Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, page 22
“It is a habit I have, perhaps, developed over time, to deflect suspicion. It is unconsciously done. But you surely know I had no intentions of playing this game. I wished only to be friendly and of use, and to assist a family who were as concerned for Elizabeth as I was for you. If your friend Bingley took such exception to my every solicitude, well, what choice had I but to play with him?”
“Badly done, cousin.”
Richard tutted. “Turn around. Good. That coat lies well on your shoulders, and the breeches are a better fit than those trousers I lent you yesterday. No, chastise me no more. I shall explain all to your friend later. Miss Bennet is in no danger from me, and Bingley has a clear field, if he wishes to hunt in that quarter. Now, shall we see if the others have come down yet?”
They were a merry party that evening.
Elizabeth was already in the parlour when the men arrived. To match Darcy’s brightened spirits, she, too, looked different. Lighter, somehow, buoyant. Once more, she wore one of the ill-fitting frocks that Mrs Lloyd had procured for her from the town, and her hair was done simply, if neatly, but somehow, she glowed. She was not formed for melancholy and had given Darcy more than his share of smiles during their forced flight, but her laughter now came more freely, her eyes shone more brightly. She, too, was now free from the threat that had hung over them both.
She broke into a great smile as she noticed Darcy and walked over to greet him at once. He said nothing, but took her hand to kiss, and then just grinned in return.
An addition to their gathering was Mr Heatherington, the rector from the nearby town, who was to perform the ceremony the following morning. He had driven in to Coed-y-Glyn with his wife, an elegant lady of subtle wit, and their presence, in addition to Bingley’s accustomed vivacity, Jane Bennet’s pleasant manners, and Mr Bennet’s sardonic observations, was only beneficial to the general conviviality of the evening. Even Major Hawarden was enough at ease to offer a wry comment here or an astute observation there.
The dinner itself was no elaborate affair. Mrs Lloyd had been given almost no notice with which to order food and have Cook prepare an elegant table, but she had managed, nonetheless, to arrange for tasty fare, and plenty of it. Instead of endless wine, they sampled good local ale, and in place of ragouts and French sauces, they dined on hearty bread, fresh meat, and tender vegetables. After the dried crusts and hard cheese he and Elizabeth had gnawed upon during their flight, it was the nectar of the gods to Darcy. He believed he would never again take the delicacies of his accustomed diet for granted.
Likewise, the conversation was unpretentious and nourishing. How many times had Darcy been forced to sit through a stultifying dinner, listening to some bore drone on about his pocket lint collection, or complain about the poor quality of staff these days? Too well-bred to object and with no option of other company, he had come to equate fine dinners with a sort of endless torture. Tonight, however, was nothing of that sort.
Mr Heatherington was a scholar of sorts, who at once found in Mr Bennet a kindred spirit, and their discourse over some of the less commonly studied Greek myths was surprisingly fascinating. His wife felt no hesitation in adding her voice to the conversation, providing some enlightening observations, which Elizabeth took up in her turn.
She was clever and unexpectedly well-informed. She offered her opinions with a firmness of sentiment, but was not so set in her decisions that she would not change her mind when presented with a strong argument. What a gem she was. Darcy could have spent the night just listening to her talk. The conversation bubbled like the fresh waters of a country brook, easy and bright, in no hurry but neither stagnant nor slow, the perfect accompaniment to a most pleasant meal. Even Richard, at times the joker or mischievous instigator of trouble, was on his best behaviour, leaving Bingley to dance attendance on Jane Bennet.
With so small and informal a gathering, they decided to forgo the customary separation of sexes; Darcy had no desire to be anywhere other than in Elizabeth’s company, after all. And tomorrow… tomorrow she would be his wife.
“We have a small spinet in the morning room.” Richard’s voice broke into Darcy’s reverie. “Do any of the ladies play? Or the gentlemen, for that matter? Mother insisted I learn the pianoforte, although I never had the patience to practice my scales.”
Mrs Heatherington offered her talents for a sweet sonata by Mr Clementi, and Major Hawarden surprised the gathering with his rich tenor voice, with which he presented a humorous—and rather shocking—rendition of a country ballad about a young maid and her swain.
“You play so well, Lizzy,” Jane declared once the major had taken his bow. “Will you not play for us? We are not so many that we can dance, but a lively air is always suitable.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth replied, “you will sing with me instead. What of that air from the dance in London, before…” She broke off and for a moment, her face went blank. Almost at once, however, she recovered herself. “Before our adventure. Yes, that is how I shall always think of it from now. An adventure.”
She began to hum a tune, which Darcy half-recognised.
“Is that a new composition? I do not believe I know it, and yet it sounds somewhat familiar.”
“It is called ‘The Arrow’s Flight’, and it was played at the ball we attended. Here, Jane, sing the words with me.”
“Cupid’s bow is magic-touched,
His arrow’s flight is true.
For when his arrow takes its flight,
My eyes are fix’d on you.”
Jane sang and Elizabeth laughed. “Silly words, indeed, but a lovely melody.”
She went to the keyboard and sounded out the tune, improvising a simple harmony to her sister’s vocal line. It was no masterful performance, but it was enjoyable, and the melody was quite lovely.
His arrow’s flight is true… The words danced in Darcy’s brain for the rest of the evening.
If this was the ambiance with which he was to begin his life as a married man, Will Darcy was most content. This was the perfect ending to a rather hellish week. Now, with Elizabeth ready to become his bride and Wickham all but done for, nothing could go wrong.
It came, therefore, as a most dreadful shock when, as the party were gathering for tea the following morning, the alarm was raised.
Jane Bennet had been abducted by George Wickham!
CHAPTER 20
Wedding in Haste
The first intimation Elizabeth had that something was amiss was when one of the servants brought her morning cup of chocolate.
The previous night, she and Jane had retired at last from the salon and had a long and comfortable talk in Elizabeth’s room. This had been a custom of theirs since childhood, and it would be their last for a while, for Elizabeth would not be returning to Longbourn as the second Miss Bennet of the house, but as Mrs Darcy, which station held very different expectations. They had daydreamed and wondered about the future, which was closer at hand than either sister could have imagined.
“Are you quite certain about this, Lizzy?” Jane had asked, her lovely profile a silhouette against the growing darkness. “I know it would be difficult to explain matters, but I could not have you marry a man you do not like. You have known him for so little time; you have hardly had time to determine his character.”
But Elizabeth had laughed. “On the contrary! I have been in his company almost without a break for many, many days, and often in the most trying of circumstances. He has not always been the most pleasant of companions, but not once has he lost his temper or behaved in any way poorly. He never once spoke harshly to our poor horse, or whipped him, and that speaks more loudly than any words. He has been a gentleman, without fail. I have no reservations at all. I only hope he grows to care for me as dearly as I have come to care for him.”
All Jane could do was offer a tut. “I do not believe you will have long to wait for that. He seems quite besotted. Now, what are you to wear tomorrow? I shall come up with a tray and then help you dress. You will be such a beautiful bride!”
They examined the borrowed gowns Elizabeth had been offered and selected the best of them for her to wear. Jane, who had a talent for such things, suggested some ideas to dress it up as much as possible to make it a suitable frock for such an auspicious occasion.
“Be certain not to go down for breakfast! We must be mindful of the tradition for the groom not to see his bride before the wedding. I shall come to you, and we can remain here until the men have departed for the church.”
But it was not Jane who walked through the door the following morning.
“Where is my sister?” Elizabeth felt a stab of ice up her spine.
“I rightly don’t know, Miss,” the young girl replied. “She went down to the village early this morning to see to some flowers in the church, and she’s not returned. Rhys and Evan are out looking for her.” Her lyrical accent was at odds with the strain in her voice.
“Looking for her? But the village is not far, no more than a mile down the lane, from what Colonel Fitzwilliam tells me.”
“So it is, Miss. We don’t know where she might be. Shall I stay…?”
Elizabeth tried to smooth the crease forming between her eyes. “No, thank you. I shall manage for now. When my sister returns, please ask her to come to me right away.”
“Yes, Miss.” The young maid bobbed her head and slipped back through the door.
An hour later, Jane still had not returned, but Mr Bingley had.
Elizabeth heard the commotion from the entrance hall even up in her room, and could no longer sit there alone, waiting. She had to know what had happened. Tradition or no tradition, she was determined to go down.
She had not made it to the top of the stairs when it became clear that something was very, very wrong. She followed the sounds of distress to the parlour, where Mr Bingley lay upon one of the long sofas there. Gone was the jovial and merry man Elizabeth had come to know; in his place was a miserable, pitiful creature, utterly distraught and quite incomprehensible. A white cloth lay across his forehead, with what looked like a hunk of ice fixed atop that with another strip of fabric.
Will and the colonel stood looming over him, their backs to Elizabeth. Her father was collapsed in a chair near the window, as white as a sheet.
“Take a breath, man,” the colonel commanded the stricken creature on the sofa, “and tell me once more what happened. Every detail is important.”
Mr Bingley started a sequence of sounds, and only slowly was he able to make any that coalesced into words.
“We were out… we went out… Went to the church. Miss Bennet wanted to see to flowers. For the wedding. Wedding flowers…” And so it went, in fits and starts, until the whole sad tale was related.
Jane, it appeared, had risen early and had decided to walk down to the village, only a short distance away, to decorate the small chapel there with flowers. Bingley, not normally fond of mornings, had nevertheless also been up with the sun and had offered his company on the walk in lieu of one of the footmen.
“I told you not to go anywhere without one of my men,” the colonel growled, and Mr Bingley whimpered like a stricken pup.
“It seemed safe. It is no more than a mile, and along the park’s lane. You said there were guards at the gate. It seemed so safe!”
They had walked to the church without incident, and had looked inside, where there were, indeed, suitable flowers for a wedding, thanks to Mrs Lloyd.
“And then… I heard… I thought I heard my name, or perhaps not, for the memory is not quite clear. But as we left, I remember hearing something and I turned around, and there he was, large, with something in his hand.” Mr Bingley groaned and went silent for a moment. Even from her position at the top of the stairs, Elizabeth could see he had gone quite white.
Eventually, he rallied and choked out the next words. “I tried to fight, tried to stop him. I had to protect Jane. Miss Bennet. I swung and… Oh, my hand does ache. But he was not alone, and I could not prevail against two. The next I knew, I was lying on something hard and being carried back here.”
The colonel straightened up and, turning around, seemed to notice Elizabeth for the first time as she stood in the doorway.
“A sad tale, Miss Bennet. You heard that? I was afraid so. I can supply you with the report from my watchman. He observed Mr Bingley and Miss Bennet walk into the village and took it upon himself to follow them. He was too far behind to act, but he saw it all. Two men approached the church and set upon them. Our friend Bingley, here, put up quite a fight and managed to fell one of the assailants, but the other grabbed Miss Bennet and threw her into a cart, which he then drove off at great speed, with no regard for his friend, and before James could reach them.”
“Oh no!” The air swam around Elizabeth, threatening to send her off balance, and only by grabbing the door frame did she keep her legs steady. “Then all is lost.”
“Indeed, it is not. James was able to secure the second man before he could move again, and we have him here, under lock and key.” Any suggestion of the mischievous gentleman from the day before had vanished. This man who now wore the colonel’s appearance was all officer, serious and really rather frightening.
“I have seen this cur,” Will confirmed. “He was Wickham’s associate, the one, I believe, who tried to kill me at the coaching inn.”
“The man told us everything, as I suspected he would. This sort knows no loyalty, and knowing that his words save would his neck, he did not waste a moment in telling everything he knows. Our young pup Bingley delivered him into our hands, and he will lead us to your sister.”
“But what of Jane?” Elizabeth cried. Her heart was racing, and she did not know if her hands were dry or covered in perspiration. “What will happen to poor Jane?”
“He will not harm her, my dear,” Elizabeth’s father breathed from his chair. “We have to believe that. She is no good to him if he harms her.”
“I believe your father is correct,” Will said. “It is me he wants. Your sister is merely a bargaining tool to bring me to him. And,” he added with a great sigh, “it appears that this is exactly what shall happen.”
No! It could not be. “You are not going to offer yourself up to him, are you?” She could scarcely form the words.
“It appears I must.”
“It is not entirely so dire, Miss Bennet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam now said. “Presented with the news that we had Wickham’s henchman, those two toughs we captured yesterday decided their silence wasn’t worth their necks, and within moments, they were also singing like canaries. It took far less time than even I expected. That sort have no principals; they are out only for themselves, and happily gave up their master.
“We have enough on Wickham now to send him to the gibbet. We also know where he is holed up. Hawarden has found the place and has given his report. Wickham is alone. We have his last henchman. He will not escape. I have sent word to the men I called upon yesterday, and they are forming a platoon as we speak. Hawarden will lead them.”
“But where…?” Like Mr Bingley, Elizabeth found she could form words only with the greatest effort.
“There is an old house, now abandoned, at the very edge of the woods past the village, no more than two miles further down the road. It is in poor repair, but it will provide shelter for one in need. It is no difficult matter to hear of it; everybody knows it is there.” He glanced down at the map that still lay open, and Elizabeth dragged herself across the carpeted floor to stare at it.
Will laid a gentle finger on the site of the old house. The road curved in a compacted U, with the result that the village and house were quite close if one cut through the arm of the forest. The colonel noticed the object of her focus.
“Yes, if one could lay a path through there, it would be little more than a ten-minute walk, but it is rocky and steep, and the stream makes passage impossible for a dray or anything on wheels. A man with sturdy boots can do it easily enough if he does not mind wet feet and a bit of mud on his hands. We do not know if Wickham realises quite how close he is to the village, for he seems to have absconded with someone’s horse and cart.” Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his head to look into her eyes. “Jane is going to be well. And so is Will. Your husband.”
“There can, of course, be no wedding today.” The words were almost as difficult to say as were the ones about Jane. “We can… afterwards…” Thoughts would not form.
But Will turned to her and put two fingers under her chin, tilting her head up so she gazed directly into his dark eyes. “If you agree, Elizabeth, I still wish to marry you today. If… If I…” He gulped before continuing. “If something should happen, my greatest wish is that you be provided for. You will have an independence and your reputation intact. Allow me this.”
Oh, how could he be so calm in the face of this horrible thing? How could he confront his own mortality—for, despite the colonel’s assurance that matters were under control, Wickham was out for blood and there was a very real chance that Will would not return—with concern only for her own future and security? He spoke with such cool reserve that for a moment, Elizabeth stood in shocked amazement. Her own heart was beating a rapid tattoo, and the room all but swayed around her. How she kept to her feet, she could not say.
But then she saw the twitch at the corner of Will’s eye, the faint sheen of sweat across his lovely forehead, the turn of his mouth. He was terrified, but he was doing this for her. He was willing to sacrifice himself to save Jane. She could not imagine a better man.
“Say you will do it. If this is to be my last day in this world,” he breathed the words so low that she almost did not hear them, “I could think of nothing I would like more than to know you are my wife.”
A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed around it.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Yes, I will marry you this morning.”
From that moment, everything moved in a rush. It felt as if time had been suspended, coiled back upon itself and held taut, until some mystical hand released its burden and let the minutes spring free, with everything now happening in double time to make up for those moments of suspension. Elizabeth was caught up in the momentum, carried along like a leaf in a rushing stream.
