Page 19 of Old Boots (Pride and Prejudice Variations #3)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

W e retired early, conscious of the long journey north and Mr Bennet’s years.

When we left London, I had sent ahead of us my second coach with Carsten and the ladies’ maid for my sister and her companion.

This second carriage, now in train with my own, afforded us the comfort of occasionally separating—with the men in one coach and the ladies in the other—for the sake of space and the privacy to doze.

Mr Bennet missed his reading, not being a man who could comfortably do so while in motion, and he slept a great deal.

The hours marched slowly along as they do on an expedition that is not entirely comfortable and so thoroughly monotonous.

I did not read much myself, though I could do so without sickening.

I thought of everything and of nothing, wondered vaguely what would become of Miss Bingley, whether she and her brother had managed to resolve their differences, and whether Bingley would return to Hertfordshire to settle comfortably or stay in London and continue to try to break into the haut ton.

I thought of breaking out of that confederacy of snobbery and of never again being sized up like a prize bull.

I also pondered the problem of my cousin Anne de Bourgh, who I was regularly pushed to marry by my aunt Lady Catherine and even on occasion by my uncle, Lord Matlock.

Concluding that no amount of verbal refusing could convince anyone to stop badgering me on the subject, I moved on to thinking of my cousin Richard.

I worried about his safety more than I would admit to anyone.

But more than that, I missed him as a companion and conspirator.

Having had my cousin so lately on my mind, I was shocked when, after we had been at Pemberley only two days, he came pelting up the drive in a caped greatcoat covered with mud.

I nearly knocked him down in greeting and managed to muddy myself in the process.

“What the devil?” I asked after pounding him on the back. “Is all well?”

He grasped my shoulders and shook me angrily, even as he grinned like a fool to see me. “How dare you send me such a letter! I had to lie to get leave, you idiot.”

We could speak no more. The household came out to see what was amiss, and I was forced to relinquish my cousin to the greetings of my sister and all his well-wishers at Pemberley.

He met Mr Bennet with a touch of cordial curiosity before being taken, almost by the hand, by old Mrs Reynolds who clucked and scolded him for being a “wild scamp, coming in all your mud.” At the landing, Richard flashed me a wink before disappearing up the stairs, no doubt tenderly scolded all the way to his rooms.

Dinner and several hours passed before my cousin and I were at leisure to speak in the privacy of my study.

“You had better tell me from the beginning what you did to Wickham,” he said. Richard sat back in his chair and put his feet on a footstool. At his elbow, he had a glass of wine, and on his face, a look of relief to be still for once.

“Would you not rather rest? You look very tired.”

“I am tired, but I would rather hear this sordid tale. I posted up here like an express rider just to hear it.”

“I was in Hertfordshire with Bingley. He leased an estate there, and I spent some weeks helping him understand the land. While there, the militia came.”

“Under whose command?”

“Colonel Forster.”

“Never heard of him. So, Wickham managed to get himself a lieutenancy with that bunch?”

“He did. I heard he was in Meryton but never saw him myself. I enlisted Reese to verify this lieutenant was indeed Wickham, which he did. And then we made a plan.”

“The blacksmith and blacksmith’s daughter?”

“As a coachman, Reese knows the farriers anywhere he goes, and the farriers know the blacksmiths and so on. They found a fellow in Luton with a daughter. That he had grown sons did not hurt our cause. They brought a nondescript coach from Luton and waited for Wickham to come out of a bawdy house just beyond Meryton proper that he was known to frequent. Between the five of them, they made easy work of throwing a cloak over his head, pouring laudanum down his throat, whipping up the horses, and taking their burden north. Simple as that.”

“Huh! They did what every rake who abducts a woman does.”

“Precisely.”

“They kept him drugged the entire way?”

“Just as a seducer would drug his victim.”

“He must have had a vile headache when he woke.”

“I am told he was violently ill. But they managed to stand him up in front of the anvil and to force a marriage.”

“I wonder that Wickham agreed to sign the register.”

“You have only to recall how vain a man Wickham is to know what some small threat of disfigurement would achieve.”

“What did this escapade cost you?”

“Upwards of five hundred pounds all told.”

“Lord, so much, Darcy?”

“I made it worth everyone’s time. To me, it was a bargain to have the thorn permanently removed from my side.”

“Of a surety, he will never be able to fulfil his ambition to marry for money. You have neatly crushed that dream. The notices were a nice touch, but it is possible he might still find someone to prey upon, perhaps farther away from London than he usually prowls.”

“The notices might thwart one in twenty schemes, I grant you. Not everyone thinks of having a man’s history investigated before signing a marriage settlement. That was only a flourish meant to torment Wickham.”

“He was told his marriage would go into the notices?”

“Yes. But you see, Richard, we are only at half the story of what our old friend has endured.”

“What?”

“You did not think I would leave him loose, did you? I cannot think of anyone more dangerous than Wickham, penniless and displaced, roaming the northern counties.”

“Go on. What did you do? ”

“It just so happened that the blacksmith and his sons celebrated the wedding a little too much. They made a great show of being sprawled out, insensible and snoring, in the public room of the inn where Wickham and his new wife were housed. Predictably, Wickham tiptoed away from his new relations in search of some means of escape, and who would he encounter almost half an hour later but Reese?”

“No!”

“Yes, Reese the coachman, known to Wickham from Pemberley, was tooling down the very same street in a gig, having come to Scotland on holiday. He had a little money in his pocket and a few days of liberty and was feeling quite magnanimous. He hailed Wickham as an old acquaintance, expressed shock at how ill he appeared, and you have only to know Wickham to believe that Reese was soon told a specious tale of woe.”

“I am utterly lost, Darcy. You sent Reese to Scotland to rescue him?”

“Bear with me. Wickham claimed villains had taken all his money and meant to do him bodily harm, and Reese, good natured man that he is, offered what help he could. He suggested his means would perhaps buy Wickham steerage on a packet to Canada to be repaid when Wickham made his fortune in America. It was perhaps the last idea Wickham would agree to, but upon hearing shouts behind him, agree to it he did. The blacksmith’s daughter, you see, did not fancy being abandoned by her new husband and sent her family to retrieve him. ”

“You are sure he did not jump ship?”

“I am sure Wickham thought he could take Reese’s money and abort the plan somewhere along the way.

But the blacksmith’s sons and a mob of willing confederates recruited from Gretna pursued Wickham all the way to Edinburgh and set up a visible presence on the docks until the tide turned. Wickham is truly gone, Richard.”

The clock ticked in the silence that followed. “It might have been more merciful to kill him.”

“Would it have been more merciful if Wickham killed my sister outright rather than seduce her into an elopement? Think of how Georgiana would have suffered. Someone wise once pointed out the sad fact that what is considered ordinary abuse of a woman is decried as unthinkable and inhumane when applied to a man.”

My cousin leaned his head back in his chair, and after a moment of reflection, he began to chuckle. “I must admit, you exacted a brilliant revenge. When did you become so almighty wicked, Darcy?”

“I believe I have always been so. Either that or some evil spirit has overtaken me of late. I may have sent Miss Caroline Bingley halfway to the madhouse.”

“What? No. ”

We talked long into the night, having been separated for some time. As we wandered up the stairs, Richard said, “I say, who is this Bennet fellow?”

I knew better than to squirm or deflect my cousin’s questions regarding my guest. I stood by with an expression of passive goodwill as he expertly quizzed Georgiana on the subject of our stay at Longbourn, her new friends, the Miss Bennets, and her understanding of why Mr Bennet was now a fixture at Pemberley.

My sister related the very same information I had given Richard, and though he still looked askance at me from time to time in an effort to ferret out what I was clearly disinclined to tell him, he temporarily gave up the hunt.

Campaigning was hard duty, and my cousin spent time recuperating by the fire.

This left Mr Bennet and me time to ponder the shelves in my library, to debate why the Greek literature was placed in proximity to the material I had amassed on the Roman empire, and other friendly arguments common to men who read widely.

When we were not thus agreeably engaged, we sat in total silence.

We were in just such an attitude when Mr Bennet roused from his reflections.

“I suppose I had better write to Jane.”

“Have you not done so?” I admit I sounded a little shocked by his neglect .

“I should have, but I am a famous laggard when it comes to letters. My daughters would not yet be anxious at having no word from me.”

“The inkstand is just there. Would you like another lamp lit?”