Posted on Tuesday, 5 June 2007

Mr Darcy slowly opened the parlour door. He had only just escaped from Mr Bingley, who had asked his assurances that Miss Bennet would not die of her fever, nor remain crippled for life, but make a full recovery. Finally, Mr Darcy had had the fortunate idea to advise Mr Bingley to search for the housekeeper and order some hot milk for Miss Bennet. Mr Bingley, immediately agreeing that hot milk could be the only possible cure in Miss Bennet's sad circumstances, had set off immediately and left Mr Darcy alone at last. Mr Darcy was more than glad about this; he desperately needed some time to think. The morning's events had evoked in him a wish to think over the past few weeks, and he longed for a nicely situated window out of which he could peacefully stare while contemplating his next steps.

He found, however, that the parlour he had chosen was already occupied. The occupant looked up from her embroidery and looked at him questioningly.

‘I am sorry, ma'am,' he said stiffly, ‘I had no idea you were in here. I thought you would be with your sister. I apologise for disturbing you.'

‘There is no need to apologise,' she said and smiled. ‘My sister wished to rest a little, so I came downstairs in order to finish some needlework. Feel free to join me, Mr Darcy.'

With a little shake of her head that made her chestnut curls dance, she once more concentrated on her work and Mr Darcy was free to proceed to the window in order to start staring.

‘You look distressed, Mr Darcy,' she said. ‘I hope everything is alright?'

‘Yes, yes, thank you,' he muttered distractedly. ‘I just cannot stop thinking.'

‘Oh dear,' she said and he knew she had that ironic smile again, ‘what a horrible thing.'

‘I am afraid I am not a good companion at the moment,' he said, once more regretting that he was of a taciturn disposition and could not word his thoughts as easily as Mr Bingley or his cousin, Col. Fitzwilliam. ‘I do not have anything to say at the moment and I am not one to make idle conversation.'

‘That, Mr Darcy,' she replied, ‘comes hardly as a surprise. It is, if I may be so bold, one of the first things I noticed about you. I must say that by now, I am quite used to to it.'

‘I must apologise for the bad impression you obviously have of me, ma'am,' he said, not turning his head because he was not sure whether he wanted to meet her gaze.

‘Why, Mr Darcy,' she said, and he was sure her eyes sparkled as they were often wont to do. ‘I never said I had formed a bad impression of you. I do not think good manners would allow me to say such a thing anyway.'

‘But you have been thinking it, have you not?'

‘Well, -' she said, then broke off, obviously at a loss.

‘No, do not deny it,' he said, gripping the window sill. ‘There is no need to deny it. I know what I am. I cannot please people easily. I have always been thus.'

‘Are you not much too severe on yourself, sir?'

‘Trust me, I am not. I know my behaviour does not recommend me, not at all. I know my actions must have given me enemies, and I am not one to smoothe enmities through idle talk or foolish flattering. I have no one to blame for this but myself.'

‘But if you regret your actions, then why do you act in such a way?'

‘You misunderstood me, ma'am. I did not say I regretted my actions. No, as far as that is concerned, I have followed my principles. I could not have acted in any other way without injuring both my honour and my parents‘ memory. Yet, had I endeavoured to take into consideration the feelings of others; how my actions must have looked to outsiders - had I tried to understand him...‘

‘Pray, Mr Darcy, what exactly are you talking about? I must confess I cannot quite follow you.'

He could hear the confusion in her voice. He did not dare to turn around for fear she would aim her wits at the emotion he was sure must be showing in his face. He was sure he could not bear that.

‘Forgive me, ma'am, for disturbing you with my senseless musings,' he said stiffly, ‘it is only that I know I have made enemies in the past and I berate myself for allowing it. I know what they are capable of doing and I fear they may endeavour to hurt me and, much worse, those who are dearest to me, once again.'

He rested his head on the cool window. His headache was getting worse. He did not know what to do. He feared for Georgie's safety. Should he send for her? Or would that arouse Wickham's suspicion? If only he knew where the man was currently hiding! Alas, Col. Fitzwilliam had written only this morning to tell him that he had not been able to find out where Wickham had gone after he had left York. That he had left York was sure; the place had become much too dangerous for him after he had been called out by Major Ennis. His drinking companions, however, had not been able to tell Col. Fitzwilliam's men anything about where Wickham had intended to go. All they revealed was that Wickham had repeatedly spoken about some schemes that awaited him in the South. Mr Darcy was sure that these schemes involved, in one way or another, him and his family. He knew Georgie was in danger. Wickham had repeatedly uttered threats against her; he was sure that the anonymous letters she frequently received were from him. But what should he do about it? Currently, she was staying with Lord and Lady Matlock. Was Edminton Park safe enough for Georgie? His uncle had hired a group of former soldiers, ostensibly as under-gardeners, but in reality to protect Georgie - would they be able to ensure her safety? And what would he do in December, when the Matlocks left for town? She could not stay alone at Edminton, but then, it was much too dangerous to have her come to town, where Wickham had associates in every borough, where no one was to be trusted and where strangers were not looked at twice. Would Georgie be safe if he took her to Netherfield? Or would it be better if they spent the holidays with their aunt in Kent?

‘I am sorry, Mr Darcy, for having mentioned something which must cost you so much pain,' his companion said.

‘It is quite alright,' he said, his voice coming out forcedly, ‘I have been thinking about this problem for several weeks now. I simply cannot find a solution.'

He longed to take Georgie home to Pemberley with him. At Pemberley, it might be possible for her wounds to heal and for him to finally find the peace he so desperately longed for. It was, however, not possible. Col. Fitzwilliam's men had examined Pemberley and the surroundings carefully and their verdict was unanimous. Pemberley was not safe for the Darcy siblings at the moment. In addition to the risk that the building itself proved - ‘far too accessible' had the Colonel's judgement been - they had also come to the conclusion that it was possible that Wickham still had friends among the servants. They could not point their fingers at anyone, but they were sure that there was a great risk. Also, they had advised him not to spend too much time with Georgie, not to stay too close to her. Mr Darcy had to take part in society life, was their opinion, everything else would arouse suspicion. The most important thing was that Wickham did not learn that his movements were being closely watched; that his plans had been uncovered. If he did, it was only too probably he would do something rash, something that might prove fatal; like a cornered beast that sees no way out.

‘Alas, it was all in vain,' Mr Darcy sighed. All the precautions they had taken, all the weeks he had spent away from Georgie, trying to give the impression he was enjoying himself - all in vain, for Wickham had escaped from York after the Major had found him with his wife and no one could say where he was now. He could be anywhere. He could be in Meryton right now. Nobody would know, for all the men the Colonel could spare had been sent to Edminton. No one was there to protect Mr Darcy. He had insisted on it. Georgie needed all the protection she could get. But what if Wickham was out there? It was getting dark already; Mr Darcy could hardly see the outlines of the trees anymore. Soon, night would fall and everybody in the building would be an easy target for anyone outside with a gun. He had of course brought his weapons, but they were locked into the gun-room. Was the gun-room locked?

‘And who has the keys?' he whispered.

‘I am sorry?' He had almost forgotten about her still being in the room.

‘I must apologise, ma'am. I am dreadfully inattentive today. Please excuse me.' He slowly turned around.

‘Mr Darcy, are you not well?' She seemed to be concerned. ‘You look flushed. Do you feel alright?'

‘I am fine, thank you.'

‘Are you sure? You should perhaps lie down for a while.'

She was probably right, he should lie down. He did not feel well at all, despite all his assurances to the contrary. Yet, he could not stop thinking. He had a premonition something was going to happen, and soon. What if Wickham really was out there, waiting for him? Had he endangered Bingley and his family by coming here, by luring Wickham hither? And now that the Miss Bennets were staying here, had he endangered them just like the Bingleys? Would he be able to face the consequences if anything happened to them?

‘You are most kind,' he said, stepping towards the sofa, ‘but I really cannot -'

He was interrupted by a glass breaking behind him. He turned around at once. A man had broken the French window and was now climbing through the hole in the glass. The man was masked; a black handkerchief hid the lower half of his face. He was clothed in black and carried a pistol.

‘What on earth -'

‘Mr Darcy, what is going on?'

She tried to hide behind him; he could feel her fingers dig into his shoulders. Apparently, she was shaking with fear as the figure in black slowly came nearer.

‘Have I found you at last, Darcy,' he drawled, ‘and your pretty little bird with the large eyes!'

‘What - how - why- ?'

‘I received information from a good friend that you were quite smitten with some chit with large eyes. It seems I have found her at last. And this time, you will not stop me.'

Mr Darcy now regretted even more than before that he had left his pistols in the gun-room. What good were they there? How was he supposed to defend himself and the lady against Wickham? There was nothing he could do but try to argue with the villain and hope that help would come; that someone had heard the glass break and would realise what was going on.

‘What are you going to do, Wickham?'

‘Do you think I would tell you? That would ruin the surprise, would it not? No, I will take the lady with me and I will leave it to you to find out what I did with her. Now, if you will step aside -'

He could feel her grip stiffen. She must be too terrified to say a thing!

‘This is madness, Wickham! The magistrate will get you, and this time, there will be no covering up. Richard and I will testify against you, and -'

‘I said, step aside, Darcy!'

She emitted a faint little shriek and gripped his shoulders so hard he was sure she had drawn blood.

‘This is madness, George!'

A fist collided painfully with his face, and it was all he could do to remain standing. The right half of his head throbbed, but behind him, he could feel her still clinging to him. I have to stay strong for her sake! he told himself. If I give up now, no one can tell what horrible fate she will have to suffer!' He staggered slightly, but he remained standing.

‘Hand over the girl!' Wickham hissed.

‘Never,' Mr Darcy managed to say in spite of the pain in his jaws.

‘You fool!' Wickham laughed. With a swift step, he had closed the distance between them and with his left hand, he pried away the hand that digged into Mr Darcy's shoulder. He pushed Darcy away and dragged at the lady's arm at the same time. Mr Darcy helplessly stumbled backwards and landed on the sofa whilst Wickham drew his prize close to himself.

‘Have a good last look, Darcy,' Wickham sneered and with trained ease, he ripped open the front of her gown. She shrieked and tried to press the remnants of the fine muslin gown to her chest in order to cover herself, but it was too late. Her undergarment had been ripped as well and Wickham mercilessly dragged at the yellow muslin to make it fall to the floor. ‘I do not expect you will ever see this again.'

You have failed her! And if you fail her, you will also fail Georgie! He will come for her next, and it will all be your fault! ‘But what am I supposed to do?' he groaned inwardly. ‘I am without a weapon! I can hardly stand. I landed on a piece of embroidery!' Slowly, he tried to stand up. He had to defend her! He could not allow Wickham to continue touching her in that obscene manner, let alone let him escape with her, condemning her to a fate worse than death. His hands searched for support on the sofa. Suddenly, he felt something under his fingers. Was this -?

‘I expect this is goodbye for now, Darcy,' Wickham drawled. ‘So toodle-oo! Do not bother to stay in touch.'

‘Not so fast, Wickham!' Mr Darcy hissed. He managed to stand up at last. Slowly, he stepped towards Wickham.

‘Do not be stupid, Darcy!' Wickham hissed back. But he acted like Mr Darcy had expected him to act. He let go of his victim, tossing her to the floor, where she collapsed next to his feet and began to sob heartbreakingly, and aimed his weapon at Mr Darcy with both hands. Wickham had never been particularly good with a weapon, as Mr Darcy knew, and he could now see his hands shaking from the effort of holding it steady.

Now or never! With all his might, he lunged forward at Wickham before the villain had a chance to fire the pistol. Before Wickham could react, he had driven the small pair of scissors into his carotid artery. The weapon fell to the floor and discharged, the bullet smashing a large vase before burying it itself in the doorpost. In the same moment, the door swung open. A woman shrieked.

‘Mr Darcy!'

Behind the woman, a man entered.

‘Darcy! Caroline! And - who is that, Darcy?'

Mr Darcy watched himself in the mirror. He did not think he looked too bad. He was tall, not fat, he had a lot of hair on his head, his teeth were even and he was not cross-eyed. All in all, he thought, he was probably rather attractive to the ladies. Although, of course, such things were not supposed to matter at all. And as this day was his wedding day, it probably was improper to think about other ladies at all. His thought about the last weeks, the two weeks of his engagement. He had never thought he would get married until he was thirty or forty perhaps, but then, suddenly, everything had happened so fast. On the day that Wickham had died, when he had stood there over the body, the weapon still in his hand, and Bingley had stormed in and demanded an explanation, he suddenly had realised what he wanted to do.

He had not asked for her hand simply because he wanted to protect her reputation, or because it was a question of honour that he would champion her after he had brought her into this situation. No, as he stood there and the realisation that Wickham was really, truly dead had finally dawned on him, his first thought had been, now I can go home at last. It was then that he had realised that what he had missed most, these many months, was the feeling that he belonged somewhere, that he had a family, a place to come home to. With Pemberley being closed and Georgie being sent away to the Matlocks, he had found himself without a home, without anybody who would wait at home for him. He wanted a family, he suddenly knew. He wanted Georgie to have a family again, not just him, but a house full of mirth and laughter, a place where she could forget, where she would become her old self again. And what he wanted most of all was someone who would be there when Georgie one day had her own household, someone who would always be with him, wait for him at home. Therefore, he had solicited for her hand.

He had been accepted. He had been honest, he had explained to her his wishes, his thoughts and feelings. He did not love her and she knew that. He liked her well enough; that would suffice for them to form a lasting bond. He appreciated her intelligence, her wit and her accomplishments; he felt comfortable around her; she had been a friend to him in the horrible months after Ramsgate (not that she knew about Ramsgate then) when he needed friendship more than anything. She respected him, liked him, was glad about the security he could give her. The incident had made her feel vulnerable; fearing about her reputation, she had gladly accepted the protection offered by someone whom she had always admired. He knew that she did not marry him only to protect her reputation, likewise, he did not only marry her because to him, it was a question of honour to do so, but still, without Wickham's attack, they probably would not have found to each other. About their expectations and reasons for the marriage, they had been completely honest with each other; they understood each other perfectly. Love, they had agreed, might come with the years, but in any case, they had a mutual affection for each other that would help them to form a strong and happy union.

Their engagement had been as short as his proposal had been sudden. With Wickham dead, he longed for nothing more than to go back to Pemberley, to finally make it a home once more. Bingley had likewise insisted on a short engagement; better to get it over with soon, he had argued, than to wait until rumours leaked out about how she had been compromised by Wickham. There had been rumours enough as it was. The news had reached Meryton faster than the man who had been sent for the magistrate. Col. Fitzwilliam had been sent for by express and his testimony combined with Mr Darcy's and Miss Bingley's had been enough to convince the magistrate that Mr Darcy had acted in self-defence, but the neighbourhood had talked about little else for the next two weeks nevertheless. Mr Darcy had gone to town with Col. Fitzwilliam as soon as his name had been cleared in order to procure the license; Miss Bingley and the Hursts had accompanied them, wishing to order a few necessary items for the trousseau. They had returned two days ago, only to find that Bingley had worked wonders and arranged everything for the ceremony and the wedding breakfast. In addition to that, the weather was beautiful in spite of the cold and Mr Darcy and his fiancée were of the opinion that the omens for their wedding could not have been better.

‘I said, are you ready, Darcy?' Col. Fitzwilliam apparently had asked this question before even though Mr Darcy had not heard it.

‘I am sorry, Richard, I was lost in thoughts.'

‘You are not having any doubts about this marriage?' Mr Darcy suspected that Col. Fitzwilliam only asked because he felt it to be his duty as best man; the Colonel had taken this task very seriously from the moment Mr Darcy had asked him.

‘No, not at all. In fact, quite the opposite. I am very happy about it.' It was the truth. He was happy. Some people might say he had thrown himself away, others would say he should have waited for the hypothetical one true love, but he himself was happy, and that was all that mattered.

‘Good. Then let us go. You would not want to let Caroline wait, would you?'

The End