Page 3 of Searching for Elizabeth (A Pride and Prejudice Variation)

— later, early afternoon —

Fitzwilliam Darcy checked his reflection in the looking glass of his dressing room at Netherfield Park. This was just a call, not a ball, so there was no need to look formal, but most of Darcy’s clothing was dark—black, dark gray, dark brown, dark blue or green—and somehow the pristine white of his shirt and cravat, combined with dark colored waistcoats and morning coats, made him look more formal than the dandies who combined brighter colors.

But he would do. He nodded to his valet, Smithson, and left his chambers; after moving down the stairs, he accepted his black beaver from the butler and left the nearly-silent house.

It was so nice to reside in the house without Miss Caroline Bingley’s constant chatter, which vacillated between fawning over him and malicious toward others, both of which irritated him almost beyond his ability to remain civil. However, he did miss his friend’s amiable banter. Charles Bingley had gone to London for urgent business. He promised to be back in a few days, but he had not expected his two sisters and his brother-in-law to follow, half an hour later, in the Hursts’ carriage, so Darcy was not sure what would happen with the Bingleys.

But for now, he was certain about his own intentions: he had to warn Miss Elizabeth Bennet. And possibly take steps to protect her. And he had finally decided to attempt to court her. If she would allow it.

Darcy waited while his horse was saddled, and then he mounted and galloped through the fallow field before taking the road to Longbourn.

When he arrived at the house, it seemed a little more topsy-turvy than usual, if he could judge from all the raised female voices. Those voices instantly hushed, however, when he was announced and shown into the parlor. His searching eyes immediately determined that Elizabeth was not sitting among her sisters.

He hoped she was merely upstairs, or ensconced in her father’s book room, as she sometimes was. If she was out walking, it would be hard for him to find her; there were so many trails she liked to take, and he had only run into her twice in the weeks he had been in Meryton.

Those thoughts flitted through his head rapidly as he bowed to Mrs. Bennet and then to the room, generally.

“I was hoping to call on Miss Elizabeth. Is she at home?”

Darcy could not miss the changing expressions on all of their faces. Mrs. Bennet went from a simpering smile to a surprised gape to a deep frown, all in the fraction of a second, and her face ended up settling on a wholly insincere smile. Jane, who had red, puffy eyes, looked upset but also guilty. Kitty looked surprised, and Lydia smirked in the most unpleasant way. Darcy noted that Mary was not there. He sighed; she would have been the only other Bennet girl he would have wanted to talk to about Wickham.

Mrs. Bennet answered his query, looking for all the world like a miscreant who was caught in some sort of bad behavior but eager to excuse herself and explain away any disapprobation: “Oh, no, Lizzy is not here. And Mary seems to be gone for the moment, as well. They are my most troublesome daughters, Mr. Darcy. Surely you could visit with Jane instead?”

Darcy saw Miss Jane Bennet blush and shift in discomfort. He wondered at her mother’s push to bring Miss Bennet to his attention, because she had always seemed to be set on securing Bingley for her eldest daughter. He was even more sure that something unusual was afoot at Longbourn.

Drawing himself up, he turned back to Mrs. Bennet and said, “Well, I need to relay important information to Miss Elizabeth, concerning something we spoke of last evening at the ball. Perhaps I could meet with Mr. Bennet instead?”

“Oh, yes, he is here.”

Unlike the genteel women of his acquaintance, Mrs. Bennet did not ring for a servant; instead she called out in an unpleasantly high-pitched voice, “Hill!”

The housekeeper appeared again and politely led Darcy to the book room. She knocked, responded to Mr. Bennet’s permission to enter by announcing “Mr. Darcy,”

and she exited swiftly, closing the door behind her.

Darcy was shocked by Mr. Bennet’s appearance. He had seen him just last night, but today he looked years older. Tired, cranky, without his usual sarcastic smile and dancing eyes, Mr. Bennet asked, “Well, Mr. Darcy, what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Bennet, I was concerned with some things that Miss Elizabeth said to me at the ball. She had gotten wind of a story that George Wickham likes to tell—a story that is based on a kernel of truth but that leaves so much out, I can characterize it as a baldfaced lie. And her attitude about Wickham made me certain that I ought to warn her about his true nature.”

Whatever Elizabeth’s father expected to hear, it certainly was not this. Darcy noted the man’s surprise, vexation, and just a bit of concern.

“Sir,”

Mr. Bennet started, making the polite appellation sound ironic, as if Darcy did not deserve the title, “you are going to have to tell me what story you are talking about and certainly more about Mr. Wickham’s supposedly true nature. From what I have seen, Mr. Wickham is quite the charmer, but I have seen no evil in him. And your word ‘warn’ seems inappropriate, from what I know of him.”

Darcy sighed. As usual, Wickham seemed to be better regarded than he himself. However, he had come to Longbourn, today, determined to explain almost everything he knew about his nemesis. And that is what he would do.

“George Wickham was the son of the long-time steward of Pemberley, my estate, and he was the godson of my father. Mr. Wickham, senior, was Pemberley’s steward when my father was the master, and when Wickham, Sr., sickened, my father promised to look after his son, to provide him an education, and to help him get started in an honorable occupation. Soon after he made that promise, Mr. Wickham died. The steward was a very good man, and I am only happy, for his sake, that he never lived to see how his son turned out.”

Running his hand through his hair, Darcy continued: “George Wickham went to Eton with me, and I was mystified by how mean, bullying, even, he was becoming. He was not violent, not that I ever saw, but he used words as weapons. When we went to Cambridge, I saw him descend to dissipation: he gambled, he whored, he seduced daughters of local tradesmen, he ran up debts that he did not pay, and he cheated in exams and in cards. My father was, at this point, dealing with a difficult recovery from a riding accident, and I did not want him to go through the shock and dismay of learning what his godson had become, so I used much of my allowance to pay his debts and aid the young women—and girls, quite young girls—he had ruined. I did not realize that my good intentions would have very deleterious results.

“Because Wickham, so far unchecked, had become worse in every way. He was expelled from university, and without the degree, he could not take orders, as my father had hoped he would. Wickham said he wished to study the law, but as far as I know, he never attempted to do so.”

Darcy looked down at his hands. He maintained rigid control of his expression, and he did not allow his hands to clench or wring, but he hated relaying the next part of his history with Wickham.

“My father never did recover from his accident; he died quite suddenly. I was newly graduated from Cambridge and was thrust into the role of master years earlier than anyone expected. I had been trained for the role all my life, but I still felt quite underwater when, three weeks after my father’s death, Wickham arrived, hand out, ready to receive whatever my father had left him.

“Father left Wickham one thousand pounds, outright, plus a lucrative living of one of the parishes under Pemberley’s control. Obviously, the living could only be granted if Wickham took orders; he had not and indeed could not do so, nor did he desire it. Since he was a gambler and a seducer, he certainly was not fit for the clergy. I suggested that he take a payment in compensation, and he agreed to a one-time payment of three thousand pounds. I had him sign a paper declaring that he had been paid and was fairly recompensed, and he left with his four thousand pounds. That money could have lasted a prudent man many years.

“But just two years later, he came back, accusing me of cheating him, claiming to be flat broke, and demanding more money. Naturally, I refused, and he went on to try to use both words and deeds to take revenge against me. He even went on to attempt an elopement with one of my relations, a 15-year-old child who had a very large dowry.”

Darcy did not explain that it was his own sister who had almost wrecked her life for Wickham; he still felt far too emotional to think on it.

Gulping back his emotions, Darcy went on, “I was lucky enough to stop the elopement before the girl was ruined, but Wickham wrote letter after letter claiming disgusting ruination of the girl. Although I refused to bow to his blackmail attempts, I now find that the rogue is an albatross around my neck.”

Mr. Bennet’s eyes had changed as Darcy laid bare the facts about Wickham. He looked much less sarcastic, much more concerned, and even a bit appreciative of the albatross reference to Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. There was a short silence, and then Mr. Bennet stirred.

“Thank you for the quite fulsome warning, Mr. Darcy. I will be talking to my daughters about this, you may be sure.”

“Thank you,”

Darcy said, bowing his head briefly in a gesture of appreciation.

“Let me ask you,”

Mr. Bennet said, “did Wickham continue to use words, not force? When I am warning my daughters, am I warning them against flattery and seduction, or…?”

Darcy shrugged.

“I have never heard of him using force against a maiden, nor violence against a man. It is all charm and romance towards the ladies, without the honorable intentions; with men, it is the charm of the cheat, of the swindler, of the man who borrows just a bit from one friend to pay a debt to another friend, and eventually, when so much is owed to so many, he will slip away from that town altogether.”

Mr. Bennet nodded.

“That description casts a new light on the behaviors I have seen from the fellow. I do appreciate your candor.”

Darcy rose and asked, “Do I have your permission to call on Miss Elizabeth tomorrow?”

Suddenly, Mr. Bennet’s face shuttered. His eyes dropped; his shoulders slumped. He almost looked ashamed, but Darcy could not imagine why he would feel that way.

Mr. Bennet said, “Well, actually…you see, Lizzy has left for a while.”

“Left? Did she go to visit someone?”

“She…she has gone to live with her Aunt Phillips, near the town center. I suppose you have seen the house? Mr. Phillips is Meryton’s solicitor.”

Darcy nodded.

“I know the house. I thank you for the news.”

He was thoroughly puzzled. The entire family had attitudes that were suspect—something untoward must have happened. Also, why would Elizabeth move a mile away, to live with her aunt? Away from her beloved sisters?

Given the fact that Elizabeth was no longer living at Longbourn—if that was even true—Darcy felt entirely unsure whether or not she would hear the truth about Wickham. He had to go to the Phillips; he had to talk to her, since he could not rely on someone else informing her.

He made his farewells quickly and rode to the Phillips’s home. When he asked to speak to Miss Elizabeth, he was even more shocked, in a day already full of surprises, because Mrs. Phillips shook her head and said, “No, Miss Elizabeth is not here. Mr. Bennet said she was living here now?”

She laughed and continued, “I certainly have not heard this news, and I might have thought that I would have.”

Darcy left with disquiet heavy on his shoulders. Where the devil was Elizabeth? How was he to warn her, protect her, let alone court her, if he did not know where she lived?

He could not help noticing that Mrs. Phillips left the house almost on his heels. Turning his head, he saw that she was heading for Longbourn as quickly as her legs could carry her.

Everything about his calls to Longbourn and Mrs. Phillips was puzzling to a high degree. Darcy knew that, if he returned to Netherfield, he would just worry and fret, so he decided to work on handling the Wickham problem. He rode to the temporary barracks that housed the militia and met with Colonel Forster. Darcy knew that the quality of his clothing and the gravitas he routinely donned when in his Master-of-Pemberley role would aid him in being believed; however, he knew that Wickham’s charm worked on men as well as women, so he did not expect the colonel to immediately throw the churl out on his say-so, either.

Darcy used every advantage he could. He asked Colonel Forster if he knew his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and he kept his voice calm and his facial expression neutral as he mentioned his myriad reasons for worrying about Wickham’s presence in Meryton. He even offered to send for the proof of Wickham’s debts elsewhere.

Colonel Forster waved his hand at that last part.

“No, no, that is not necessary. I will investigate if he has run up debts here, and I will ask around about the womanizing. Thank you for the warning; I always hope to hold my men to a high standard.”

Darcy stated that Forster could reach him at Netherfield Park for the foreseeable future, and as Darcy turned to leave, he was happy to see that Forster was already starting to give orders to his adjutant in order to start the investigation of Wickham.

Darcy did not want to go back to the empty Netherfield manor. Looking down the street at all the shops and services, Darcy decided to do something that he almost never did: chat with people he did not know, hoping to learn something that made sense out of all the conundrums heaped up against his goal of warning Elizabeth.