Teaching Eliza, page 31
It was from there that she saw the horseman approach. He galloped up with a steady and confident seat, and she stood admiring his form on horseback. Then the man pulled his fine steed to a stop and removed his hat, and for the first time Lizzy saw his face. She forgot immediately about Darcy and Freddy and their squabble, and with a gasp, ran off to alert everyone to the identity of the interloper.
NINETEEN — RETRIBUTION
~
GEORGE WICKHAM HAD MADE GOOD time on his journey. He had not made a particular point of rushing, for he was certain his prey would have no thoughts of escape, but neither did he wish to spend too much of his purse on inns and lodging along the way. His horse, a handsome and fine animal, had been hired for the occasion thanks to a generous if unwitting donation from Caroline Bingley. With all her baubles and trinkets, paid for by her wealthy father and doting brother, she would never miss that necklace he had sold, even if the emeralds were genuine and the diamonds not paste. She most likely thought it misplaced, in another chest, or fallen under a carpet during one of their passionate encounters. The funds from that necklace had lasted him several months now, since he had abruptly left the militia in the spring.
All his efforts were about to reach their culmination. He had arrived, at last, before the grand and impressive doors to Pemberley, here to meet his nemesis. For all too long he had been regarded as inferior by the haughty master of this estate; for all too long he had been deprived of what ought rightfully to be his own. Now, at last, there would be retribution. He removed his hat so as to see the entirety of the building, and cast his eye up at the imposing doors—so pitiful, really, made of wood that was easily hewn or burned, despite their grand appearance. He stifled a triumphant laugh. He had arrived. Fate could no longer be denied.
Alighting from his mount, he straightened his clothing, wiped his forehead and replaced his hat, then approached the entryway. The chimes sounded louder than he recalled from his last visit here, some years past, when he had demanded the Kympton living from Darcy. That time Darcy had denied him. This time would be different.
There, upon the flagstones by the great doors, he waited for what felt like an inordinately long time before a uniformed footman opened the grand portal and asked his name and his business. A mere footman! George Wickham deserved at least a housekeeper, better still a butler. But the residents knew not of his arrival, and he would forgive them this lapse. This particular footman must be newly in Darcy’s employ to have to ask his name; surely, everyone who had known him before would recall George Wickham. Of course, he did not recognise the footman, but he never paid much attention to servants, other than for what they could do for him. Neither would Darcy be in residence, but if Wickham were to be seen skulking around the grounds in his surreptitious quest for the cottage, best let it be known that he had come on legitimate business and was merely taking some air and stretching his legs before returning to town.
“George Wickham, to see Mr. Darcy,” he intoned in his most imperious voice, expecting the usual recital about the master not being at home. How surprising, therefore, to be invited inside and led to a small sitting area near what he knew was Darcy’s private study.
Well! It seemed the prodigal son had returned. No matter the slight change of venue; his plans could be carried out here just as easily as at the cottage. Better, even, for the great master to be brought low in his own palatial manor house. He sat for a short while, congratulating himself on achieving at last what he had dreamed about for so long. And how pleasant it had been, too, dallying with Caroline. All battles should be this easy and pleasant to fight and win. He sat back on the upholstered wooden chair with a cat-like smile on his face.
“Mr. Darcy will see you, please sir.” The same footman ushered Wickham through the set of heavy oak doors and into the study. After the subdued lighting in the room where he had been waiting, the harsh sunlight in the study assaulted his eyes, and he could only make out the shape of his foe, sitting across from him behind a large desk, a bright window to his back, casting his features into shadow. To Wickham’s wonder, Darcy was not alone. Seated in an imposing chair, immediately beside the desk, was another man, an aristocrat by the haughty look on his face and his tall and lean figure, with a cold expression in his light eyes. The man looked familiar, although Wickham was fairly certain they had never met. Perhaps it was the lighting; a door just to this other man’s side was flanked by two brightly flaming lamps that further cast light behind the stranger, obscuring his features somewhat.
Darcy did not stand, nor did he offer Wickham a seat. “State your business,” was all he said. His voice was hard and terse, his expression unreadable. Wickham bristled at the cold nature of the greeting, but Darcy had always been a rude bugger, and rumour had it that he had grown even worse over the past year. Since their last meeting. Ah, yes… dear Georgiana… Wickham recalled that incident with a mixture of embarrassment—for failing and being caught out—and cockiness—for having come so close to his goal.
“Really, Darcy, is that how you treat an old friend?” Wickham purred, disdain oozing in every word.
“If I should happen to meet one, we shall find out. Now state your business.” Even here in the depths of the country, miles from anywhere a civilised man would wish to be, Darcy insisted on holding to those haughty and condescending vowels. Could the man never relax?
Wickham looked for a chair, determined to sit even if not invited to do so, but there was none available. The trappings of power had gone to Darcy’s head, it seemed. This arrogant hauteur would soon enough be wrested away from him. Looking down his nose at the seated men, Wickham raised his eyebrows and smirked, “I have news of your betrothed.”
This got Darcy’s attention. He blinked and sat straighter in his chair. His companion did likewise. “Indeed. Speak.”
Ah, this was more like it! The mighty were about to fall.
“She has not, I hate to say, been the most faithful to you. In fact, she has been engaging in a dalliance in Town, whilst you have been looking elsewhere.” He noticed a flicker of Darcy’s eyes towards the man seated next to him. Aha! The rat was getting nervous. The dagger had been plunged. Now all that was left was to twist it. It was all Wickham could do not to lick his lips in glee.
“Go on,” Darcy spoke. “How, exactly, do you know my betrothed? I find I am most curious.” That cold look in his eye was not, after all, the look of arrogance; it was the look of a man fighting to control his emotions; it could only indicate the greatest distress. This was most satisfying.
“Surely, Darcy, you have a chair for me. ‘Tis a long tale, and I should be more comfortable seated.” There was no response although the stranger seemed amused. Wickham allowed his regard to wander to this second person. Who was he? So familiar, and yet… he could not place the face at all. Had he seen the man often in Darcy’s company, but not been introduced? That must be it! A close friend, perhaps? And if so, how close? Wickham had never taken Darcy for an unnatural, but the very wealthy had their peccadillos, and a great many sins and crimes would be ignored or forgiven amongst the right set. He allowed a sneer to form on his face. Buggery was disgusting to him, but the knowledge of it might be another means to a consistent income, should matters come to a head. Yes, this was excellent information to have.
The cold stare did not abate, and resigned to standing, Wickham continued with his recitation. “I met the lady in Meryton, when I was stationed there. Yes, my old friend, you and your actions have seen me reduced to having to take a commission in the militia. But do not vex yourself about this; there are unforeseen advantages to a smart red coat. I find it attracts the ladies most prodigiously.
“As for your own lady love, I encountered her about town, and she was most particularly friendly towards me. Most friendly, indeed. Her charms are,” he paused and scrutinised his nemesis, “distinctive and quite alluring.”
“As you say,” his victim commented in those annoyingly perfect tones, “but why on earth am I to believe you? You have hardly made your reputation as a teller of truth.”
“Ah, but this time, I have proof. Shall I continue?” Darcy waved his long manicured hand in a gesture of invitation. “I have documented every encounter. I can tell you where we met, who might have seen us, and how long our, shall we say our ‘encounters’ lasted.”
“These are evidence only of your ability to fabricate. Have you tangible proof?”
“I have a necklace, a stocking, some other trinkets that are indisputably hers.”
“Again, objects can be stolen, or borrowed even, with the help of an untrustworthy servant.”
“Yes, but I can describe the lady. All of her. Most very intimately.” Wickham now turned his eye fully to the second gentleman in the room. “But are you certain you wish your… companion to hear all these sordid details? For the right price, I can preserve the lady’s reputation, if not her virtue.” His eyes gleamed as he prepared to twist the dagger.
“Oh, of course,” Darcy’s tone was nonchalant. “You have not met my cousin, the viscount. Never mind. Continue.”
Cousin? This man was his cousin? That was a blow! Well, the aristos were known for all manner of sordid goings-on, but none in authority would truly believe that Darcy was dallying with his cousin. The vision of that particular source of income dissolved before his eyes. Regretful, but hardly instrumental to his plans.
“Very well. As I mentioned,” Wickham drawled, his Derbyshire accent growing increasingly more pronounced, “I can tell you rather alarming details about your lady’s appearance. Clothed and unclothed. She has a most unusual birthmark, right… well, never mind that. I can describe for you what she likes best, and what she has less appetite for. I can relate to you how she sounds when she is in the throes of her passion, how she cries out and allows her long fingernails to rend the flesh on your back. Oh yes, Darcy, I can tell you all, for I have seen it all.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and crossed his arms across his chest. He allowed his confidence to show on his face and in his voice. “She is quite ruined, irrevocably so. Yours will not be the first taste of her allurements, and you shall always know that no matter what you do, she shall be thinking of me!”
Strangely, the cool look had never left Darcy’s face, and the arrogant man seemed about to speak again when the door behind the viscount flew open and a yellow and golden fireball rushed into the room. The apparition resolved itself as a furious young lady, flashing anger with every gesture as her words flew from her like daggers.
“You are nothing but a liar, George! I would not believe you if you told me the sun had risen in the east this morning. You talk about ruination, but you use the words only to wound and not in truth. Lizzy set me straight, and now I know just how low and despicable you really are. You are a cad and a rat and you should be hauled away in chains!”
Well, well, well! The little kitten had grown claws. And she had mentioned this Lizzy again. A governess? A paid companion? It was irrelevant. “Georgiana, how delightful—” he began, but Darcy cut him off with a flick of his hand.
“Enough with the nonsense, Wickham. Not a soul here believes you. You may have seduced and ruined some poor girl, but nothing you have said convinces me even to bring these accusations before my betrothed. I have complete and utter faith in her, regardless of what tripe you may spill from your soiled lips. Be gone and never let me see you again.”
This was too much! Was the man that cold, that he could accept the faithlessness of his future bride so easily? That he had no care that she had been seduced and thoroughly ruined by his own former friend? “I see why Caroline was always so loath even to mention your name,” he spat out. “You are the most unfeeling of men. She should better have chosen elsewhere.”
Now what was this? Was Darcy laughing? Did Darcy ever laugh? How dare he turn this most serious accusation into a joke? This was no matter for amusement.
“Caroline?” Darcy roared between guffaws. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this a pretty pickle you have yourself in now! Caroline Bingley? Oh, Alfred, this is joke indeed! I haven’t been this diverted in years. Whatever shall Richard say? And Charles, oh, poor, poor Charles, to be saddled with this rat as a brother. Oh, this is too diverting by far!”
This was not going as expected! Why was Darcy laughing, and why on earth did he think that Wickham would ever be Charles Bingley’s brother? “You are too cruel, Darcy, to make light of your betrothed in this way! Have you no shame, no sense of decency?” Wickham was astounded, and rather confused.
“I have the greatest sense of decency, although you have none at all, it seems.” Darcy rose and walked to the open door behind him, then called in the gentlest voice Wickham had ever heard emanate from his stiff and conceited throat. “Eliza, dearest, would you be so kind as to grace us with your presence?”
A rather pretty young woman entered the study, beautifully but not ostentatiously dressed, a model of grace and decorum. Wickham thought he recalled seeing her on several occasions in Meryton. Was this Georgiana’s governess? She seemed rather grand for a companion, but Georgiana Darcy always had to have the very best. Had Darcy picked the chit up there, as he might a souvenir from a quaint local shop? But wait… he had called her ‘dearest,’ his hand was on her back at her waist, and that soft look in his eye…
“Wickham, I shall not sully the lady by offering an introduction, but this, THIS, is my betrothed. You have ruined the wrong woman, and now I shall see you wed to her, should she be in agreement, to atone for your crimes.” He sat back in his chair and beamed at the woman next to him; his cousin and sister looked equally amused. Wickham turned to run, but two large and imposing footmen had appeared at the door, and it seemed that escape was impossible. The dagger had been twisted, but it was impaled in the wrong person.
“But.. but…” he sputtered. “This is not possible! Caroline intimated she knew you, suggested she was to be married to you…”
“Caroline has been convinced for years that she would one day be married to me, but she has always been the only one who believed it. Until now!” He laughed again, the impudent fool. “At no point has this supposed engagement existed anywhere other than in her mind.”
Wickham sputtered for a moment, then exploded, “But… I cannot marry her!” Oh, the horror that would be. Caroline was a fine partner for the bedroom, but much of life existed outside of the bedsheets, and the woman’s personality would be a hardship to endure for more than the time it took to remove her clothing. Anxious for a reprieve, Wickham threw out, “I have no income, nothing on which to live! I was relieved of my duties when I failed to reappear after my leave in the spring.” Did he really admit that? Oh, how desperate he must be! “Your friend, Bingley, would never allow his dear sister to live in penury!”
“Fear not, Wickham.” That look in Darcy’s eye was not cool; no, it was ice cold. “I have taken steps on your behalf to ensure your comfortable existence, within limits.” He opened a drawer in the desk before him and rifled through some papers before withdrawing an envelope. “This appeared in yesterday’s post,” Darcy continued. “You see, there is a commune of reformers who have established themselves in a remote part of Wales, an offshoot of some Quaker sect, I believe, with a determination towards societal reform. They have been pestering me endlessly about my thoughts on moral and work reform and the nature of their self-contained community. When I saw you in Meryton—oh yes, I saw you, and knew what you were about—I decided, as a joke, to reply that you, George Wickham, were one of the most innovative moral thinkers in England.” Did Darcy’s eyes actually twinkle at this? Was such a thing even possible? “They have since decided to devote a portion of their commune’s income to supporting you and your wife as you live in and guide their community. The money shall not, of course, be yours, nor shall you retain a penny should you leave, but whilst you remain with them and provide them with the leadership they desire, you will live most comfortably. The choice, Wickham, is yours.
“In the meantime, please make yourself at home in the rooms I shall allot to you in the servants’ wing. You are a deserter from the militia, and I have a note from my cousin the colonel to keep you secure should I find you. There you may wait whilst I inform Colonel Fitzwilliam of your whereabouts and my friend Charles Bingley of your recent activities and give him the news about his sister. That should make for some rather interesting conversation at their dinner table, don’t you think?” Darcy smiled icily. “Lads, take him to the room I set out. Have a guard at the door at all times, should our guest decide to leave.” And that was the end of the interview.
~
Lizzy had been most alarmed when she saw Wickham ride up to the front doors earlier that day. Her own concerns about the rival cousins faded in significance to whatever this unexpected visit might purport, and she had rushed off at once to find Darcy. She knew little from her own experience about Wickham, but from everything she had learned from Georgie, his arrival at this time could have no good will behind it.
She found Darcy in the library, where he had been showing Georgiana some of the excellent books on natural history in his collection. Freddy, too, was in the room, reading through the memoirs he had with him. In other circumstances Lizzy would have tried to speak with Darcy alone, but now time was of the essence, and the few minutes it might take to extricate Darcy from his conversation with Georgie might give Wickham some undeserved advantage in whatever scheme he had in mind. Therefore she had announced to all present that their unwelcome guest had arrived, thus to give them all the most time to prepare.
Knowing what damage her declaration might have caused, she looked immediately to Georgie. Indeed, the young lady’s face turned white and she gasped as she took an involuntary step backward, seeming for a moment to collapse inward upon herself. Her brother caught her and held her securely by the shoulders as Lizzy apologised to both with her every expression.
