Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Frerichs
Cross-posted on elizabethfrerichs dot com and wattpad
Head's up: this is a cliffhanger, so wait until Tuesday to read it if that will bother you :)
Day 44/16
Darcy trudged down the hallway to his aunt's sitting room. Though he awoke without any of the expected fatigue from riding to London two days in a row, that did not make the process any easier. He still ached from the ride today, and he was exhausted from the constant puzzle of how to rescue Georgiana.
Not to mention that he missed Elizabeth. Days spent with her were always better. They had been so even before she had remembered the repetitions; but now that she was cognisant of their predicament, her very presence comforted him.
Admonishing himself to live up to his name, he straightened his posture, attempting to erase the weariness from every line. At least, whether or not Wednesday came, he would see Elizabeth tomorrow.
"William!" his aunt cried as he entered. She hurried over and clasped his hands in hers. "Are you well?"
Darcy gave her a forced smile. "I would prefer to explain my presence once my uncle is present."
Lady Matlock rang the bell and called for her husband, then gestured for Darcy to sit.
Darcy's lips twitched as his aunt immediately began to fuss over his haste. He did not reply, unable to think of anything he could say that would reassure her—nor anything that would not feel too repetitive. He stood when his uncle entered and greeted the man with a firm handshake.
"William has refused to tell me what is amiss until you arrived," Lady Matlock said severely.
"You look nearly done-in, m'boy," Lord Matlock said. "How urgent is the matter? Shall we have tea or is it to business first?"
Darcy hesitated. Would his relations be more receptive with a cup of tea in hand? Then again, he would prefer not to juggle a cup of tea at the moment. Not when facing his aunt and uncle simultaneously. "Business first, please."
Lord Matlock nodded, and the three of them sat down, though Darcy remained perched on the edge of his chair.
"I am—I have returned to ask your advice."
"Oh?" his aunt asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Wickham has joined the local militia in Hertfordshire."
His aunt's eyes widened. "Mr. Wickham followed you to Hertfordshire?"
"I am shocked that—that miscreant would even show his face, let alone be so brazen as to speak to you," Lord Matlock growled.
Darcy clasped his hands in his lap. "He seemed taken aback by the encounter; apparently, his sojourn in Hertfordshire has nothing to do with me or Georgie. I am—" He cleared his throat. "I am concerned that he may attempt to use my proximity to regain access to Georgiana."
"Surely not!" his uncle exploded. "He must know that Georgiana would not welcome him. Besides, he cannot hope to reform your opinion."
Darcy nearly shrugged. The workings of Wickham's mind had ever been a mystery, and he could not account for how the man would marry Georgiana without using his aunt and uncle, Fitzwilliam, or himself, as they were the gatekeepers to Georgiana. "I am more concerned that he may take the opportunity of knowing precisely where I am located to attempt to kidnap Georgiana, or to woo her—though I do not believe she would welcome him."
Lord Matlock's frown deepened.
"He could not succeed, though," Aunt Margaret said. "Georgiana is safe with us."
"Unless you believe that our household is not sufficiently secure," Lord Matlock said disapprovingly.
"Not at all. I am simply concerned that he may make himself odious to Georgiana in some fashion. Do you believe any of your servants would be persuaded or threatened into helping him?"
His aunt and uncle exchanged a look.
"I do not believe so," Lady Matlock said. "Our servants have either been with us for quite some time or have come highly recommended by someone we know well."
Darcy forced his clasped hands to relax. "I do not doubt that you have done an excellent job of selecting servants—and I do not wish to suggest that Wickham is more evil than he is in truth—however, I have been mistaken about the man before. It is—it is hard to stand firm when a loved one's well-being may hang in the balance. Would it be—were that to occur, would your servants know that they can safely speak to you about the matter?"
"I should hope so!" Lady Matlock said. "You know that we have always treated our servants excellently."
"I do—I am just trying to keep Georgiana safe."
"What is this really about, William?" Lord Matlock asked.
"Pardon?"
Lord Matlock studied him. "You would not come here on a whim, nor on a fool's errand, and Wickham reaching Georgiana is extremely unlikely."
Darcy nearly swore—he should have anticipated that his uncle would once more realise there was more to his concern. He had not intended to speak to his aunt and uncle about the repetitions again, but . . . he could not forgo the chance to gain their joint advice, and that would require honesty.
He released a breath and mentally prepared himself "What I am about to say is—it will sound impossible, but I assure you that it is the truth. I have been repeating November 19, 1811, over and over again."
His aunt and uncle stared at him, disbelief written large across their faces.
"I cannot explain how, but I have already spoken to each of you about Wickham before." He turned to his aunt. "The Langfords have cancelled dinner tomorrow due to his lordship's illness, and,"—he shifted to look at his uncle—"you told me that you had nearly been sent down for stealing the king's sceptre."
Lord Matlock blinked at him and then his eyes narrowed as though studying Darcy for some irregularity. "How did you know that?"
"You did what?" Lady Matlock demanded.
Lord Matlock waved her question aside. "A schoolboy prank. But I have not spoken of it in years—those who were involved made a solemn vow never to tell anyone else of the prank unless it became absolutely necessary."
"You told me about it should I need to prove the truth of my repetitions to you."
Lord Matlock looked over at his wife. "And the Langfords?"
She nodded. "I was going to tell you at tea."
"You mentioned it one of the other 'todays' when I visited." Darcy leaned forward, trying to hold his aunt and uncle's attention. "I know that repeating the same day over and over seems impossible, but I am not at all trying to mislead you, nor am I pulling a prank."
"I would not have expected either from you," Lord Matlock said. "And were it not for the highly unlikely nature of your assertion . . . ."
Darcy nodded. "I am aware how—mad it sounds. If I were not living it, I would not believe it myself."
"Do you know what is causing these . . . repetitions?" his uncle asked searchingly.
"Perhaps. Someone who is aware of the repetitions has claimed responsibility for them."
His aunt straightened. "Others believe Tuesday is repeating as well?"
"Yes. Miss Engel, the elderly woman who claims to have reorganised time, told me that she did so for my benefit—were I to continue on as I had been, supposedly Wickham will marry Georgiana. And she wished to give me the opportunity to escape that fate, presumably both for my sake and for Georgiana's sake."
Lord Matlock's frown deepened. "Do you believe her?"
Darcy shrugged. "I have no reason not to, and I can attest that she is one of the few people who can change their behaviour from Tuesday to Tuesday. She has also demonstrated other—impossible phenomena, such as vanishing from sight."
"Vanishing from sight?" his aunt asked, her eyebrows flying up.
"In an instant," Darcy said.
His aunt stared at him, then exchanged a worried look with her husband.
"I promise you that I am not mad." At least, not yet. If he had to keep repeating Tuesday, especially if Elizabeth left him—well, he would not vouch for his continued sanity. "I have tried many times, in various ways, to prevent Wickham from marrying Georgiana. Thus far, Tuesday has continued to repeat—thereby implying that I have not sufficiently altered events."
Lord Matlock appeared troubled. "He did know about the statue," he murmured to his wife. "And I would have sworn that I have never broken that oath. I had not even told you—"
"I am aware of that fact," she said tartly. "I suppose—if William is confused and needs—help, we can speak to someone tomorrow. It would not hurt to speak of Mr. Wickham today. Just—just in case."
Lord Matlock nodded. "That seems reasonable." He turned back to Darcy. "Well, William, how can we assist?"
"Any advice you can offer would be most helpful—both about how to handle Wickham and how to make the most of these repetitions."
Lady Matlock frowned. "What have you already attempted with Mr. Wickham?"
"Initially, I tried to speak to him and to Georgiana. I also sent letters to Fitzwilliam informing him of the situation. However, Miss Engel informed me that I was attempting to change the wrong people."
Lady Matlock sniffed. "The wrong people? Are not Mr. Wickham and Georgiana the primary parties in such a marriage?"
"That is what I thought. Apparently, however, it is not their actions that I need to change. I—I considered killing Wickham," he admitted. "Miss Engel said that were I to do so, I would simply end up with an equally repulsive brother in addition to staining my soul. She assured me a way out of this predicament exists."
Lord Matlock huffed. "And if she is lying?"
"Why would she bother?" Darcy asked. "If she truly has the power to alter time, why would she need to lie to me? She could gain whatever she wishes without having to endure endless Tuesdays."
"Perhaps you have something she wishes to gain," Lady Matlock said, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair.
Darcy considered the matter for a brief moment. "I cannot imagine what. Not to mention that she bears all the appearance of truthfulness in her manner."
"Then you wish to proceed with the assumption that keeping Mr. Wickham from marrying Georgiana is the solution?" Lord Matlock asked.
Darcy gave a firm nod. "Since she told me to cease concentrating my efforts on Wickham, Georgiana, and Fitzwilliam, I have attempted to speak to Wickham's commanding officer and to the two of you. I have also attempted to find Miss Engel to ask for more information, as I am unsure how to proceed without simply treating the whole thing like searching for a needle in a haystack. I am required not only to speak to the correct person but also to say the correct thing, and I do not know what that may be."
"You have already spoken to us about this?" Lady Matlock asked in bewilderment.
"Yes. To each of you individually. I thought that speaking to you together might change things further."
"Very methodical," his uncle approved.
Darcy grimaced. "And though I did not initially agree, I am coming to believe that a methodical means of searching for a solution may not be best."
His aunt gave him a shrewd look. "You said that there are others who are also experiencing these repetitions. Who are they, and what do they think of the situation?"
A/N: I know, I know. I hate to leave you at a cliffhanger for the weekend, but, like I said, these conversations ended up being so long that the chapters would be enormous (and you'd catch up to me before I can finish writing the story). Hang in there! Thanks for passing along your thoughts about characters who refuse to grow! I feel like I'm always trying to come up with new ways to force them to want to leave their natural bent. And even though I did my best with Lydia in my last story (Through the Lens of a Letter), I got mixed reviews about how convincing the growth was. I figure even if I don't grow her in this story, I'll have to take another run at it eventually ;)
Thanks for reading and engaging! And thanks to Emme for beta-ing this chapter. If you notice something amiss, please pass it along. And I'll see you guys on Tuesday! Have a lovely weekend :)