Page 21 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 30/2: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

Elizabeth awoke as the sun peeked over the horizon, shining through her open curtains onto her face. The rest of her family preferred to block it out, to enjoy the extra moments of sleep, but she needed time to herself and time out of the house—if she did not leave first thing in the morning, she would be engulfed in the family’s activities and spend the rest of her day fighting off annoyance.

As she sat up, she took a deep breath. Thank Heaven that her headache of yesterday was gone! Elizabeth slipped out of bed, the chill of the November morning leading her to dress quickly. She could have sworn she had worn her yellow dress yesterday, but it was laid out to wear this morning, so she must have been mistaken. Considering how miserable she had felt for most of the day, it was no wonder she misremembered. With thoughts of how lovely the morning sun would be as it sparkled off the dew like a thousand shimmering diamonds, Elizabeth put on her yellow dress and took herself out of doors.

The entire world was clean and crisp in moments like these, despite the mud and winter-brown of the foliage.

An hour later, after hanging up her wraps and making her way to the breakfast-parlour, Elizabeth stepped into the room. Her family was sitting around the table, just as they had been yesterday, but thankfully, the visual echoes did not appear. She smiled at Jane and then sat down next to her father.

“I must say, Miss Elizabeth, your mother informed me that you often take a morning walk, and it is a testament to your industriousness that you rise early and partake in healthful exercise.”

Elizabeth stared at him. Mr. Collins memorised his little speeches, but really, was not two days in a row excessive?

“I myself prefer to walk to see my parishioners when they are within an easy distance and, of course, I make it a practice to walk to Rosings daily to partake in my patroness’s wisdom. She is often aware of difficulties in the community even before they come to my attention and I have found great benefit in my regular visits—both for the purpose of conversing with Lady Catherine and engaging in healthful exercise.”

Elizabeth glanced over at her father, expecting him to comment on the repetition, but Mr. Bennet merely twinkled at her.

“Are you still planning to go to Meryton today, my love?” Mrs. Bennet asked Lydia.

Lydia nodded vigorously. “Oh yes! I am hopeful of finding out when Denny shall return—or perhaps that he has returned already!”

“He returned on Monday,” Elizabeth reminded her sister.

Lydia shook her head, her curls flying about her face. “No, indeed! I spoke to my aunt on Sunday, and Denny was not supposed to return until this morning at the earliest.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Was he not standing on the sidewalk with Mr. Wickham yesterday?”

“Mr. Wickham? Who is that?” Lydia asked with a laugh.

Elizabeth’s frown deepened, unsure of what to say. She distinctly remembered walking to Meryton and meeting Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham on the street yesterday—unless... she could not have dreamt it, could she? That would explain the odd visions, but it had felt so real! The pain had been debilitating.

The conversation moved on around her, and she merely nodded when Jane suggested they accompany Lydia and Kitty to Meryton. Mr. Bennet eagerly suggested Mr. Collins join them, and the whole group set out almost before Elizabeth could grasp what was happening.

After rebuffing Mr. Collins’s offer to escort her, Elizabeth pulled Jane aside.

“Jane, what day is it?” she asked quietly.

A slight furrow appeared on Jane’s brow. “It is Tuesday. Are you well, Lizzy?”

“I am—I do not know. I could have sworn that yesterday was Tuesday.”

“No, yesterday was the day Mr. Collins arrived.”

Elizabeth stared at her sister. Mr. Collins had been present for far more than a day—frankly, it felt as though he practically lived at Longbourn. Then again, might these not be merely residual feelings from the dream or vision or whatever it had been? But why would she have imagined such detailed scenarios with Mr. Collins, Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Darcy?

“I had a very vivid dream, Jane, and I am still having difficulty distinguishing between the dream and reality.”

“What did you dream?”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “I dreamt what we did today. That on Tuesday, we walked into Meryton and met Mr. Denny with another gentleman―”

“Mr. Wickham?” Jane asked.

“Yes! Do you remember it as well?”

Jane shook her head. “You mentioned a Mr. Wickham at breakfast.”

“Oh. Well, I dreamt we saw them in Meryton.” She made a face. “Kitty and Lydia hurried over to speak to them, despite our best attempts. And while we were speaking to them―” She paused as flashes of conversations with Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham filled her mind. Sometimes the two gentlemen escorted them to Mrs. Phillips’s. Other times, Mr. Bingley alone met them in Meryton and joined the entourage. Or Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley escorted the Bennets to Mrs. Phillips’s while Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny left. Yesterday though... she concentrated, trying to sort through the visions. Strangely enough, even the ones that had seemed blurry and out of focus when they had first occurred were now just as clear as yesterday. “Yesterday, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley encountered us in Meryton. Mr. Bingley wished to enquire as to your recovery. And then they escorted us to Aunt Phillips’s, where she gave them an invitation to her dinner.”

Jane smiled. “Well, that is certainly in character for our aunt. I am not surprised that you dreamt such a thing. She would gladly give almost anyone an invitation to one of her dinners.”

“She is very hospitable,” Elizabeth said, returning her sister’s smile. Though Mrs. Phillips was an avid gossip, she was also passionate about ensuring people felt welcomed and involved, much like Sir William Lucas.

Jane linked her arm through Elizabeth’s. “Was there something disturbing about your dream that you have not been able to forget it, or is it simply the coincidences about the day that are causing it to remain in your mind?”

“Probably just the coincidences. But it was also so strange—I had these visions of other Tuesdays, other instances where only a few small things varied.” She gave a little laugh. “It almost feels as though today is just another one of those variations.”

Jane squeezed her arm comfortingly. “I doubt that events will proceed exactly as your dream went; and yesterday truly was Monday, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed, though her doubts did not disappear.

Darcy fiddled with his reins, mentally reciting all the reasons why he could not simply leave Bingley behind. His friend regularly kept him waiting, but today even five minutes was an eternity.

He wanted to see Miss Elizabeth and to confirm that her headache had been a mere aberration.

He wanted to find Mrs. Engel and ask her when the so-called assistance would be arriving. Darcy had spoken to Hawkin again about Wickham, but his faithful valet had not devised any new methods for deterring the miscreant, short of death.

Which left Mrs. Engel.

Neither seeing Miss Elizabeth nor finding Mrs. Engel could happen until Bingley arrived. So, he fidgeted with the reins and walked Sisyphus up and down, hoping that time would move more quickly if he himself was moving.

Finally, finally , Bingley arrived some two minutes later and Darcy was able once more to convince Bingley to meet the Bennets in Meryton rather than going by Longbourn first.

Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet were arm in arm, Mr. Collins walking beside them. Darcy nearly pulled Sisyphus to a halt: this was a different configuration of the group than he had yet seen. Though the two youngest Bennets typically ranged ahead of the group, Miss Bennet usually walked back and forth between her two younger sisters and Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Collins.

Did their current disposition mean that Miss Elizabeth was still ill?

He hurriedly greeted the group and then turned to Miss Elizabeth. “Are you recovered, Miss Elizabeth?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Recovered from what?”

Darcy cursed himself. Of course she would not recall her headache of the previous day. “Ah—I mean, are you well, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I am. And you, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy hesitated. “I am tolerable.”

“That is good to hear.”

Before Darcy could introduce another topic, Mr. Collins jumped in with copious assurances of how very blessed he was to encounter Lady Catherine’s most favoured nephew and how glad he was to be able to impart that, as of the day before yesterday, she was in excellent health. Stopping the flow of the man’s words was possible—he had done it before—but he had no desire to do so again this morning. And so, to the accompaniment of Mr. Collins’s prattling, they made their way to Meryton.

Darcy had often wished that Lady Catherine was a bit less—herself; however, never had he wished it so much as these Tuesdays, when he was regularly exposed to the rector she had chosen.

The moment they caught sight of Mr. Denny and Wickham, the two youngest Bennets flew across the street like bees catching sight of a meadow full of choice flowers. The rest of the group followed after them. Despite having witnessed their behaviour many times, their impropriety still struck Darcy. Truly, he did not understand why Mr. Bennet did not take his daughters in hand.

Then again, Mr. Bennet seemed but little in evidence. He had only seen him twice at the various events they had attended, and neither time had he been introduced.

After barely acknowledging Wickham’s touch of the hat, Darcy excused himself. The sight of the old woman hobbling down the street nearly caused him to break into a run, lest she disappear before he could obtain information.

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” she said, smiling at him with her gap-toothed and blackened grin.

Darcy held out an arm to escort her—perhaps she would be less likely to vanish if he had a hold on her.

Mrs. Engel cackled as though in answer to his thoughts, but she did take his arm.

“I wish to speak to you about the help you are sending,” he began.

“Oh?”

“Who is it?” Darcy asked, carefully navigating her around a puddle.

Mrs. Engel followed his lead, her gait alternating between that of a shuffling elderly person and a prancing child. “Who is what?”

“My help. What can you tell me about the help you are sending?”

“Oh, I have already sent them. I could tell you any number of things about them, but what I will tell you is that you will know it when you see it.”

“I will know it when I see it,” Darcy repeated blankly.

She nodded emphatically.

“I do not understand.”

“That is all right—I did not expect you to. You will when the time is right.”

Darcy took a deep breath, reminding himself that antagonising her was unlikely to produce desirable results. “What about Wickham?”

“What about Mr. Wickham?” she asked, glancing back up the street to where Wickham stood conversing with the group.

Keeping a thin hold on his impatience, Darcy maintained an expression of polite inquiry. “What am I supposed to do about him? As I said, I have already tried a great many things to deter him.”

“You are not old enough to have memory problems, Mr. Darcy,” she said lightly. “I have already told you that you are attempting to change the wrong people and that you yourself are keeping Mr. Wickham tied to you.”

“But what does that mean?” Darcy snapped.

“You have all the information you need at present—you need only open your eyes to the truth.”

Darcy huffed, knowing he sounded like a petulant child, but too annoyed to hide his feelings. “I do not see how.”

“I am not surprised to hear that,” she said tranquilly.

“Are you certain that the best method of dealing with Wickham is not to simply address the issue more permanently?”

Mrs. Engel tutted. “Killing George Wickham would not solve your problem, you know. You would still be dragging him through your life until you died—probably even more securely than you are now. And it would not prevent you from having someone equally wretched as your future brother.” She frowned. “Or perhaps it would. You may manage to destroy your own future and Georgiana’s in the process. I cannot See that outcome as yet.”

“Destroy my own future? How would killing Wickham affect my future? Would it not save Georgiana?”

Mrs. Engel shook her head, pulling her arm from his. “I have told you as much as I may.”

“But―”

She smiled up at him. “Sometimes the seeking of answers is just as important as the answers themselves,” she said. “I believe Mr. Bingley is awaiting you once more.”

The first stirrings of tension began around his temples, promising a later headache. Darcy looked back over his shoulder; the Bennets had moved down the street already. Bingley must have taken his leave. When he glanced back, Mrs. Engel had vanished.

“Darcy?” Bingley asked, walking over to him as though approaching a wild animal. “Are you well?”

Darcy nearly ground his teeth. “Yes, I am quite well,” he said curtly.

Bingley shrank back for a moment before drawing nearer. “Who were you talking to?”

“The old woman who frequents this part of Meryton.”

Bingley looked around, bewilderment plain on his face. “What old woman?”

“The old woman who—oh, never mind. She has already gone.”

“Did you still want to inspect the east fields? If you are not feeling well enough, we could simply return to Netherfield. We do not have to inspect them today.”

Needing to shake off his frustration, he accepted Bingley’s reprieve. “I would like to go for a ride, but I would prefer not to inspect any fields.”

“Of course,” Bingley said carefully.