Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Mrs. Annesley found what she wanted for her niece rather quickly, but Lydia was less easily-satisfied. Georgiana tried to escape into a bookstore, but even that did not work, for Lydia exclaimed that of course she must buy a present for her sister Mary, and she begged Georgiana to help her, as she was sure she would know exactly what an avid reader like Mary would like. Georgiana sighed, pulled the first book she recognized, Glenarvon, off the pile the bookseller had provided, and gave it to Lydia. Lydia squealed and thanked her, and Georgiana quickly headed back towards the dressmaker's, where Mrs. Annesley was just finishing up.
Bored with the rapid, excited chatter of Lydia, Georgiana noticed one of her brother's tenants at the blacksmith's shop, and decided to pay her respects. Mrs. Burns had recently given birth to another baby, and Georgiana had not yet seen it. She saw the woman was carrying a bundle on her shoulder, and thought she would like to know if Baby Burns was a boy or a girl. In any case, it would never do to pass a tenant in the street and not at least exchange greetings, particularly Mrs. Burns, whose family had been a great asset to Pemberley.
She left Mrs. Annesley at the dressmaker's and made her way to where Mrs. Burns was now chatting with the housekeeper of one of the houses on the street. Mrs. Burns was glad and flattered to be addressed by Miss Darcy, and the two made polite and friendly conversation for a few minutes.
The sun was bright that day, particularly for February, and Mrs. Burns carefully guided the young lady under the shade of an awning, where she lifted the blanket from her baby's face to show Georgiana a beautiful baby girl. Satisfied, Georgiana looked around for Mrs. Annesley and Lydia. She spotted them a few yards away, talking with one of Mrs. Annesley's acquaintances, then noticed the house next to which she was standing.
"I didn't know anybody lived here," she remarked when she noticed the new curtains in the windows. Mrs. Burns wrinkled her nose.
"I can't say that anybody does. Nobody's seen anything that I can gather, and everything they do hear around this house is somewhat ... suspicious. In fact, I think you'd better come away from here, Miss Darcy."
"Suspicious?" Georgiana was intrigued. However, just as Mrs. Burns was leading Miss Darcy away, there was a noise above, and they heard something fall onto the awning above them. Seconds later, a body rolled to the ground.
"What did I tell you?" Mrs. Burns said, turning expressive eyes on the girl next to her. "Suspicious."
The body, fortunately, seemed to be alive and for the most part unhurt, as he picked himself up and dusted himself off. Mrs. Burns brushed past him in her hurry to be away from that evil house, startling him so that he spun around to see who was that close. In so doing, he smashed right into Georgiana, who had been following closely behind Mrs. Burns. Georgiana was caught off balance and knocked to the ground. She looked up to reproach him and with a gasp recognized her Bond Street Boy.
He had muttered a sharp oath when their bodies collided, but when he realized the person who had so rudely gotten in his way was a lady--and a young, beautiful lady, at that--he lost no time in apologizing and helping her to her feet.
"No, no, it's my fault," she insisted, hardly daring to look him in the eye as she remembered all the things she had dreamed up about him. She blushed crimson when she heard Lydia gasp and squeal at the scene.
"I should have looked before I jumped," he said, smiling crookedly as he bent to pick up her bonnet and tried to place it back on her head for her. She was frozen. She felt she ought to say something, and continued to apologize.
"I should have stayed out of your way..... You j-jumped?" she gasped and her head snapped up to look him squarely in the eye. His smile faltered. He glanced back at the house, and Georgiana soon found herself wishing the words unsaid, for she was quite forgotten. She watched in disappointment as he hurriedly picked up a few things he had dropped--an odd bundle that consisted mostly of papers--and stuffing them in his pockets, ducked behind a vendor.
"Are you .. hurt?" she asked, a delayed reaction, staring in bewilderment at the spot he had vacated. Mrs. Annesley had just realized what had happened, and hurried toward her charge, Lydia following closely behind.
"Are you all right? What happened? I did not see anything until Mrs. Wickham shouted at me."
"It was so exciting!" Lydia exclaimed. "Who is he, Georgiana?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Are you all right?" Mrs. Annesley asked again, noting Georgiana's pale face. Georgiana quickly shook herself sensible again, and reassuring her companion, took some of the bundles the three of them had accumulated at the shops. As they were balancing packages in their arms, the door to the house was yanked open and two men came out, looking up and down the street. Georgiana realized that they must be the reason the boy jumped out of the window. Was he a thief, then? But he had not seemed like one. What thief only stole papers? In any case, it seemed they were intent on finding him. The smaller, more genteel-looking of the pair, approached her with a charming smile pasted on his face.
"Excuse me, miss," he said in an affected tone. Georgiana looked at him once and decided he was not to be trusted. In order to avoid being questioned, she dropped her parcels.
"My hat!" Lydia said, and started to cry. Georgiana tried to do so as well, and managed to squeeze out a few tears. Surely the man would want nothing to do with a pair of hysterical females. She exclaimed over her things, which were certainly broken, despite the fact that he picked them up and assured her of their good condition. Mrs. Annesley was immensely surprised by Georgiana's behaviour, but played along and told the man to leave. As soon as he and what appeared to be his lackey had disappeared back inside the house, Georgiana dried her eyes and went to look for the boy. The vendor would not let her pass without buying something, so she quickly paid for two fine pies and ducked behind him.
She let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding, and smiled in relief when she found him still in his hiding place. He was sitting in a doorpost, his back pressed firmly against the wood as he hurried to bind his left forearm. He noticed her out of the corner of his eye and jumped, visibly startled, before he realized it was only her. He went back to his task, saying through gritted teeth,
"A fine performance, my lady."
She flushed with pleasure and smiled modestly.
"I didn't think it would be fair if you were to survive that jump only to be handed over to them."
"Very fair-minded of you, I'm sure." He now came to the difficulty of tying the bandage with only one hand. He was about to make use of his teeth for that purpose, when Georgiana offered her assistance.
"Let me do that; you will ruin your teeth."
She noticed that he made a move, as if trying to keep out of reach, when she started forward. She wondered if he was shy, perhaps, or if he was only considering the impropriety of such a thing. Georgiana knew as well as anybody that she was behaving very carelessly, indeed, but she was too busy alternating between fascination and pity for him, to care. In any case, nobody was watching, except perhaps that old vendor. She smiled reassuringly at him as she tied the bandages.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"It's too loose."
"I beg your pardon?" Georgiana's face fell. He laughed shortly and pointed to his arm.
"I mean this. It needs to be tighter to be effective."
"Oh." She carefully untied it, then pulled the two ends sharply. He yelped and quickly nodded when she asked if that was good enough. "Did those men do this?" she asked, half expecting him to run away. His behaviour thus far had been skittish, to say the least. He only nodded and began looking around for anything he might have dropped.
She peered at him closely, wondering if it would be proper to question him further, and decided against it. She had clearly unnerved him. He stood quickly, wincing as he did so, and prepared to leave, but she was still inexplicably blocking his path.
"Will you let me pass?" he asked, and added as an afterthought, "Miss?" She remembered the meat pies she had bought, and stuck them out at him.
"He wouldn't let me back here without buying them," she explained. "And I am not hungry. You take them."
"I must present quite a pitiful picture," he commented ruefully, taking the pies. He opened his mouth to say something further, thought better of it, and forced a smile. "Thank you." She smiled brilliantly and nodded, allowing him to walk past her, then suddenly realized he was not wearing a coat.
"Aren't you cold?" she asked before she thought better of it. He straightened, turned and walked back to her until they were no more than five inches apart.
"I'm grateful for your help with those men," he said softly, "but please don't try to make any more acts of charity with me." He forgot himself for a moment and caught one curl that had strayed from her bonnet. Watching it as he wrapped it around his finger, he smiled softly, then looked brazenly into her eyes. "I don't think my pride could stand it."
Forgetting any awkwardness caused by his actions, she focused on his words and their intent. Her eyes widened in dismay and anger.
"I was only trying to be kind. It is foolhardy to go without a coat in the middle of winter."
He bowed exaggeratedly.
"I thank you for your concern. Good evening, madam." He clicked his heels together, saluted, and walked away. Her indignation mounted when she saw him give the pies--both of them!--to a beggar before he turned the corner. He could have at least waited until he was out of her sight. His design must have been to defy her.
She walked back to where she had left Mrs. Annesley to comfort Lydia, feeling a mixture of indignation and guilt. The indignation was greater, however, despite the fact that she was now faced with a sulky Lydia and a wary Mrs. Annesley. When they had piled themselves and their packages into the carriage, she ran across the street to the dressmaker and hurriedly asked for a coat which she needed right away. "No, not for me, for ... my brother. A man's coat." She smiled, hoping she sounded convincing. The dressmaker did not have a coat ready to sell, and Georgiana was forced to pay much more than she normally would have for the coat that belonged to the lady's husband. She thanked her quickly, gathered the coat on one arm, and ran back out to the carriage. "Hurry," she said to the driver, and pointed in the direction the young man had gone. She was barely able to jump into the carriage before it started rumbling along the street.
"What was that all about?" asked Mrs. Annesley.
"I'll explain later." She spotted him walking down the street with his hands in his pockets, apparently without a care in the world, as if he had not just had two men out to murder him. "Stop, now," she said, but the driver did not hear her, so she repeated herself more loudly. "Stop, I say!"
"I'm going to be sick!" Lydia wailed.
The horses protested at being drawn up so short, and everybody in the street turned to see what had caused such a ruckus. Georgiana let herself out of the carriage, proudly noting to herself that this was exactly something Elizabeth would do, and ran sheepishly towards the boy with the coat thrust away from her. He laughed at her persistence.
"It happened to be in the carriage," she said, blushing prettily at the lie.
"How unfortunate for its owner," he commented. She smiled and waited for him to take it, which he finally did, kissing her cheek in thanks. "You certainly make it impossible to refuse," he whispered and winked at her before turning to leave.
Mrs. Annesley was calling to her in flustered tones. Georgiana turned to see her friend and waved before turning to finish watching him until he was out of sight. He sensed she was still watching him, and turning around, laughed and waved one more time before turning the corner.
"Wait!" Georgiana said, then remembered it was not proper to shout in the street, and finished more to herself. "I didn't get your name."
She walked back to the carriage in a haze. Mrs. Annesley watched her warily as she climbed in. Lydia was eyeing her, as if trying to adjust her opinion of her.
"Georgiana!" she said in a hushed tone. "That was amazing! I never saw anything like it! How long have you been....? Well, it doesn't matter. I think I like him. He's not very handsome--no man can be, you know, without regimentals, and he certainly was no soldier. But I do like him." She giggled and looked out the window. "Ohh, yes, there he is now." She waved and Georgiana hoped she was sufficiently hidden behind her. "Pooh, he didn't even smile! Well, I daresay he saw my ring, and didn't want to offend Wickham. He does walk well."
Georgiana finally tuned Lydia out.
"I can't believe I did that," she whispered, touching the backs of her hands to her flaming cheeks. Mrs. Annesley smiled and patted her shoulder.
"I don't know what your brother would say," she said, causing Georgiana's expression to change from embarrassment to fear. "But I will say it is a good thing I will probably forget all about it before we get back."
Georgiana laughed in relief and pressed Mrs. Annesley's hand.
"Thank you," she breathed, then looked at Lydia, who was still leaning her head out of the window. "What will we do about her, though?"
Georgiana cringed when they entered the house and Lydia began recounting the entire trip to Elizabeth. Just as she was getting to the part involving the mysterious happenings at the one house, Georgiana had an inspiration.
"Pardon me for interrupting, but I think Elizabeth and I need to prepare for a certain entertainment this afternoon."
Elizabeth jumped up with alarming rapidity, and the two women left Lydia to realize by herself that Mrs. Annesley already knew the story. At first Georgiana thought her sister-in-law's eagerness was a result of being bored by Lydia, but after half an hour, she thought she had noticed an unusual amount of apprehension at the coming meeting. She did not know what to say to ease Elizabeth's nervousness, especially when Elizabeth herself did not introduce a way. There was no hint in her speech that she might be frightened of her husband's neighbours, and Georgiana was not skilled enough to bring the subject around, herself. She did try, though.
"Lady Danforth is such a silly woman. She thinks everybody is afraid of her, when it couldn't be further from the truth."
Elizabeth laughed at this description, and Georgiana looked at her hopefully for a sign that the tension had disappeared. She frowned when she saw Elizabeth put a hand to her stomach as though to calm butterflies.
Georgiana was relieved, when the Danforths finally arrived, that Elizabeth was upstairs. Perhaps Fitzwilliam could reassure her better than she could. Lord and Lady Danforth, and their grandson, Mr. Pearson, had to make do with Georgiana, Mrs. Annesley and Lydia for ten minutes before Darcy and Elizabeth entered, arm in arm, and looking quite pleased with themselves.
Lady Danforth raised her monocle to her eye and peered at Elizabeth. She dropped the monocle and said to her husband in a loud voice,
"She is pretty, to be sure, but too thin! How will she produce an heir? Our Frederica is better suited for that!"
Mr. Pearson looked embarrassed at his grandmother's speech, while Lord Danforth merely nodded solemnly and stuffed a crumpet into his wife's mouth. Georgiana had to work hard to keep from laughing, though she knew she could be thankful that Lydia's mouth was also full at the time, or there would have been quite a scene. Elizabeth took a seat next to her and Georgiana whispered,
"Did I mention that she is quite deaf?"
Elizabeth covered her face with her napkin to hide her laughter. Georgiana smiled comfortingly at Mr. Pearson, whose own face had now turned crimson. But she did not miss the look of barely-concealed amusement between her brother and sister. No, Elizabeth would not be afraid of Lady Danforth now.
Later that evening, when the family was alone again, Darcy and Elizabeth announced that there would soon be an addition to the family. Georgiana was, of course, delighted with this news, and immediately asked Mrs. Annesley to teach her how to knit, so she could make booties, to which Mrs. Annesley laughingly agreed.
Lydia was happy, as well, though mainly because her child would be older than her sister's. The events of that afternoon were thankfully forgotten, in favour of the expected arrivals. She raved to Georgiana for the better part of a month before George Wickham appeared at Pemberley.
Georgiana had not been warned of his presence, so it is of little wonder that she gave a squeak of fright when she burst in on him in the drawing room, where he was waiting for his wife.
"Hello, Georgiana," he said as if nothing had ever happened between them. She braced herself and came further into the room.
Returning his greeting with as much calmness as she could muster, she sat down and took up the knitting she had begun, taking great care not to look at him. Perhaps too great, she thought, and risked a glance at him. He was smiling smugly. She was forced to look away again when she felt the tears prick. How could he sit there and look at her so mockingly? He was the villain; he should be ashamed.
"You are surprised to see me," he commented.
"Yes."
"It is good to see you again, Georgie," he sighed, stretching his legs out comfortably. She looked at him quizzically and he continued. "I don't blame you if you hate me. I really did mean to marry you. Of course, that is impossible now. Your brother made certain that I would not be able to compete against whomever he has planned for you."
Georgiana felt her indignation rising at the slur against her brother, and quickly counted to ten before saying,
"You did not mean to marry Lydia, then?" Her needles clacked together noisily as she banged them into knits and pearls.
"Until I was actually tied to Lydia, I never gave up hope of marrying you. I still have feelings for you," he added after a slight, calculating pause.
"It is a wonder, then, that you took Lydia away from Brighton in the dead of night, if you did not wish to marry her." She smiled at his expression. "My brother, you see, told me all the particulars. I don't wish to think so very badly of you, Mr. Wickham. Please don't try to flirt with me when your wife could walk in on us at any moment."
She put her knitting aside and walked over to the pianoforte. Her only hope was that he would see she was entirely uninterested in him, and quit bothering her. Perhaps he would even quit the room. However, a morbid curiosity to see what would transpire between him and his wife prevented her from leaving, herself.
As she reached the end of the first section of the movement, Wickham came up behind her and whispered,
"You are doing very well, my lovely."
She always found it difficult to talk while playing, or else she would have retorted that she was not anyone's "lovely." When she finished her piece, she turned around and said sweetly,
"Do you enjoy Mozart, then?"
"Yes, but I believe the performer is more enjoyable than the music in this case."
She decided to ignore that compliment.
"I think I have a piece that you will enjoy, then. Are you familiar with Don Giovanni?"
"No," he said hesitantly.
"I think the title character is someone to whom you would be particularly able to relate."
He laughed.
"You fancy me as a Don Juan, then?"
Georgiana smiled thinly.
"Hmm. I can only wonder if your story will end the same way his does. As long as you keep up your present character, however, I can have no doubts."
Wickham smiled and thanked her, obviously unaware of how the opera ended. Georgiana barely had time to hide a smile before the door opened and Lydia threw herself into her husband's arms.
"George!" she squealed. They began to whisper together and Georgiana flushed anew when she heard her own name, followed by a trill of laughter from the couple's lips.
"I'm so glad you've come to take me home!" Lydia told him. "It was fun at first, but now Lizzy is to have a baby of her own, so nobody cares about my poor Cecilia anymore." Georgiana looked up to catch Wickham's reaction to this news. She was surprised that he actually looked interested to hear her brother was about to be a father, if a little disgusted with his wife's choice of name for his son.
"But George!" Lydia squealed. "Have you come to take me back to London, truly? I have missed it so, but...." she went on for a few minutes until Darcy came into the room. His reaction on seeing Wickham was similar to Georgiana's. He started, then his eyes narrowed. He would have ordered the man out immediately, if not for Mrs. Wickham's presence.
"What are you doing here?" he growled instead. Wickham smiled pleasantly.
"I am rescuing my wife, Darcy. You know how I love to rescue damsels in distress."
"Rather, to create them," said Darcy.
"Oh, pooh!" said Lydia. "How unsporting of you!"
She would have gone on, but her husband saw the danger of allowing his wife to insult the master of Pemberley, and grabbing her arm, dragged her out of the room. Darcy followed and Georgiana sank into her seat in relief. When she had calmed her nerves, she congratulated herself for not losing her cool. Not even the news that Wickham had resigned his commission could unsettle her. She now knew she was not to be undone by his presence.
Oddly enough, Mary did not seem to want her sister's help. She proclaimed she had no interest in these affairs of society, and wished only to live her life peacefully, and in her own way. Unfortunately, she waited to inform her sister of this new state of her principles until the Bennets had ensconced themselves in the Darcy house in London. Mrs. Bennet did not take the news well, flying into a fit and declaring that if Mary would not take it, Lizzy should just change the ball to be for Kitty, instead. Kitty, however, did not seem so enthusiastic. Lizzy was startled at this--Kitty had always enjoyed a ball before--and it was explained when they discovered she was ill.
When it became clear how serious Kitty's illness was, Darcy was loathe to allow his wife near the sickroom, afraid she would catch something and it would harm the baby. However, he could not stop Georgiana, when she realized that Mrs. Bennet was too busy having nervous attacks to be of any use, and Mary spent the time poring through her various books of sermons to come with "useful" things to tell Kitty, who responded by throwing her tea cup at her.
Soon enough, Mr. Bennet arrived, saying he was on summons from Darcy, who protested that he had done no such thing. Mr. Bennet quickly assessed the situation and removed the excess Bennets from Pemberley. His little Lizzy should not be expected to put up with such things when in her delicate condition, he said, and though Mrs. Bennet was indignant at first, at the thought of being absent from her daughter's first childbirth, the news soon came that Lydia had been delivered of a son, and she skipped off to visit the Wickhams.
For the next week, Georgiana could feel herself slipping into lethargy. She could not think she had ever been so disappointed, though she knew she had. It came as a relief, therefore, when Colonel Fitzwilliam showed up at the door.
The spirits of those in the house soared while Richard was with them, and Georgiana never guessed that he had come on summons from Darcy to discuss the problem of George Wickham. She did realize that he was there for some reason they did not want to disclose to her, though. She even caught Elizabeth sending secret messages to her husband. This disconcerted her a little bit, but she would not allow herself to think about it.
Almost as soon as they had discussed it, Richard took leave of his cousins, presumably to call on his fiancée.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was as disturbed as his cousin to realize that George Wickham was back in London, free of any superior officer who might have kept him in line. It was comforting to realize that he could not seduce Georgiana for her fortune now, since he was married, but he could not be entirely comfortable with not knowing what the leech was planning.
It was for this reason that he travelled to the place where Darcy had found Wickham the year before, on purpose to bribe the man into good behaviour. He was not surprised to find that the Wickhams had long ago given up their living quarters here. After asking a few questions, he did not find himself any better off than he had been to start.
One of the gutter rats came up to him and offered to sell him information for a good price. Richard grinned and slipped a coin into the child's hand.
"Blimey, sir!" he said, his eyes widening. "I don't know nothin' worth that much!"
"What do you know, then?"
"I know that Wickham used to go in that pub every night," he pointed across the street, "and then 'e'd go back home, and there'd be a lot of giggling. One night a man came an' took Mrs. Wickham--or whoever the girl was--away, and Wickham left after that. I ain't seen 'im since."
Fitzwilliam snorted in frustration. The boy sniffed and stuck his toe into the ground.
"If you wanna know more, sir, you might try askin' one of the Morgans to find 'im for you."
"The Morgans?"
"They know things," the boy said somewhat ominously. "There's two of 'em: Will an' Matt."
"Oh, they are detectives?" Richard raised an eyebrow.
"Will is," the boy nodded. "Nobody's sure about Matt, but 'e does some lookin' into things, too."
"Are they reliable?"
"Nobody ever complained."
"Are they partners?"
"Used to be." Richard nodded and gave the boy another coin. He wasn't sure about these Morgans: for all he knew, they could be nothing more than the local gossips. But after some thought, he decided it was worth a try, and began asking around. He was surprised at how open the people were about the Morgans, not at all the reaction he had expected from people being questioned about detectives.
"Will's a fine man," the bartender said.
"Aye, but 'e's too busy," said a young man at the other end of the bar. "If you wanna hire someone, hire Matt."
"You only want 'im out o' the way so you can be alone with Katie," one of the barmaids laughed. The young man frowned and turned back to Colonel Fitzwilliam.
"I'll take you to 'im, if you want."
"Stop stealin' business from Will, Sam Higgins," somebody said. "Will's more reliable. Matt's dangerous, but 'e pays Sam; that's why 'e's so eager for your business."
"Will's too busy," Sam persisted. "Me an' Matt would get the job done--but you gotta talk to Matt first."
"I heard the two of them used to be partners," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Why aren't they now?"
Several of the people in the bar cleared their throats and looked at the floor. Sam shrugged and said in an overly-nonchalant manner,
"Will an' Matt ain't spoken since Will's daughter got 'erself in a fix."
"Then they aren't father and son?"
"No, some sort of cousins is what I 'eard."
"Where do you come in?"
"I'm Will's nephew."
"Can he find what I need?"
"Matt can find anything," Sam boasted, then added, "With my help, of course."
"I was referring to Will," Richard explained. "This Matt of yours sounds like a scoundrel in his own right."
"Well, that ain't got nothin' to do with your business," said Sam defensively. "An' Will ain't got time for you, nohow. Matt don't charge much, an' 'e needs it more than Will."
"Where can I find Will?"
"He won't see you."
"It's the truth, Colonel," said the bartender apologetically. "His wife's havin' another baby; been screamin' since this morning."
Richard's eyebrows rose at this news.
"But Matt, on the other 'and, is at 'ome with nothing to do, probably bored out of 'is mind an' wantin' somethin' to occupy 'imself with."
Richard sighed and decided there was nothing to lose by meeting this man.
"Very well, Mr. Higgins. Take me to him."
Sam Higgins grinned, thinking of the reward Matt Morgan might give him for bringing in a prospective customer. He shook the colonel's hand and, after finishing his drink in one gulp, led him through some back alleys until they came to a bakery. Richard was beginning to have doubts.
"If this is a trick, Higgins,...."
"No trick," Sam assured him. "Worked out a deal with the baker after he didn't wanna live with Will anymore."
Richard sighed at the reminder of his prospective employee's reputation. Ordinarily, he did not like to have dealings with such people, but this was for Georgiana, so he would have to suffer. He followed Sam up a set of stairs on the side of the building.
"I'd better go in first. He's been rather odd lately."
Richard acquiesced and waited while Sam went inside. He jumped when he heard something crash against the wall. He heard a woman weeping, and was about to go in, when the door opened and a surprisingly young man glared at him.
"Matthew Morgan?" Richard asked, his heart sinking as he took in the sight before him. The boy was only half-dressed and looked as if he had just been in a fight and was still angry enough to go after the first person to brush him the wrong way. But for the moment, he only nodded curtly and went back into the room, leaving the door open for Richard to come in. Richard followed, taking in the contents of the room. There was a bed in the middle of the room, unmade, and a pile of linen in one corner, apparently put there for someone to sleep there, as well. Two children, a boy and a girl, still slept, though the girl who was apparently their mother--and expecting another--was loudly cleaning up the remains of what had been a plate. She stopped suddenly when she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam and stood up straighter to gawk. Richard was too disgusted by the whole to be charming, and nearly forgot what he was there for.
"I suppose you have a name," said the boy--Matthew Morgan--bringing Richard suddenly back to the present. He blinked several times and realized Morgan was looking at him somewhat mockingly. He remembered that it was not polite to show disgust and molded his face into an expressionless stare.
"Yes," he answered shortly. "Fitzwilliam."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam," the insolent boy said, still in that half-mocking, half-simpering tone Fitzwilliam was used to being reserved for high society. He shifted uncomfortably. The boy's tone grated on his nerves, he had to admit, but he would not show it. "How lovely of you to visit. I'd offer you some tea, but I seem to be all out, and it is early yet."
"Would you like some whiskey?" said the girl, coming forward and brushing her hair back from her face. "I think we 'ave some of that."
"Uh, no, thanks."
"Please sit down," she said, motioning to the room in general, then blushed when she realized there was no chair. Colonel Fitzwilliam sat politely on the bed.
"Katie, go visit your mother," said Morgan almost wearily.
"But..."
"Go."
Katie left, taking Sam forcibly with her. Richard thought these young people exceedingly odd, but refrained from saying anything.
"I hear you have important business for me."
"Yes."
"Well?" The boy was impatient. Richard roused himself from his reverie and said with an apologetic smile,
"I'm sorry; I had assumed you would be older."
"I did not have time to assume anything about you."
"I don't know that I'm comfortable hiring a child."
"Are children involved in your..." he waved his hand, searching for the right word, "dilemma?" He sat down on the table and stared at the Colonel, waiting for him to get to the point. Richard took a deep breath and began.
"There is a certain man who has proved himself a threat to my family."
"You are not married."
"How do you know that?"
"You wear no ring."
"Oh. Well, no. I was referring to my blood family. My cousins."
"I see. Go on."
"Well, my cousin and I had thought we were rid of him, but he has reappeared, and though he stated nothing specifically, there have been implied threats."
"Rid of him, you say. You tried to kill him?"
"No!"
The detective grinned mischievously.
"That would have solved the problem, I think."
"I am not hiring you to murder him." Richard was suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.
"Of course not. I would not accept it if you were. If I did kill him for you, I would hang long before you would, if they ever arrested you, and I don't think that's quite fair, do you? Now, what is this man's name?"
"George Wickham."
He nodded and wrote the name down for future reference. Richard noted vaguely that Sam Higgins and the others he had met today would likely not know how to do that.
"You don't want me to kill him. What do you want me to do?" "Keep an eye on him. Tell me who he is keeping company with. Inform me if he leaves London. He has proved himself dangerous to my family in the past; I wish to safeguard them from him."
"I see. If he is so dangerous, why is he not in jail?"
Richard opened his mouth to tell him, but remembered just in time Darcy's warning never to breathe a word of the Ramsgate affair to anybody.
"That is none of your business."
"On the contrary, Colonel. I think it has everything to do with my business." He produced a business card and placed it into the colonel's hand.
"Suffice it to say, we judged it best not to call attention to the family in that way."
"In what way?"
"That I will not tell you."
"Suit yourself. But you're only making my job harder, which means it could take longer, which means you will be paying me more."
"Speaking of that....."
"My fees vary, depending on the sort of thing I am obliged to suffer while doing your business. I will get back to you on that."
"Wonderful," Richard remarked sardonically. "I hope you find my net worth is to your satisfaction."
"I'm sure it will be," the boy smiled sweetly, holding the door open. "Oh, and Colonel..." Richard turned around to look at him. "Watch yourself." Richard's eyebrows rose. He did not know if this was merely a polite farewell or an angry response to his remark. Matthew Morgan only grinned, as if he was a dog baring his teeth, and closed the door behind Richard as he left.
Richard wasn't sure if he was supposed to be frightened or not, but he held his cloak more tightly around himself as he walked home.
As he was turning the corner to climb the stairs, he noticed an inert form lying under the awning. He observed it for a few minutes before deciding that, though it did look hopeless, the person could be alive, and he bent down to see for himself. He was startled--but not really shocked--to see that it was Morgan. He was just beginning to wonder what he would do now, when a voice surprised him.
"If you don't take your hand off my neck this minute, I'll run you through."
Richard looked down and saw that Morgan was staring at him through one bruised eye. He quickly removed his hand.
"I was feeling for a heartbeat," he said superfluously. Morgan smirked and tried to raise himself to a sitting position, but only crashed down again with a moan.
"I would be interested to see you attempt to run me through in this condition," Richard remarked, and helped him up. Morgan leaned back with his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
"You'll have to wait for that pleasure, Colonel," he said with a slight smile. "Even if I could, my knife was stolen last night."
"And there is the matter of your diminished strength."
"It looks worse than it is, I'm sure."
"We need to get you to a surgeon."
Morgan shook his head.
"No doctor. Help me to stand."
Richard obeyed.
"You say they stole your knife. Did they use it?"
"No, thank God," Morgan laughed painfully. "They weren't paid enough to kill me, I'll wager."
"You know who it was?"
"But of course. Let go of me, Colonel. I can walk." His words were belied when, as soon as Richard let go of him, he fell back to his knees. He muttered a curse and when Richard tried to help him up again, shook him off angrily. "I can take care of myself."
"Your stubbornness will likely get you killed one day, boy," Richard said, smiling in appreciation of that same quality.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm fetching your wife." Richard turned in his place on the second stair and looked down at him. Morgan looked away.
"Wife!" he muttered, his tone decidedly incredulous. "You'd be better off going down the street to Will Morgan's house. Will hates me, but Sam would come."
Richard decided the best course of action would be to ignore this, and he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He looked down at Morgan, who had buried his head in his hands. His instincts told him there was someone inside, and he was curious to know why Morgan didn't want him to go in there. He knocked again, but still no answer. He could hear the faint sounds of a baby crying, and thinking it might be alone and hungry, decided on a course of action: he kicked the door down.
Morgan was nodding off again by now, but Richard was too shocked to pay attention. Inside the room, the girl Morgan had called Katie was sitting on the bed in her shift, with a man he had never seen before sleeping next to her. Katie screamed, which woke up the man and caused the two babies to start wailing, as well.
"I thought you should know," said Richard, averting his eyes, "that your, erm.... that is... you're a friend of Matthew Morgan, aren't you?"
Katie looked perplexed and shrugged assentingly.
"I s'pose you could say I know 'im," she snorted and giggled.
"Well, he's been hurt.... He's downstairs. Could I bring him up here?"
"I think you'd better.... 'Ow bad is it?"
"Oh, blast," said the man beside her. "He's here?" He yelped and began pulling his clothes on. Katie rolled her eyes.
"If 'e's hurt, there's nothin' 'e can do to you, Billy. 'E's probably been there all night."
"Aye, but... 'e'll see me, an' 'e'll remember, an' then, when 'e gets better...." He could not finish, but ran past Richard out the door, holding his beltless pants up with one hand.
"I'll see you at Joe's, Billy," Morgan called after him. Richard's confusion about the relationship between him and Katie was growing. He could only shrug and assume they were brother and sister, though that did not explain why they had different accents. Katie had pulled on a frock by now, and came down the stairs with Richard behind her to have a look at her friend's injuries. She gasped when she saw him pass out and knelt down to shake him.
"Don't do that," Richard hissed, stilling her arms. "He might have broken something." In fact, it was very likely, he mused. "Does he get into fights often?"
"No more than any man 'round 'ere." She touched him tentatively then slapped his face several times. "Wake up, Matt. You can't die now."
"Od's fish, woman, you're not helping things," Morgan grumbled, flinching away from her hand that was raised to strike again. "I'm not dying, so don't start dreaming up your eulogy yet. Go visit your mother."
"But...."
"I may need her help," said Richard.
"I won't have her touching me," said Morgan darkly. "You won't need help carrying me. I may be dead weight, but I'm not much of it."
Katie started to sniffle.
"That's no way to treat me, Matt. After I was so concerned about you..... and in my condition!"
"Because of your condition, you have no business lifting me." He flashed a humorless smile. Richard had to admit this point. "I walked this far from --------- Street last night, Katie; I could have burst in on you and Billy in the act. You really should be more careful." Katie scowled and crossed her arms, refusing to budge.
"You're drunk."
"Not a bit of it, m'dear."
"You must be. 'E doesn't talk to me like that unless 'e's drunk," she said to Richard sweetly as he carefully brought one of Morgan's arms around his own shoulders and helped him up the stairs.
"Madam," said Richard, "I think it would be best if you were to leave."
"But..... my condition!" she yelped. Richard winced, having nearly forgotten about it.
"Your mother lives right down the block," Morgan muttered to himself. "Probably takes great pleasure in the spectacle." He disengaged himself from Richard's grasp, keeping himself standing by grabbing hold of a rope that was stretched across the length of the room. Sheets and other linens hung from it, suspended in the dank air as if to dry.
"Make yourself agreeable, Matt. You've done it once or twice since I've known you."
"Never for your benefit, I hope," he muttered. She spun around on him, pulling him to her with a stunning force for such a small woman. Though she effectively blocked Richard's view of Morgan's reaction, he did hear a slight cry of pain that was quickly cut off. He instinctively rushed forward, to try to stop the fight before it got ugly. The young pair still glared at each other, one with anger, the other with hatred.
"Please," said Richard. "Be calm. Think of the children."
"If you lose this customer, and my children go hungry again, I'll never forgive you. Why don't you think of the children, Matt?" Katie hissed lowly, so that Richard almost didn't hear her. "I've seen you do that once or twice, too."
"Then you have an advantage over me, for I remember no such thing of you."
She made an obvious effort to rein her temper in. Richard thought there was something frighteningly violent about the way she released him, and the glare she received in return did not help his discomfort. She paid no attention to this, but smiled sweetly once again at the colonel and tried to wait on him as much as possible with her few provisions. Richard was confused by this couple--for he was almost certain by now that they were, in fact, a couple. He knew it was not his place to try to fix their affairs, but he could not help feeling sorry for each of the people involved, particularly the children.
"Katie, go home." This was said with a weakness that obviously did not stem from a beating.
"This is my home," she said between her teeth, keeping her forced smile.
"I don't think he wants you to see him like this," said Richard helpfully, finally stepping in. "It is very embarrassing to a man, for his wife to see him in such a sad state."
"Oh," said Katie, blinking. She glanced at Morgan once again, who had averted his gaze to hide his amusement and disgust. "Well.... I suppose it would be. Well, then, I'll go. And I'll take Josie with me." So saying, she scooped up the little girl, kissed the little boy on the forehead, and left.
"I don't understand why she suddenly goes from being a harpy, to thinking I want her to fawn over me," Morgan muttered moodily, making his way to the bed. "It's not as if she doesn't have her fill of suitors."
Richard cleared his throat awkwardly. Morgan lowered himself to the floor beside the bed and smiled apologetically at him.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that scene. She seems to bring out the worst in me." He dug around under the bed and brought out a crate filled with small vials. "Fact is, I would have burst in on her last night, and relished it, if it hadn't been for those blasted stairs. That Billy of hers is a bit too cocksure of himself."
"I talked to my cousin yesterday," Richard remarked, desperately changing the subject.
"Is that so?"
"We're not certain we're comfortable with this arrangement."
Morgan didn't say anything. Richard shifted uncomfortably in his chair just as the child chose that moment to crash to the floor. Both men jumped and craned their necks to see if he was injured. The boy was unfazed and toddled over to the bed, tugging on Morgan's arm.
"Papa, I'm hungry."
Morgan winced with pain and Richard kindly took the boy in his arms. He felt great pity for the child--both of them.
"Am I to guess why you suddenly think I won't fit your purposes?" Morgan asked quietly, pouring a liberal amount of the contents of one of the bottles into a cup that had also occupied the box.
"I can't see any reason why I thought you would, in the first place," Richard said, apologetically blunt. Morgan nodded, not looking up. When he finally spoke, his voice was tightly controlled.
"It has been three days since our initial agreement. I admit, I had thought your grudge against Mr. Wickham was nothing more than that: a simple grudge. However, I have now met the man...."
"You what?"
"Is it so astonishing? We live in the same neighbourhood. It is only natural we should meet, particularly since I am--I assume--being paid to meet him."
"Was it he who...."
Morgan snorted.
"Hardly. That sorry excuse for a man wouldn't..... No, he didn't."
"The two are unrelated, then."
"Not quite. That is, I don't think so. You see, Wickham took exception to the way I play cards."
"How's that?"
"I win, that's how. And of course he didn't like it."
"I see."
"He also had a slight grudge against me......"
"How's that?"
Morgan smiled sheepishly.
"The day you first visited me, I sought out his living quarters. He was not home, but his wife was."
"I see."
"Do you? I don't think you do. Do you know, Colonel, I think you have an unreasonably bad opinion of me."
"I have no opinion of you."
"Ha! I'll believe that when Tom Gorfey produces an intelligent thought."
"Who?"
"A local bully. Very stupid fellow, along with his brother, Jim." He downed another cupful of vile stuff from one of his vials, and grimaced. "Well," he amended. "Perhaps that's doing Jim a slight disservice. They're both stupid in their own way, but Jim is significantly nearer intelligence than his brother. Tom is almost an innocent."
"That is a generous thing to say, if they are the ones who beat you."
"I said `almost,' Colonel," he grinned wickedly as he filled another cup.
"Did they do this, then?"
"Hm." Morgan's face darkened. "They tried to make it look like a robbery, but that was obviously not their idea. Cowardly men, they are. They like to attack a man from behind. One immobilizes him, while the other smacks him around a bit."
"I see."
"Yes, you do, don't you?" He looked down, suddenly self-conscious, and began looking about himself for a shirt to replace his tattered one.
"Is anything broken?"
"Nothing important."
"It's amazing that you escaped with your life."
Morgan chuckled and stuck his head under the bed.
"The only things broken last night were Tom's nose and Jim's arm. I think I did well for myself, all things considered." He came back out from under the bed, and produced a nearly-clean shirt.
"That makes no sense."
"It was marvelous, really. It didn't seem so at the time, but in retrospect, I must say it must have been marvelous to watch." He laughed delightedly and downed yet another cup full of unknown beverage. Richard fidgeted uncomfortably, still holding the child, wondering if he was going to have a drunk on his hands soon. Finally, Morgan had replaced all the contents into the box, and slowly shoved it back under the bed. He bit his lip and stared at the floor for a moment before looking up at the colonel.
"I realize I don't seem like the person for your investigation. Generally, you would want someone with a bit more experience. I also realize you hold certain aspects of my personal life in disgust. I assure you, I could explain everything, but I don't feel it is any of your business, and it certainly does not relate to George Wickham in any way."
"There's no need to beg, Mr. Morgan," said Richard, setting the boy back on the floor and watching him toddle back to his corner, where his few pathetic toys were. Morgan blanched.
"I'm not begging. If you intend to take your business elsewhere, I'm sure I don't care. I resent being thought unworthy because of Katie and an untidy room."
Richard smiled to himself and decided to spare what was left of the boy's pride.
"And a drinking habit."
Morgan looked at him sharply, then threw back his head and laughed. The laughter did not last long, because of a certain problem with his ribs, but it did serve to ease some of the tension.
"Yes, that too."
"How long will it be before you're able to begin work again?"
"I see your confidence in my abilities has grown. Is that all it took, a vague account of a brawl?"
"I ask because I cannot pay for days that are unaccounted for. You are obviously capable--as long as you stay out of fights--and I don't like the idea of children starving. Also, there's the matter of your wife."
"Oh, have you met her? Could you introduce me?"
"In any case, I don't think she would think kindly of you or me if I were to take this work elsewhere."
"A pretty speech," he nodded approvingly. "Brutal, but pretty. Katie I can handle; knowing I'm working only because of her, perhaps not." He smiled ruefully and held out his hand. After Richard had pulled him up to a standing position, they shook. "If you should happen across a person named Billy Wilson on your way home, Colonel, send him to me. There are a few things I would say to him." He smiled charmingly and Richard felt momentary pity for Katie's lover.
Rosings, Kent
30 June, 1813Dear Georgiana,
If this letter reaches you before or on the 2nd, HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
How does it feel to be seventeen, little cousin? I have quite forgotten, it seems so long ago.
Nothing of significance has happened to me lately. My life is filled with nothing but visits to and from Lady Metcalfe, with Mother, of course. And there are the short stops we give at the parsonage and other charity calls. But nothing amuses me. I have decided I need to read more, as Mrs. Collins tells me that many adventures can be found in books. Do you have anything you recommend? Mr. Collins overheard us talking and recommended Fordyce's Sermons. Have you read them? I would like somebody else's opinion before I begin, for I must admit, the size of them is quite daunting!
I fear we must put off that lovely proposal of yours to meet in London for Christmas, for I have come down with a dreadful cold, and Dr. Jones and Mrs. Jenkinson agree that I am not to leave Rosings until after winter. Wretched pair! They would make a fine couple, if the good doctor was not already married.
Dr. Jones has come and I must dash.
Your affectionate cousin,
Anne de Bourgh
12 ------- Street, Richmond
13 July, 1813Dearest Anne,
Thank you very much for your kind wishes, but I feel the need to remind you that YOU ARE NOT OLD! Fitzwilliam (my brother, not our cousin) has turned eight-and-twenty, and you are merely twenty-three. I do not think either of us thinks my brother is old, so don't you dare let me catch even the merest hint of nostalgia in you again! There will be severe repercussions, as I will be most seriously displeased!
But speaking of my brother, I think you have heard that my new sister is to have a baby. Perhaps I told you already; I cannot remember. But I am so excited!
[an entire page omitted]
As to my opinion of Fordyce--don't touch it! It might be catching! You can never tell with these people! I'm sorry if my warmth (horror?) shocks you, but you see, I happened to pick up that book when Elizabeth's sisters were visiting (one of them had brought it with her, I'm sure; Fitzwilliam (my brother; not our cousin) would never have brought it in the house, and as for my father--well!) It is extremely dry, tedious, boring, and all those horrendous adjectives I like to use so well. (No need to remonstrate with me there, Anne dear.)
As to what I would recommend: try The Adventures of Tom Jones. However, do not allow your mother to know you have it. Shakespeare is always recommended, too, so don't forget that.
I will ask Fitzwilliam immediately whether or not he can reconcile with Aunt Catherine before Christmas, so that we may spend the holidays with you. I have not yet, because I can never seem to find him!
Mrs. Annesley has come to tell me we must pay a call to the Danforths, so I must put my pen away now. I look forward to your next letter with all eagerness!
Your cousin,
Georgiana Darcy
Rosings, Kent
20 August, 1813Dear Georgiana,
I laughed aloud when I received your last letter, and on your advice, procured Tom Jones the very next day, by way of my ladies maid, Fiona, who is a much better friend than Mrs. Jenkinson ever will be! Unfortunately, Mrs. Jenkinson did discover the book, and reported it to Mother, who flew into the boughs. The result was that I was made to stay all week in my room, which, of course, resulted in a high fever on my part, which lasted several weeks, which explains the lateness of this letter. Dr. Jones (I hate that man!) kept up the regular bleedings during my sickness, and I confess I believe them to have made me even weaker.
Lady Metcalfe sent Miss Pope with a polite message conveying her sympathies, and a hideous blanket which she, I am told, made herself. As soon as I am strong enough, I intend to take it apart and try to make something better, even though I have no talent in that area.
Mother has just come to check on me, and she says I should not be writing in my condition. If I were not so weak as to make me agree with her, I should write five more pages, but I cannot.
Good-bye,
Anne de Bourgh
12 ------- Street, Richmond
25 August, 1813Dearest Anne,
I can't tell you how sorry I was to hear that my advice had gotten you into trouble! If I had known how it would be, I would never have recommended that book (though I did tell you to keep it from your mother; I forgot about Mrs. J.)
My brother has been extremely nervous around me lately. I cannot understand it. It is as if he is hiding something from me. Why should he do that? I am not a child. He spends interminable amounts of times in his study, and every time there is a letter for him he seems to sulk all day. He is even more cross when Richard visits, which has been quite often. He really should spend more time with his fiancée, I think. She is not even in London. What business has he, making so many trips to London when Lady Laura is still at Lancaster? I'm sure, if I were engaged, I would not want my fiancé running all over the world doing who-knows-what. In the words of someone we both know, I am quite put out!
Elizabeth said she would like to spend the holidays with you and your mother, if everything goes well. I have not yet had the nerve to ask Fitzwilliam, but it does look as if our plans will not be in vain. All that remains to be seen is whether or not my aunt can forgive him for not marrying you. Please try your best to make her see reason.
Looking forward to seeing you again,
Georgiana DarcyP.S. You did not want to marry my brother, did you?
Rosings, Kent
10 September, 1813Dear Georgiana,
Please have no worries that mention of Fitzwilliam (your brother, not our cousin) will provoke me to tears. I may have comforted myself with the notion that at least I was not to be pitied for having no husband, but on the whole, I was relieved when his engagement to Miss Bennet--Mrs. Darcy now--was announced. As much as I adore having you for a cousin, I was never ambitious enough to want you as a sister.
Also, don't worry yourself about my mother's anger regarding Tom Jones. It is quite past.
As to Christmas, I'm afraid it is now out of the question. Mother says that under no circumstance will she allow Mrs. Darcy, or "That Girl" as she refers to her, under Rosings's roof in the near future. And as you know, I am not allowed out of the house until after winter.
How is Mrs. Darcy's confinement coming along? I hope it is not too tiresome for you. It has not prevented any of your beaux from paying calls, has it? I should hate to be in London and not be able to do anything while I was there. Now that I think of it, though, perhaps it is Fitzwilliam's concern for Mrs. Darcy that has him on edge. As far as I understand it, childbirth is a difficult proceeding, and can be dangerous. Wait until the baby arrives, then see how his behaviour improves.
Best wishes,
Anne de Bourgh
12 ------- Street, Richmond
22 September, 1813Dear Anne,
I'm an aunt! Aunt Georgiana. My nephew arrived two days ago, and I have barely been able to sleep since! Alexander Charles Henry Thomas George Darcy is his name, and he is adorable!
(Two pages omitted.)
I am very sorry that we will not be able to see you for Christmas. Perhaps next year.
Your entirely too verbose cousin,
Georgiana Darcy
Rosings, Kent
30 September, 1813Dear Georgiana,
Alexander Darcy! What a lovely name! Is that one of Mrs. Darcy's family names? I informed my mother of the birth, and I think she was pleased, for she gave me half a smile, but offered no comment. She did give me a note, though, to enclose with my letter, and I have sent it.
Should I send my next letter to Pemberley?
Anne de Bourgh
To Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy
Congratulations on the new addition to your family. I trust the new heir will be given every advantage of education and breeding that are so essential to the Darcy name. Who are the godparents?
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
12 ------- Street, Richmond
4 October, 1813Dearest Anne,
No, I don't think we will be going to Pemberley soon. Elizabeth is still confined to bed, and her mother and sisters have arrived, seemingly with the intent of keeping her there.
F and E have expressed their desire to go to Italy as soon as E is well again. They asked me to go along, but I'm afraid I don't know enough of the Italian tongue, and I wouldn't feel comfortable forcing the Italians to speak English to me the entire time I was there. After all, it is their country.
I feel so low, knowing that they will be in Italy, you will be at Rosings, and I will be here, for Christmas.
E's sisters are, I fear, extremely stupid. Kitty not so much; at least she can carry on an amusing conversation, even if they are all about men. Miss Bennet's hero, it seems, is Fordyce! I am forced to keep company with them, but I never can make myself stay in the same room with them longer than is necessary to be polite.
Alexander's christening was beautiful. His godparents are Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. They would have had a child around this time, too, but something happened to Mrs. Bingley, and the baby never came. She seemed rather despondent, and her husband was glad to be able to take her back to Hertfordshire after the ceremony.
Sir Brian Callahan and his bride were there, as well as Max. It's hard for me to realize Max is just my age, but he is. Lady Callahan invited me to stay with them for a few days after Max goes back to school. Brian seemed to grudge the invitation; he probably wanted to be alone with Eleanor for a few more days before the honeymoon is officially over.
My Darcy cousins were there, too; Andrew and Henry, with their wives, Nellie and Louisa, respectively. Andrew's children, Thomas and Fanny were there, as well as Henry's daughter, Hannah. They are very sweet babies, but not nearly as adorable as Alex (yes, I have taken to calling him Alex).
Richard and Lady Laura were there; their wedding is set for eight days from now; the 12th. Lord and Lady Cavendar are still on their honeymoon, and probably have not even heard of Alex's existence yet.
I am trying to think of who else was there, but I cannot seem to remember.
Oh, yes! Elizabeth's aunt and uncle were there, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You would like them, I think. They are a very genteel couple, quite elegant.
Elizabeth informs me that Alexander is not one of her family names. I maintain that it must be the only name she and my brother could agree on. Fitzwilliam wanted to name him George, after my father, but Elizabeth was vehemently against that name (as am I, despite its being possible to be mistaken for being my namesake), and opted for Thomas. You'll notice that they managed to fit both names into Alex's large monicker. I cannot think why they threw in the Henry, though Charles is for Mr. Bingley.
Mr. Worthy is back in London. He dined with us last evening and stayed half the night, soliloquizing on his history with babies.
Richard's conferences with my brother have not ceased since Alex was born. I am beginning to be worried.
Georgiana Darcy
Rosings, Kent
13 October, 1813Dear Georgiana,
Do not feel low, dearest. There are still more than two months before Christmas; anything is possible.
I am glad the christening went well. So many cousins you have! I wish I could meet them.
My mother has been looking about the neighbourhood for a husband for me (and for you, as well, so be warned). Four nights ago, she hosted a small party. All of the guests were either eligible bachelors, widowers, or elderly matrons (all with husbands still intact, so as not to be "competition") with marriageable sons. I was so mortified by their stares, and the way most of them had of looking me up and down as if I was a piece of beef up for market. I could only sit in my chair and stare at my hands.
One of the gentlemen apparently took pity on me, for he sat by my side and gave me interesting information about each of the other guests. His name is Sir John Preston (my mother would not invite anybody under the rank of baronet; she is convinced I can do better than a simple gentleman). He is not handsome, but I confess I like him very much. I could not help but answer him back, and I even made him laugh once or twice. That was one of my proudest moments. He is an extremely amiable man, Georgiana, and if I am right, my mother has picked him for you. (!) She interrupted our conversation just as he was beginning a story about Scotland (he has a sister who lives there, I believe), planted herself between us, and began talking nonstop about her niece, who is a Darcy of Derbyshire. It is just as well, I suppose; Mother would have preferred I struck up an acquaintance with the viscount she had invited (it is a pity he did not attend!).
As much as I do like him, though, I don't think I would like him as a cousin. He is too old (nearly thirty!) and I don't think his disposition would prove favorable to you: he is a bit abrupt. I know you, Georgiana. You would do better with a man of more easy manners, who could never make you uncomfortable.
I think I will stop this letter before I become as officious as my mother!
Your humble cousin,
Anne de Bourgh
12 ------ Street, Richmond
26 October, 1813Dearest Anne,
I thank you for the warning, and I think I agree with you: Sir John Preston would never do for me. He seems to be a very agreeable sort of person, though; do you think, if you will not have him as a cousin, that I might? There is a baronet who lives next door to me, here in London. I have not met him, but according to Anita (my ladies' maid, who has some personal acquaintances in that house), baronets are, in general, very agreeable persons. I have met a few viscounts (not including David), and I think baronets must be more agreeable than they! If your choice is between a baronet and a viscount, choose the baronet! (Unless, of course, it is the viscount, and not the baronet, who strikes your fancy!)
I'm sorry if I seem a trifle over-eager. I fear I am trying too hard to be cheerful. You see, dearest, next week is the first anniversary of a certain wedding, and with my brother and sister--and darling Alex, too!--gone to Italy (why, oh, why, did they leave me?) I have been feeling a trifle low. I feel as though something must be done to celebrate the occasion, and yet the very people with whom I should like to celebrate most are out of my reach!
Do you think Fitzwilliam would be angry with me if I were to surprise them in Italy? I mean, of course, not to surprise them with a prettily-wrapped present, but with myself. But perhaps that would be a bit rash.
I shall keep you in my thoughts, Anne, and I wish you luck with Sir John.
Your affectionate cousin,
Georgiana Darcy
"I know it's rather late to be asking, but you see, I was planning to surprise Brian with the tickets, but at dinner tonight he told me to be gone, and it seems such a shame to waste them." He stopped, out of breath, and smiled hopefully at her. Georgiana giggled.
"Certainly I will go. Must we leave at once?"
"Yes; we are very nearly late. Don't worry about your clothes; you look quite dashing."
"Thank you, Max, but I really must change if we are to go out."
She rushed upstairs and, when she returned, found Max pacing the hallway with his watch in his hand.
"Are we really that late?" she asked as he dragged her outside.
"Yes!"
"Well, what made you think to ask me?"
"All my friends were previously engaged," he said disgustedly. "I'm glad you're coming, Georgie," he enthused once they were comfortably on their way to Drury Lane. "It will be nice to be seen with a beautiful lady on my arm."
"Max, you quite overpower me!" she teased.
"Aren't you going to return the compliment?" he pouted, fingering his cravat, then brightened. "We shall make a merry pair, won't we? Brian thought you'd be low tonight, and I think it was dashed unfair of my cousin to leave you here by yourself. I suppose it's better than being stranded at Pemberley with no company, but the fact remains: you must be extremely lonely."
"Brian told you to take me to the theatre?" Georgiana raised one eyebrow and Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Well, not in those words. He didn't know about the tickets. But he did say I ought to keep you company."
Georgiana laughed.
"I wonder why he wouldn't do so himself," Max mused. "It probably has to do with..."
"Eleanor," Georgiana finished for him, then laughed again at the look on his face. They were silent until they reached the theatre. Max drew her arm through his dutifully and proceeded to drag her all over the building in pursuit of every acquaintance he saw. By the time the curtain went up, she was exhausted, but she still managed to enjoy the show.
"Well," she said when it was over, "I hope this has been the most enjoyable duty you ever performed."
"Duty?" he said, gallantly taking her arm once again, "Never! Always a pleasure to be of service."
"Thank you, Max," she said, taking her arm back, "But I think, if you plan to speak to all your friends again, I will wait for you in the carriage."
"What? Not a chance! You'll freeze to death!"
"I'm really tired, Max," she said as he headed towards yet another particular friend. "I'm going to sit down on that bench while you make the rounds."
"Oh, very well," he said reluctantly. Georgiana had soon situated herself nicely, and was sleepily watching the other theatregoers as they left. She was awakened by the sound of her cousin's name being called from outside the building. Realizing Max's carriage must be ready, she tried to locate him in the crowd. Finally she spotted him, and catching his eye, motioned for him to come. He smiled and nodded, holding up one hand, and she took that as a sign that he would be right there. She went outside and one of the footmen helped her into the carriage.
The carriage lurched forward abruptly and to Georgiana's dismay, kept going. She leaned out the window and yelled to the driver.
"Stop! My cousin is still back there!"
"Yez, ma'am, whate'er you say," he said in the slurred speech of the drunkard. Georgiana sat back in trepidation and hoped he would take her to the right house. She could send one of the other servants to retrieve Max, or maybe one of his friends would offer him a ride. She felt terrible. But she felt worse when she realized that she was actually being driven away from home.
"Stop this carriage at once!" she shrieked, and nearly fell to the floor as the carriage lurched once again. Her teeth chattered in her head, both from the cold and from the amazing jolt when the front left wheel fell off. After she had clamored out, her hands shaking in terror, she confronted the driver. "Is this a kidnaping, or are you only the stupidest person I ever beheld?" He only smiled stupidly at her. Frustrated, she went to find one of the footmen, but there were none to be found. They had all been left behind, as well. Georgiana began to cry.
"No call to be a fountain," the driver hiccoughed. "You made me lame the 'orse."
"This has been one of the worst days of my life, and you wonder why I'm crying," she sniffled, not really speaking to be heard, but to air her feelings. She hastily retrieved her handkerchief from her reticule, blew her nose, and realized she had a few pounds stowed in the little reticule. She gave a happy cry and asked the driver how much a hack would cost.
"Never mind the hack," he said, taking her by the elbow. "I'll take you home."
"Unhand me!" she said, wrenching herself away. "I'm not going to entrust my life to you again! Leave me."
He shrugged and did as he was told; there was a tavern across the street. Georgiana's spirits were lifted by his absence, and squaring her shoulders, she began to walk in the opposite direction the carriage was presently facing. She was sure she should come across a hack sooner or later. However, when she had walked for nearly an hour, she began to be disheartened.
As she passed yet another tavern, she was startled to see a man thrown out into the street by the seat of his pants. He stood up and indignantly brushed himself off, but only made it a few steps before collapsing into a drunken heap. Almost immediately two shadows fell upon him and took everything he had, including his battered hat. Georgiana pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders and kept walking.
Her feet had been aching since before she left the theatre, and she was relieved to find an alley with a few overturned bins on which she could safely rest.
She began to have doubts about her safety when two men came into the alley, laughing and howling over some loot. She tried to shrink out of sight, but it was no use. They had already seen her.
"Well, if it ain't a princess!" one of them said, wiping his face on his sleeve as he advanced towards her. "You wouldn't 'appen to be carryin' any largess for us peasants, would you, princess?"
"N-no, I'm not," she said, her eyes large as saucers. "P-please leave me alone. I'd give you some money if I had it, but..."
"We'll see about that," he said, wrenching her reticule from her hand. The other thief caught her by the arms and held her still before she could even think of protesting. She watched in dismay as the first thief shook her meager three pounds into his hand.
"Not feelin' very truthful today, princess, are we?" he snarled.
"Give it back; it doesn't belong to you."
"It do now, don't it, princess? What do you think we should do with 'er, Tom?" he asked his friend.
"Uh.... I don't know."
The first one sighed and rolled his eyes.
"For punishment," he clarified. "She lied, and she was being stingy."
"I don't like stingy people," said the other one darkly. Georgiana shuddered.
"No, neither do I. No matter 'ow pretty they are." He leered at her. "So, tell me, princess, is there anything else you're keepin' from us?"
"She's shiverin', Jimmy," the second one interrupted gleefully.
"Unhand me!" Georgiana cried, utterly panicked. The first one took her chin in one hand.
"You're makin' this a lot o' fun, princess."
Georgiana was just beginning to pray that Max had followed her from the theatre and would at any moment come to her rescue, when she heard a voice to her right.
"Obey the princess's orders and unhand her."
Georgiana and her two attackers turned and saw an odd picture. There was an obviously young man standing in the shadow with one arm out-stretched, holding a pistol.
"Max!" she exclaimed joyfully as Tom and Jim raised their arms over their heads.
"Unfortunately, no," her rescuer replied cheerfully as he came closer. She drew in a breath when she recognized her Bond Street Boy. He winked at her then stooped to pick up the things she had dropped, still keeping the gun trained on Tom and Jim. "I'm surprised you two aren't familiar with the proper etiquette when it comes to addressing royalty. You should kiss her hand--or perhaps her feet, in your case--but you must never grab her around the waist. That is highly improper, and I'm severely disappointed in you both. There is a way to make up for it, though."
"What are you talking about?" Jim demanded, blinking in bewilderment.
"Well, obviously you must be punished for manhandling the princess. Don't you know she is never to be touched by common hands?"
Georgiana was astonished by the level of arrogance he was able to assume.
"I know!" Tom said suddenly. "If she's the princess, and we're the peasants, 'e must be the knight! I like this game, Jim! But where's King Arthur?"
"'E's dead, you big lummox!"
"I wouldn't be so sure. You can never tell with royalty. She might very well be a ghost, for all you know. Perhaps the ghost of Edward the sixth." This was said gravely, without the hint of a smile.
"This ain't none of your business, Morgan," Jim defended, sticking his chin out.
"I'm sure Her Highness would disagree."
"She ain't no princess. She lied to us!"
"No, I think she must be a princess. How could she be anything else? As to the lying, I cannot defend her there, for I was not here at the beginning of your interview. Perhaps she should be punished. But then there is the matter of her royal person. You know we could never touch her. But if she has been naughty, what are we to do?"
"I say I should beat that cheek out o' you."
"Well, you know what used to be the practice, if the prince was naughty. They would hire someone to take the punishment for him. A whipping boy."
"You're bammin'!"
"Now, where could we find a whipping boy, I wonder."
"You wouldn't be so cheeky if you didn't 'ave that gun."
He laughed ruefully.
"Perhaps not. But the fact remains that I do have a gun. If you turn around right now, and trot on home to your hovel, I won't be forced to use it."
"You know what 'appens when someone bothers our work," said Jim, beginning to glower menacingly.
"Keep your hands raised, Jim. I might take pleasure in depriving you of your source of income, but I shouldn't like to waste a bullet." "He's enamoured of the princess," said Tom, clapping his hands. He was swiftly told to keep his arms up. Jim took advantage of the split second the gun was not focused on himself to attack. He shoved Georgiana into Morgan, and they both fell to the ground, with him somehow landing on top of her. Georgiana flinched when she saw the hand that was holding the gun hit the ground, but thankfully there was no explosion. Jim did not notice this. He rushed to plant his foot on Morgan's arm, and peeled the weapon out of his fingers. Cocking it and pointing it at his intended victim, he said harshly,
"Get up."
"Stay down," Morgan whispered, still managing a wink and a smile. He put on a more serious face and rose slowly to his feet. On seeing the gun trained on him, he laughed.
"Go on. Pull the trigger."
Jim looked torn. Georgiana could almost read his thoughts as he considered his choices. On one hand, he would like nothing more than to put a bullet into Mr. Morgan's chest. But on the other, it seemed as if that was exactly what Mr. Morgan wanted him to do.
Morgan took one step forward, and Jim one back. Georgiana noted with some relief the confusion mixed with terror on Jim's face.
But then Tom yelled at him to shoot. Georgiana saw Jim's face harden into determination. He raised the gun again.
"No!" she cried, and stumbling forward, pushed his arm down. Enraged, Jim brought his other hand down on the back of her head.
She did not know exactly how long she lay there, hearing and seeing nothing. When her senses cleared, and the stars in the sky replaced the ones in her head, she heard a terrible scream, and turned around to see Tom Gorfey jump on Mr. Morgan's back. She gasped in horror and turned her head away. Tears filled her eyes when she realized she was too late; there was nothing she could do. He was either killed or severely injured, and it was her fault.
She tried to stand. She wanted to help him. But she only sank to her knees again as the dizziness returned, just as strong as before.
Vague sounds drifted to her ears. Voices murmured and doors slammed. Somebody was breathing heavily behind her. As her brain began to make sense of all these sounds once again, she became aware of somebody walking towards her. Determined to defend herself, and perhaps even wishing to make herself feel less guilty for what had happened, her hand closed around a thick piece of wood nearby. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she spun around, swinging wildly.
Georgiana grasped the wood tightly and swung around, hitting her assailant squarely on his head. He made a surprised noise and fell to his knees. Breathless with anger, she hit him again, this time on the shoulders. She raised the wood over her head to strike again, then suddenly realized it was not Tom Gorfey at all, no, nor Jim, but her rescuer, Mr. Morgan! She gasped, dropped the wood, and rushed to help him up.
"I thought you were dead! I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? I am very sorry! I thought they had killed you! Please, talk to me. Did I kill you?"
"Be quiet," he finally ground out. He pushed himself up to his knees, and immediately dropped his head into his hands with a moan. "Good Lord, woman, are you insane?"
"I--I'm very sorry. I honestly didn't think you'd survive."
"Thank you so much for your confidence in me, Your Highness."
Georgiana felt the sting of his sarcasm, but bit her tongue and tried once more to apologize.
"I'm very sorry. You deserve much better than this for saving me."
"I confess, this is not quite what I thought gratitude would be like," he said ruefully, his anger quickly dissolving in the face of her genuine remorse. "Well, no broken bones." He stood up slowly and adjusted his limbs.
"I really didn't think anybody could survive having such a monster jump on his back," Georgiana attempted to explain, fearing she had offended him.
"Especially a skinny gutter rat like me, eh?" He smiled. "Are you hungry, Miss....?"
"Not really." She was puzzled by his sudden change of mood.
"I thought you would be. Oh, I brought you this. You took a rather nasty fall." He handed her a towel. Georgiana blushed as she took it, and would not look him in the eye as she cleaned herself off.
"I'm such a ninny," she muttered as she struggled to hide her tears from him. "The least I could have done was help. Instead, I added to your injuries."
"Not to worry. I suppose I should have told you the gun wasn't loaded." He smiled reassuringly and handed her a handkerchief. "I had the same reaction the first time I experienced something like this. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Thank you," she smiled gratefully. She finally dared to lift her eyes, and gasped. "Did I do that?"
His eyes widened in surprise, and he touched his head gingerly where she had hit him.
"No, you're bleeding." She reached out to wipe the corner of his mouth. He winced and stepped back instinctively to take care of it himself. Georgiana blushed and began to retrieve her things from where they had fallen near the Gorfeys.
"I think," he said, pulling her away from their motionless bodies, "that if we are to keep meeting like this, we should know each other's names." He drew her arm through his own and hastily led her out of the alley.
"I think that would be a good idea," she smiled. There were a few moments of silence, as each of them waited for the other to go first. Finally, he sighed and, dropping her arm, stood before her and bowed elaborately.
"Matthew Morgan."
"Georgiana Darcy." She held out her hand, which he kissed, then drew through his own again.
"Charmed, I'm sure. Are you hungry?"
"Yes, a little," she admitted. "It is a bit early to be having breakfast, though."
"Well, you must have something. Come with me."
Before Georgiana knew it, she found herself seated in a corner of a dim tavern, while her new protector went to fetch a snack. The room was full of people, most of them already drunk. Georgiana found she could not watch them comfortably. Her only other choices were her hands, and Mr. Morgan. Her hands were not nearly so interesting.
She watched him as he waited impatiently to be served while the bartender chatted, oblivious to everything except what he was saying. She smiled at the look on his face when two nakedly-dressed women came up to him and started flirting. He actually looked surprised. She wondered what he expected to find when he came here. Her amusement did not last long, though, when she saw his own expression change. He smiled and appeared to be particularly friendly with one of the women. Georgiana looked down, flustered, when the girls giggled loudly. Memories of their last meeting flitted through her mind. Why had it not occurred to her before that there was one obvious reason for a man to jump out of an upstairs window, minus his coat, with another man and his lackey hard on his heels?
After she had come to terms with the fact that Mr. Morgan had an insupportable way of charming ladies, she looked up again. It should not be so difficult to get through one dinner with him, without falling in love with him. She did not deny that it would be difficult, but she was determined. Georgiana Darcy would not fall in love with a rake again.
She realized with a start that she really was hungry. She was pleased to see that Mr. Morgan had finally acquired the things he had ordered. Only one of the women was still hanging on him, and she stood on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. He laughed and shook his head, then said something to her that caused her mouth to hang open. She stomped her foot and walked away while Georgiana covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Whatever he had said must have been terribly cutting and clever.
Only one more person got in his way before he got back to Georgiana: an old man with long, grey hair who seemed to be very angry. The confrontation did not last more than a minute, but it did have the effect of wiping the smile off Mr. Morgan's face. When he finally made it back to their table, he laid the plate down with a slight rattle, then sat down with his body twisted away from Georgiana to look at the other occupants of the room. She was glad he did not glower at her, but she would rather they had some conversation.
"What is this?" she asked, poking at what was obviously a piece of cherry pie. After he told her, she exclaimed, "Oh, I adore cherry pie! But don't you want any?"
He laughed abruptly and she looked up at him in surprise.
"What did I say?"
"Never mind, cherie." He turned around and folded his arms on the table, leaning forward confidentially. "Now tell me, what is a young lady like you doing on this side of London?"
"It's a long story," she said sheepishly. "My cousin took me to see a play in Drury Lane."
"Would your cousin be the `Max' you referred to earlier?"
"Yes. He is my youngest cousin."
"I see."
Georgiana saw he was bemused, and tried to get back to her story.
"Today was my brother's first anniversary, you see, and Max thought I'd be lonely. That is, Brian thought I'd be lonely, and he..."
"Who is Brian?"
"He is Max's brother. But he thought I'd be lonely, so he told Max to keep me company."
"Why should you be lonely? Where is your brother?" "He and Elizabeth--that's his wife--are in Italy, with my nephew."
"Oh, you have a nephew?" He grinned, highly amused.
"Yes, little Alex, the sweetest baby you've ever seen."
"So you were lonely...." he prompted.
"Oh. Yes. I was, so Max had the idea of taking me to the theatre. I had a wonderful time. Have you ever been?"
"A few times, yes."
Georgiana was unnerved by the look in his eyes, as if she was the most amusing thing he had ever seen. She folded her hands in her lap again and stared demurely at them.
"After the play, I was sitting down, waiting for Max to finish speaking with his friends. But the driver thought I was both of us, and he took off. I think he was drunk. I finally made him stop, but he lamed the horse."
"And now you're lost," he finished. Georgiana nodded and finished her pie. He sat back to think on what she had told him
"What did you tell that lady?" she asked suddenly.
"What lady?"
"The one you were speaking to a few minutes ago. What did she say to you?"
"She--actually, she asked me if I wanted some of her pie."
"Oh." Georgiana frowned. "What did you say?"
"I told her I had already tasted it." He wrinkled his nose, then leaned forward again. "Tell me, do you have any enemies?"
"Not that I know of. I might after tonight, but we will have to wait, and see if they die or not." She thought for a moment, then asked quietly, "Do you think they will die?"
"No, they're too disagreeable to do that. Have you ever met either of them before?"
"No, never. How do you know they won't die?"
"Because, cherie," he said, becoming slightly annoyed, "they are used to such treatment. They have probably both gone home by now."
"Oh. Then that is why you were in such a hurry to leave." She nodded, finally understanding.
"Of course. What about your parents? Do they have any enemies?"
"They're dead."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"My brother has no enemies, either. Neither does my sister-in-law. I'm fairly sure they were only after my purse."
"Nothing else?"
"Well, they may have wanted something else, but I prefer not to think of that. Should I go to the Runners?" She had a sudden inspiration. Of course they should be arrested!
"You may, if you wish to, certainly."
"Is that what you would do?"
"If I were you, maybe I would." He shrugged. "But as myself, I'd rather not."
"Why not?"
"You were not injured. They were."
"I see. But the only reason I wasn't injured is because you...." He held a hand up to quiet her.
"Don't bring me into it, cherie," he said, shaking his head grimly. "That would only make it worse."
"Why?" she demanded, hurt that he would not stand by her. "Are you another one of them? Are you afraid of the police, yourself?"
"Not exactly as you say it. But living here, one tends to become wary of them, yes. Consider: if you went to the police with this story, the Gorfeys would be arrested."
"That is all I want," she insisted.
"But they would have to stand trial, and you would have to tell the court about all that happened. About being in London, alone. You might mention me, you might not. Your name and picture would be in the paper, and your reputation would be ruined."
Georgiana blanched.
"At least they would not be able to hurt anyone else," she said quietly.
"That is true."
"Couldn't you testify against them, instead of me?"
"No," he smiled. "They would not believe me if I said the only reason for the fight was because they were harassing a lady. Particularly if they could not find the lady."
"Oh. I see. Why would they believe me, then?"
"You are a lady. It is not proper to accuse a lady of lying, you see."
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Her shoulders drooped dejectedly. "Well, then. I suppose the thing we must do is to see about getting me home."
"That does seem best. Is your carriage fit for use?"
"I don't know. All the driver said was that one of the horses was lamed."
"We shall see about that, then."