A Parade of Tears

One night Fitzwilliam Darcy had a dream... a terrible dream... a nightmare in fact. In it a parade of young girls and woman, tears streaming down their faces, accused him for his negligence. There were several he knew well and one he somehow knew that would be dear to him someday. When he woke the following morning, he was resolved to take action.

Eton School, Windsor, 1800

Sixteen year old Fitzwilliam Darcy returned to his room that evening feeling angry, betrayed, and helpless. He had been summoned into the Headmaster's Office unaware of having committed any sin only to stand accused of seducing and impregnating a local tailor's daughter, promising marriage and then reneging. At first both the headmaster seemed ready to believe the tailor's furious and strident claims despite Darcy's repeated denials. Then certain features of the story caught the man's attention and the young woman in question was brought in.

At least the young woman, little more than a girl really, had cleared Darcy's name. When the accuser stepped in she showed no recognition for him whatsoever. Instead she repeatedly insisted that he was not her Fitzwilliam Darcy! It was then that Darcy recognized who the culprit had to be, but he held his tongue.

Darcy, was the son and heir of a gentleman with a large and very prosperous estate, several estates, in fact, as well as other holdings. Due to his status grew up with only two childhood friends, his cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, and the son of his father's steward, George Wickham. Darcy's father and the steward were close friends themselves, enough so that the elder Darcy had agreed to stand as godfather to the man's son.

When the three boys were little they did everything together. As they grew Richard was away on his own father's properties much of the time, so it was often only Darcy and Wickham. As Richard grew older he seemed to like George Wickham less and less. Young Darcy assumed that this was caused by jealousy. Richard tried, unsuccessfully, to make his cousin see some of the odd and unacceptable behaviors of the steward's son. Eventually young Darcy had to spend time with each separately.

There was an incident when young Darcy was only eight where he almost died. George accidentally bumped him off of an embankment into a creek swollen with the spring thaw. George was also the one who saved him at the risk of his own life, so Darcy never mentioned the first part of the incident. When the elder Mr. Darcy learned of the tale, he wished to reward the boy. Young Darcy pressed his father to allow his friend to share his lessons so that he could go away to school with him when the time came.

George Wickham grumbled that he would have preferred a monetary reward, but then his mother showed him the true value of this boon.

At thirteen both boys left for Eton. By then young Darcy, too, was beginning to have suspicions about his friend. It was mostly just little things, such as how he was always sneaking off with some girl or the one or two times that he had seen the boy pushing the younger boys in the local village around. Darcy was bothered by these, but said nothing to his father. George Darcy's wife, young Darcy's mother, had died soon after childbirth just over a year before. It just did not seem right to bother the man with petty matters. Besides, after the near-drowning incident Darcy's father seemed to like his friend George almost more than him, the man's own son.

In the past three years Fitzwilliam Darcy's eyes had been opened completely to the true character of George Wickham. They had begun as roommates, but after the first year George was held back for poor academics. Darcy was glad to lose his roommate because the boy was constantly stealing from him, coming home drunk, bringing others in to play cards, and even importuning the maids.

George Darcy had been notified of the boy's poor performance. He even rode to the school to speak with the boy. Somehow George managed to turn his father around and come out smelling like a rose every time. The only good that had come from the incident was that the two boys no longer shared rooms or classes. They also ran in entirely different crowds.

At some point after that young Darcy had become aware that his former friend had begun to use his name to open doors and to get what he wanted in and around Windsor. There had been hints, though nothing solid, that George might have even been presenting himself as Fitzwilliam Darcy, heir to Pemberley to some strangers. The incident with the tailor's daughter was the final proof that young Darcy required...

… only he did not know if it would do any good. George had been in trouble several times since that first year. He always walked away unscathed, usually through the intervention of young Darcy's own father! Would this incident be any different? George Darcy was a shell of his former self after his wife died. What would this report do to him?

And so Darcy had gritted his teeth, accepted the apologies of the Tailor and his bewildered, crying daughter, and left the Headmaster's Office without implicating George Wickham. Yet the tearful, confused face of the girl remained with him. Yes, it was wrong for her to surrender her virtue, but she had been promised a very prominent marriage. So far as she knew, she was just anticipating her vows. And now she was shamed and broken, carrying the child of a liar and a cheat.

It was the wee hours before Darcy finally fell into a troubled sleep. The dreams soon followed.

They began with Alice Kelly, the tailor's daughter. At fourteen the girl's tearful, accusing eyes railed at him for not exposing the true author of her downfall. She was followed by others, beginning with young maids at Pemberley Estate and their London townhouse, ones that Darcy knew and who had suddenly left the family's employment, possibly cast out. He had noticed their absence, had seen George romancing them, but had paid them little heed. Then there were others: girls from Lambton and Kympton and then an ever-widening circle. Some he knew, others he had never seen before.

Every face was broken, tearful, accusing. Somehow young Darcy knew that while some had gone willingly into George's embrace, others had been taken by force.

Next the faces from the area surrounding Eton began. Some of these he recognized as well. After all he was also of an age to notice a pretty girl. In fact it seemed that if Darcy took note of them, George made it a point to seduce them.

After Alice Kelly the faces became unfamiliar, a parade of broken, tearful, angry, accusing faces from the future which haunted him through the night without mercy until he was faced with the shock and horror of recognizing a face again: his sister Georgiana! She was older, of course, not the dear, sweet child of four, but a girl on the cusp of adulthood, already beautiful and so much like their mother. She was wracked with sobs and casting accusing eyes on him, convicting him for his cowardice, his refusal to take action, to protect her and all of these others.

Yet the parade was not yet done. Two final faces brought up the rear in that dreadful parade. The first was young, perhaps only fifteen. She was cheerful, somewhat vapid, and overly flirtatious; spoiled and headstrong, but not evil. The second, the most accusing face of all, was older and clearly the sister of the first. She was beautiful, though not in the classic definition, with large, lively, beautiful eyes which both called to and tore at his soul. He knew that he loved her, almost desperately, yet his inaction, his silence, had put her sister, her entire family's reputation, in harm's way.

"You knew. You knew, but you said nothing." Her terrible, accusing words ripped through his soul and Darcy cried out, surging out of his terrible sleep.

"About time you woke up, Darcy," his roommate John said with some irritation. Darcy realized that his face was soaked. He glared at the other boy, but John only shrugged, "You were so locked into a nightmare that even shaking you would not wake you. You were moaning so loud that you probably woke half of the hall. So I did what I had to do."

Darcy got up, found a hand-towel to wipe his face, and then looked at his soaked night clothes. He did not wish to sleep again anyway, so instead of choosing another sleeping garment, he dressed for the day. His pocket watch told him that it was only an hour before dawn.

Leaving John to snatch what little sleep was left to him, Darcy left his room and went out onto the commons, where he began to pace and dispel the horror of that terrible parade of tears and those final, accusing eyes. The sun sent its rays in front of it, then it broke the horizon while Darcy continued to pace. Finally, when he knew that the headmaster would be awake and in his office, he left the commons and presented himself to the man's secretary.

Once standing before Headmaster Griffin, he began, "Sir, I am almost certain that I know who posed as me and did this, yet I do not know how to proceed from here."

The Headmaster had been overseeing boys at Eton for almost three decades, first as a teacher and in increasing positions of power until he took the lead. Very little went past him, "You speak of George Wickham, of course? And the difficulty is your father's intransigence on the matter?"

"Yessir. Ever since he was a child George has managed to charm his way out of every trouble. I have spoken to my father in the past, but with no success. And then I became silent after the death of my mother overset my father so completely. If I attempt to speak to father about this incident, I am fairly certain that matters will go as they have before."

Griffin regarded the tall boy with approval. Young Darcy had been at or near the top of his class since his arrival, yet his lack of action towards his former roommate and friend had worried the man. Silence was sometimes cowardice, most especially when innocents were left unprotected. He had suspected the true identity of the culprit yesterday, but had chosen to wait. He had been thoroughly disappointed in Fitzwilliam Darcy when the young man left the office without speaking up. Now he was here and taking a stand.

"I understand, Master Darcy. And because I understand, I shall take it upon myself to deal with this matter. Go to break your fast and prepare for your school day. I will take care of the rest.

~ooOoo~

On the following day, as Darcy was walking to his first afternoon class, he thought he saw his father and his uncle the Earl of Matlock, but then the bell clanged, signaling the hour and the start of classes for the day.

~ooOoo~

George Wickham was still sleeping off a night of gambling and drinking with several of the lordlings when the groundsman and one a terrifyingly large and scarred man dragged him out of bed.

"Wha... What's this?!"

"Get up! Get dressed! You have an appointment with the Headmaster!" George tried to protest, to get his thoughts together, but a few well-placed slaps hurried him into motion! Given little choice by the determined men, he had to put the soiled clothing from last night back on. He was still fumbling with his wrinkled cravat when they marched him out of his room and down the walk to the main building.

George Wickham was still disorientated and getting frightened when he was frog-marched into Headmaster Griffin's office. His shock and mortification worsened when he found Mr. Darcy, Lord Matlock, and a man he did not know in a Navy captain's uniform waiting for him... along with a very angry tailor and his pretty, pregnant daughter... what was her name again?

One hour later George Wickham was not longer a student at Eton. Instead the scarred man, who had been identified a Bosun Tillman, was again frog-marching him, this time to the chapel, followed by a parade of others. This time his godfather, George Darcy, had done nothing to save him. Instead the furious man had back-handed him so hard that his ears were still ringing. "Dirtying my family name and implicating my son! You've gone too far this time. I wash my hands of you here and now."

What happened after that was a nightmare. First he had been forced to marry that chit by common license in the chapel. Then he was tossed unceremoniously into a closed wagon. He didn't even get to enjoy his wedding night! Instead he was transported without dignity or sympathy to Liverpool, where that same bosun took great delight in tossing him onto a ship's boat and carrying him out to a waiting frigate. "Yer mine now, boyo. Ye seem pretty useless, but you can sand a deck and haul on a rope, jes' like any other soddin' landsman. Get enough of the starter an' maybe ye'll learn ta be a sailor... but I doubt it."

Five days later the HMS Collingsworth, an aging fifty-gun ship of the line,set sail to rejoin the Channel Fleet. By the time that they took up their station, George Wickham looked nothing like the handsome, natty Lothario from before. His days had been spent endlessly sanding and scrubbing decks, tarring the sides, and pulling on lines. Those times were terrible, but nothing to his time below decks. He had tried to exercise his charm and superiority on his deckmates, but they had rapidly made it clear that they despised toffs. And since the bosun had indicated through his own actions that Wickham was out of favor, they had no qualms about putting the useless lubber in his place.

By eight months George Wickham was unrecognizable from before. His face, once handsome enough to make any woman or girl swoon, was misshapen, his nose broken and crooked, and many teeth missing. He also had a pronounced limp from a bad fall in a storm and one empty sleeve, the hand having been caught in a pulley while they were coming about.

Then, as now, George had allowed his exhaustion-addled mind to drift, contemplating all of the many types of revenge that he would enjoy once he finally landed ashore. He hated, HATED everyone, but the Darcys most of all. As soon as he got off of this pox of a ship, he would...

Inattention on a ship of the line was always foolish, but much worse when involved in a complex operation. On this particular morning the Captain has instructed the officers of the decks to exercise the guns. As always, there was a competition between the decks to see which would release the guns, load the guns, and fire the guns the quickest.

Only the skilled sailors were allowed to work the cannon. It was, without a doubt, one of the most dangerous tasks on any man-of-war. A filthy lubber like George Wickham had only two tasks during the exercise of guns: to deliver powder and to deliver cannon balls. The cannon balls were stacked in small clusters near each cannon, but the extra powder charges could not be safely kept near the cannon, lest a stray spark set one or more off. The gunpowder was pre-measured into canvas bags called charges, then delivered in larger totes, carried by the lubbers to each station between firings.

On a ship, the cannons rested in a carriage, a heavy wooden assembly that was like a sled. These were roped in place, with the ends tied to the ship's gunnels. When a cannon fired, the recoil would shove the cannon and its carriage back until the ropes arrested the movement. The recoil was powerful and fast, so everyone knew to never, ever, walk close behind a cannon being exercised or in action.

George Wickham, lost in contemplating a particularly sweet revenge on little Miss Alice, never even felt the blow from the cannon that killed him. The crew did note it however, and the gunner's mate, cursing, had to assign another sailor to snatch up the crucial tote full of charges, lest the deck's crew lose momentum in the race. The body of George was largely ignored until the exercise was over, but the second deck still lost the contest... and the promised extra tot of rum.

The body was wrapped in canvas and, with only the briefest ceremony, slid over the side. A note was made in the log and the ship's day carried on.

Back in Windsor, some months later, Alice Wickham received notice that she was now a widow. She barely took note of the letter as she fed the wee babe, a girl. Three months later she married the local miller's son who had been sweet on her before that Eton dandy started paying attention to her. He had commenced romancing the girl as soon as he learned that Alice's husband was sent off to war at sea. Tom Croft gave the babe his last name, thus ensuring that no mention of the name Wickham would ever be spoken in his house again.

Meryton Assembly, September 1811

Fitzwilliam Darcy was often startled by a sense of déjà vu when he encountered one of the females from that horrible dream. Most of the time he did not know why the girl seemed familiar, she just did.

His dear, sister Georgiana had grown up into the lovely girl from his dreams, though he never had to see those accusing tears or hear those wracking sobs. He and she had both recovered from the loss of their second parent and were now doing quite well. In fact she felt strong and confident enough to accompany him to Meryton when he went there to help Charles Bingley learn how to manage an estate.

So when he stepped into the assembly room at Meryton, his smiling sister was on his arm. And when he saw the last two young women of his dream, she was there to lend concerned comfort as he stiffened in shock.

It was her strength that allowed Fitzwilliam Darcy to move past the terrible shock of memory and to request a dance with the lovely Elizabeth Bennet from his dream. She was everything and more than she had been in the dream, and he quickly resolved that he wanted to know her better. Despite the schemes and jibes of Miss Bingley and the loud protests of Lady Catherine, his aunt, he began courting Elizabeth within a month, was engaged to her before the festive season, and they were wed by January. Against such a dedicated and determined pursuit Lizzie Bennet did not stand a chance... not that she was protesting anyway.

Darcy did dance with Lydia Bennet as well that night, but the best that he could say about her was that she was lively. When she became his sister less than a year later, Darcy was more than happy to arrange for her to "accidentally" meet a responsible young man in uniform who needed a little help to purchase his next rank.

Darcy never told his beautiful wife Elizabeth about that terrible nightmare and the parade of tears, but he made certain to find ways to make her smile every day.

He also never learned what had become of his old friend turned enemy, George Wickham... but with the man gone away, he also couldn't care.

AN: Yeah, yeah. I know that it's hyperbole to have one man, no matter how terrible, harm enough young girls and women to make a parade, but the image stuck in my head. It always bothered me that Darcy's refusal to hold his frenemy accountable meant more victims.