Volume 3: BIT
Lizabeth discovered that no matter how busy the day, if you were missing someone, it was long. Monday went on forever when Wednesday was so far in the future.
She brought lunch to work, intending to use the resources in her office to look up the birth certificates of the Goulding family for William. But there were pulses of activity as more men came in to file fictitious business statements. She thought she had never seen more than four people besides herself in the office at any one time, so when the seventh person walked in, Lizabeth could only stare as he queued at the counter. It worked to give a general speech to all of them about the steps needed, and she was thankful that none of them were overly argumentative.
After she had taken care of the first one, and was checking over the second man's paperwork (when he was carefully writing out a check), Lizabeth asked: "why the rush?"
The man finished writing the words for the amount before he looked up. "RuggeCoin has a public offering soon. There's a rush to get in on the ground floor."
"You can buy and trade shares in bit-coin, like on the stock market?" she asked. He nodded. "I didn't know that!" Lizabeth exclaimed before focusing on number two's claim forms.
Number four said that there was an incentive with this bit-coin offer because the claim was backed by a treasure hoard. The owners were weekend treasure hunters who looked for lost California treasure hoards from the 18th century and claimed to have found one. Anyone buying shares would receive dividends against that discovered treasure hoard.
"Interesting," she remarked. Lizabeth was glad she had brought food as she was still processing the last man's paperwork when it was close to lunch. She asked him why he was filing to be a miner with a fictitious business statement.
"Because the dividends for those who are owner/miners is greater than those who are just miners," he replied.
"Even more interesting," she replied. "Is that legal?"
"Has to be if they're offering it," he quipped.
Lizabeth texted Charlene at the end of the day to ask how things were going and then asked in as off-handed manner as she could (over text) if her friend wanted to meet for dinner. Unofficially, they had been going out to dinner most Monday nights, but Charlene texted back that she was too busy, complaining about chores left undone because she had spent so much time with Lyle. Lizabeth didn't press about dinner.
At home, she turned the TV on, but it didn't keep her interest, so she got out her laptop. She did refined searches on the Goulding family. Finding information was what she had learned to do in school. How to throw a wide net to ensure that you get what you want, then how to whittle it down to get the precise answer. Anyone starting with just the name and in a generic internet search engine would get thousands of results to a given search.
Lizabeth had more information: a set of dates, the son's name, and middle initials—she also knew that there were daughters. Sometimes it helped, instead of looking in a search engine, to search old newspaper archives, though those were sources you often couldn't access for free. But by the time she was ready for bed, Lizabeth had firm dates of marriages, births, and the sister's names.
William didn't call until almost nine. He was apologetic but asked about her day. She talked about how unusual it had been, for once. Though she normally had predictable days, this hadn't been one. She mentioned the bit-coin offering.
"Interesting," he remarked.
"Do you think it's related to the commercial property development?" she asked.
"Why would it be?" William asked.
"I don't know," was her automatic response. Then she shook her head to clear it as she put the laptop to one side and sat cross-legged on the couch while they talked. "Perhaps one or two of those men might set up offices to do mining in that commercial space?"
"I never considered that."
"Maybe somebody is going to set up some sort of internet-café place where they can rent desk space," Lizabeth speculated.
"I don't know anything about bit-coin mining," William answered.
"There's always the internet," she pointed out.
"And you're the expert there," he said.
"I suppose I am." She agreed with a smile, then asked about his day.
It had been one of frustration. "I spent it on the phone talking to people who were not interested in being helpful."
"Sorry to hear that," said Lizabeth.
"Comes with the job," he assured her. "Some days I get lucky, some days, people don't answer or just feed me a story."
On Tuesday, the day was relieved from one of boring routines when George Wickham and Lydia Philips walked in shortly after she opened the recording office doors.
"We're back," were George's first words. "We got that date for you and wondered if we couldn't do the ceremony now?"
"The Judge only does civil ceremonies on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays in the afternoon," Lizabeth replied.
"I talked to the Judge on Friday. He said he could fit us in and to just knock on the door when we had the paperwork done," George countered.
That was surprising news; in all her months of working in the office, Judge Metcalfe had never deviated from any routine. It was why he and Mimi got along so well. They were both organized, meticulous people.
"Let's ensure that the paperwork is correct," she said. Lizabeth knew from their past attempt that the only thing missing was the date of his divorce decree, which he now had. It turned out not to be years in the past, as he had claimed; it had only been finalized eighteen months previously. Not nearly as quickly as he assumed. She pointed out the date.
"Yeah," George looked sheepish but unabashed. "Andrea dragged her heels about getting it done."
Once the paperwork was signed, Lizabeth knocked on Troy Metcalfe's office door where he called her in. She walked in and shut it behind her—something she had done a number of times recently. "George Wickham is here claiming…" she began.
"It's okay," the Judge interrupted. "You'll need to stand as a witness."
"Okay." Lizabeth paused before asking. "Do you want them to come in now?"
"Let me just finish something. Send them in in ten minutes," he answered.
She went out to inform the pair that they had only a few minutes to prepare.
"I can't believe that we're finally going to do it," Lydia declared.
"Everything will be okay now," said George.
Lizabeth noticed that he wasn't looking at his bride-to-be. The pair seemed anxious rather than excited. She ushered them in after the time had elapsed. Judge Metcalfe took them through the brief civil ceremony. He then signed the marriage license, and Lizabeth signed it as a witness. She and Troy congratulated the pair.
Lizabeth stayed in the office during her lunch break to do more searches and found William K. Goulding's birth certificate. He had been born right before the Great Depression in 1929. His first child, Debra, was born in 1959. There was a second daughter, Brenda, who was born in 1963. She wondered at the gap, four years. Given the time and the fact that the birth control pill was just being introduced (and this was a married couple), why weren't there other children? William and his wife, Joyce, had married in 1957, but it had taken them two years for their first child to appear.
She stared at the birth certificate for Debra Goulding and wondered if one or more of their children had died or had they simply had trouble conceiving? There was no index for the 1950s and 1960s, but with determination and a little luck, she was able to find both a certificate of birth—stillbirth—and a death certificate for a William M. Goulding in 1958. There had been a son, a namesake son, born a year after their marriage, which accounted for why his surviving son had been named David.
David Goulding's year of birth was listed in all the documentation or news reports that she had found in her searches as 1976. Luckily, the official records were indexed in the 1970s, but Lizabeth was surprised to find that he was actually born in 1975. When she tracked down his birth certificate on the computer: she considered his life. He had to be in his forties now, and she wondered if he had children of his own.
Then she realized that she hadn't read the certificate carefully. His mother's family name was listed as Goulding, but her first name was not Joyce but Debra. The father was listed as Dennis Wickham, aged seventeen. Lizabeth stared at the document and wondered about the implications. Perhaps in the 1970s, having babies out of wedlock was still of concern, or maybe William K. had really wanted a son, so he had adopted his daughter's child as his own. Debra hadn't yet reached her seventeenth birthday. William K. Goulding was forty-six at the time; apparently it wasn't suspicious for him to be a father again. Was that what the father and son had argued about and had caused David to leave town? Was that the reason that William Goulding had closed up the property to rot for years?
Lizabeth had to get back to work after her discoveries at lunch. Hurriedly she ate a snack and then unlocked the doors. As she worked through what proved to be a thankfully slow afternoon, she considered that she was using her position in a shady manner. People requesting vital documents were supposed to have some association with the requestee. However, there were online services where you could order any vital document about anyone so long as you had their statistics. Perhaps it wasn't shady so much a gray area. But she fretted over what she had done as Tuesday afternoon dragged on. It was a day for scanning old maps again, and thankfully no more men came in to file statements.
Her cell phone rang as soon as she shut the apartment door behind her. Kitty crawled from beneath the couch to howl at her, but Lizabeth stared at her mother's contact information. She answered while walking towards the kitchen to feed her pet.
"You haven't rejected me after all," Mrs. Bennet murmured.
"I wasn't rejecting you before," she declared as she balanced the phone beneath her chin and attempted to get the lid off of the cat food can.
"Why? Why do you have to choose a cat over your mother?"
"It isn't that I am choosing her over you. I live alone and enjoy having her company," Lizabeth explained. The contents were poured into Kitty's bowl, but the cat still howled at her feet.
"I could keep you company. Maybe you should find a job closer to home, and that way you wouldn't be so lonely and could come over after work?" Dawn suggested.
"I like my job. I like living here, and I've worked hard at establishing myself," Lizabeth explained. "I don't want to move closer to home." The cat stopped crying and started to eat.
"Baby!" cried her mother, "couldn't you consider it? You know I hate driving, and your father is so beastly as to insist that he won't drive me to Merton anymore unless you give him the okay. What am I to do with myself?"
"You like to cook," Lizabeth suggested.
"I like to cook for others," Dawn explained. Her daughter thought she sounded like a pouty schoolgirl.
"Perhaps the library or city college has classes you might like to take?"
There was silence on the line. "Why did you grow up?" said her mother. It was mostly a question, though also a lament.
"It's what happens, Mom," was Lizabeth's reply.
"I never wanted you to grow up," said Dawn. Lizabeth could hear the sorrow in her mother's voice. She didn't have a response. "I wanted you to remain my little girl forever." Silence echoed again on the phone line as Lizabeth still wasn't sure what to say or what not to say to such a declaration.
Kitty finished eating and nudged her head against Lizabeth's leg; she knelt down and petted her while the silence drew out.
"I guess I should fix something for your father to eat. He's rooting for the Cubs. I don't know why he doesn't prefer the Cardinals; they have a prettier mascot!" The phone went dead.
Lizabeth had been waiting for her mother to ask about William. Either she forgot about seeing him on Saturday night in all the chaos or wasn't brave enough to broach the subject. She tucked her phone in her pocket, finished putting away her belongings, and changed her clothes. Then she worked at fixing herself something to eat, attempting to follow a recipe she had found online. One side of her chicken was slightly burnt-looking when her cell rang again.
"Hello, I'm cooking, hold on," she told William as she nestled the phone against her chin and eyed her chicken as it sizzled. It didn't sound like a good sizzle. He asked what she was making, and she explained about her breaded chicken. "The rice is done, and I didn't burn it this time!"
He talked about his day while she kept peeking at the underside of her dinner until she thought it looked 'golden brown' as per the directions, before she removed it from the heat and turned off the stove. "Done," Lizabeth declared.
"How'd it turn out?" he asked.
"Golden brown, on one side. The other is a little dark," she admitted.
"Should I let you go so you can eat?"
"Let me quickly tell you about my searches today. I found the marriage certificates and birth certificates for the Goulding family. And David Goulding isn't a son, but the grandson! It's been hushed up, though it seems odd for anyone to do that in the 1970s."
"Old Man Goulding must have wanted a son to replace him," William suggested.
"I think you're right. There was a son born way back in the 50s, right after he married, but the son was stillborn. But his oldest daughter, Debra, had a baby when she was just sixteen. Maybe they thought she wasn't mature enough to raise him," she suggested.
"Perhaps," he agreed.
"But one thing is odd, and I wanted to ask you, the father is listed as Dennis Wickham. Do you think he's related to George Wickham? Do you know George at all? I understood that the Wickham family has lived in Merton for a long time," said Lizabeth.
William didn't say anything, and silence rattled the line just like it had on the call with her mother. Fear suddenly swirled around as Lizabeth worried that she had brought up some taboo topic. What if William and George had some past history together, some rivalry?
"William?" she prompted. "Is that bad news? Should I not have mentioned George?"
"I know George," he said at last. "Yes, the Wickham family has lived in Merton for a couple of generations." The line went still again. "I don't know that I can tell you, just now, what's on my mind. Can you trust me?"
"Yes," she answered automatically. Inside, her guts twisted even more. Lizabeth felt her palms sweating, and the phone slipped a little. It was difficult not to feel that she had messed up with William in some way, just like she worried she would.
"I don't know what my schedule will be like tomorrow. And there's the city council meeting. Is it okay if I crash with you? I'll try to swing by before I go to the meeting, but I may not be there until late. Is that okay, Lizabeth?" he asked.
"Yes. How late will you be?"
"The meeting starts at seven but can end at nine or go much later if there is a lot of debate. I'll text if it's going late. If I'm not able to appear by 10:00 p.m., I can go to the hotel," he offered.
"No," she said. "Come anytime. I want to see you." Lizabeth hoped she didn't sound too desperate; she needed to see him in person, in the flesh now.
"All right," his voice wasn't convincing. "But if it's late, I may still opt for a hotel. Goodnight."
"Night," she said, and they hung up. Lizabeth didn't feel like eating then. Her cellphone was stuffed back in her pocket, and she looked at the dishes and pans in the kitchen. She packed up the chicken and rice, pulled out a fizzy drink, and curled up with Kitty on the couch to wonder what had just happened?
Skipping dinner turned out to be a bad choice as Lizabeth woke hungry in the middle of the night. When she appeared at 2:00 a.m. in the front room, Kitty thought she was there to play. The cat's dry food bowl was refilled before Lizabeth sat down with some crackers on the couch. After her snack, the cat joined her as she did searches on her laptop. Kitty tried to help by pressing random keys but eventually curled up and went back to sleep.
Now Lizabeth focused on searching for Dennis Wickham. There were a lot of hits. The first were news reports about his death in a car accident when he was forty. Dennis had lost control of his car on I-5, going at a high rate of speed; it was speculated that he had been driving at over one hundred miles an hour when he crashed.
Other reports gave details about his life and family. Like William Darcy and William Goulding, Dennis Wickham had been born in Merton. And like her William, the Wickham family had been an important one at one time. Perhaps it still was, though it seemed others, like the Fitzwilliams or the Deburgs or the Lucases, no longer wielded as much clout these days.
Dennis Wickham had attended a prestigious university, and Lizabeth read into that not what the report implied, that he had graduated, but the literal word 'attended.' She figured he had gone for a year or three then dropped out. The man was a playboy. A dozen articles indicated he had led quite an extravagant lifestyle, which showcased he had money and time and not many worries. He married an actress, Ann-Louise Hurst, when he was in his early twenties and became her manager. Lizabeth found a large number of paparazzi pictures of the couple at events or on shoots or at premieres.
They seemed a perfect pair, but Ann-Louise abruptly filed for divorce six years later, citing infidelity. Dennis Wickham quickly remarried a local Merton heiress, Angela Darling. A son was born a year later: George. This was the George she had met in all those registry office visits.
Lizabeth stopped her searching to consider the portrait she had sketched of George Wickham with his visits to the recording office, and the background she was piecing together of his family from the internet; they gave two different sides of a family. Doing some quick calculations in her head, she realized that he was eight when his father died in that car wreck. Such a loss had to have affected him. But one more article made her regret the whole undertaking. Angela Darling had died a year before Dennis. George was an orphan and had grown up without either parent. While Lizabeth's parents were what they were, at least she had them. She closed her laptop and went to bed.
Work wasn't challenging, and her day was long. She hoped that since William was due, the hours might pass more quickly, and Lizabeth scanned maps to get by. Even the Judge remarked on the slowness of the day and said he was going to take the afternoon off to see Mimi and Anthony.
William didn't call or text. She imagined he had to concentrate on work before he left. Sometime in the afternoon, Lizabeth slapped her desk when she realized how bitter she was that he hadn't called. She wished he had stayed, but most of all, Lizabeth wondered what he had to tell her about the Wickham family.
Traffic on I-5 terrible, will have to go straight to city meeting, popped up on her phone just as Lizabeth was about to lock up. She stared at it as her stomach growled both from hunger and emotion.
Okay see you afterward, she texted in return. She hoped for a response, but none came. He was probably on the road and couldn't easily text. Lizabeth locked up.
Somehow, Kitty sensed that she needed company, so after being fed, the cat curled up on her lap. It provided Lizabeth comfort while she waited to hear from William. There was no word until after eleven o'clock; she was curled up in pajamas on the couch, and it was only hope keeping her awake when there was a knock on the door. She gently pushed the cat off her lap and answered the door.
"Hi," William said as he quickly stepped inside; she shut it behind him. "It's been a hell of a long day."
"How was the meeting?" Lizabeth was hesitant as she watched him put bags and his briefcase down next to the door.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said. A hand reached out to stroke her hair. "I want you in the worst way, Lizabeth Todd Bennet." He closed the distance between them so there wasn't an inch to spare.
His clothing was cool because of the air temperature outside, but the intensity and heat of his hands made up for it. They roamed underneath her t-shirt and beneath the drawstring of her pajamas and quickly warmed both of them. There were heated kisses as his hands stroked and pinched.
"I need you now," he declared. William stopped to pull off his jacket, placing it on a chair out of the cat's way before taking her by the hand and leading her to the bedroom.
The light was off. He began removing his clothes as soon as he got next to the bed. Lizabeth was bewitched with such a request. She took off her pajamas and slipped beneath the cool sheets. He joined her in moments.
"I won't apologize for it being quick and intense," were the last words he said as he reached for her. It was.
Later, she would think that fast was often equated with bad sex, but she believed she disagreed when quality was what mattered.
Having woken up in the middle of the night the previous night, Lizabeth's brain woke her again. She experienced a different type of love-making then. Her movements woke William, and he taught her that slow and intense was also an equally pleasurable way to make love.
In the morning, she had to hit the snooze alarm twice and left a naked man in her bed—one who didn't stir. It was after she had fed the cat that Lizabeth considered—for the first time—that having a coffee maker in her house would have been a good choice. Both to wake her, but also for her guest.
She dressed quietly inside her walk-in-closet. It was only at the last possible moment, when she had to leave, that there were any signs of waking from William. She came to sit on the bed next to him. (He was sprawled on his back and looked tired.) He only opened his eyes when the mattress dipped down.
"I have to get to work," she said unnecessarily.
"Do you need me to leave?" he asked.
"No. I have a spare key." She had retained the spare and hadn't given it back to her aunt and uncle.
"I could use a little extra sleep. Yesterday was trying—long—for various reasons," he said.
"Do you have to go back to LA today?" she asked.
"No. Well, I should," he said, pushing himself up a little more and resting an arm behind his head. "But I need to let my aunt know that the city has decided to move forward with only the Goulding development and not hers. She won't be happy."
"Will that take all day?" asked Lizabeth.
"Knowing Aunt Catherine? Probably," he remarked and yawned. "If I can, I'll swing by at lunchtime."
"Okay," she agreed softly, still unsure of Lizabeth and William. His free hand reached out to touch her. She leaned over, and they kissed briefly.
She drove herself to work and recalled another day when she had speculated about this very scenario and had wondered how it would feel to have a man spend the night. But it wasn't the thrilling, bubbly romantic picture from before. Doubt nagged at her; she felt insecure. Lizabeth wanted to talk. Then she remembered the warmth of his body next to hers and his declaring 'I want you.' He had left no doubt about his desire for her. Her insecurities fell away as she recalled their love-making from the night before.
Thursdays were slow, and the day was a Thursday. She kept herself occupied. Doug Morris was still a no-show, as he had been all week. The recording office was quiet, and Lizabeth found herself lost in thought most of the morning.
She enjoyed their intimacies, enjoyed the fact that he desired her. Lizabeth also felt that she had shed those simplistic romantic notions of relationships; they involved give and take. Relationships weren't about being pampered and doted on. Such behavior wore thin as she knew. Edgar probably thought himself in the hero's role. Always holding open the door and paying for dinner, but he had had narrow expectations of Lizabeth (and few based in reality).
But William was the owner of a production company and quite busy. He had been up-front about his schedule and lack of availability. Lizabeth thought that he understood her and her fledgling attempts at life's activities, like cooking, and was supportive and listened. He was someone to show her the ropes.
There were ways she could help him. All the information she was finding helped him to help his family. She admired that about him—that he cared so much about his family and took time away from work to help them. Lizabeth hoped there would never be a scenario where he would have to choose, or if his help was no longer needed by them, so he stopped seeing her as he no longer had an excuse to drive north.
Her cell phone rang at a quarter to twelve. "It's William," he began. She assumed he didn't have good news. "My aunt hasn't taken the news well, and I can't get away. If it's okay, I will come get you for an early dinner, but I need to get back to Los Angeles tomorrow."
"Dinner would be great," Lizabeth said. She hoped they would be able to talk over dinner. Patience was required right now, and she could be patient. "Do you want to meet me here or at my apartment?"
"Actually, meeting at your place is a better idea so I can pack," he commented, sounding distracted. "Think of what you want for dinner."
Lizabeth locked the registry office doors for lunch and sat in the break room, nibbling on a snack she had in her desk for emergencies; she didn't feel like going out. She had already canceled on Charlene. While they had texted each other about small details, Lizabeth and her friend hadn't had lunch or dinner since coming back from Los Angeles. But Doug Morris was waiting for her at the front entrance when she returned. Her heart did a little dance at seeing that familiar figure, and she quickened her pace to unlock the doors.
"I haven't seen you in a while," Lizabeth remarked.
Doug held the doors open for her like he always did. "Been to Disneyland with the girls," he explained. "Nothing nefarious, just fun." He grinned.
They took their usual seats, and he entertained her for over an hour with details of his trip. It made her wish that Lyle hadn't been so dead-set against amusement parks. Maybe someday she could visit William and go with him, or even go alone.
The afternoon passed by quicker than she feared, but William wasn't waiting for her when she arrived home. She fed the cat, changed, and then sat down to wait. His knock didn't come until after six. Despite having a key, he didn't let himself in but waited for her to answer.
"Hi," she said, leaning in for a kiss which was warm and intense. William's hands were around her in seconds. "I take it the day has been long for you too?" Lizabeth asked when they finally broke apart.
"Aunt Catherine is insufferable," he said, holding her against him as he gazed at her. "Ready to eat?"
"Yes!" she answered.
A/N: first rule of being female: never trust a man who says 'trust me.' (Unless he's Indiana Jones.)
That opening line is fitting in these times. The days go on forever when you're waiting for some end-point, some day in the future. Hope all is well.