Beginning, Previous Section, Section IV

Chapter 21

Posted on 2008-10-14

Of all the news Alexander Fitzwilliam had expected to hear after a hurriedly scrawled note from his father, the recovery of his little cousin, Elizabeth, had certainly not been on the list. He had, of course, thought of her often, and his beloved Cassandra had learned that he only reached for the brandy on the days when the pain of the loss of Elizabeth or their unborn children haunted him. To have the grown up Elizabeth on his arm at this moment – he had been unable to stop the tears, so profound was his relief. She could have been prematurely aged, haggard, and warty, and still he would think her one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen in his life. He longed to tell her why Cassandra had been unable to join him tonight, but he was checked by the fear that there would be no news to give shortly. He only hoped she would not mind being a godmother in another six or seven months, should this pregnancy finally succeed. But – despite the information that his father had relayed in an undertone, to be barely heard over the click and clank of silverware – Wickham, his cousin Darcy's brother! – and Darcy's obvious attentions, as relayed by Richard, to Elizabeth – he was aware the evening's revelations had not been finished, and he reluctantly led Elizabeth towards the parlour. This time, she stayed him.

She glanced quickly around, ensuring the servants were not in ear-shot, he assumed. "Has my uncle informed you of Wickham's –" she hesitated.

"Peculiar connection?" he suggested, and at her nod and slight smile, nodded in affirmation.

"I am concerned for William," she added. "I do not know what Wickham is to relay tonight, but William's patience was sorely tested by merely finding Georgiana playing the piano with him."

Alexander grimaced. "You are asking me to keep William from… doing something he may regret?"

She glanced away and bit her lip, nodding. "It is not that I believe he will do anything intentionally, but this has been a particularly stressful situation."

"William has always been very temperate, very calm, despite having an implacable temper when finally goaded into anger," he replied. "My father related the events prior to dinner to me, and I can only agree that William is under an undue amount of stress. I will do what I can, Elizabeth." She gave him a brilliant smile, and he felt keenly, the injustice of having missed out on so much of her life. He smiled, trying to hide how much pain the realization of just how much time had been lost caused. "Shall we see what else is to be learnt?" She nodded, and he led her to the parlour.

"We despaired of you, Elizabeth!" Lady Catherine cried, as they rejoined the group.

"We only delayed a few moments, mθre," Elizabeth smiled. Alexander smiled to himself at the name – such an elegantly simple avoidance of what could have been an issue. "Alexander wished to speak to me, and as you see, we have followed in due time."

Lady Catherine looked as if she wished to scowl – and abruptly, Alexander realized his aunt was jealous that anyone else should wish for her daughter's company, as well as fearful for her welfare. "Go sit with her, Elizabeth," he whispered in her ear – no particular feat of skill given the disparity of their heights. "I think she is as worried as William is." He felt, more than saw Elizabeth's fractional nod, and she moved to sit beside her mother. Mr. Bennet promptly moved to sit near Elizabeth, and Darcy looked divided between keeping himself between Georgiana and Wickham – even though from what his father had told him, Alexander had few concerns there – and wanting to also be close to Elizabeth. Richard, apparently, was quite correct in his estimation of William's affections. As Elizabeth had requested of him, Alexander seated himself near William. Wickham had not taken a seat, nor had the earl; they stood in close conference near the fireplace.

After a moment, the earl apparently conceded defeat to whatever Wickham was demanding. He turned and addressed the group. "I believe we are all assembled?" A murmur of agreement answered. "Wickham has offered to tell us what he knows of the night of March 15th, seventeen years ago. I have heard it once already, and I warn you it only gives as many questions as it answers." He paused, and moved towards Elizabeth, kneeling. "I ask you, most in particular, if you are sure you wish to know what little he can tell us."

Alexander felt a trace of concern – his father would not be asking her a second time, if he were not concerned how the knowledge would impact her. But this Elizabeth was the Elizabeth he had known as a child – he saw an echo of fear in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders, but rarely was she intimidated by such things. She nodded. "I do, my lord." She looked towards Wickham, adding, "If naught else, I do not believe he deserves to carry the weight on his own."

His father nodded, for the merest moment looking defeated. He rose and glanced at Wickham. "Proceed, George, if you will." Alexander watched as his father settled himself beside Lady Sarah, then looked back at Wickham, who was pale but determined.

"I hardly know where to start," Wickham began, "but – You remember, Darcy, how Miss Elizabeth had wanted a ride on the pony your – our – father had bought for us?" Darcy nodded and exchanged a glance with Richard. Alexander, too, remembered. Wickham sighed, before looking at Elizabeth. "I had found you outside of your nursery, in your favourite dress, and you pleaded for me to take you on a pony ride. I did try to convince you to stay in the nursery, but, I own, I did not try overly hard. I, too, vividly remembered wishing to ride on a pony with Darcy and Richard, and being held back from it on account of being two years younger. I… thought I was doing you a favour." He grimaced, and swallowed, looking back at the fire. "I honestly expected to be stopped when we left the house and went to the stables. I had you sit down in the garden near the stables, so that the groom would not see you and put a premature end to our … adventure." Another grimace, at the word, and Alexander felt an echo of it. "I… did not wish to be caught, and so once I made sure you were seated securely on the saddle, I directed the pony outside of the park's main gates. Unfortunately, I had miscalculated both how far we had travelled, and how close to sunset it was, and by the time I realized we were lost – the sun was setting. Shortly after it became dark, we came to the road, and I frankly guessed which direction to go along it. After a while – I do not know how long – we heard another rider coming up in the dark, and I was fearful that it may not be a… friendly encounter." Alexander – while gritting his teeth at this bare-bones recital, was sharply reminding himself of Wickham's age at the time; just a boy, and his fear of a hostile rider was not unfounded. Rumours swirled about all sorts of horrors caused by the gypsies during their annual circuit through Kent in early spring. "I led the pony off the road – you, Elizabeth, on its back – and tried to keep the three of us quiet so we would not be discovered." Wickham paused, taking a deep breath.

The earl stirred uneasily, and Alexander gave his father a quick questioning glance, but only received a slight shake of the head in response. Wickham picked his story back up. "The horse and rider only came close enough for me to distinguish them faintly, before –" he hesitated, "something startled the pony." Alexander saw a flash of – relief? – fly across his father's face. "The pony reared, and I was knocked to the ground. The horse startled in reaction, and the rider was thrown, but my only concern was trying to capture the pony as it fled, you still on its back." By now, Wickham was speaking almost entirely to Elizabeth; Alexander had the impression that he only vaguely realized there was anyone else in the room. Wickham seated himself nearby Elizabeth and buried his head in his hands. When he looked up, his expression was haunted. "I ran for – I do not know for how long. Certainly long after I could no longer hear you calling for me. But I could not find any traces of you, in the dark. Somehow, I made my way back to Rosings, afoot – I cannot recall exactly. The house was in an uproar, and I… waited, for days it felt like, for someone to ask me what happened, but the questions were never asked."

"And did it never once occur to you to tell anyone, without being asked?" Alexander burst out. Wickham shook his head mutely. "Why ever not?"

Elizabeth broke in quietly – Alexander abruptly realized how pale she was. "It was my father, was it not? The rider thrown when the pony startled?"

Wickham hesitated. "I know of no other riders injured that night, but I also have no idea how far we were from Rosings." The earl murmured that he, too, knew of no other riders injured in the vicinity that night.

"My fault," Alexander thought he heard her whisper; he must have heard it, for Wickham was suddenly kneeling in front of her, pleading.

"Never your fault, Elizabeth. Mine, yes; I was old enough to have known better, to have said no, to have – done anything but risk your safety."

"My age was not an excuse," she replied, obviously fighting for composure, rising as if to flee so she could accuse herself in private.

Protestations from every party in the room arose, trying to convince her otherwise. Alexander was at a loss for words himself; she could not be blamed, she was far too young to have come even close to considering the ramifications of a fairly simple desire. Wickham – despite being old enough to have realized the initial action was wrong – could not have even begun to imagine such an outcome. But Elizabeth would not listen, and refused to even let Mr. Bennet, Jane or William comfort her. One person in the room, however, was just as stubborn, and when Elizabeth tried to pull away, Lady Catherine merely held her daughter tighter. Alexander could not hear the words his aunt whispered in his cousin's ear, but whatever it was, it broke Elizabeth's composure completely, and she sagged against her mother, crying. Anne came up hesitantly, glancing at her mother for permission, before she wrapped her arms around her little sister as well. Elizabeth's crying slowed as they cradled her.

Alexander found he could not keep watching; the pain in Elizabeth's posture tore at his heart, even as he realized Anne and her mother were convincing Elizabeth of her innocence. He met Mr. Bennet's eyes for just a moment, and felt grief for him, too. He looked as if he thought he was on the verge of losing his daughter, and Alexander moved to assure him otherwise. "You cannot think we would be so selfish a family as to keep her from you, even if she chose to move into our protection?" he asked quietly.

"I know not what to think," Bennet replied. "Her life – our lives – cannot go back to what it was before. I cannot help but think I am being supremely selfish by wishing to keep her at Longbourn for as long as I can."

Alexander was about to reply when he heard Darcy say uncertainly, "George?" He glanced towards his cousin’s voice, and discovered that Wickham was dealing as well with relaying the story, as Elizabeth had to hearing it.

Wickham looked up at Darcy – he had not the Fitzwilliam advantage of height, although he was not short for a man by any means. "I had – hoped – she would not want to hear what happened. The relief of confession could never outweigh the grief of seeing her in so much pain – pain, to whit, that ought to be my burden only."

Darcy gritted his teeth – Alexander felt alarm – surely he was not going to give into his temper now of all times. "I would that you had said something, anything," he replied.

"I do not know why I did not," Wickham answered. "After – a few days, I almost convinced myself it was a nightmarish flight of fancy, brought on by the horror of the situation, which even without being… particularly involved, was more than enough."

"You swear you tried to find her?" Darcy asked, even more quietly. Wickham nodded. Darcy closed his eyes for a moment. "And – you never meant Georgiana harm?"

Wickham shuddered. "All the treasures most sacred to me… The Ramsgate fiasco was another miscalculation on my part; I was in over my head before I knew what was happening."

Darcy gave him a long, measuring look. "I do not want to hear you have trifled with any more shopkeepers’ daughters, nor run up any outstanding debts of either money or honour – brother."

Alexander felt himself take a startled breath, even as Wickham did the same. "It has been a long while since I did more than trifle with the heart of any daughter, and certainly not in Meryton; the protection of the Miss Bennets has occupied much of my spare time," he replied. "But I may need – assistance to right a few debts, but I – shall endeavour not to incur any more," Wickham hesitated, "brother." Darcy nodded and gripped Wickham's shoulder in acknowledgement, and then moved towards the de Bourgh ladies. Wickham watched him with a mixture of disbelief and hope in his expression, although Alexander felt almost complete disbelief. Still – Elizabeth's crying had subsided, and he, too, went to her side now, as did most of those in the room.

"Elizabeth?" Jane asked, her countenance worried.

Elizabeth slowly pulled back from Anne and her mother, seemingly more herself. "I am fine, Jane," she answered. At Jane's questioning expression, she half-smiled. "Truly, I will be fine. I – was not prepared for quite that information." Alexander noted – again – a fleeting expression of relief on his father's face, and determined to ask him about it. "I do think, however," she added, glancing around the group gathered close, "that I ought to retire for the night, if you all do not mind?"

Murmurs of "of course not, Elizabeth" echoed. Jane replied, "I shall retire with you, I think. I do not want you alone just now."

"And I," Anne added, as did Georgiana.

"Intent on protecting me from myself, are you?" Elizabeth half-laughed, and Alexander felt relief. She would be fine.

"Of course," Anne answered for the other girls, even as she drew Elizabeth towards the door. Lady Catherine elected to follow.

There was a lull as the men in the room stood, half-gathered around where Elizabeth had been standing. Richard broke the silence. "You know what startled the pony, Wickham, do you not?"

"Yes," Wickham replied quietly. "But I beg that you not ask for details. It was an accident, and could not have been prevented."

"Do you, father," Alexander asked, "know and approve of it not being spoken of?"

"I do," the earl replied. "It is as Wickham says – it is neither here nor there. We have Elizabeth back. The only things that should concern us at this point are – who found her, how did they find her, and why, by all the holies, they chose to keep her from us."

Alexander agreed, but saw Darcy's expression, and knew they were thinking the same thing. Elizabeth must have startled the pony somehow; not unexpected at such a young age. But she must be kept from knowing that as much as possible – she already felt the weight of guilt without knowing it. His poor Elizabeth!

When Jane woke the next morning, it was to find Elizabeth in her room, simply dressed, and sitting on the window sill, staring out. Her face was pensive as she traced designs into the dampness on the inside of the windows.

"Lizzy?" she asked quietly. Elizabeth started and swung around; Jane was hard-pressed to keep from gasping. "Oh, Lizzy – did you get no sleep at all?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I confess I could not – but I did not wish to wake you, either."

Jane held out her hand to her sister. Elizabeth readily came to the bed and took it, settling on the edge. Jane, however, could not be content, and drew her sister into an embrace. Elizabeth shuddered and sighed. "Is it wrong of me," she asked quietly, "to be both glad to know, and to – to wish none of this had ever come to light?"

Jane shook her head. "No, Lizzy, it is not. None of this was under your control; I cannot believe Wickham would have intentionally run a risk of causing injury to you or the Darcys."

Elizabeth was silent for a moment. "I think he knows what startled the pony," she said quietly. "And I – fear, greatly fear, that it was me, for whatever reason. If that is true – I am responsible for my father's death."

Jane shook her head. "No, you still are not. I am sure Sir Lewis would not wish you to think that; Lady Catherine certainly does not."

"Knowing that does not ease the feelings of guilt, Jane," she replied.

"Must you always be so quick to carry the weight of the world?" Jane asked with a sigh. Elizabeth blushed and Jane shook her head at her once again. "Suppose – and this is just supposition – you did startle the pony. There are… so many ways it could have come about, Lizzy. Did you not tell me Anne said her father was an excellent horseman? The worry he felt over your 'mysterious' disappearance from Rosings, and what I can only imagine would be frantic worry over finding you, played as much of a factor as anything you might have done. Perhaps, in his hurry to search, he neglected to tighten the cinch properly – or any number of other possibilities."

"For the want of a nail," Elizabeth murmured.

"Indeed," Jane replied. "It is unfair, to be sure," she paused before stroking a fallen lock of Elizabeth's hair back from her face, "but it brought me a most-cherished sister. I do not think your father would find fault with me being grateful for that much."

Elizabeth shook her head slightly in response, but Jane did not believe she was refuting her sister's claim. After a moment, Jane said she wished to ready for the day, and the two of them rose from the bed. Elizabeth began to assist her sister with her morning preparations; granted, it would have been appropriate to call for the ladies' maid, but the sisters had long since been accustomed to assisting each other, and this morning, Jane knew Elizabeth was finding solace in a quiet habit.

"William informed me Mr. Bingley should have a letter by now, inviting him here at his earliest convenience – he thought you should like to know, so as to not be caught unawares."

Jane blushed in pleased hope. "Do you really think Mr. Bingley will call?"

"I think wild horses could not keep him away, now that he knows you do not wish for him to be away," Elizabeth replied. "He has shown remarkable delicacy in refraining from beating down any door betwixt you and he, out of deference to my – our – situation."

Jane could not reply to that; she had only hopes and no answers. Darcy had been thus far invaluable, recounting everything he could remember of Bingley's actions and spirits these past few months. Her next meeting with Bingley was sure to be fraught with nervousness and awkwardness, no matter how much she should wish otherwise. "When did William tell you?"

"During dinner," Elizabeth replied, the faintest blush on her countenance. Jane arched an eyebrow in reply, and Elizabeth blushed more deeply. "Oh all right – he stopped by my room to check on Georgiana last night, after all of you left. He said he would leave Georgiana here with the Fitzwilliams, but he himself had to return to his townhouse, as he had matters of business to attend to early this morning, ones he had left unfinished when mθre summoned him to Rosings."

"Surely Mr. Bingley and I were not all you two spoke about last night," Jane teased. Elizabeth blushed and would not answer.

"What do you think of Wickham being William's brother?" Elizabeth asked finally.

"I think it is admirable that the elder Mr. Wickham willingly took responsibility for him," Jane responded, "despite the fact that – according to your uncle – the late Mr. Darcy would have ensured he was raised in a gentleman's household either way."

"I hope that Wickham is aware – now – that there is a possibility his actions could taint Georgiana, if the family acknowledges him to be a relation."

Jane felt amused that Elizabeth already fretted over Georgiana, but she did not reply for a few minutes. "I do hope – now that your cousin knows Wickham is his brother, that is – that Wickham may yet be salvaged. He at least seems to be aware he has faults – is that not a place to start? I should not want him to be desperate."

Elizabeth smiled at her sister in the mirror as she pulled the brush through her hair. "I remember thinking, the day you and William walked out with me, and then had this mysterious conversation you did not tell me all of, that I would be the one to hope my recovery would be enough to redeem him, and you would be the one to trust in it."Jane laughed, and Elizabeth began to set the pins to hold Jane’s hair up in the style for the morning. "Now, perhaps you can tell me more of the conversation you had with William – he made a comment last night, before dinner, that he said something to you that you had not passed along to me."

Jane smiled slightly. "I am not sure I should tell you – it is not as if he seems to be afraid of pressing his suit."

"We did have a slight… argument. Or, more to the point, I accused him of something; I think more out of defensive reflex than any real belief it was true," Elizabeth admitted. "I told him I was aware he despised of our family, and that I believed I was only acceptable to him now because I am also a de Bourgh."

"What did he say?" Jane asked.

"That I would be acceptable at Pemberley, and that is all that a Darcy would care about."

Jane smiled. "Then, my love, he told you what he had already told me – all he said in addition, to me, is that he had already determined that if he crossed your path again, he would offer for you." She gave her sister a sly smile, as Elizabeth blushed. "I did scold him, you know, before he confessed to that, to ensure he knew better than to trifle with you."

"Jane! You did not!" Elizabeth protested, and Jane laughed. "You did?"

"He took it quite well, I must admit," Jane grinned. She sobered slightly. "Do you trust him? I should hate for you to find out too late that you do not."

"I…" Elizabeth searched for words. "I do not know. I want to – and that bothers me perversely because I do not know how my feelings transmuted as they did. I disliked him so frightfully much, not even two full weeks ago." Now that Jane’s toilette was complete, Elizabeth sat herself on the edge of the bed again. "I worry that – in the mix of all this confusion – he has been something to remind me of what I have known previously, and that I am simply flattered by his attentiveness."

"Are you?" Jane asked. "Flattered, that is."

Elizabeth tilted her head as she looked at Jane. "You were flattered by Mr. Bingley asking you to dance a second time, Jane. How could I not be flattered by William all but declaring his intentions?"

"Well," her sister responded with a slow grin, "I do recall you were decidedly irritated with Mr. Collins’ marked attentions."

"Oh! Decidedly indeed," Elizabeth laughed. "But William Darcy and William Collins are by no means comparing apples to apples. One is one of the most ridiculous personages in the land, even if he is my mother de Bourgh’s parson, and the other is one of the most intelligent and prosperous personages, despite his tendency towards being taciturn."

"He has garnered your approval, has he not?" Jane marvelled. "My only advice, then, is to not let yourself agree to an engagement until perhaps after we have visited Pemberley and ---- come the summer."

Elizabeth smiled slightly. "Yes, but then how will I have my double wedding with you, my dearest Jane? I do not think Mr. Bingley will be pleased to wait nearly nine months to make you his bride."

Jane sobered and sat down beside Elizabeth. She took one of Elizabeth’s hands in her own. "My place, right now, is at your side, Lizzy. Until I am sure you are comfortable and secure in your immediate future – as merely Elizabeth Bennet de Bourgh, or Elizabeth Darcy, or some other name – my future can wait – and if Mr. Bingley cannot wait that long, then he does not love me enough for it to be a marriage worth making."

Elizabeth smiled sadly before throwing her arms around her sister. "Oh, Jane. I do love you so very much. I do not wish you to be unhappy for my sake."

"Lizzy – you know I speak the truth. I remember you telling me of the discussion you had that day mama visited Netherfield while I was ill. Such an easy-going temperament may be well matched for mine – but if it does not come with enough resolve to wait through trying family times, then it is not enough."

"True," Elizabeth found herself agreeing again. "So – if I can keep my own head on straight, you will use this time to test Mr. Bingley’s resolve?"

Jane hesitated. "If he seems inclined towards me still, I think my answer will be yes. If he is not… then the choice will be made for me."

Elizabeth nodded. "Then, I suppose, we shall see."

"Indeed we shall."