Page 55

15th December, 1811

Darcy,

Many thanks for giving me Wickham’s direction and encouragement to move against the louse. You will be pleased to hear that our old enemy is now installed uncomfortably on His Majesty’s frigate Dominion , en route to the Caribbean Sea where the ship will patrol the waters for at least two years. I have an old friend who is the captain of said ship, and he agreed to take on the onerous task of beating our old friend into some semblance of a seaman. Wickham is intelligent enough, at any rate; he will no doubt learn what he must in order to save his handsome hide.

I sent an obscure letter to Colonel Forster, commander of the regiment in Meryton, informing him that Wickham had been conscripted for an important task. That should keep tongues wagging in a useful fashion in that backwater in which you have found yourself.

I gather Bingley is enjoying being the master of an estate. You are both lucky dogs, you know, to have such wealth at your fingertips. Ah well, I have my own pleasures in life. Indeed, I confess that the thought of Wickham climbing the masts of a frigate makes me nearly giddy with delight.

Yours,

Richard Fitzwilliam

Darcy read through the letter twice more before leaning back in his chair in his private sitting room at Netherfield. He felt an odd mixture of relief, guilt, mirth and astonishment. He had thought that he and Richard would exchange stately letters discussing how best to deal with George Wickham; instead, the colonel had leapt into action and press ganged George Darcy’s godson. In retrospect, Darcy should have expected such rapid action; Fitzwilliam was an army man, and used to making vital decisions at short notice.

An English ship was a dangerous place to live and work, especially now with the war against the Corsican tyrant at its peak. There was a good chance that Wickham would not survive the next few years.

But did the man not deserve such a fate? He had ruined women and cheated shopkeepers, defamed Darcy and tried to steal away his godfather’s only daughter in a scandalous marriage.

He could only be thankful that Colonel Fitzwilliam had moved so rapidly and without speaking to Darcy; the deed was done, Wickham was at sea and Elizabeth ... the women of Meryton were safe.

With that firmly settled in his mind, Darcy rolled to his feet, carefully stowed the letter away, and made his way downstairs.

Bingley was no doubt at Longbourn, as he had been for the last week since he had offered for Miss Bennet. Darcy had accompanied his friend once and been overwhelmed at Mrs. Bennet’s effusive joy at the occasion, and since then had stayed back at Netherfield to keep Mr. Collins company. Now Darcy’s personal physician was in residence as well. The man had examined Collins the first day he arrived and then, at Bingley’s hearty invitation, stayed over for another two days. Doctor Windham was openly astonished at Collins’s abilities, which was something of a relief. Darcy considered himself an intelligent, well-read man, and yet he found himself feeling like an ignoramus at times when Collins held forth on what he had read. It was not just that Collins remembered so much; it was that he was able to tie together disparate threads to come up with fascinating suggestions and conclusions.

Darcy walked into the library and felt his heart speed up with excitement. Miss Elizabeth was present along with her father, Mr. Bennet, Dr. Windham and of course Mr. Collins. The latter traveled between his room, where he slept, ate and completed any necessary ablutions, and the library, where he was either reading books or talking about various and sundry complex ideas.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said with a smile, though he did not stand up. “I hope you do not mind that Lizzy and I have invaded Netherfield this morning. I am afraid that Mrs. Bennet has filled the air of Longbourn with talk of lace and the wedding breakfast.”

“Not at all,” Darcy replied, his face unknowingly taking on its usual hauteur. The truth was that his fascination with Miss Elizabeth was thoroughly alarming, and every time he was in her presence, the attraction between them grew. And yet he could not offer for her. Bingley was but one generation removed from trade, and thus marriage to the eldest daughter of a country gentleman, even a poor one, was a step up socially. But he was Fitzwilliam Darcy, son of George and Lady Anne Darcy, nephew of an earl. He could not offer for Miss Elizabeth, and thus must discourage the woman as much as possible. He had no doubt that Miss Elizabeth felt the magnetic pull between them, but he must not give her false hopes. That would be cruel.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said belatedly, “Dr. Windham, Mr. Collins, I hope you are all well.”

“I am well, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth replied with her usual enchanting smile. “And while I cannot speak to the good health of the others, I believe we are all being intellectually stimulated, sir. We are discussing whether England would be better served if she were not ruled by a king, but instead by a president like the former American colonies.”

“A fascinating discussion indeed,” Darcy stated with some astonishment. It seemed treasonous to imagine such a thing.

“It would not work here, and I wonder whether it can work long in the American States,” Bennet commented. “It is the way of things for a strong willed man to seize power and make himself king.”

“I believe they are quite opposed to the idea of a king,” Doctor Windham observed.

“Then some kind of a Protector, like Oliver Cromwell,” Bennet averred. “Cromwell never crowned himself king, but he was a dictator nonetheless.”

“I agree that ambitious men tend to strive for ultimate power,” Collins said patiently. “Nor am I at all certain that the American experiment will succeed, though I believe their first president’s decision to step down after eight years in power set an important precedent. I am proffering the idea that the existence of a king is not ideal for the people of a nation, because too often kings, and queens and nobles grasp for riches and power, to the harm of the people under their care.”

“Did not God himself order that King Saul be crowned king of Israel?” the doctor inquired.

“The people of Israel demanded a king,” Collins stated, leaning forward with steepled hands. “They wished to be like the nations around them. God warned them through the prophet Samuel that a king would tax the people excessively, snatch their sons to fight in his armies and their daughters to cook and bake for his household. Of particular interest to me is that Samuel warned that the kings would recruit men to run before his chariots; this came to pass when Absalom moved in rebellion against his father David. In any case, the Lord warned of the dangers of asking for a king to rule over them.”

“But people do need leaders,” Darcy argued. “Someone must lead, and surely it is better to have a man with expertise, with education, with honor, with experience to lead those under their care.”

“You are an excellent overseer, Mr. Darcy,” Collins stated judicially. “You are attentive, hard-working, diligentand intelligent. I would argue that many masters and mistresses of great estates have far more interest in filling their own coffers than caring for those dependent on their estates. According to the books I have read regarding estate management, it is the purview and responsibility of the overlord to introduce modern farming practices to the tenantry. I confess I do not know the details of many estates but I do know this; at least two tenants at Rosings wish to use the Tullian drill on their fields, but Lady Catherine refuses. In your aunt’s case, I absolve her of indifference to the plight of her workers — I would argue she is overly involved in their lives in some ways — but she is ignorant as to the value of the Tullian drill in sowing seed.”

“How dare you, Mr. Collins!”

All five individuals leaped to their feet in astonishment at these words as a middle aged lady, dressed in expensive traveling clothes, surged into the room, her face ripe with fury.

“Lady Catherine!” Darcy cried out in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing?” the lady repeated angrily, advancing rapidly on the stunned clergyman. “I am here to ascertain the medical condition of my rector, who has obviously gone mad. How dare you speak against me, sir? I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh, daughter of the Earl of Matlock. You are nobody at all, the son of an illiterate miser, permitted on Rosings grounds out of the benevolence of my heart. But never again, Mr. Collins. Never again!”

Darcy flinched in anticipation of what would likely be a thoroughly impertinent response from Mr. Collins, but the reality was far worse than he anticipated. To his astonishment, Collins, after staring at the outraged Lady Catherine for a full thirty seconds, suddenly collapsed onto the couch, his face crumbled in terror, a hand lifted to protect his face.

“Please!” he screamed. “Please. Don’t hurt me. I won’t ... I promise I won’t read again. Please don’t hit me, Father. Please!”

“The man is insane!” Lady Catherine cried out. Darcy rushed forward towards Mr. Collins, barely aware of Miss Bingley standing just inside the door, a definite smirk on her face.

“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said in a soothing voice. “Mr. Collins. You are safe. Please do not cry, sir.”

“I am sorry,” the man sobbed, now huddled in a fetal position. “I am sorry, Father. So sorry!”

***

“Obviously the man belongs in Bedlam!” Lady Catherine snarled.

Mr. Collins had been nearly carried upstairs by three footmen with Doctor Windham in attendance, leaving Darcy in the library with his aunt, Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth and an obviously smug Miss Bingley.

“No, he does not,” Darcy said evenly, struggling to maintain his temper.

“Indeed, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth insisted boldly. “Mr. Collins has been entirely lucid and reasonable for the last two weeks. For some reason, your arrival sparked a breakdown.”

The lady looked down her long nose at Elizabeth and raised a haughty brow, “And who might you be, young lady?”

“I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn,” the girl responded, lifting her chin at the older lady’s arrogant tones.

“And you are?” Lady Catherine demanded, turning to Mr. Bennet.

“Mr. James Bennet, Elizabeth’s father,” Bennet replied, torn between genuine concern for his cousin and delight at the arrival of a lady with an obviously remarkable personality.

“I hope for your sakes that my parson’s insanity devolved from a different branch of the family, Mr. Bennet, else you may all find yourself in Bedlam as well!”

“Lady Catherine!” Darcy remonstrated, reddening slightly. He had forgotten how very rude his aunt could be.

“I cannot fathom why you are denying what is obvious to us all,” the lady responded regally. “Miss Bingey informed me of Mr. Collins’s erratic behavior, and I heard his deranged speech with my own ears. How dare he criticize me as mistress of Rosings? How dare he speak against our King and nobles and gentry!”

Darcy bent a disapproving stare on Miss Bingley, who looked uncomfortable but nonetheless spoke up, “You must admit, Mr. Darcy, that the clergyman has been quite unwell since his injury. He keeps spouting out Scripture in the most bizarre manner. He called me a swine!”

Catherine de Bourgh glanced at the mistress of the house absently. “You may not be a pig, Miss Bingley, but you do look rather like an apricot. That shade of orange does not become you. I should know. I am always dressed in the most appropriate and sophisticated manner.”

Darcy heard a choking sound and glanced over to see both Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth struggling not to laugh. In the midst of a challenging and emotional situation, he felt his heart lurch in his chest again. Miss Elizabeth was so beautiful, so vibrant, so bold. There were few women who would stand up to Lady Catherine, much less laugh at her, no matter howmuch his aunt deserved it.

He wanted to marry her. But no, he must not forget what he owed to Georgiana! For her sake, he must marry a woman with the highest of connections. Otherwise, sweet, timid, precious Georgie might well be hindered in her ability to make a good match.

“I want Mr. Collins out of here, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley stated in a determined fashion, yanking him out of his reverie. “I have done my best to be a kind hostess, but he is clearly mad and I do not feel safe with him in residence.”

“That is entirely reasonable, Miss Bingey,” Lady Catherine replied.

“Miss Bingley,” the woman corrected, though softly.

“I will arrange for Mr. Collins to be transported to Bedlam on the morrow.”

“No, you will not!” Darcy and Elizabeth said together, and then glanced at one another in surprise.

“He is my clergyman, Darcy! As for you, Miss Elizabeth, how dare you involve yourself in a matter which is of no possible concern to you?”

“On the contrary, Lady Catherine,” Mr. Bennet said coldly, stepping forward protectively next to his daughter. “Mr. Collins is my cousin and heir to Longbourn. We have far more right to determine his fate than you do!”

“He holds the Hunsford living! How can you seriously argue that a man who rolls around on the couch, whimpering like a baby, is worthy of overseeing my parish?”

“A curate could fulfill his duties,” Elizabeth retorted.

“For how long? Truly, this is outrageous! Why are you denying what is so obvious to everyone, that Mr. Collins is insane!”

“He is a brilliant man who suffered an extremely difficult childhood,” Darcy argued. “It is unconscionable to consider locking him up in an asylum.”

“It is not your decision to make, Darcy. I will not allow him in Hunsford, Miss Bingey no longer will host him here and I doubt that Longbourn, filled as it is with young ladies, is an appropriate place for a feebleminded man.”

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, who was biting her lip in a thoroughly adorable manner.

“I will take him to Pemberley,” he announced suddenly. He had to leave Hertfordshire now or he would offer for Elizabeth Bennet. Every hour in her presence was an exquisite torment; only by fleeing would he escape her tantalizing snare.

His aunt’s expression shifted from outrage to astonishment, “Pemberley! Do you seriously intend to take a madman to live in the same house as my niece? You are as demented as Mr. Collins is!”

Darcy gritted his teeth, “He is not insane, nor is he in any way dangerous. Find a curate to fill in for Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine, and we will determine the disposition of the living at a later date.”

Lady Catherine began sputtering in outrage, but Darcy found his attention shifting to Miss Elizabeth. He feared that he would see disappointment in her eyes over his decision to leave, but instead she looked enormously grateful.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. It is very kind of you to care for our poor cousin.”

“It is my honor, Miss Elizabeth.”