A/N:
Hello, Pride and Prejudice fans!
Firstly, no apology can make up for my long absence, but I thank you for your understanding, and for the encouraging words you left last time I was here. I have adjusted to my new role (I hope I have!) and can now multi-task! So I plan to be writing more. (fingers crossed!)
Secondly, I know you will have questions about this chapter, and I have the answers, I promise, (in the next chapter). Please bear with me again as I leave it the way I did. I am afraid being a mother has made me more emotional than I previously was, I wonder now if that has reflected in my writing.
Lastly, might I suggest that if you have the time, please re-read the story, or at least the last few chapters, just to recall how Darcy and Elizabeth have gotten themselves to where they are now.
Thank you once again! I'm so very happy and excited to be back! Please follow, please favorite, and please review. :)
Chapter 21 : The Rider
Darcy was falling.
Everything had happened so swiftly, and yet it had seemed that time stood still as well. A pistol fired, someone shouted, Darcy heard his name being cried out. He saw, as he fell, the rays of the sun, they caused spots in his vision.
In that infinitesimal length of time, he saw Elizabeth walking the grounds of Pemberley, hands skimming over wild flowers, daylight framing her beautiful face, lightening her hair to a burnished gold.
Beneath him, he heard the loud roaring of water as it raced and slammed against boulders. He knew the river would swallow him now, he braced himself.
Then he saw her face. Elizabeth.
Mr. Adley, in all his years of friendship with Mr. Soames, could not believe how truly hardheaded his friend was.
"Your eyesight fails you, man!"
Mr. Soames threw his palate to the ground in exasperation, he pointed to a carriage that was just then crossing the bridge.
"That carriage there is brown, the bridge is gray!"
The River Lea rushed beside them in its perpetual and personal race, never deterred, it continued on until a few miles south the river forked into two, one into a calm stream flowing through Meryton fields, indeed crossing Loungborn's acreage of woodlands, and the other larger branch continuing on in its strength until it reached and separated Essex from Hertfordshire.
Aside from the two gentlemen, only a carriage on its way in crossing the bridge was about in this part of Meryton. It was an unusually quiet day, with this road being the main route to London, one expected more traffic. But that evening a public ball was anticipated by the locals, therefore keeping them in their homes with thoughts of gowns, wine and company in mind.
Ready to debate shades and shadows, Mr. Adley prided himself above all in his perception of color. He glanced back at the bridge, arm outstretched to make his point, but before he could speak, something happened that would challenge Meryton's sense of security for a significant length of time. His eyes widened, a loud explosion rang in the air, Mr. Adley froze, his heart in his throat.
"Get down!" Mr. Soames, acting quickly, pulled his shocked friend to the ground.
Eyes wild, both men watched unbelieving at the scene that unfolded before them. The coachman fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, crying out, his hand clutching his shoulder where blood stained his clothes. Chaos ensued as the footman jumped down from his position behind the carriage, torn between seeing to the coachman or attempting to control the bucking horses which were frightened from the explosion. The carriage door was flung open as a male occupant, a gentleman, hastily alighted to give aid. But before either man could move further, a figure on horseback approached the carriage so quickly. The rider fired at the footman who fell where he stood. The shot thundered in their ears. A shout and a woman's distressed cry arose from the tumult.
"Rein in those animals or you will find them on the ground next to your servants!" Shouted the rider to the gentleman who faltered but quickly recovered and took hold of the reins, trying to calm the horses.
Reaching a boulder near the bank of the river, the two friends crouched and looked about in confusion and with no little agitation.
"Is that a bandit?" Mr. Adley whispered.
"It is a woman!" Mr. Soames said surprised.
Indeed, with skirts flying did the rider quickly dismount from her steed, for the first time they were able observe her appearance. Rough, dirty and wild, she looked unbalanced. Anger, or what could have been an evil kind of glee, sparked in her eyes. They watched as she pointed a second gun to the gentleman.
"Darcy." The woman sneered at the gentleman. "You have always been in my way, this time it is your turn to be thwarted!" She tucked the fired pistol in a makeshift belt around her waist.
"Mr. Darcy? Is not Miss Elizabeth Bennet engaged to a gentleman of that name?" Mr. Soames looked horrified.
Through the open carriage door, Mr. Adley and Mr. Soames strained to see the people inside.
"Good God! It is Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" Mr. Adley choked.
Mr. Soames hands fisted in tension. "Mr. Bingley as well! We must help them!"
Darcy's mind raced even as his heart stopped. He faced Mrs. Younge and the barrel of a gun. Rage and fear roiled inside him. He looked towards Garrick, his coachman whose garments were now soaked in blood, groaning in pain, then at his footman, Nibley who lay unconscious. He prayed the worst had not befallen that faithful servant. Then finally, at Elizabeth whose face had turned white with shock. This could not be happening, no. He was dreaming, a most horrific dream, anytime soon he would wake up. Any time now.
"I must tend to my men." Darcy said urgently.
"Move and you shall join them." Mrs. Younge answered viciously. "I am very much adept at using this weapon, as you have seen, do not dare test me!" Her gaze slid to Elizabeth. "You! Step out of that carriage!" Mrs. Younge shouted. Her eyes bulged, veins throbbed in her temples.
Darcy met Elizabeth's frightened look.
"William." She mouthed.
Elizabeth shuddered, what was happening? Her mind could not comprehend the situation they found themselves in, Mrs. Younge was supposed to have been imprisoned. Across from her, she caught Jane's frightened gaze. Elizabeth started as she heard the cocking of a gun, loud in the silence that fear brought.
Mrs. Younge spoke gleefully.
"You are granting me the perfect reason to fire this weapon, madam. Nothing would please me more, I assure you. Yes, go on, grant me what I have so longed for." Her eyes held a challenge, they looked at her almost as if asking Elizabeth to defy her.
Elizabeth's mind raced, she would go out to her beloved. Together, they could do anything if they were together, her heart echoed. Jane's hand reached out to grip her arm attempting to stop her from leaving the carriage, her sister's eyes huge with fright. Elizabeth turned to her with pleading eyes, shaking her head.
"It will be alright, Jane." She whispered, until, with a sob, her older sister let her go. Slowly, Elizabeth stepped down onto the road.
Darcy grasped Elizabeth's arm and pulled her behind him, her hand clasped with his. He must do everything to protect his friends, to protect Elizabeth, he could not let anything happen to her, no. He did not know how, but he must find a way.
"Let them all go, it is I whom you want after all."
"No, William!" Elizabeth said in a strangled voice.
"Arrogant to the end!" Mrs. Younge laughed coldly. "Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, so sure of himself, so sure of his place in the world!" Her voice was full of malice, she looked at Darcy now with hatred in her eyes. "Well, it is I who shall win now, Master."
Mrs. Younge started to laugh, a shrieking, demented sound that prickled Elizabeth's skin and left her cold.
"Oh, he thinks himself the world! Hateful man!" Mrs. Younge spat. She looked inside the carriage then and saw Bingley.
"But this one here seems to me a true gentleman." She pointed her gun at Jane. Bingley moved forward, shielding her. "I will not harm your lady if you promise to be a gentleman about all this." Mrs. Younge said to him, horrid smile still in place.
"What is it that you want?" Darcy attempted to calm his voice. "How much do you want?"
"George always said we could count on you!" Mrs. Younge smiled wickedly "He did tell me so!"
Anger spread in Darcy's heart. "Where is Wickham?"
Mrs. Younge frowned. "I grow tired of this game." She pointed her gun at Elizabeth. "She shall come with me."
"Lizzy!" Jane burst in a cry.
Darcy's whole body stiffened. No! "What amount do you want?"
"I want her." Mrs. Younge smiled at Elizabeth. "Beautiful Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Loungborn. I have found your son, did you not say that he was missing? Were you not looking for him? Oh, and his pup too! Come let me take you to them!"
"No!" Elizabeth's voice trembled, but she held firm.
Here Mrs. Younge sneered, then pointed her cocked pistol at a frozen Jane, she raised her arm.
Elizabeth's blood ran cold when she saw Mrs. Younge's forefinger start to pull on the trigger.
"Stop, stop!" She cried even as Darcy surged towards Mrs. Younge.
The sound of a third gunshot had the horses whinnying in fright once again, but it was the bloodcurdling scream from Jane that echoed in the silence that followed.
Bingley fell back against the carriage seat, blood starting to trickle down his side.
"Charles, no!" Jane cried. She clutched at him, blood staining her hands. "No!"
"Bingley!" Darcy shouted from outside the carriage. Rage coursed through him, he managed to pin Mrs. Younge facedown on the ground. She tried to reach for the loaded pistol which fell near them, Darcy saw this and kicked it away, it slid on the ground and stopped a few feet away when it hit the parapet of the bridge. The woman screamed and flailed.
"Curse you!" She spat out.
Darcy captured Mrs. Younge's wrists and pinned them to her back, with his knee he held her down. He reached for the other used weapon tucked in her belt and hurled it over the bridge. His eyes reflected all the hate he had in him.
"`Tis her fault!" She looked at Elizabeth with a crazed expression, "Had you only listened to me, I would not have fired!"
She's mad! Elizabeth's hands shook. In Mrs. Younge's words, in her voice, indeed, in her whole bearing, could Elizabeth see madness. In Surrey, she knew that the other woman was capable of crime, of hurting another, but to see such violence happen before her and to a person she cared for, was to Elizabeth a terrible, terrible nightmare. She hurried to her sister and Bingley. She tried to focus, she checked on Garrick and Nibley.
Bingley moaned, he clutched at his side where the wound colored his shirt. "Jane." He said breathless in pain. Jane was crying uncontrollably, clutching at his face, his hand, his arms.
"Please, Charles, please!"
"We must get help." Elizabeth cried, she faced Darcy. "The rectory is but two miles from here, I shall go!" Darcy nodded as they exchanged an intense look before Elizabeth hastened away.
She had almost reached the end of the bridge when the sounds of hoofbeats stopped her in her tracks. Elizabeth looked back. What she saw turned her blood cold yet again. She ran back towards Darcy.
Darcy looked up at the sound of an approaching rider. No, this cannot be! Blood pounded in his head, hatred so great spread across his being at what his eyes beheld.
"George!" Mrs. Younge exulted.
Wickham jumped off his steed, gun pointed at Darcy. "Release her." He said.
Wickham appeared to take in the scene before him, he looked, with eyes wide, at the wounded servants. He looked from Darcy and Mrs. Younge to Elizabeth, who now stood a short distance from Darcy, and finally to the couple in the carriage, Jane's wracking sobs filling the air. Hesitation etched deeply on his face, it was as if within him raged a war.
"Release her, Darcy." Wickham repeated, almost in a pleading voice. "I wish no one else further harm."
Darcy's jaw clenched. "Then you should not have acted the way you did!"
"George!" Mrs. Younge shouted. "Shoot him, kill him, kill them all!"
"Shut up!" He erupted at Mrs. Younge. "What have you done?"
"Why, everything that we planned." From the ground, Mrs. Younge looked at her lover, a disturbing smile on her face. "Everything that you have wanted. But we must finish it, my love."
Wickham raked his hand through his hair, frustration, indeed anguish, ripe on his face. He looked away, his hand fisted. When he turned back to them, his eyes were hard. "Let her go, Darcy." He gestured with his weapon. "Now."
Darcy gritted his teeth, he trembled in anger. Slowly he lifted his knee from Mrs. Younge's back, she scrambled abruptly up.
Mrs. Younge turned to face her adversary, a triumphant smile on her face. She laid a hand on his face and before Darcy could react, kissed him on the mouth. Elizabeth gasped.
Darcy stumbled back in disgust, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as Mrs. Younge let out deranged laughter.
"You are mad." He seethed.
At this Mrs. Younge's laughter grew more shrill. She went to Wickham, stood behind him and whispered something in his ear. Her arms went around his waist. Wickham's expression was inscrutable, his stance rigid.
Elizabeth moved closer to Darcy, her hand taking his. Darcy turned slightly to her, with an urgent look, he secretly motioned to the pistol which lay on the ground near the bridge parapet some distance away from them. Slowly, subtly, Darcy moved with her towards the pistol.
"No." Wickham answered curtly in reponse Mrs. Younge's whispered words.
"What can you mean by 'no'? We have planned this!"
"You planned this, I never wished for things to go this far!"
It was then that Mrs. Younge noticed Darcy and Elizabeth's careful retreat.
"And where, might I ask, do you think you are going?"
The couple stilled. Elizabeth discreetly eyed the pistol which now lay only a few feet behind Darcy, her heart pounded. If she could just move a small distance behind him, she would be able to reach it, cover it with her skirts.
"Things have not changed, my dear." Mrs. Younge addressed Elizabeth. "You are coming with us."
"You shall have to kill me before you can take Elizabeth." Darcy said in a low, cold voice.
"Oh, is that all?" Mrs. Younge raised Wickham's arm that held the gun, aimed it at Darcy. Wickham's jaw hardened, his eyes closed for a mere moment.
"Give him what he deserves, my love." She grazed her mouth on her lover's ear.
"Mr. Wickham, please." Elizabeth pleaded, her voice imploring him.
"Silence!" Mrs. Young screamed. Then in a cooing voice continued to Wickham. "George, my love, this shall be your chance, I am giving you a chance to realize your wish."
Wickham's eyes hardened, he looked at Darcy with hate-filled his eyes. The hand that held the pistol trembled.
"Remember all that he took from you, all those occasions missed owing to his selfishness, his jealousy. Remember, George." Mrs. Younge said close to Wickham's ear. "And never forget."
"Do not listen to her, Wickham!" Darcy's voice held an edge, he looked at Bingley, at his men once again, fear for them resounded in his voice. "Look at what she has done! She is prepared to kill, you are not like that. No matter the things that happened between us, I know that you are not a murderer, George." He had not called Wickham by his first name since they started university. The name felt foreign, as though it belonged to another time, to another person.
A flash of memory entered Darcy's mind, so long ago it seemed a dream now, it gave him a measure of hope.
Two extremely satisfied young boys, walking back to Pemberley from a fishing expedition, their catch hanging from the poles carried on their shoulders, a stablehand walking behind them. Young Wickham starting a race, running ahead. A dog, mouth foaming and vicious suddenly appearing before him, aggressive. The stablehand running, shouting for Wickham to use his pole.
Darcy recalled what happened after that, for it had shaped his childhood friend's attitude towards violence, towards death.
Young Wickham crying, as the rabid dog lay unconcious on the ground, its head bleeding from where the stablehand had dealt it a blow. In a hollow by the side of the path, five puppies cried as if in grief.
Indeed, Darcy recalled how that moment had left Wickham with an aversion towards death which he had not attempted to hide from Darcy, not until their young adulthood. He knew what Wickham was capable of; deceit, lechery, greed, fraud, yes all of those and perhaps more—but not murder, never murder. This, Darcy believed as the truth.
"He is manipulating you yet again, my love!" Mrs. Younge's eyes pierced Darcy. "He thinks he can command you, order you about! The Lord of the Manor!"
"George, it is not too late." Darcy's chest felt tight, his heart heavy. He prayed that somewhere in the man that stood before him, was still the young boy who was his brother. "I can help you."
Wickham's face crumpled for a moment. His eyes closed, when they opened they flared at Darcy, hate and accusation all directed towards the other man. "Now you wish to help me?" He laughed, bitter and cold.
Elizabeth cringed at the sound, she felt the threat to all of them keenly, but greatly so to her beloved. Unconciously, she pulled at Darcy as if to hide him, to shield him. She had to reach the pistol, Elizabeth desperately thought.
Wickham grew silent. Shaking his head, he spoke menacingly. "You think you know me, Darcy? You think you can hold sway over me? The George Wickham of our childhood is gone! He is dead! You do not know what I am capable of."
"No." Darcy shook his head. "He is not. I have seen him." Darcy said in defiance. He calmed his voice. "I have seen him in the way you protected Lydia Bennet."
"Shut up, you pompous man!" Mrs. Younge screeched. "You know not of what you speak!"
"George, you know this to be true." Darcy spoke urgently. "My father—"
"Shut up!" Wickham thundered. His hand straightened once again, firmly aiming directly at Darcy. He pried Mrs. Younge's arms from around him, moved closer to where Darcy and Elizabeth stood.
"Your father should have left me alone! A steward's boy! I would have grown up knowing my place in the world! But no, never that—he thought it was a kindness to raise me up a gentleman, right beside his heir." A tear escaped from his eye which he angrily slapped away. "What did he think would become of me? Did he think I would not see the condescending looks, the barely suppressed disdain people threw my way? In their eyes I was pretending to be a Darcy, I, with my unworthy blood. For that I hated him! I hated you."
Wickham moved quickly, he closed the distance between them, pressed the pistol to Darcy's chest.
Darcy's heart beat fast, hope draining away. Behind him, he felt Elizabeth collapse to the ground, but he could not turn to her. His worst fear was being realized; in death he would not be able to protect Elizabeth. And if she survived—this he fervently prayed for, he would not be able to give her his name.
Forgive me, Elizabeth. I love you, my Elizabeth.
Silence lengthened the seconds that ticked by. Mrs. Younge watched, hands clasped and with gleeful eyes as Wickham pressed the barrel of the pistol harder on Darcy's chest.
On the ground behind Darcy, Elizabeth's eyes were closed. She did not have much time, she had to move quickly. With her unexposed hand, she covertly groped for the gun which lay by her skirts. When her hand closed over it, she peeked to see if Mrs. Younge or Wickham watched her. Their attention held fast on Darcy.
This was it then, this was to be his end. Darcy prayed, he prayed for a miracle. He shut his eyes. The feel of something heavy being pressed against his palm startled him. His arm, which had hung limply to his side, instinctively swung behind him. In his hand he gripped a pistol. Elizabeth.
Elizabeth prayed with all her might, prayed with all the will she had in her. They had so much to live for, this could not be the end, no. Elizabeth refused to believe it. Tears streaked from her eyes, she cried for her future, she cried for her love.
"No, no, no." She whispered.
Wickham breathed heavily, rage contorting his features. He drilled the gun to Darcy's chest again, grunting. Darcy prepared himself for what he must do, his heart protested, for in it, deeply buried, yet undoubtedly there, was his love for the brother of his youth. He took a deep breath.
Then, very suddenly, Wickham stepped back. The hand that held the gun fell limply to his side.
Mrs. Younge screamed. "What are you doing?"
"And yet I loved you." Wickham spoke, beaten. He looked up at Darcy, hate and some other emotion filled his eyes. "You were my brother, together we slayed dragons, conquered kingdoms."
Darcy's whole body sagged with relief. Tears stung his eyes. A heavy breath escaped him.
"You wretched man, what are you doing?" Mrs. Younge ran to Wickham, raging. "We have worked so hard, been through too much!"
Wickham shook his head, he covered his eyes. "I can not, I can not do it."
"You fool! Have you learned nothing?" Mrs. Younge took Wickham's face in her hands, she forced him to look at her. "I am the only one you can depend on, I am the only one to have loved you! You can not trust him!" She kissed him. "Do it for me, my love."
Darcy turned and gathered Elizabeth in his arms. "I love you, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth buried her face in his chest, feeling the beat of his heart against her. "William."
Darcy then turned to Bingley and Jane. They must rush Bingley and his men to help. Taking the opportunity, he quickly led Elizabeth to the carriage.
"Let us go, we must depart." Wickham said wearily. He gripped Mrs. Younge's wrist and tried to lead her to her horse. "At once."
"No!" She pulled herself away and looked at Wickham with betrayal and then scorn. "You are weak, George Wickham! I have sacrificed so much! Too much for this, for you!" Mrs. Younge cried out, she pulled at her hair. "I have fooled myself!"
"Let us go!" Wickham shouted.
Mrs. Younge moved swiftly, she grabbed the gun from Wickham's hand, then shot at Darcy's location.
Crouching to the ground, Darcy covered Elizabeth with his body, his hands roamed her body, checking to see if she was hit. When he assured himself that she had not, he closed his eyes, senses once again on edge. Good God, would it never end?
"What are you doing?" Wickham shouted, "We must go, someone is bound to come soon. These gunshots have surely alerted the local authorities!"
"You have disappointed me, George! No! You have broken my heart!" Mrs. Younge sobbed. "You were my partner, my friend, my brother, my lover." Rage blinded her, but this time it was directed towards Wickham. "But still, it was not enough, never enough. I was never enough. It was always about him!" She gestured wildly at Darcy. "How you could best him, how you could reclaim what he took from you, your claim and connection to that wretched name!"
She pointed the gun at Darcy, her hand shaking, her gaze piercing with such hate that Elizabeth flinched.
Sorrow in his eyes, Wickham left Mrs. Younge's side and moved near Darcy and Elizabeth. He held his palms up to her, a silent plea to stop. Darcy and Elizabeth rose slowly, hands gripping each other's, they retreated until they reached the parapet of the bridge.
Mrs. Younge's face twisted in hate at Wickham's gesture. "I despised that name, can't you see how it turned you into a pathetic excuse of a man?" She directed the gun at Wickham this time. "You have deserted me." Grief and loathing filling her countenance.
"This is what I am." Wickham said in a defeated voice. "Yes, go on, you must end it, kill me. Free yourself of me, end this wretched existence!"
"George!" Darcy called out.
Mrs. Younge sobbed. She covered her face with one hand. When she looked up, she smiled, a sad, emotional smile. For the first time that day, all traces of madness gone from her face, in her eyes was a clarity that showed a new understanding.
"I love you, George, and for that I shall set you free." Moving her hand, she aimed at Darcy and fired.
"No!" Elizabeth cried.
What followed was, to Elizabeth, surreal.
Everything happened all at once. She saw Wickham push Darcy aside. She heard Wickham cry out as the bullet slammed against his chest. She saw Darcy as he stumbled back, the back of his knees caught against the low parapet of the bridge. Elizabeth saw as her beloved fell over the edge of the bridge. She screamed his name, rushed forward in an attempt to grab Darcy. And in the process, fell into the river as well.