One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (67 page)

The general alarm among the Morris brothers was extreme, yet they dared not move from where they stood. They began to argue vehemently amongst themselves about which of them was to blame. After several minutes of their bickering, during which time no enlightenment regarding the actual events came forth, Sir Vincent stepped in to question them.

They freely admitted that they had taken Wickham away from the pub after the fight. Their claimed reason for doing so was that two of them had separately run into men earlier that day who were looking for Wickham. They were instructed that if they came upon any information on his whereabouts, they should go to Darcy House to report it, and they would be handsomely rewarded if the information proved true.

Two of the Morris brothers were acquainted with Wickham, and when they spotted him fighting at the Bucket o' Blood, they reasoned among themselves that if Darcy would pay handsomely for information to find him, how much more generous would that rich gentleman be if they delivered the man himself? This question elicited more accusations of blame amongst the brothers, along with additional pushing and cussing between them as their narrative eroded into language so vulgar that it could not be easily understood by gentlemen unacquainted with such colorful language.

Their mother once again silenced them but changed her tactics by addressing questions now to just one son, Samuel Morris, and from him, the story came forth with clarity. Mr. Wickham had initially expressed his gratitude for their rescue from the fight in the pub, and gladly boarded a hired cab with the four brothers to distance himself from the scene. His face, they said, was much covered in blood and swollen, and he held onto his side, obviously in severe pain. When they had gone some distance, he said they were far enough away, and asked to be let off, but the brothers instead told him where they were taking him. When Wickham heard their destination of Darcy House, he became angry, declaring that they were delivering him into the hands of his sworn enemy. They did not relent, however, and Wickham unexpectedly leapt from the moving carriage.

Jonathon and Thomas had followed him out of the cab, running back to the place where he had jumped. They found Wickham, collapsed and groaning in pain at the side of the road, his leg broken. Despite the broken bone, returning him to the cab required the muscle and fists of all four brothers, as Wickham fought valiantly against them. By the time they arrived at Darcy House, Wickham had not only calmed but was passing in and out of consciousness, and the brothers suspected that their efforts to subdue him had gone too far. In fear, they had discarded him on the doorstep, rapped on the door, and fled, all thoughts of the hoped-for reward fleeing with them.

~*~

The discovery of the events of the last hour of Wickham's life had sobered Darcy. He pondered on Wickham's dying answer to his question, “Who did this to you?” Wickham had replied, accusing Darcy, “You did.” It was impossible to know if the injury that had killed Wickham had been inflicted by the Frenchman, acquired in the ill-fated leap from the carriage or in the overly harsh blows of his rescuers turned captors, but Darcy felt his own burden of guilt keenly. The idea had seemed so absurd when Wickham had said it, yet now he recognized the possibility, and he was struck with the realization that a man's truth was painted from the perspective where he stood, colored by his bias, the brush-strokes of his character being the source from which the image developed. In that moment, Darcy realized that in his dying breath, Wickham had, in all probability, believed that Darcy truly was to blame.

“What makes you so serious?” Fitzwilliam put one hand on Darcy's shoulder. “Surely you are looking forward to seeing Mrs. Younge again.”

Darcy looked up, and realized that they were nearly to her residence. They had made their way back to Drury Lane after bidding farewell to Sir Vincent, who had returned to Bow Street, and they now stood before the large wooden door that marked the threshold of Mrs. Younge's current residence.

The colonel knocked loudly on the door, and it swung open to reveal an elderly woman within. Just behind her was Mrs. Younge, who upon seeing Mr. Darcy, cried out in distress for her to close the door, but Darcy wedged his foot inside the doorframe. With small effort he pushed the door back open, and the cousins found themselves within the entryway of the household, unwelcome though they may be.

It was quickly apparent that Mrs. Younge did not have any understanding as to why the two men were at her door, dressed as they were. It was also evident that she was expecting Mr. Wickham to arrive there at any moment; indeed, she had been under the belief that the knock at the door had been the same.

Upon the revelation of Wickham's fate, Mrs. Younge fell heavily down onto the nearest chair, but this was her only outward expression that anything was amiss. She stared dumbly at the men who had delivered the news—her former employer whom she had deceived, and his cousin. She was surprised to find some degree of compassion in their faces.

It was then that she confided to them that she knew something of Wickham's plan to make them pay for Georgiana's letter, although she could not approve of further harming that poor child. She confessed that like he had so many others, Wickham had deceived her also, with the promise that when they had together amassed sufficient fortune, she was the one with whom he would truly elope. At first, she had believed him sincere, but as she watched him spend or gamble every penny they acquired, she had realized her trust in him was in vain. She was strangely without evidence of feeling as she spoke, and her speech tumbled out as though she had lain awake for many nights rehearsing what she would say should such a moment arise.

At length, she walked to the fireplace, and going to a box on the mantle, she retrieved a paper from it. She handed it to Mr. Darcy without ceremony, but with an apology for her part in the scheme, which was to harbor the letter to prevent Mr. Darcy from discovering it.

He unfolded it, scanned its contents and cast it immediately upon the fire. He leaned heavily upon the mantle and watched it burn until there was no trace left of the offensive document, and then turned with what may have resembled satisfaction and declared that the letter was no more.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved his coin purse, which he set on the table. “Mrs. Younge, I do not expect we shall ever see one another again, but I leave with you this token of gratitude that you have delivered to me, with no expectation of reward, the very item that I was seeking. I hope that you have learned something from this misadventure and will seek an honest living in future. I will leave you now.”

With their mission of destroying that letter accomplished, Smythe and Pratt hired a cab and returned to Darcy House.

~*~

Elizabeth lolled in the familiar comfort of her own bed, the residual achiness from her recent illness accentuating the feeling of her soft bedding that enveloped her as if in a cloud. She woke gradually, and still sleepy, she wondered at the strangeness of the light in her room. It was somehow wrong—as dim as pre-dawn, yet with a brightness that did not whisper of the coming of a new day. She stretched, resisting the wakefulness that was coming until she realized that she was fully dressed within the folded counterpane. She sat up with a start as the recollections of time and place returned. A dull pain settled in her throat as the turns of her world from the past few days rushed into her mind in an overwhelming cacophony of thought and emotion.

She stood and tidied her bed before moving to the window. A light skiff of snow had fallen, flurries of flakes still swirling past the windowpane. The gnarled gray bones of the tree outside her window shimmered where the light dusting of tiny white crystals were illuminated by the light of late afternoon. It was a peaceful scene, yet it somehow caused Elizabeth to recall the windy morning of the day of the ball when, looking through this same window, she had seen Mr. Darcy on the road. Although she knew it was impossible, her eyes were compelled to seek that place she had seen him. The current emptiness of the road echoed the hollow place that twisted inside her when she thought of him. Looking back out the window, she caught the faintest hint of her own reflection, and recalled, with some melancholy, Mr. Darcy's use of a darkened pane to spy on her. A streak of purple lightening flashed in the sky, striking somewhere on Mount Oakham. It seemed a mystical reminder of the morning he had come upon her at the base of the mount and they had together shared the glory of the sunrise and a crust of bread.

Then she remembered the letter. Her eyes were drawn to the drawer that held the letter, seemingly by the same pull that had turned them to the road just a moment before. The letter from Mr. Darcy, she realized, intimidated her more than the man himself ever did. “My courage always rises!” Elizabeth whispered aloud, determined not to be daunted by a piece of paper. She retrieved the letter from the drawer and returned to the window seat, where there was still enough light to read.

She had already broken the seal, so with slightly trembling fingers, Elizabeth unfolded the letter and began to read.

My dearest Elizabeth,

I have been gone but two days from Netherfield, and already it seems as though an eternity has passed. I know that some would think it wrong of me to write to you when we are not yet properly engaged, but I felt it necessary, for reasons that will soon become clear.

I pray that you are well and sufficiently recovered for the travel back to your home, which you must know was for your protection. I assume that if this letter has made it into your hands, you will already be at Longbourn, safe in the arms of your family. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had observed some strangeness of behavior on the part of Miss Bingley, and it was his expressed opinion that she meant you some harm. With his own return to London, he advised that the wisest course would be to remove you from that location where Miss Bingley might have any power over you, so this morning, I dispatch my carriage along with this letter, entrusted to Mr. Bingley to ensure that you receive it when you are well away from Netherfield.

I hope, upon the return of my carriage to London, that I, along with my sister will soon be bound for Hertfordshire ourselves. It is for this reason that I am compelled to write this letter.

Colonel Fitzwilliam tells me that you do recall some of the conversation that occurred between us before I departed for London. It is with that knowledge that I write this letter in the strictest confidence of your goodness, and faith in your ability to conceal what I must tell you.

You may have heard of it by now, but if you have not, let me be the one to tell you, that Mr. Wickham is now dead—by whose hand I know not. This is for me some great sorrow, due to his connection to our family many years hence, but I confess that I feel also some relief, to know that he will no longer be a danger to young ladies in Meryton or anywhere else in England.

This danger was felt most keenly in my very own household, when last summer, Mr. Wickham, in pursuit of my sister's fortune of thirty-thousand pounds, followed her to Ramsgate and convinced her that they were in love. He ultimately persuaded Georgiana that they must elope to Scotland. Fortunately, by the grace of God, the scheme was discovered before their departure, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and I were able to separate Mr. Wickham from her. As you may well imagine, the shame of her humiliation at his hand was a devastating blow to my sister, who at the time was not yet sixteen.

Georgiana was at home with me when Mr. Wickham was brought to the doorstep of Darcy House with severe injuries to his person. He passed to the next life less than an hour later. She did not see him but is greatly traumatized by the event. My sister is, much like myself, somewhat reserved in company, and these events have preyed greatly upon her. My purpose in bringing her to Hertfordshire is, frankly, so that she may be in company with you, as I feel that your kind and lively nature will do much to improve both her spirits and her confidence, which are at present sadly undermined. It is my hope that the sisterly affection I have observed between you and the eldest Miss Bennet may soon extend in like manner to Georgiana. An acquaintance with the eldest Miss Bennet may similarly benefit my sister, for I have observed her to be gentle and gracious in all circumstances.

Due to this history, it is imperative that no mention is made of Mr. Wickham in Georgiana's presence. How this may be best accomplished, I leave to your judgment, knowing that I may trust you to protect my sister against further heartache and scandal.

When we last spoke, I informed you that I was not at present free to openly declare my attachment to you. Of the obstacles I spoke of then, but one remains, and as I write this, I have great hopes that the resolution for this is at hand. When I return to Longbourn, it is my intention to more fully make known to you the depth of my regard and to discover whether I have found sufficient favor for you to allow me to teach you to ride horseback, which answer I was not able to receive due to your sudden illness at the ball. Your initial refusal has vexed me greatly, and
I will employ every means at my disposal to persuade you to say yes
. I intend, also, to return to you your lovely handkerchief, which was dropped from your hand sometime during that evening, and which treasure is once again in my possession.