Page 39 of I am Jael (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
In the comparative comfort of his barracks, Wickham settled on his bed and opened up the Bible.
He did not, of course, own a copy of the so called Good Book, but a tedious lieutenant by the name of Dowding, who had made more than one snide comment about gambling and drinking, owned a Bible.
George had asked to borrow his copy, and Dowding had agreed with enthusiasm so long as Wickham promised to return it quickly.
That would be no problem; Wickham had no intention of cluttering up his quarters with such a tome.
It took some time for Wickham to find the book of Judges, and even longer to find a mention of Jael. Indeed, it was remarkable that he remembered the reference of Judges; his memory for Bible details had never been good.
George stiffened in fear for a moment, but then forced himself to relax.
Surely Georgiana Darcy did not intend to attempt to murder him!
The thought was actually quite entertaining.
Wickham laughed out loud, but his feelings of uneasiness about the situation persisted.
It could not be refuted that Georgiana had attacked him today, even though it was verbally and not physically.
This newly aggressive attitude of hers could spell significant trouble.
He had hoped to revenge himself against Darcy through his younger sister, but if Georgiana was willing to battle against him . ..
Well, it was not as if she could actually do anything. She was but a child, really, the daughter and sister of men of rigid adherence to the expectations of society, a game for which George held a winning card to be played at will. There was really nothing about which to be concerned.
A quick glance at his watch showed that it was time for him to report for duty in the village square, where he could look forward to at least two hours of marching up and down and drilling in thoroughly dull fashion.
At least the pubs of Meryton were pleasant enough, and he looked forward to his nightly gaming and drinking.
He need not concern himself with Georgiana Darcy. She was nothing.
/
“Georgiana!”
Georgie relaxed in relief as her brother handed her down from the carriage.
In a moment, she was in his arms, relishing the smell of wood smoke and soap.
She had not been entirely sure whether her brother would be upset about her sudden trip to Netherfield; given that she had just confronted the Darcy nemesis, she did not feel emotionally capable of an argument with her beloved brother.
“My dear, what a pleasant surprise,” Darcy said, smiling tenderly at his younger sister. “I was truly startled when Fitzwilliam appeared on horseback almost two hours ago. We were growing slightly worried as you are thirty minutes later than our cousin expected.”
Georgiana put her arm in Darcy’s and began walking up the steps of Netherfield Hall, “We stopped briefly in Meryton, Brother. I forgot to bring my drawing pencils and we purchased some at a local shop.”
She felt her brother’s arm stiffen under her hand, and she looked up at him inquiringly.
“You stopped in Meryton?”
“Yes,” the girl replied carefully. “It seems a pleasant town.”
“Indeed, it is,” Darcy replied, his body relaxing.
Georgiana hesitated, then decided now was most definitely not the time to discuss Wickham. It seemed, based on her brother’s anxiety, that he was aware that Wickham resided in Meryton. Georgiana had not been at all certain that that was the case.
“It seems a pleasant home, Netherfield Hall,” she commented with a glance around the front edifice of the building.”
“Yes,” Darcy agreed, guiding her into the hall as the door was opened by Bingley’s butler. “Mr. Bingley is finding it an excellent situation for him in terms of its distance from London, its acreage, and the size of the home.”
There was a flurry of skirts to her right, and Georgie halted, firmly pasting on a polite smile as Miss Bingley surged into view. As usual, the woman was dressed expensively, if not tastefully, and her smile was relentless.
Georgiana found Miss Bingley, the younger sister of Netherfield’s master, a difficult acquaintance. Miss Bingley, who was pursuing Fitzwilliam Darcy as a potential husband as a fox stalks a chicken, was always flattering and overly enthusiastic in Georgiana’s company.
“My dear Miss Darcy, what a delight to welcome you to Netherfield Hall!”
/
Georgiana thanked the maid assigned to assist her.
The girl, named Betty, carried away a pitcher of water and departed the sitting room, allowing Georgiana to sink down with relief next to the fire.
The weather had turned again, and rain poured down from the eaves onto the sodden ground.
She was thankful that they had made their trip from London early.
She was tired physically from the early journey and tired emotionally from her confrontation with Wickham. She was enormously grateful that the opportunity had arisen to confront the wretch. Nevertheless, it had been hard to stare into that once beloved, now despised face.
Georgiana knew that she needed to tell her brother about her meeting with Wickham, but she was weary.
Surely she could wait until tomorrow morning.
Mrs. Annelsey, her companion, was exhausted after their bumpy journey from London and would no doubt arise late; she would find Darcy at the breakfast table, and tell him about her interactions with the vile man who had nearly convinced her to wed him.
There was a soft tap of the door, and a moment later Fitzwilliam walked into the room. And Georgiana knew, from the look on his face, that there would be no delay in what would no doubt prove to be a most uncomfortable discussion.
She rose to her feet and turned to face her beloved sibling, her face determined, “John the footman told you, I assume?”
“My butler Percy told me. John told him.”
“I see.”
She did see. John, the footman who had followed her into the bookstore, was a retainer of the Darcys, not Georgiana. Of course he would tell a superior servant about what had transpired in Meryton when she confronted Wickham.
“Why, Georgie?” Darcy demanded, his face more incredulous than angry. “What possessed you to converse with Wickham, of all people?”
Georgiana bit her lip and lifted her chin, “I confronted Mr. Wickham, Brother. I did not converse with him. I challenged him about the lies he told about you.”
Darcy blew out a slow breath, struggling to remain calm, “Georgie, it is not your role to defend me. I truly cannot believe what I am hearing from you, my darling! You happened to catch sight of Wickham, and in the space of seconds, you chose to verbally accost the man who nearly ruined your life?”
“I knew he was in Meryton. I was looking for him, though it was indeed a gift from God that he appeared on the street so that I was able to confront him.”
Now Darcy was even more stunned, “You knew he was in the militia here? How? Did he write to you?”
Georgiana’s eyes flew wide and she shook her head vigorously, “Of course not. He would not dare, and if he had dared, I would have handed his letters unopened to Mrs. Annesley. No, you sent a messenger to Darcy House two days ago with some letters for your solicitor, and the messenger caught sight of Wickham when he rode through Meryton. He spoke of the matter to our butler, and I made a point of listening in on the conversation.”
Darcy was now truly appalled, “You listened in on the servant’s conversations? Georgiana, that is ...”
“Unrefined? Vulgar? Unladylike?” Georgiana interrupted fiercely.
She was truly angry now, “I suppose it is, Brother. I suppose I am all those things. But if I had known what everyone else knew about Wickham, if I had been warned of the degenerate, cruel, vicious man that he is, I would have been a far wiser girl. If I had known what he did to the maid Jenny at Pemberley, I would never have allowed him near me at Ramsgate.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Jenny?”
“Jenny, yes,” she replied, struggling to maintain some semblance of serenity.
“I pray you have not forgotten her, Fitzwilliam. She was ruined by Wickham some eight years ago and bore his twins. He, of course, abandoned her and his children without compunction. I know that you are supporting her and her children, but she lost all chance of a respectable marriage to a nearby farmer named Reeves.”
“Georgiana,” Darcy said gently, sinking into a nearby chair and studying her gravely. “For all that Wickham is at fault, so was Jenny. Yes, he was and is charming, but it was her decision to ...”
“You need not conceal the truth from me, William,” the girl interrupted, rising to her feet and stalking over to the window. “I am old enough to acknowledge the ugly reality of what truly happened.”
“What reality?”
He sounded genuinely perturbed and confused. She turned to stare at him, her brows raised.
“It was not her choice, Fitzwilliam. Jenny was in the still room, cleaning the tables at Mrs. Reynold’s orders. Wickham had free run of Pemberley and found her there. He shut the door, wedged it shut, prevented her from leaving. He forced himself upon her. You know that to be true.”
“I most certainly do not!” Fitzwilliam replied, his dark eyes flashing angrily. “Who dared tell you such a terrible thing?”
“No one told me, Brother,” Georgiana replied, more gently now. It was possible, she supposed, that he truly did not know.
She turned back to the window now, staring at the rain which wept onto the east flower garden, “I had trouble sleeping after ... after Ramsgate. I would lie awake at night, angry at myself, furious that I had given into that liar’s words.”
“It was not your fault, Georgie,” he began.
“No, let me finish, Fitzwilliam. Please. I would often go to the library after lunch. It’s so soothing there. I remember Papa sitting next to the fire, reading one of those books which you too love so much.”