Pride, Prejudice & Secrets (30 page)

“Why did you not tell us you were coming, Papa?” she said accusingly, drawing back from his embrace.

“And what would be the fun in that, daughter?” he asked in good humour. “Your husband said ‘anytime,’ and your letter repeated it, so I merely did as directed.”

“But we might have been absent or we could even have returned to town.” She felt rather uncomfortable at her father’s capriciousness, but neither Darcy nor his sister showed any signs of being upset.

Mr. Bennet smiled broadly, looking at Darcy, and said, “That seems unlikely, daughter. You have scarce been married two months, and your husband gives every sign of being of sound body and mind as well as appearing in good health. I believed it highly likely he will be keeping you close to home for some time to come — new husbands, you know.”

Georgiana laughed aloud at this, and even Darcy chuckled, causing Elizabeth to roll her eyes at the stale jest. “New husbands, indeed,” she snorted. “You can do better than that, Papa.
I
think you came to make a raid on my husband’s library, and I would suggest that he have your trunk searched before you depart!”

“Actually,” Darcy said mildly, “I merely instructed Reynolds to weigh his trunk and see whether it increases in weight when he prepares to depart. It would be so tasteless to actually rummage through his belongings.”

Everyone laughed at this, and Darcy said, “Actually, sir, you are welcome to borrow whatever you might need to tide you over until your next visit. But tell me, how long can you stay? We are expecting your brother Gardiner and his wife in July.”

“Perhaps a week,” Mr. Bennet said. “I do not want to wear out my welcome and have my borrowing privileges revoked. And Mrs. Bennet does not do well if I am gone much longer than that.”

Elizabeth was hardly aware of nodding in understanding, for she knew her mother really did get anxious if Mr. Bennet was gone too long. When she and Jane were at home, they could alleviate her anxiety, but now both were gone. And with Lydia being so upset…but that was a subject best broached in private with her father.

“And there are other reasons your mother desires my return, Lizzy. It seems a few young men have called on Mary since you left.”

“Called on Mary? That
is
unusual. How did she take it?”

“Awkwardly, as you would expect, given her nature.”

“Very strange,” Elizabeth said in wonderment. “She has never shown awareness of young men, and they certainly appeared unaware of her.”

“Her popularity seems to have increased markedly since the news of her dowry got about. I think I did that cleverly, by mentioning the news to Sir William Lucas in the strictest privacy.” Mr. Bennet paused, chuckling in pleasant remembrance. “The results exceeded my fondest hopes, and soon the whole neighbourhood learned of it. Even better, it was accepted as factual and not a rumour because the information was
not
spread by your mother!”

But Elizabeth’s brows were knotted as she asked, “Dowry? What dowry?”

“Why, the dowry your husband arranged, Lizzy! Five thousand pounds settled on each of your sisters. Surely you knew!”

“I had no idea,” Elizabeth said, looking at Darcy with her eyes sparkling. “This is the first I have heard of it. It appears William somehow forgot to mention that trivial item.”

She looked at Georgiana and said softly, “He really is the most excellent of men.”

“Indeed, Sister,” responded Georgiana, whose eyes glowed hardly less than Elizabeth’s.

Darcy could make no response, squirming uncomfortably and looking deep into his port for inspiration.

Thursday, July 9, 1812: Pemberley

In the morning, Elizabeth took her father walking along one of her favourite garden paths, remaining close to the house, for he was not a great walker. But, though he was not as devoted to the outdoors as she was, he could not resist the enthusiasm in her voice as she pointed out the myriad delights on their stroll. Eventually, Elizabeth indicated one of the benches scattered along the pathways, and they took a seat.

After looking at the pleasant surroundings and casting a few surreptitious glances at his daughter, Mr. Bennet finally asked, “So, Lizzy. Are you happy?”

Clearly, her father still had some uncertainty about her marriage, but Elizabeth was amused rather than perturbed by his concern.

“Of course, I am happy. Look around us. Why would I not?”

“But this is such a complete departure from everything you have known. I cannot help being a little concerned.”

“It is not nearly as radical a change as what Jane is experiencing. Why, I have no idea whether she has even arrived at Bermuda. And to undertake the journey in the middle of a war! I think your concern is being directed at the wrong daughter, Papa.”

“Perhaps. But you appear to be learning from your husband since you have answered my questions either with another question or by changing the subject.”

“You are too clever for me,” she said cheerfully. “But I will evade no longer. Yes, Papa, I am quite happy — with my husband, with my new sister, and with my new home. I am still intimidated by the challenges of my new situation, but I believe I am making William happy. And he is certainly doing the same for me. Why, he has beaten me no more than four or five times since we arrived.”

Mr. Bennet smiled, but his smile was somewhat strained. “That is not as humorous as you intended, Lizzy. It is a real problem in some marriages.”

“Father,” Elizabeth said seriously, “Rest your mind on that matter. He is truly one of the most honourable men I know.”

“I never doubted it. I trusted him with my favourite daughter, after all.”

“But I shall take your response to heart, Papa. I shall make no more jokes on that subject.”

“That is probably best, child. But we are getting much too serious this morning, and the first volume of Gibbon’s
Decline
awaits me. Though I am not the admirer of the picturesque such as you, it is clear you find Pemberley quite satisfying.”

“Satisfied is far too mild a term, Papa,” she responded happily, waving her arm to take in the house and all the surrounding land. “Everything about Pemberley is almost too sublime for words.”

“It is certainly impressive.”

“Impressive, yes, that it is, but it is not simply that it is a large house with extensive gardens and lands.” She frowned in concentration as she tried to put her feelings in words. “Many other houses and estates are much grander but would not be nearly as agreeable to me. It is just that everything at Pemberley is so easy and natural: the grounds, the house, the gardens, the walks, and all the people who take care of it. Everyone has been so agreeable, and the buildings and the woods fit together like the house was grown rather than built. I have only started to explore it.”

“I see,” her father said, then grew quiet as one of the gardeners came striding along the path, tools over his shoulder, whistling happily though entirely tunelessly. He lifted his hat, gave Elizabeth a nod, and continued briskly on his way.

“I was glad to hear that you did not allow Lydia to accompany her friend to Brighton, Papa,” she said carefully once the gardener was gone.

“I have to admit there was a certain temptation,” Mr. Bennet said cheerfully. “Both she and Kitty complained and whined so incessantly about the departure of the regiment and my refusal to take the family to Brighton that I almost became a hermit in my library. And mealtimes were most unpleasant until I put my foot down.”

“To Brighton,” Elizabeth said disgustedly, remembering Lydia’s complaints at not being a bridesmaid. “How could they even think you would do such a thing?”

“Because they are too young to think of anything other than themselves, but there is more on that topic in a minute. As I said, it might have been pleasant to have her complaints gone from the house, but, since Mrs. Forster is only seventeen and not nearly as level-headed as Mr. Darcy’s twenty-year-old wife, I thought it better Lydia stay at Longbourn.”

“Very good, Papa.”

“But Lydia’s reaction to my denial, as well as the complaints from her and Kitty in general, resolved a decision I had been pondering since the day you asked me to set a wedding date and both girls demanded to be bridesmaids. When I compared their behaviour to the rational and mature way you and Jane acted when choosing husbands, especially considering certain irregularities associated with both your courtships, I realized I could no longer deceive myself. Both of your youngest sisters are still children, no matter what Mrs. Bennet might say. Thus, before I left, I brought both Lydia and Catherine into my library, along with their mother, and there informed them in no uncertain terms that their privilege of being allowed out in society had just been revoked.”

“You did that?” Elizabeth cried out with surprise. “Oh, I almost wish I had been there to see it.”

“It was singular, but I was adamant, and Mrs. Bennet’s wails were almost as loud as those of her daughters. I told them they would remain in the household until they could demonstrate they were capable of acting in a rational manner. Balls and other social events are absolutely forbidden unless they stand up with Mary at her wedding, whenever that might be. I told them that, when they turn eighteen, I might possibly consider revisiting my decision, but not until then.”

“Oh, my word!” Elizabeth said in wonder.

“Now, as I see you in this most different setting,” he said, waving his hand around at the lush greenery and neatly bounded paths of the garden, “it only fixes my opinion. You are a young woman, Lizzy, and you are well married to a most impressive and suitable young man. I hope you will both make each other happy during the coming years.”

“We will certainly try, Papa,” she said softly.

“But I had to ask, Lizzy,” he said seriously. “Everything happened so fast — Jane departing, then your insistence on hastening your own wedding, and then you were gone. There were so many things happening I did not have an opportunity to talk seriously with you, but you have settled my mind marvellously. I can enjoy the rest of my visit.”

“That is good, but do not worry. I really am happy here with William, even though we are still growing accustomed to each other. I have not even been able provoke a quarrel with him by teasing!”

“Most extraordinary,” her father said, smiling gently. “I admire both my sons-in-law greatly, even if neither one is particularly easy to know. But I am sure I will come to like your husband even better than Jane’s, especially since he has given me the freedom of his library and has not taken you half the world away!”

Chapter
18

“He knows not his own strength
that hath not met adversity.”

— Ben Jonson, English dramatist, poet, and actor

Wednesday, July 22, 1812: Salamanca, Spain

Lieutenant George Wickham walked slowly through the multitude of weather-stained tents, his limbs and his very being so utterly exhausted he could barely keep a grip on his sword. He sloped the blade over his shoulder since the scabbard had been torn from his belt during the nightmarish confusion of the battle just concluded.

The battle,
he thought numbly.
My first battle, and I somehow survived it. How? How did any of us live through that…that horror?

It had indeed been one horror piled atop another from the first moments in mid-afternoon when the Fifth Division was ordered to attack after a French tactical blunder. The first volley of musket-fire filled the air in front of Second Battalion with an impenetrable cloud of smoke, but even if the French could not see them, they could still return fire. Musket balls and cannon shell came from nowhere, tearing into the ranks of red-coated soldiers on either side of him while somehow leaving him standing, screaming hoarse orders to his section to close up, to maintain their line, to load and fire. Again and again the horror repeated, and then came the order to charge the French with the bayonet. The whole British line charged into and through the smoke to find the French drawn up in square.

But we broke their square,
he thought with stunned pride, for at that moment he had truly known he was about to die.
That must have been when my scabbard disappeared.
It was also where his sword acquired the notches it now bore, as he had desperately parried bayonet thrust after bayonet thrust from sweating, wide-eyed French soldiers. His skin still crawled as he remembered how close the steel points came to his vitals.

But it was over now, and all he wanted was to find the tent he shared with Stinson and wash the powder and blood from his skin and uniform. But where was his tent?

“Wickham.” The words were quiet, composed, and entirely normal, which was incredibly jarring in the midst of such dreadful sights as this day had brought, and Wickham halted and looked around wildly to see Captain Wilson standing in front of his tent.

“Sir,” Wickham responded automatically, but he was too tired to come to attention. But the Captain, who had heretofore been the most fearsome aspect of life in the regular army, no longer appeared in that guise. Instead, he seemed to be reduced; he was no longer as burly, tall, and hard-faced as he had seemed. He was just another man, not too much older than himself, who looked just as worn as Wickham.

“I was looking for my tent, sir,” Wickham said. “But everything is all changed around, and I cannot find my tent or Stinson.”

“Your tent is right over there,” Wilson said, pointing. “But you will not find Stinson there.”

“Oh,” Wickham said tiredly. Another man killed or wounded. “Is…is he dead, sir?”

“I do not know,” Wilson said, and the hardness was back in his face and voice. “I do not know where he is, though I suppose he will be picked up and arrested by the provost at some point.”

“I…I do not understand.”

“He simply disappeared, Wickham,” Wilson said harshly. “When the order came to fire the first volley, I looked around and he was gone — just gone. Ran, I suppose. We had not received the first French volley, so he could not have been wounded. I had to step in and take over his half-company.”

“I wondered why I did not see you. I thought you had been hit. So many others were.”

“Oh, it was not as bad as some. Four killed and ten wounded, though three of the wounded will be able to march tomorrow, and four will be recovered in a few weeks. The other three…” He merely shrugged, and Wickham, neophyte that he was, did not need an explanation. They were too badly wounded to ever return to the ranks and very likely would die.

“But you did well, Wickham — very well indeed for your first encounter. We can talk more later, but it was a splendid victory despite the fact that The Beau did not intend to engage unless he caught the French making a mistake.” Wilson grinned suddenly, his smile savage as he said coldly, “Which they did, and Wellington made them pay!”

Then Wilson’s hard smile vanished and he looked more closely at Wickham’s sword. “That is a terrible sword, Wickham! You are lucky to be alive; look at those notches! Notches like those are weak points that could lead to a broken sword. And those are just from parrying bayonets, are they not?”

Wickham took a closer look at the three large notches in the edged side. “It was a gift from my uncle,” he said vaguely, because the sword had never before seemed to be a weapon to him. It was just a mark of an officer’s status and authority, used to point with, to align the men, and to flourish overhead in bravado. “Are not such notches normal?”

“Not when engaging a bayonet or musket. Your uncle was cheated.” Wilson went into his tent and rummaged under his canvas cot. He emerged holding a scabbarded sword that looked nothing like the usual British sword.

“Took this off a dead cavalryman some time back. Fine sword, good steel, holds an edge very well, but it must be kept well oiled. I prefer my own, so you better have this one. You might not be so lucky the next time you try to block a bayonet. Here, give me that piece of garbage.”

Wilson took Wickham’s sword and pressed the other sword into his hands. Then, without seeming effort, he broke Wickham’s sword over his knee.

“See that, Wickham?” he said in disgust, throwing the two useless pieces to the ground. “That might have been what you held in your hand the next time.”

“Thank…thank you, sir,” Wickham mumbled, pulling six inches of his new sword out to look at it. The metal looked dark, hard, and deadly, not at all like the shiny blade lying in pieces on the ground, and he felt faint at thinking of how easily the blade had broken.

My “uncle” will not be happy to learn he was cheated,
he thought, then had the further thought that he would only learn of it if Wickham managed to survive to inform him
. Or maybe that was the intent of such an unreliable gift?

“Go get cleaned up, young man,” Wilson said, clapping him on the shoulder. “And keep that blade well-oiled to prevent rust.”

“Yes, sir,” Wickham said, coming briefly to attention before turning in the direction of his tent.

Private Smith, who had doubled as an “orderly” for both him and Stinson for a few extra shillings a month, already had a filled wash-basin waiting and a relatively clean uniform laid out on his blankets.

“Here, sir, let me take that coat,” the older man said, helping Wickham remove his powder-blackened red coat. As he started to remove his shirt, he heard Smith cluck in disapproval, and he looked around to see him stick a finger out through a sliced rent in the thick cloth of the left arm.

“Near miss, sir,” he said, and Wickham glanced at his upper arm in alarm. Fortunately, there was no blood, but Wickham fingered a corresponding tear in the fabric of the shirt.

“Yes, very near miss indeed.” He felt weak in the knees at how close the miss had been. He knew the large musket balls often destroyed the limb outright, requiring amputation, which could be a death sentence if the wound sickened, as it so often did.

“If you will let me have the shirt, I will have them both mended so you can hardly see it,” Smith said, and Wickham took off the shirt and handed it over with his thanks.

Fifteen minutes later, relatively clean and clad in his spare uniform, Wickham set off toward his mess, having regained enough composure to become aware of a ravenous hunger. When he arrived, he accepted a bowl of thick stew, and such had been the changes in his life that he did not even wonder what animal had provided the meat. As he looked around for a place to sit, he heard his name called and turned toward a makeshift table where six officers from the Second Battalion, whom he knew only slightly, waved and made room for him on the bench. He collapsed gratefully, and everyone around him chuckled.

“Well, obviously you survived, Wickham,” said a lieutenant named Miller, “but you appear to have discovered that such activities as this really take the starch out of a person.”

“Too true,” Anderson said, slumped forward on his elbows. “I feel like a limp dish rag myself.”

“Here, have some wine, Wickham,” Draper said cheerfully, splashing a reddish liquid from a clay jug into a mug. “It is undrinkable, naturally, but is the best to be had.” He passed the mug to Wickham before draining his own mug and refilling it.

“It is more of that swill the Spanish call wine,” Miller said. “It will put hair on your chest — or make what you have fall out. Opinion is somewhat divided on the subject. Were you frightened today?”

Wickham was chewing when the question was asked, and for some reason it never occurred to him to dissemble. After he swallowed, he said simply, “Terrified.”

“Well, now you know,” Blackman said. “I understand one of your lieutenants ran.”

“It appears so. There is no sign of him in any event.”

“We have a few gentlemen volunteers in my company,” Draper said. “They knew before I did, undoubtedly by some means of communication not known to the rest of the army.”

“Gossip always travels faster than the wind,” Emerson said. “But your captain may choose to promote one of his sergeants.”

“I believe all of you are from the new companies,” Wickham asked carefully, “but it appears this was not your first action.”

“True, Wickham,” Draper said. “I was a gentleman volunteer myself and saw all too many engagements in the line. I jumped at the opportunity to join the Eighth Company as a lieutenant.”

“And I was a sergeant before my promotion,” Smith said. “But the other four were lieutenants without a company.”

“My company was so small they broke it up and combined it with another to get closer to the regulation hundred men,” Anderson said. “I was junior, so I was sent back to regimental headquarters to wait until the new companies were formed.”

“I remember the first action I saw with a new commission as a graduation present from my father,” Jackson, who had not previously spoken, said.

“Old Jack is our token peer,” Draper said, digging the other man in the ribs.

“I was a fourth son, and quite excited to have a chance to serve King and country, notwithstanding the fact that it at least paid enough to live on,” Jackson responded dryly, digging Draper back. “I am as much a commoner as you worthless sods, just better educated. But my opinion altered dramatically the first time I came under fire. I quite made a mess of my breeches.”

Wickham could not believe the matter-of-fact way these men talked about events that he would have heretofore believed too embarrassing to discuss openly. But then he looked around and realized they would only talk of such matters among their own.

So he was careful as he replied, “Well, I did not soil my breeches, but it was only because I was too terrified to think of it. I was certain I was going to die every single second.”

“And it could have happened, too,” Miller said.

“But you did not run,” Jackson said, with finality. He held up his mug. “Here is to survival, Wickham.” They clicked their mugs carefully since the mugs were of no higher quality than the wine, and Wickham took a deep drink.

The wine was, of course, truly terrible, but he was not the man he had been a couple of months earlier, so he simply swallowed it. He also realized, suddenly, that he felt very good — very good indeed. He wondered if that was the result of mere survival, but then he instinctively understood his feeling of contentment came from a different origin. He felt…accepted…by these men. His fellow officers. His peers.

It was an unprecedented emotion for him. Despite having many acquaintances, he had never had a friend, a real friend. He had drinking companions and associates in vice and dissipation, but no friends. So he had never before felt what he felt now. He took a few moments to savour the feeling then said carefully, “Since I am the rank amateur among all you veterans, what do you think will happen tomorrow?”

Over the next hour, he heard at least eight or nine opinions since some of the others had more than one view of what The Beau would do, and Wickham was more than a little tipsy as he made his way back to his tent.

He slept marvellously.

Thursday, August 6, 1812: Pemberley, Derbyshire

Mr. Bennet was as good as his word and left a week later after a most agreeable visit. It was apparent from the way his trunk was carefully carried downstairs that it weighed considerably more than it had when he arrived, but no one saw fit to mention that observation as the Pemberley party made their farewells.

It was almost a month before the Gardiners arrived, and they brought Mary with them instead of Kitty. Elizabeth had told Darcy what her father had done with his youngest daughters, but he said nothing, contenting himself with a nod, though inwardly he was pleased at the unusual exertion shown by his father-in-law.

Two days after their arrival, Elizabeth and her aunt took a tour around the estate in Georgiana’s phaeton while the men busied themselves trying to harvest the trout in one of the rushing streams.

“They have grown fat and plentiful these past years,” Darcy had said before they set out. “My father enjoyed fishing greatly, but I did not continue the pastime after his death. I seem to need the pleasure of a companion while fishing though many anglers are quite content in pursuing their hobby in a solitary manner.”

“Then I shall do what I can to fill the void, sir,” Mr. Gardiner said cheerfully as they left, burdened with their rods and tackle. “Let the piscines beware! We are coming!”

Elizabeth then was able to offer her aunt the opportunity to see more of the delights of her home in the phaeton since she was aware her aunt was no fonder of walking than her father.

“I was surprised to see Mary instead of Kitty.” Elizabeth guided the phaeton with a skill wholly learned since her arrival at Pemberley, having never previously driven any kind of vehicle. “I should not have been, I suppose, given what my father told me of his decree.”

“Yes, they were a very chastened pair of girls when we left the children to their care. I do not really think they are up to the task, but Mrs. Hill assured me she would make sure the little ones are properly observed.”

“It will be a good experience for them if they are to ever grow up,” Elizabeth said firmly. “And Hill did her duty properly with all of us though she could not instil any sense into any of them. That was supposed to be my mother’s task.”

“You must be more tolerant, Lizzy,” Mrs. Gardiner said gently. “She did her best, but the challenge was simply beyond her capabilities.”

“Yes, you are correct as always,” Elizabeth said contritely; she did not add that it had also been her father’s task to ensure the proper guidance of his daughters if his wife could not. Such complaints were not in her nature, so she pushed the thought aside.

“I could see that you were most desirous of getting me alone, Aunt,” she said, her good humour returning. “So I will answer the question my father asked and which I am certain you would ask when you got around to it. Yes, I am very happy and content. My husband is wonderful and loves me beyond all measure, and you know how I feel about my sister and my home, not to speak of the lovely friends we are making in the neighbourhood. I always knew I would marry, but I never imagined how satisfying — how exciting — it could be. So, yes, Aunt, I am well pleased with all parts of my new life.”

“You are as quick as always, Lizzy.” Mrs. Gardiner smiled while noting how carefully Elizabeth had chosen her words.
Yes, she says she is happy and content,
she thought,
and I believe her. It is also clear that Mr. Darcy worships the ground she walks on. But I will not criticize, especially considering what she has seen of her parent’s marriage. But I do hope for more in the future…

“You know both your uncle and I like him very much,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “He has always been most gracious and polite with us, and it is not the condescending politeness that some of the socially prominent put on.”

Such as Miss Bingley,
Elizabeth thought, though she said nothing on that topic and changed to another. “William is a complicated man, Aunt, and he has occasional bouts of moodiness though he tells me they have nothing to do with me. I suspect they come from remembrances — unpleasant ones, I believe — from the past.”

“And I predict that you have made no enquiries as to the source of these moods,” Mrs. Gardiner stated confidently.

“You do know me far too well. In any case, I love to tease him out of his moods — which are really quite rare. And I have learned other ways of persuasion.”

“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Gardiner with a laugh. “It is most effective always but especially so on young husbands. Of course, it usually leads to a certain result, Lizzy, as I am certain you are aware. Does your husband know yet?”

Elizabeth shook her head in silent admiration at her aunt’s insight, but finally she had to ask. “How could you tell? I was certain it was not noticeable. Indeed, Mrs. Reynolds says there is nothing certain until the child quickens.”

“But you know,” she said, and Elizabeth nodded.

“I have not had my time of month since we married, and I have always been very regular. But how could you tell?”

“It is nothing definable, but like a lot of mothers, your hair shines, your complexion is flawless, and your eyes, which were always bright, are brighter than usual. You have what we experienced mothers refer to as a ‘glow.’ You have it, Lizzy. But again, have you told Mr. Darcy?”