to know the truth about what came to pass. She is no longer a child.”
“She is not, no,” Darcy agreed, gently moving away from his sister so that he could plant a loving kiss on her forehead. “Nonetheless, I did not wish to worry you.”
“I would rather be worried than kept in the dark,” the girl responded, her expression fierce. “Brother, I know you think I am but a child but I am growing up, and as Richard said, it is better for me to know the truth than comfortable deception.”
“It was not entirely deception,” Darcy argued, though weakly, and then said, “But we need not argue about it. You are both here and I am delighted to see you. Is Mrs. Annesley here as well?”
“Yes, of course,” Georgiana said.
“Excellent. Bingley will be pleased, as she can act as hostess if any of the local ladies call. Richard, did you bring the papers regarding the Kympton living?”
“I have them here. Do you know when this benighted inquest will be held?
“Not until Monday, as Mr. Philips has to collect a group of men for the jury.”
“Excellent, as that will give us time to determine whether Wickham has any debts locally. And now, we both wish to hear the truth. How is your arm?”
Darcy gestured at his sister to sit down on the couch, and he sat down next to her with a soft groan as his left arm shifted uncomfortably.
“I will be well enough,” he assured both is anxious relations. “Mr. Jones, the local apothecary, is an experienced man and he says that there is no sign of infection.”
“That is a relief,” Georgiana murmured, and leaned gently against her brother’s comforting bulk.
***
“Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Mary,” Mr. Bingley said, bowing to the three Bennet ladies.
“Oh, Mr. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet cried out, rising hastily to her feet and surging forward, her face wreathed with smiles. “It is so very good to see you again, sir! I am thankful you have returned so quickly from London and also overjoyed that your friend is not too badly hurt.”
“I am as well, madam,” Bingley answered, though his gaze was fixed on Jane, who was seated on a nearby couch, her eyes bright, her face joyful. His friend and relations were fools; there was no doubt that the eldest daughter of the house was delighted to see him.
“It is a great pity that Mr. Wickham turned out to be such a horrible man,” Mrs. Bennet commented, retreating to her chair and smiling happily as Bingley directed his steps toward Jane. “We could all have been murdered in our beds.”
“Yes, indeed,” her guest said vaguely, and then, bowing toward Jane, said, “I hope you are not too greatly distressed over this terrible incident.”
Jane’s eyes filled with tears, and she gestured to her side, wordlessly inviting him to take his seat.
He did so and unconsciously reached his hands out to hers.
She responded by eagerly clasping his hands in her own, her beautiful face quivering with emotion.
“It is quite dreadful, Mr. Bingley. I am horrified that a man of my own acquaintance could be so filled with hatred as to attempt murder. I grieve his death, of course I do, but I am so thankful that your friend was spared.”
“I am as well, Miss Bennet,” he said gently, relishing the feeling of her slender fingers entwined in his own. He was wearing gloves, of course, but it was still the closest he had ever felt to her as she was wearing lace mitts, leaving her fingers bare.
“I am glad you have returned to Netherfield,” the woman continued fervently. “I am certain Mr. Darcy is most pleased to have your company in the midst of his troubles.”
“I would never abandon my friend in such a way,” Bingley contended and then continued daringly, “and I hope that Darcy is not the only person to be thankful that I have returned.”
Jane blushed crimson at these words, but her blue eyes met his brown ones bravely. “Indeed, Mr. Bingley, I would have been heartbroken if you had stayed in London as your sister indicated you would.”
“I promise you that I will not leave Hertfordshire unless you send me away,” Bingley said passionately.
“And I,” Jane responded with a glorious smile, “would never do that.”
Bingley’s heart was beating madly within his chest, and he turned to observe Mrs. Bennet and Miss Mary both staring at him with open curiosity.
“Mrs. Bennet?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Bingley?”
“Might I have the honor of speaking privately to Miss Bennet?”
The lady was on her feet within seconds. “Yes, of course, Mr. Bingley. Of course! Mary, my dear, come now, come now!”
Once the door had shut behind the two other ladies, Bingley turned back to Jane, who was staring at him with wondering hope.
Still holding her hands, he slipped off the couch and onto one knee.
“Miss Bennet, I love and adore you. You are beautiful, kind, gracious, gentle, and loving. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Jane was breathing quickly, her pulse throbbing in her neck, and her face incandescent with joy. “Yes, Mr. Bingley. Oh yes!”