Page 24 of A Stranger at Longbourn
Darcy
T hey stopped at a grand townhouse, Caroline rapped on the lion’s head door knocker, and as the butler escorted the party in, she said, “Charles should be in the drawing room.”
As Georgie followed, the butler looked at him with bright eyes. “Mr Darcy, it is good to have you back at Grosvenor House,” he said cheerily and took his coat, though the moment he did, he rumpled his nose as if smelling something rather distasteful. “Have you been riding, sir?”
“Yes,” he said, wondering why he’d ask such a question. Was he not a man in the habit of riding? No, that wasn’t it. It was the smell of horse emitting from the coat that had caught his attention. Indeed, Georgie was not dressed as a man of high esteem in his simple trousers, waistcoat, and shirt. He wasn’t even wearing a cravat.
He hesitated briefly before taking in the house, the air was heavy with the scent of polished wood and lavender. Caroline led him through the foyer and into a lavishly decorated room where a man stood by the window, staring out into the street.
“Charles,” Louisa called softly.
“This is Mr Bingley’s home?” he asked but Louisa—no, he ought not call her that. He ought to call her and think of her as Mrs Hurst, as was proper—shook her head.
“This is my husband’s home. He is out right now, but he will be back later.” She paused and frowned, a line appearing on her otherwise smooth forehead. “You really do not know?”
“No. Have I been here before?” he asked, for the place lacked any familiarity. He had no chance to get an answer because the young man standing by the window turned. He had a pleasant countenance and his face brightened into a warm smile as he saw his sisters. “Caroline, Louisa! I thought you were not returning until this evening, has London tired—” He abruptly stopped speaking as his gaze fell upon Georgie. “Darcy? What on earth! Where have you been, old chap? No one has seen hide nor hair of you since New Year!”
Caroline stepped forward. “Charles, this gentleman insists he is not Fitzwilliam Darcy but rather George Wickham.”
Georgie shifted uncomfortably under Charles’s gaze, the weight of his confusion and fear almost palpable in the silence that followed.
“Wickham?” Charles repeated, brows furrowing. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Darcy? What is this you are playing at?”
Georgie wanted to respond but found himself cut off once more when Mrs Hurst spoke up. “He seems to have lost his memory, Charles. Thinks he’s someone he’s not. I thought he had been at the spirits but he is quite sober. Perhaps he had an accident?”
Charles’s expression softened with concern as he approached Georgie. “I see. So this is not you jesting? You really do not know who you are?”
Georgie nodded slowly, his throat tight with emotion. “Yes, that is correct. I can’t remember anything. Not who I am, not… anything. Some weeks ago I was found by a family in Hertfordshire and they let me stay with them for some while, in the hopes I might recover my memory but I did not. I was in possession of a greatcoat with the name George Wickham embroidered inside, and then it was confirmed to me that I am indeed this man. Although now it seems I am not?”
“Confirmed? By whom?” Charles asked as he stepped closer.
“A Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Georgie said, growing more and more uneasy by the moment.
“Lady… You mean your aunt? She saw you, and she said this?” Bingley said, then ran a hand through his hair as if truly mystified.
His aunt. It sounded so strange. Lady Catherine was his aunt? How could this be? “It was a letter, sent to Miss…” his voice trailed off, suddenly he felt quite overwhelmed. “May I have a cup of tea or… I must sit,” he said and staggered alarmingly, Bingley quickly took his arm to support him and guided him to a chair.
Caroline stepped in. “Charles, what should we do?”
Charles appeared to regard him thoughtfully for a long moment before turning to his sisters. “Let’s get him settled in the drawing room for now. I’ll send for a physician. Perhaps they can shed some light on this.”
Georgie felt relief and apprehension in equal measure as he followed Charles along the hallway to a grand drawing room. The Bingleys’ kindness touched him deeply, but he couldn’t shake the haunting question that lingered in his mind.
“Am I really Mr Darcy?” Georgie asked quietly as Charles closed the door behind them.
Charles hesitated, his expression pensive. “You are, my friend. But we’ll figure this out together.”
***
Once settled on the chaise in the drawing room, Georgie couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for the simplicity of being Georgie, the stranger without a memory. It was strange but he’d been more comfortable as this man, than he was now.
Even when he’d thought he was Mr Wickham, he’d at least had an idea of who this man might have been. But now he wasn’t this man at all, but Darcy? The villain in Miss Jane Bennet’s story?
Now, faced with the possibility of being someone he hardly recognised—a man named Darcy—he feared the unknown more than ever.
The uncertainty gnawed at him—a stranger in an unfamiliar world, grappling with a name that didn’t seem to fit.
Bingley and his sisters had departed after settling him here, no doubt to converse about what to do with him. He’d been left alone with his thoughts, his head more in an uproar than ever.
A knock on the door drew him from his contemplations and moments later, a physician arrived—a middle-aged man with a kind face and gentle demeanour. “Mr Darcy,” he said. “I’m Mr Thompson, Mr Bingley’s physician.”
He introduced and immediately set about examining him, asking questions about his health, recent experiences, and any memories he could recall. This man was more thorough than the country surgeon he’d seen at the Bennet’s home, but he wasn’t sure there would be a different outcome.
Georgie answered as best he could, feeling increasingly distressed as the physician probed deeper into his past. Each question, always addressed to Mr Darcy, his new incarnation, confused him more than the last. The sensations he’d been experiencing since he’d arrived in London, where things had seemed familiar and yet not, grew ever stronger.
After what felt like an eternity of questions and examinations, Dr Thompson finally withdrew, his expression thoughtful. Another knock sounded and Bingley poked his head inside.
“May we enter?” he asked and when Georgie nodded, he re-entered the room along with his sisters who looked even more worried than before.
“Well?” Charles prompted anxiously. “What do you make of it?”
Dr Thompson sighed softly, his gaze sympathetic. “Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst… it appears that this gentleman is suffering from amnesia. His memory loss seems extensive, covering a significant portion of his past. Everything, really, aside from the last few weeks which he seems to have spent under the alias of Mr Wickham. You are certain he is who you say he is?”
“Of course, I am. We went to school together, he is like a brother to me,” Bingley said sharper than he’d heard him speak before. A brother. They were like brothers. All this time he’d wondered about a family and now here he was, with a man who claimed to be like a brother to him. And yet, he felt nothing more than a faint sense of familiarity. He wasn’t sure what had brought it on. It wasn’t recognition, that he knew. But he felt comfortable around Charles Bingley, the way he had felt with the Bennets.
Caroline gasped softly, a hand flying to her mouth in shock. “Amnesia? Is there any hope of recovery?”
Dr Thompson shook his head slightly. “It’s difficult to say at this stage. He reported an accident, although he could not recall what exactly happened. He suffered a head injury at the time which certainly can be the cause. Memory loss can be unpredictable. Sometimes, memories return gradually over time, while in other cases, they may never fully recover.”
Georgie’s heart sank at the doctor’s words. The knowledge that he had finally found out who he was, didn’t bring him the hoped-for relief, even though he wasn’t the dreadful Mr Wickham. He didn’t want to be Darcy. And what good did it do him anyway to know his name, if it brought no memories with it? How could he return to Elizabeth like this? Cleared of the accusation of being a rakish scoundrel who harmed everyone in his path but proven to be the one man Elizabeth detested more than any other.
Charles placed a reassuring hand on Georgie’s shoulder, offering a small, comforting smile. “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll do everything we can to help him.”
Dr Thompson turned to give Georgie one last glance before he departed, his expression sympathetic. “Of course. If there’s anything further I can do, please don’t hesitate to send for me.”
“We will see you out,” the two women said almost at once.
With a final nod, the physician took his leave, leaving Georgie and Charles Bingley in a heavy silence punctuated only by the ticking of a nearby clock.
Charles turned to Georgie. “Perhaps tea might help settle your nerves. I took the liberty of asking the maid to fetch us some while the doctor was examining you. I find no matter what life may throw at one, tea helps one see things more clearly.”
Georgie nodded silently, as a maid brought in the tea tray. Bingley made himself comfortable in an armchair by the window, and Georgie followed suit. The weight of his new reality settled heavily on his shoulders as he sank into the seat.
As Charles poured them both a cup of tea, he spoke softly. “We’ll figure this out, Darcy. Together. You have us, and we won’t abandon you.”
Though Georgie appreciated Charles’s words, the name ‘Darcy’ still felt foreign on his tongue.
The road ahead seemed uncertain and daunting, but at least he wasn’t alone in facing it. He had Charles, Caroline, and Louisa—people who knew him even if he couldn’t remember them.
With a heavy heart, Georgie resolved to find a way to piece together the fragments of his shattered past and discover who he truly was beneath the name and the face that everyone insisted was his own.
His eyes fell to his cup, his mind drifting back to Elizabeth Bennet and the life he had left behind in Hertfordshire. Would she accept him now, as Darcy, despite the revelations about his true identity? He could only hope and pray that the truth, once uncovered, would bring them closer rather than drive them further apart.