One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (55 page)

He heard one of the younger footmen wonder, in a dread-filled whisper, who the man was and whether he was dead. As if in response, a moan emanated from the injured man, proving, at least, that he was not dead. The sound triggered a visceral response in Darcy, as he answered the other half of the man's query. “It is Wickham. Bring him in at once. Put him on the dining room table.” He pointed at the young footman. “Fetch Dr. Fogg immediately.” The men carried Wickham in as instructed and dispersed, no doubt to clean the blood from their uniforms before it stained them. This left Darcy and the butler alone with Wickham.

“Shall I have a room made up for him?” The butler asked quietly.

“No. He cannot stay here.” Darcy answered quietly. “Have one of the older maids come and clean him up a bit, however.” Wickham's face was bloodied and swollen beyond recognition. There was no question, due to its position, that his right leg was broken. Darcy stared at the man who had once been as a brother to him, and although he expected to taste the bile of hatred in his throat, he was instead filled with profound sorrow. “George,” he whispered and shook his head sadly, “what have you done?”

Alone in the room with Wickham, Darcy went through his pockets and found little—certainly no money, some evidence of debts incurred, but nothing useful in discerning what had happened. As Darcy was searching, Wickham's eyes opened slightly, and the hatred that Darcy could not summon contorted Wickham's face. “This is your fault,” Wickham whispered through his pain.

“Where is the letter, George?” Darcy demanded with urgency.

Wickham made a weak sneer on his bruised and bloodied face. “It will cost you.” His lips barely moved.

“Who did this to you?” Darcy asked soberly.

“You did,” Wickham replied, closing his eyes with a grimace.

The maid entered with a basin of water and a bundle of clean rags. She gingerly began wiping blood and debris away from his face with a dampened cloth. Darcy watched in silence.

When Dr. Fogg arrived, Darcy related what little he knew and quit the room early in the examination. At length, the butler brought the physician to Darcy, who had retired to the study to work on correspondence.

“Well?” Darcy stood as he spoke, emotionless.

Dr. Fogg was grave. “You were correct that the beating was severe, Mr. Darcy. I have administered the strongest drug I have for pain. It is unlikely that your friend will survive the night.”

This, Darcy did not expect, and his astonishment at the news was apparent. “Can nothing be done?”

“For his external injuries, certainly, and we could set his leg with reasonable success, but there are signs that he has sustained injuries internally. I have seen symptoms such as these before, Mr. Darcy, and survival is nearly impossible. Whoever did this to him wished him to suffer an agonizing death.” Dr. Fogg frowned. “You must notify his family at once if they are to say goodbye to him.”

“He has no family.” Darcy replied quietly. “There is no-one to come for him, and I cannot allow him to remain in my house.”

Dr. Fogg nodded his understanding. “He will not feel much pain if you move him soon. The public hospital will take him if he has nowhere else to go.”

“I do not know where he is living, sir, or who would take him in to die.” Darcy glanced toward the dining room door. “I need your assurance that he will suffer as little as possible, sir.” Darcy replied. “I will pay for the medicines to achieve it.”

They heard a sound in the dining room, and the two men, realizing that Wickham was in that room alone, entered with haste, only to discover that George Wickham had not even lasted the hour, and now lay dead upon the table. Darcy's feeling of foreboding was not resolved in this, but remained more potent than before.

~*~

When the Bennets and their guest arrived at Longbourn, they did not keep company with one another. Mrs. Bennet eagerly sought Mr. Bennet to advise him of Bingley's expected visit and to share news of Elizabeth's condition, although she was strangely silent on the matter of her conversation with Lady Catherine. Kitty went to her chambers to nurse her headache. Lydia, assuming that some officers must have been smitten with her at the ball, also returned to her chambers to refresh her toilette to look her finest when the officers came.

Mary sat at the pianoforte and began to play. The tune was a melancholy one, which Jane and Elizabeth would have noticed had they been there, but there was no one in the house to recognize Mary's sadness. She had played but a quarter of an hour when tears began to form, and she quickly wiped her eyes and left the instrument, going instead to the sitting room where she resumed reading the second volume of Fordyce's Sermons.

A few minutes later, she heard the door creak open and looked up to discover Mr. Collins had entered the room. She returned to reading her book and did not look up again until she realized that Mr. Collins was now standing directly in front of her, with a marked intention to speak. She set the book down and looked at him expectantly.

“May I be of some assistance, Mr. Collins?” Mary asked quietly.

“Cousin Mary,” Mr. Collins launched into his speech. “I come to you now, greatly relieved, for I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, which I was unable to speak of earlier due to considerations of seniority within your family.”

“Of great importance, you say?” Mary replied, with a slow blink. “Pray continue, sir.”

“As I had begun to say, I have looked upon this moment with the greatest anticipation. I am certain that you know the reason I traveled to visit my cousins at Longbourn, for it has not been a secret, by any means. I feel it my duty to explain, leaving no misunderstanding between us, the reason I am here to speak with you today.”

Mary nodded. “I would not wish there to be any misunderstandings either, Mr. Collins.”

“You may well be aware that last Easter I was ordained and am now settled at Hunsford. Divine providence itself has blessed me with not only a valuable living, but also with a most generous patroness, who has, in gracious benevolence, lent her wisdom in advising me and rendered her assistance in the matter of selecting a wife. On the point that I must marry, she has insisted, and upon learning of my inevitable inheritance of this estate, she persuaded me that the only honorable course was to marry one of my cousin’s daughters in order to spare you all from the fate of being without a home. Of course, these things are of no surprise.” Mr. Collins shifted his weight nervously.

“The final choice is mine, and after having weighed the matter, and given great thought to the various virtues to be had among you and your amiable sisters, I find, my dear cousin, that you, of all your sisters, are the most suited to become the companion of my future life. You are in possession of a pleasant, steady character and have evidenced great discipline in your reading and educational pursuits. Your modesty is, of course, a highly valued attribute, and your interest in the doctrines and great sermons do you
 
credit.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Collins?”

“I am saying that you possess all of the traits I desire in a wife, and I am convinced that marriage to one such as you will increase my own happiness tenfold. My contentment in the marital state cannot fail to benefit my efforts as a clergyman and shepherd to my fold. It is good fortune, indeed, to have discovered one so well suited to my desires in the very household of my inheritance. Cousin Mary, I am offering for your hand and humbly request that you consent to be my wife. Due to matters of distance, and of commitments to my parish, I believe a short engagement is preferable.”

Mary smiled. “Mr. Collins, my life has been one of great uncertainty, for I have had little hope of meeting a man who would be a suitable match for me. Since you first arrived at Longbourn, it has been my fondest wish that you would offer for me, and I have thought of little else, for I too perceived that you and I would be well matched. It is a double sorrow for me that I must decline your proposal.”

“Decline?” Mr. Collins was stunned. “You are not serious!”

“I am completely serious. I know not what happened this morning between you and Elizabeth, but I am not so dull that I cannot hazard a guess. I am persuaded that your manners were not above reproach, which a parson should always be. Nevertheless, I believe we could have resolved this question among ourselves. However, the second point, of which you are presently unaware, creates an insurmountable barrier.” Mary's composure was perfectly contained.

“Of course, it can be resolved. The events of this morning are nothing more than a common misunderstanding. It could have been made by anyone. What is the barrier of which you speak?” Mr. Collins appeared convinced that no other barrier could possibly exist.

“Lady Catherine is that barrier,” Mary replied. “Your patroness declared this very morning that not one of us was an eligible match for you. I know that you esteem her too highly to contradict her direction in the matter and that had you known of this, you would not have spoken to me of marriage. As for myself, although I could tolerate it for a short duration, the daily disapproval of Lady Catherine would be more than I could bear, even if you were able to overcome her declaration.”

“Oh.” Mr. Collin's presence shriveled in the face of this information. “I thank you for your honesty, Cousin. I must reflect on what you have told me, for as you said, I did not know.” He abruptly quit the room.

~*~

Mr. Bingley watched with relief as Lady Catherine's carriage pulled away from Netherfield. He was filled with an unfamiliar sense of pride at having successfully manipulated her to leave Elizabeth's sickroom and in having spoken so forcefully to Mr. Collins. He felt powerful and strong—he was eager to talk to Jane now, before these newfound feelings faded. He fairly ran up the stairs to find her, a grin plastered on his face that grew with each passing moment. Today would be the day he became the happiest of men. Today would be the day he offered for Jane Bennet's hand in marriage.

Chapter Forty-Four

A Beginning, a Middle and an End

T
he police arrived while Dr. Fogg was still writing down the details of Wickham's death. The man himself was not yet cold on the table when the officer arrived, having been summoned by several passersby who had first attempted to pursue the rough-looking men who had dumped what had appeared to be a dead body at the door of Darcy House.

The general noise and commotion drew Georgiana down the stairs from her chambers where she had been packing. Darcy noticed her as she descended, and he broke away from the others, calling for his housekeeper to take her back upstairs and stay with her until he could come. Unfortunately, the officer was not a sensible man, and, having no concern for the delicacy of the young lady's feelings, insisted that she remain for questioning.

Darcy managed to conceal the sight of George Wickham laid out on the table by directing Georgiana to his study, guiding her gently away from the doors to the dining room. It was his intention to privately disclose George's identity to his sister there. However, the officer's boisterous interrogation of the butler was underway near the front doors, and Georgiana learned of the reason for the disturbance of the household by overhearing him loudly repeat, “... so Wickham was bloodied but still alive when you found him.”

Georgiana stumbled, but Darcy quickly steadied her and conducted his sister to the study where he saw her to a chair, talking softly, hoping to comfort. He poured her a small glass of wine to calm her nerves and reached to retrieve a cloth from his pocket for her tears, as his sister was now silently weeping. He first produced Elizabeth's handkerchief, but he quickly found his own for his sister's use.

Holding the lace-trimmed article in his hand stirred a profound reaction in Darcy, and from it, he drew strength and courage to face the ordeal that lay ahead. It was not that he feared himself incapable of doing it on his own—far from it, but in that moment, he discovered the sweet joy of knowing he was not truly alone, that although Elizabeth was not physically near to him, she was still somehow there in his heart and mind, giving him purpose. He tucked the handkerchief back into the pocket nearest to his heart.

He reached out and embraced his sister. “You must listen carefully, Georgiana, and be strong.”

Georgiana looked at him, through wide, red-rimmed eyes and nodded her head.

“I would protect you from this pain if I could, but a man's life was forfeit, and the police will insist on knowing the reasons. I fear that the secrecy with which we have guarded your dealings with Mr. Wickham will soon come to an end. I hope to persuade the authorities toward discretion, but you must do as I say.”