BLURB:A continuation of P&P, in a way, with the sons and daughters of P&P cast as adults. Frances Wickham has to make her way in the world despite her unfortunate upbringing and relations. Despite its darker beginnings, who can expect otherwise with a father like that?, the story will have a happy ending for Frances. The main action of the story takes place between 1832 and 1845 in England, Paris and some of it in South Africa.

Prologue

Newcastle, 9 July 1834

'Th-there is no-nothing left, it is all yours!' The two men had been playing all night and now it was over. Even in this part of town, the last of the street sounds had died down hours ago and most people had retired. The man that had spoken was shabbily clad, his thin hair tousled, and it was hard to determine where the grey ended and the greasy part started, as he badly needed a haircut. He put his head on his soiled shirtsleeves and wept, his muffled sobs punctuating the silence.

The cold eyes of his younger, fashionably clothed, and immaculately clean opponent watched him from the other end of the table. His face seemed to be hewn out of rock and the only sign there was life in him was the tapping of his right hand index finger on the table. He waited.

At last the other man came to his senses. He lifted his head and looked at his opponent, silently daring him. Eyes locked, and a battle of wills ensued. From his opponent's gaze he could read nothing but the disdain he was certain the other held him in. He was the first to avert his eyes in embarrassment, and he attempted to get up, knocking over his glass while trying to right himself. He bowed before his guest and made a grotesquely grand gesture with his trembling hand. 'Sso, milord, I will sssee you out'. The dramatic effect was undone when he nearly lost his balance and had to grab the doorpost. 'Or is it you that must sssee me out?' He laughed uncontrollably.

A powerful hand shot out and steadied him. 'No so hasty, friend,' a soft voice spoke. The undertone of menace belied the manner of address.

A chill ran up the man's back. His befuddled brain told him he had really done it this time. He was on the point of no return. Opening the door, he peered into what resembled an empty hallway. He shut the door and wobbled to his desk at the far end of the room. Fumbling with the handle, he opened the centre drawer in front of him. He hesitated, squinting at his opponent. 'It is my daughter's'-

'All you have lost against your daughter then?' Gone was the other's indifference, and even the cold distance he maintained earlier. The statue had turned into flesh and the baser instinct of the gambler could not be checked.

The man at the desk hesitated. Greed shone in his eyes and yet he could not bring himself to accept the challenge. Abruptly he snatched an envelope from the drawer. He knew when he was beaten. Pulling a folded note out, he threw the envelope on the table; it landed with a dull chunk in front of his opponent.

'Enough is enough.' He wobbled back to the door and opened it with an exaggerated bow. 'We shall be out tomorrow before noon, milord.'

Chapter 1

Sunderland, 21 December 1835

Frances Wickham had little reason to trust the world of adults. In all her fifteen years she had never spent more than a twelve month at the same address. Every time she was beginning to feel comfortable in a house and neighbourhood her parents' pecuniary difficulties would force the family to move on to a better situation, which generally meant less burdensome on the purse.

Not only the housing but also the company changed regularly. For as long Frances could remember she used to spend the night upstairs when certain company was visiting. After a while these guests would be replaced by others, usually after drunken rows or moving house. She was relieved to retire with her younger sisters Jane and Catherine, read to them, tuck them in bed and enjoy a few hours of solitude herself.

When the cholera came to England in 1832 Lydia Bennet Wickham was one of its first victims. It was Frances that nursed her; watched over her and held her hand when she died. No sooner had she buried her mother than her little sisters fell ill. Again it was Frances who comforted the sick and sat with them when the end came.

Frances was devastated after she lost her sisters. Urged by Doctor Simmons she wrote her father who was quarantined with her brother George in the garrison of Newcastle. The doctor found her a place to stay with Widow Stephens. The woman, who ran a respectable boarding house in town, took pity on the twelve year old. Frances ran small errands for her in exchange for bed and board until she heard from her father. Frances was happy there, Mrs. Stephens was a good kind woman and she lived not too far away from the wharfs where John, her fifteen-year old brother, was apprenticed as a shipbuilder. Every Sunday after the morning service he would visit her and they would take long walks together.

She had not been in Widow Stephens' care above three months when George Wickham sr. came to collect his last surviving daughter. Although she knew her father well and her brother only too well, she was happy to come away with them when they came for her.

News went slow in these days and it took some months before the members of the Bennet family were apprised of the fact that their youngest daughter and sister and two of her daughters had fallen victim to the Cholera Morbus. When Mrs. Darcy came to see her sister's grave she was led to the pauper's corner of a special graveyard for the cholera victims. She was appalled at learning that her niece of twelve had had to deal with everything. Widow Stephens was visited to thank her for her concern and to remunerate her for her troubles.

The Darcys had come to Newcastle with the intention to collect their niece and bring her up at Pemberley. It had not occurred to them that they would have to travel back without her. However good their intentions were, Frances was not to be persuaded to leave Newcastle for Pemberley. She knew her father was not respectable, had not she witnessed how her mother was treated by him? But Frances had moved house time and again; she had lost her friends and acquaintances so often and most importantly she had lost her mother and sisters that she clung to her father and brother. She was quite frank in her refusal. She preferred to stay in Newcastle. The Darcys had to travel back alone.

Two years later disaster struck again. George Wickham was despatched to India; he was sent there on special duty. Frances never got to the bottom of it, he simply left without letting on why he was despatched. She suspected some mischief; was he not often in trouble?

Young George's fate was even worse. He was heavily in debt and there was no one who wanted to gamble with him. He was in and out of trouble all the time and this George did not have a Darcy to bail him out every time things went wrong. When he attempted armed robbery to cover his debts, he was arrested, dismissed dishonourably from the army and sent to the colonies. Frances stood alone once more.

She packed her meagre belongings and travelled back to Sunderland. Once again it was Widow Stephens that saved Frances from despair. She promised Frances board and lodging provided her brother John moved in with her. And so it happened, John rented the top floor of the establishment and at the tender age of fifteen Frances kept house for her brother and lent Widow Stephens a hand in busy times.

Experiences are defining. There were two things Frances coveted most; a stable situation and a quiet life. She had found both in Sunderland with her brother John. For the first time in her life she had a feeling of peace when she looked around her in the small sitting room. She was in charge of her own life and life was good at the moment.

To be continued...