Dear EmlynMara, RHALiz, Kiloren, Mangosmum, Dizzy Lizzy.60, Mencia, Liysyl, Happy Lizzy, Nell, Lime, Levenez, Maria Teresa, Another Lizzie, Jansfamily4, Kiwipride, Colleen S, gabyhyatt, JohnnyFlynnFan, Joan, ArnettinCA, eelarahs, Wyndwhyspyr, Shelby66, Saralee, various guests and other readers, thank you for the regular reviews, reading and making the story a favourite. I love reading your reviews and try to edit the story based on your comments. Sorry for the cliff hanger last week. Things are still slow here. Unfortunately, we will have more body counts before ODC can move one. I hope you will stick around. Happy reading!
Chapter Seven
Darcy ran toward the sounds of Elizabeth's shouts to find her yelling at George Wickham. The steward's son, in his drunkenness, had come upon Elizabeth in the wood, harassing and taunting her.
"Wickham, what is God's name is going on?" Darcy cried out, panting. Wickham was still quite drunk and stumbled around the path, holding onto a tree for support.
"We're just messing about," Wickham said, grinning at Darcy.
"He startled me and was blocking my way!" Elizabeth said, pulling her cloak tightly around her body and then bumping Wickham to the ground. Darcy looked at his friend, annoyed.
"Oi!" Wickham swore when his backside landed with a thud on the ground. "Bloody hell!"
"Mind your language, Wickham. And you should know better than to accost an unaccompanied lady," he said, still half-drunk himself.
"It was for a bit of laugh. I was just pretending to be Headless James, your bloody ancestor who was beheaded in the woods here. And why should you care?" Wickham asked, indignant. "You hate her and her family."
"Regardless of how I feel, I would never accost a young woman, Wickham. If I hear of this again, I shall have you removed from Pemberley at once," Darcy said firmly.
Wickham looked between him and Elizabeth Bennet, angry at the admonishment. He didn't understand what was between Darcy and Elizabeth, but he did not like the thought of this woman threatening his place at Pemberley. He would remember this.
"Right," Wickham said then, laughing the situation off. "I'll be getting back to my house."
He left Darcy and Elizabeth alone on the woodland path.
"You are not hurt, are you?" Darcy asked her. His concern was genuine, which surprised them both.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. Had he forgotten how rude he was to me mere minutes before? "I am fine. I don't suppose I shall be going for moonlit strolls to clear my thoughts anymore—you and your friend have ruined that."
Darcy felt conflicted. His usual hatred of all things regarding the Bennets was in war with the care he once felt for Elizabeth. He saw the look on her face—she had been terrified—though she did not want to show that to him or anyone else.
"I will ensure that Wickham does not come this way at night," Darcy said, "Though you ought to be careful, especially not wearing proper attire." He cleared his throat, not meaning to say that last bit out loud.
He thought he could just make out Elizabeth's flush as she lowered her head, clearing her throat as well. "I will make note of that. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Darcy." She turned to walk away, and he caught up to her, still stumbling slightly. The amount of whiskey Darcy had drunk was making his head swim.
"Let me walk you back to the house to ensure your safety," Darcy said. Why am I going through this trouble for someone like her? He asked himself. In truth, Darcy was completely unsure as to why he wanted to escort Elizabeth back to the Dowager House.
"It would be an awfully long walk back to the main house from there—you needn't go through the trouble," Elizabeth said, not looking at him.
"I could use the walk," Darcy said casually. "to clear my head."
They walked along the path in companionable silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Darcy coughed slightly to break the tension and asked, "How do you fare at the Dowager House?"
Elizabeth scoffed at him. "Do you forget the conversation we had at the pond so quickly?"
"I do not," Fitzwilliam said. "I merely wanted to make conversation—"
"You said yourself hardly more than an hour ago that you could not befriend me. Let us not pretend, surely," Elizabeth interjected fiercely, walking hurriedly ahead now on the path to the house.
Darcy could not deny that she was right. "Elizabeth, wait!" he yelled, trying to catch her up. She did not wait for him, causing him to shout, "You're acting mad again!"
Elizabeth turned around—eyes fierce with anger. "You want to know how I fare, Mr. Darcy? I shall tell you. We are hated by you and almost everyone at the main house. I'm ignored by my mother and Jane, with the exception of Mary. I care for her and do what little I can for Kitty, Lydia and James—otherwise, I am utterly alone. I despise it here!"
She began to cry out of frustration, causing Darcy to move in to try to embrace her. She put her hand out, pushing him away. "Save your pity on someone else," she said severely.
Darcy's heart began to ache at the pain she experienced. "Lizzy, I—"
"Do not!" Elizabeth yelled. She regained her composure and then said firmly, "You have made your opinions about me very clear at the pond and to Wickham just now. You may remove from your conscience whatever guilt the drink has caused you to have and return to your hatred of me. I will walk the rest of the way alone." She turned to leave and disappeared down the path, leaving Darcy staring after her.
Elizabeth muddled Darcy's mind. He oscillated between loathing her and wanting to hold her with regularity. How dare she speak to me in that way? My fortune pays for her family's living. He thought to himself, she is below me and I am, in essence, her landlord and benefactor. Then Darcy thought of how her beautiful green eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, making his face flush with heat. He knew it was wrong to think of her in that manner—the distaste of her and her family aside, she was only sixteen! Darcy was sure that Elizabeth had only ever previously thought of him as a brother.
"Perhaps she was right," Darcy said out loud to no one in particular as he started on the long walk back to his home. "The drink has gotten to me."
~P&P~P&P~P&P~
"Elizabeth?" Mary's sleepy voice called out in the darkness of the room they shared.
"Yes, it's me. Go back to sleep," Elizabeth said as she removed her cloak and slippers, heading to the basin and ewer where she cleansed her hands and face. Darcy had incensed her, and she was furious at herself for showing such a display of emotion in front of him, again. No doubt he would use that against her in some way—perhaps more evidence toward her supposed madness.
"Where did you go?" asked Mary, who was fully awake now, too curious to go back to sleep.
"To the pond. Where I had the great misfortune of coming across Fitzwilliam Darcy and George Wickham," Elizabeth said, still thoroughly irritated by the events of the evening.
Mary shot up straight in her bed, eyes wide. "Are you well? They were not too harsh, were they?"
Elizabeth did not want to worry Mary, especially not the part when George Wickham sprang on her in the woods, pretending to be a headless ghost. She had been grateful for Darcy at that moment. "I'm fine. A little shaken up, but not to worry."
Mary settled back down in bed, murmuring to herself. Fifteen-year-old Mary was a sweet, sensitive soul. The death of their father and all of the tumult afterward had given her an anxious disposition and Elizabeth did not want to upset her now. They both needed their rest.
"I am honest, Mary. All is well—let us go to sleep now," Elizabeth said.
Mary agreed and turned over to sleep. Elizabeth got into her own bed and tried to rest—her thoughts still jumbled from the events of the night. Why on earth did Fitzwilliam want to walk me home? Especially after the argument at the pond, she pondered.
"Well, I cannot believe I ever considered that one day you might be more than that," he had said. "More than what?" Elizabeth whispered to herself. Surely, he did not fancy her in their time at Hertfordshire. She remembered her time growing up with Fitzwilliam. He was a shy lad but so steady, hardworking and honest. The late Mr. Darcy set a busy schedule for Fitzwilliam. He learned from various tutors on skills and knowledge most of the mornings. Then Fitzwilliam was required to help with the tenants and in Netherfield's home farm to sharpen his skill in working around an estate. He only had time off to himself in the late afternoon to join Elizabeth and their neighbours to play. She loved how knowledgeable and compassionate Fitzwilliam was about the animals, insects and plants. He would take care of injured animals he found and nurture them to health. Fitzwilliam was also fair during their play. Elizabeth admitted that she was more hellbent on winning than observing the rules. She never felt bored listening to Fitzwilliam. He treated her like a younger sister, Elizabeth was sure. He had never said he found her pretty anyway, when they were still in Hertfordshire.
Still, she noticed how he looked at her that night, drunk as he was. His eyes were not dark from anger, that was certain. She couldn't help but admire him either when he walked alongside her on the woodland path. He had grown to be so tall—his dark hair curled about his face most appealingly, and his fine black eyes seemed to burn in the moonlight…
"Stop," Elizabeth whispered to herself. She needed to put an end to these shameless thoughts. Whether or not Fitzwilliam felt anything toward her once did not matter. They were enemies now, as were their families. Even if he still felt anything toward her, the reality of their situation, especially regarding her mother's relentless pursuit of the Darcy's fortune, would not allow them to act upon it.
Exhausted from the night, Elizabeth put all thoughts of Fitzwilliam out of her head and was asleep at once.
~P&P~P&P~P&P~
"Mary, would you like to go pick some berries with me?" asked Elizabeth the following week, needing some fresh air.
"It is still the summer holiday for Darcy and his cousin," Mary warned uneasily. One never knew where they might pop up and the two had largely avoided the woods and the pond in the days since the incident at the woods.
"If they are there, so be it. They cannot keep us away from there forever," Elizabeth said confidently.
Mary nodded, willing to go along. "I shall ready myself then."
Elizabeth was already prepared, large basket in hand. She went to tell her mother. "Mother, Mary and I are going to pick berries in the woods," she said, clearly interrupting something.
Her mother looked up from the paper she was looking at, displeased at the intrusion. "Off you go then," she said.
Elizabeth nodded at her. She didn't understand why her mother cared so little about her or Mary. The thought made her heart squeeze. But Mary was now ready, and she brushed the thought off as the girls made their way to the pond.
Much to their frustration, when they arrived George, and Richard were all there, as well as Kitty and Lydia. They took turns throwing pebbles into the pond, attempting to see who could throw farthest.
"Why are Kitty and Lydia here?" Mary asked, bothered.
"Lydia loves to tag along with them, no matter how cruel they are to the rest of us. And Kitty goes wherever Lydia goes," Elizabeth said, also somewhat annoyed at the fact that the boys allowed their sister to join in on occasion. "Let's be quiet; we can keep along the back here and not bother them."
The girls kept to their quiet picking, trying not to alert the group to their presence. It worked for a time until Mary yelped at a small, green snake that passed by. Elizabeth sighed at Mary's apology, knowing what was to come.
Lydia spotted them first, yelling, "Look who it is!"
Wickham saw them next, smiling his usual devilish smirk at the girls. "Come on out now, you two." Richard did not smile, but let Wickham bring them out to do his jeering.
"Come on, Mary," Elizabeth said, turning away to walk back home. At least they had a few undisturbed moments.
"Oi, I said come out!" Wickham yelled at them. He walked across the clearing to where they were and began throwing berries at the girls, striking their backs and arms.
"Leave us alone, Wickham!" Elizabeth yelled. She heard Kitty and Lydia giggling, as Lydia ran to join Wickham, throwing berries, leaves and flowers at her sisters, staining their dresses too.
"Is Mad Elizabeth getting upset? How is your little investigation going, Miss Elizabeth?" Richard said as he came to Wickham's side, mocking her. "I suppose you've interviewed every carriage stop from London to Hertfordshire? See if someone followed Darcy's and your father?" Richard smirked.
A light went off in Elizabeth's head. Interviewing the staff at the carriage stop close to where the accident took place was a very good idea.
"I do not think that it is any of your concern," Elizabeth said, raising her chin at him. She picked up a pinecone then and threw it squarely at Richard's head. "Aren't you all much too old to be playing such games?" asked Elizabeth.
The two young men looked annoyed and walked away from the girls, leaving Elizabeth and Mary glaring at Kitty and Lydia.
"You ought not to associate yourself with those young men, Lydia," said Elizabeth sternly.
"They are much more amusing to be around," Lydia said, glaring back at them. "You two are such bores."
"I agree!" Kitty nodded.
Mary looked hurt, making Elizabeth angry. "At the very least you could tell your friends not to constantly harass us!"
"Perhaps you should find somewhere else to be," retorted Lydia. "It isn't my fault that they find me more lively and charming." She stuck up her nose at the girls.
"They merely tolerate you, Lydia! You hardly leave them alone!" Mary shouted at her little sister, making Lydia flush with irritation.
"Hardly! I simply like to be where the amusement is," Lydia replied, turning to walk away from them. Kitty followed her younger sister at a slower pace.
Lydia picked up her pace to follow the men again. Elizabeth did not trust the hooligans and did not want her thirteen and twelve-year-old sisters around them. She watched Lydia try to join back into whatever silly game the men were playing.
"Come now, Mary," Elizabeth said, taking up their baskets again and returning to the Dowager House. Their dresses were ruined and their mother might give them a hard time for that.
Elizabeth stayed up late that night, thinking about what Darcy's cousin said to her. Richard may have said it in jest, but the idea was completely plausible. What if someone at the carriage stop saw a man trail after their fathers' carriage? That could certainly mean that they were followed by an assailant and killed. But the more she thought of it, the more Richard's words calling her mad echoed in her head.
"Am I mad, Papa?" Elizabeth whispered to herself. In her head she felt a firm no. She knew deep down her father would have wanted justice for what befell him and his friend. If only Darcy could feel that too.
She got up and walked over to the small writing desk she and Mary shared. It was time to write once more to Mr. Kingsway. Mr. Kingsway obtained a copy of the drawings of the injuries sustained by George Darcy and Thomas Bennet. He consulted a Dr. Weston in town who believed the wounds on Mr. Bennet was consistent with a carriage accident while that of the late Mr. Darcy's face was suspicious. However, as Fitzwilliam refused to request an investigation over his father's death, there was not much Kingsway or Elizabeth could do. Kingsway had written to Lord Metcalf but had received no reply yet.
Dear Mr. Kingsway,
I have a thought regarding my father's carriage accident. What if, perhaps, there was an employee at the carriage stop prior to the accident site, who might be able to recall if there was a carriage who followed closely behind my father and Mr. Darcy? Or if there were any men walking on foot?
I believe perhaps this may aid us in understanding if it was truly an accident or if there was foul play involved. Would you kindly investigate this? I know you refused my pin money to pay for the expense of the investigation. I enclose what I have saved for the last quarter here anyway.
I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Kingsway.
Yours most thankfully,
Elizabeth Bennet
A fortnight later, Elizabeth received a response from Mr. Kingsway, which she opened with eager hands.
Dear Miss Bennet,
I agree with your thoughts most certainly and sent my clerk to attend the closest carriage stop to the site of the accident. The attendant there was initially unable to remember such a thing, but some reward was plenty enough to revive his memory.
The man informed me that on the day of the accident, he recalled the Bennet carriage passing by without stopping. He remembered this because he was well acquainted with the Bennet driver, but the carriage seemed to be in a hurry to return homeward. After this, he recollected seeing another carriage following in that direction shortly afterwards. He was initially not concerned, as the man stopped to water his horse, but the attendant said something was about him and his hastiness. Something was very wrong.
I know not why the man did not report this to the magistrate after the accident had been discovered. He claims he was afraid of damage done to his stop, but I think that there was more to the tale. The man did accept payment very quickly, after all.
I will continue to conduct research on your behalf. I have put your pin money for investment instead. As I mentioned, George Darcy was a family friend to me. I would want to know the truth as much as you do. I admire your tenacity and integrity. I would do whatever I could. We will find out the truth, Miss Bennet. Until then, I remain,
Your servant,
D. Kingsway