Chapter Text
Miss Catherine Bennet ran the stick idly on the ground after her.
It was of course just like Lydia to go into Meryton the day after the Ball without telling anyone.
Maria Lucas had come to call and Lydia had promptly whisked her off into the village to see if Wickham had returned from town.
She had paid no mind to the fact that this meant her sister would not be able to walk into town.
Lizzy would have walked into Meryton with her, if only to get away from the attentions of Mr Collins, but that gentleman’s sudden assertion he would not mind a walk had scotched that plan.
Jane was needed by Lizzy, of course.
Kitty tried hard not to begrudge her sister that protection, but she did.
For no one would walk into the village with her if they would not. Mary refused to go anywhere that would involve speaking to officers, or more correctly, watching other young ladies speaking to officers.
It was not proper to go out alone, but this was Kitty’s home; she knew every path into Meryton and the village of Longbourn. She recognized every face – well apart from those few and far between strangers. They rarely were gratified by visits from gypsies, so there could be no real harm in venturing abroad alone.
If she did not, then Lydia would spend the entire morning hearing all the gossip from the ball and would tease Kitty with it mercilessly.
Kitty had reached the pretty river that ran at the bottom of a dip in the land, and where a little grove of trees made everything very pleasant. Perhaps it might be best called a creek, but Kitty had never really learnt the difference.
Looking along the path, Kitty smiled. Perhaps it had been a good thing that Lydia had left her at home. For standing on the path was Mr Wickham. Kitty quickly dropped the stick, not wishing to appear childish before him.
He was not wearing his regimentals, the ones that made him look so dashing, but a blue superfine coat and breeches. The change in his attire had not dampened his smile.
“Miss Catherine!”
“Mr Wickham! We had not hoped to see you so soon.”
“My business in London was swiftly concluded.”
“Then it is a pity you were not able to come to the ball, I know many – Lizzy especially – lamented your absence.” Kitty tried to sound arch.
Mr Wickham smiled at that. Kitty wondered if Lizzy and he had some understanding, after all Lizzy was quite in love with him! And who would not be; a handsome soldier!
“I am flattered that anyone would have missed me.”
“Of course you were missed, Mr Wickham.” Coming closer, Kitty noticed Mr Wickham was looking tired, with heavy lidded eyes, and he was leaning on his cane, not just as an affectation but as if it were holding him up. “Mr Wickham, I do hope you did not rush back to Meryton, sacrificing your health. No one wishes to see you ill.”
Mr Wickham merely smiled.
Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy swished his cane out in front of him, as he took his customary early morning walk.
He had walked beyond the confines of Netherfield Park, partly because he needed a long walk to revive him after the ball, and partly because he did not wish to spend any more time than strictly necessary with Miss Bingley.
Darcy had not entirely managed to avoid her, having to listen to her comments on how well he looked. Darcy did not think his attire, a blue coat and breeches, deserved such comments, but he had long abandoned attempting to understand Caroline’s stratagems.
The ball had not, as far as Darcy could tell, passed off as badly as it could have.
However, that was not to say it was a pleasant evening. The worst case Darcy had imagined occurring was Bingley proposing in the middle of the dance floor. As that had not happened, the event could hardly be termed bad. Yet, this was of little comfort to Darcy.
It had also confirmed for him that he was acting correctly in his decision to follow Bingley to town.
Bingley had left early that morning and it had taken Darcy and the Bingley sisters only the work of a moment to decide that tomorrow they would remove to London.
There Bingley could be easily convinced of the unworthiness of the Bennets as potential family.
Darcy comforted himself that he would be saving Miss Bennet from an uncomfortable situation. She would not know how to say ‘no’, if indeed she wished to say ‘no’. She may be one of the many young ladies who would be satisfied with a handsome, kind, young man; one of those ladies whose hearts could barely be touched. Not because it did not exist, Darcy had seen enough of those types of ladies to know the difference, but merely because Jane Bennet liked everyone equally and consequently felt no particular passion.
Bingley, too, liked everyone; they were alike in that regard, but Bingley formed passions for people and expressed them. If his enthusiasm for Miss Bennet was to end in a marriage, Darcy could not be certain that his ardour would pall into a regard that Miss Bennet could return. If it did not, his friend would be hurt when he discovered she did not feel for him what he felt for her.
Yet, if he was honest with himself, his removal to London was not going to be entirely for the goal of protecting his friend. It would be prudent to remove himself from the society of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who had just one too many charms. He was sensible of feeling more for her than he ought, but he was also sensible of his position in society.
It was, surely, not impossible for him to form similar feelings for some young lady, as yet unknown, although strictly speaking he had not felt such feelings for anyone else outside his salad days. But it was almost certain he would at some point find another young lady, who occupied a better position in society, who would understand his needs.
It was also important to remove himself from Wickham’s society.
He had breathed a sigh of relief, one he had not known he had held, when he realized that Wickham had absented himself from Netherfield. While he was sure his self-control would have prevented a scene, he could not be entirely certain since he wished he had punished Wickham when he had the chance and the prospect of doing so whatever the circumstances may have proved too tempting.
He felt a pang at leaving without at least giving someone a hint of Wickham’s true character. But from what he could see, there were very few fathers and mothers in Meryton who would regard Wickham as an eligible parti. Mrs Bennet would lament that such a charming man had no fortune, but she would simply turn her mind to some other equally charming man with a fortune. If she would do such a thing then Darcy saw little danger in other parents succumbing to Wickham’s dangerous appeal.
For Wickham’s part, Darcy could see no young lady in Meryton with the requisite charms . Wickham would merely flirt with them.
Many of the young ladies seemed designed to flirt, so that would hardly harm them.
Mrs Amelia Long shook the umbrella into the verges of the path. She was sure she had seen something moving. But apparently she was mistaken; she should have brought her spectacles instead of her umbrella. She had been convinced that it was to rain, after all it had rained almost incessantly before the ball!
Mrs Long was paying her usual visits for a Wednesday. Mrs Long scheduled her visits very strictly, making the most of her week. If there was one thing she hated it was missing a visit. It meant missing gossip and there was hardly enough of it – the juicy kind, that is – as it was.
She usually brought one of her nieces with her, but they were still laid up after the ball.
When Mrs Long had been a girl, she would have been ashamed to have been abed the morning the day after a ball. The morning after was when one attempted to discover all those things one actually missed due to being too busy causing gossip for others.
For instance, Mrs Long had known that the haughty Mr Darcy had deigned to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but she had not known the particulars; all the little looks, the snippets of conversation that others had overheard! In turn she had been able to fill in the blanks for those who missed what had caused Miss Lydia Bennet to be running through the ballroom with a soldier’s sword.
Of course there was not just the ball to discuss; there was Mr Bingley’s trip to London. Mrs Goulding said it was just a business trip, but everyone else was convinced that Mr Bingley was going to London simply so he could return to Netherfield with a ring. Opinion was divided over whether it would be some heirloom given to him by his mother, and whether one generation merited the word ‘heirloom’ or whether he would purchase a ring new.
Also how did Mr Bingley ascertain Miss Bennet’s ring size? In Mrs Long’s experience men in love found nothing a serious obstacle.
These musings got Mrs Long to the top of the gully. Looking from this spot there was a pretty view down to the creek. What she saw made her give a little scream.
“Are you sure you are not ill, Mr Wickham?” Kitty did not like to tell him that he was not, up close, looking as handsome as he usually did. But she weighed this against being the one to rush to his aid. Lydia would be so very jealous.
“I have never felt better in my life,” he responded.
Kitty stepped closer to him and rapidly stepped back. She could smell a most peculiar smell. It smelt like her father’s good port, but far stronger than the usual smell that wafted out of the library.
All of a sudden Mr Wickham did not look as if he was smiling as she thought he had been.
“Well, my sister will wonder what became of me if I do not hasten…”
“Wait,” Mr Wickham shot out a hand and caught her arm.
Kitty suddenly felt panicked. Gentlemen were supposed to flirt with words, not actually …it was up to the lady to tease a gentleman by hitting his arm or playing, as Lydia often did, with their tassels.
For all her flirting she had rarely been in company with a man alone but she was sure such interactions were not supposed to happen in this way.
Wickham stepped closer to her, far too close for propriety, and Kitty attempted to back away, but her flight was impeded by his hand and by a tree.
Darcy was half way down the gully, heading towards quite a picturesque scene when he heard a cry from a woman. Turning his head whence the cry came, from the top of the gully, he could see no one for the trees.
He stepped forward to look and saw a distressing sight: a tryst taking place by the river. The gentleman, his back to Darcy and the gully, had the girl pressed up against the tree.
Darcy resolved to ensure Bingley (and himself) never again set foot into this place and made to leave when he realized if this was indeed a tryst the lady was hardly enjoying it.
She was making a spirited attempt to kick the gentlemen.
Suddenly, something swung into focus. It was Wickham.
Darcy strode towards the couple, cane in hand.
“Wickham!”
Wickham turned, looking, as Darcy had seen him many times before in college, as though he had imbibed too much.
He snarled, and Darcy took great pleasure in knocking Wickham over with his cane.
He sprawled, inelegantly on the dirt and sneered up at Darcy, “Spoiling my fun Darcy? Pity you didn’t entirely spoil the fun I had, in Ramsgate, with – “
It was inconceivable that this was not a reference to Georgiana, and Darcy reacted again with his cane.
“Coward, Darcy?” said Wickham stumbling as he regained his feet.
“A dog deserves to be whipped with my cane,” replied Darcy. Wickham did not reply but merely limped away.
Darcy turned to the lady, and was shocked to discover it was a Miss Bennet. The fourth daughter – Catherine, he believed it was.
She did not seem to have suffered and permanent harm, although her dress was in disarray and her bonnet lay on the ground. She was sobbing uncontrollably.
Darcy attempted to reason her into some awareness, and tried to coax her to walk with him away from the creek.
She succeeded in walking a couple of steps before fainting into Darcy’s arms.
Mrs Long had thought it was a tryst too, until she had seen the girl’s panicked figure. She could not make out the faces from this distance, but she could make out the man’s predatory stance; cane, blue coat, top hat and breeches and the girl’s frightened one; muslin gown, pelisse and bonnet.
Then he had pounced and Mrs Long had shrieked.
They had not heard her cry out, so she hurried off down the path that led to the river bank.
It meant she lost sight of them; moments when anything could happen! But there was no other way down to the water.
These sorts of things did not happen in a respectable neighbourhood! She had never heard of such a thing! It was the stuff of fiction.
Of course young men and young women often met, for nefarious purposes, before they were married, but that was for mutual pleasure. Although it was possible for a young lady to agree to meet with a young man and then become alarmed by his ardour. Perhaps that was what had occurred in his situation.
It made Mrs Long feel much better to think of it in this way; otherwise they had an out and out villain in their midst! Who could it be?
Mrs Long turned the corner and made to wave her umbrella at the villain. Of course there was always the prospect that he would simply assault her as well! So Mrs Long decided to call for help very loudly, knowing that the local tenant farmers often came to sit by the river on their breaks.
The sight around the corner made her cut off one of her cries sharply.
There, in his blue coat, top hat, breeches, cane discarded by his feet, was the villain, with his victim fainted in his arms.
“Mr Darcy!” she gasped.