The Golden Daffodil Pub
Ramsgate
Footsteps rattled across the sturdy wooden floor of the pub, but George Wickham paid them no mind. A large plate sat in front of him, heaped high with ham sandwiches, crisp green lettuce and savory salted meat jammed into still-steaming bread. A tankard of ale sat at his right hand, drawn fresh and cool from the cellars.
The oak table before him was sturdy but rough and unpolished, not at all fit for the godson of George Darcy. But Wickham was long used to gracefully accepting less than his due, a cold and uncaring world repeatedly denying him his just deserts. He had been forced to learn how to enjoy even meager pleasures such as well-made ham sandwiches.
The door opened yet again, and he glanced over idly chewing. Another knot of navy sailors swaggered in, laughing and jeering amongst themselves. Behind them trailed a pair of privates from the Regulars, looking disgruntled and irritated. Doubtless another feud between the army men and the sailors who transported them over to the Continent, and the sailors had scored this round. Not a wholesome looking lot, Wickham thought disdainfully, with their blackened teeth and swarthy skin and permanent sun-squints and strange rolling gait.
The regiment-men looked far handsomer, with their striking red coats and neat hygiene and precise military posture. One of the barmaids tripped over to take their order, tittering at the charming smile one of them turned on her. Wickham drained his tankard, considering. He too would look rather striking in a red coat, and though he did not need it in order to charm smiles from young women, it would certainly not hurt, either.
But no. He shook his head as he set down the empty tankard. That would not do at all. He was not some mere peasant, to take orders from puffed up, foppish second sons. And of course, he had seen the men sent home – the ones who had been grievously wounded, miraculously survived, but were unable to further fight. Men without limbs, missing eyes, paralyzed arms and legs. And for all the ones that came home, hundreds more were buried on Continental soil or left to rot, dead beneath the blistering European sun. No, George Darcy's godson was not destined for the army and an ignoble death.
The young woman turned away from the privates, and Wickham gestured to her with his empty tankard. She nodded acknowledgment and vanished into the back, returning shortly with another full tankard, which she set at his place with a flirtatious smile.
He lifted the vessel in one hand in a small toasting motion, smiling in return. His main focus now, of course, must be convincing Georgiana Darcy to elope with him, thus rendering up her dowry to her lawfully wedded husband. But it would take time and careful planning, and he would, perhaps, have opportunity between the chance meetings with the young Miss Darcy to tryst with the more comely of the local barmaids. She was a pleasant enough young lady, Miss Darcy, but very young; a mere fifteen years old, without the development or experience he liked in his bedfellows. No, her appeal lay in her dowry and, of course, in how furious it would make her brother. Now that was something he could drink to.
His teeth ground as he thought more of Fitzwilliam Darcy. There was the author of all of Wickham's troubles! It was unfair – nay, it was cruel and vile, that the arrogant, self-righteous son of kind George Darcy had treated his father's beloved godson so ill! To trick him into accepting a mere three thousand pounds in exchange for the living that had awaited him so long – duplicitous, wretched behavior from a man who took such pride in his own reputation! Wickham had not known how swiftly such a measly sum would be used, but Darcy had known full well and had connived to have Wickham sign over the living and consign himself to pennilessness, deceiving his own god-brother without compunction.
But he would get his own back, now. Wickham smiled grimly over his ale. Oh yes, Darcy would get his own back, and Wickham would finally receive the wealth and easy life that should always have been his. For the rest of their lives, Darcy would be forced to call Wickham brother, while pretty Georgiana would share his bed any time he pleased and he lived off of the abundance of thirty thousand pounds, content in the knowledge that Darcy would never let Georgiana – and by extension her husband – go indigent.
It was perfect.
\
The Gardiners' Hired House
Ramsgate
Two Hours Later
Elizabeth stepped into the drawing room of the rental house for the first time and looked around curiously. It was pleasing at first glance, long and acceptably wide, done up in elegant blues and greens that soothed the soul, the simple walls empty of any busy paintings. But a second look revealed it to be more shabby than simple – the furniture was out of date and not altogether sturdy, the carpet had visibly worn trails and faded spots from sunlight gleaming in through the thinly curtained windows. The only nod to decoration was a handful of seashells and porcelain mermaids of dubious expression lined up along the mantel.
Elizabeth moved to one window, lifting the flimsy curtain to draw the material between her fingers. It would do little to block the light, but aside from a rather professional contempt, she did not mind terribly. She liked the sunlight and thought that it would be beneficial. Moreover, it would not be cold for some months, so that was not a concern. Letting the curtain fall, she glanced over the window itself. The glass was dirty and not terribly expensive, she noted wryly, but it was at least well-set in the sash.
"I fear it is not a particularly prepossessing house," a familiar voice remarked from behind her, and Elizabeth spun around to observe her aunt standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a fresh blue morning gown which contrasted with her gaunt, weary face.
"Oh, it is well enough," Elizabeth said in a bright tone, walking over to one of the windows facing the back yard and looking out. "There is a delightful grassy area with a fence out here, which will be good for the children."
"That is one of the reasons why Mr. Gardiner chose this house," her aunt said, taking her seat on a wingbacked chair near the dead fireplace, and unfurling her fan and using it to create a slight breeze in the hope of cooling her face.
Elizabeth frowned and turned back to the window; it was terribly hot inside the room, and Mrs. Gardiner would benefit from a breeze after her illness. Fortunately, the sash windows could be raised at both ends of the room, and Elizabeth did so, though with some difficulty. The resulting zephyr was very pleasant, much cooler than the inside of the house, and she could smell a hint of salt in the air.
"That is wonderful, my dear," Mrs. Gardiner said, leaning back in the chair and closing her eyes.
"Are you well, dear aunt?"
"I am well enough," the lady replied, and managed a weary smile. "It is wonderful to be on the seashore at last. I am thankful especially that Tommy, who was pulled down the most by the influenza, will be able to enjoy the sea breezes."
Elizabeth was privately of the opinion that her young cousins were in far better heart than their mother, but she knew that Mrs. Gardiner, a most attentive mother, was more concerned about her children's health than her own.
"It will be good for all of us," she said and took a seat across from her aunt.
"How was your walk to the beach earlier, my dear?"
"Oh, it was quite marvelous! The wind, the breezes…"
"Do tell me all about it, Lizzy. It may be a few days before I am well enough to venture out of this house, after all."
Elizabeth did so, using her considerable vocabulary to express the glorious scenery of the waves and the sky and the sands. Mrs. Gardiner listened with interest until Elizabeth mentioned her encounter with the young painter, which caused her to perk up with noticeably.
"Miss Darcy?" the older woman remarked. "How very interesting!"
"Why is it interesting, Aunt?" Elizabeth asked.
"Oh, well, I doubt that Miss Darcy is a member of the Darcy family in Derbyshire, but when I was growing up as a girl in Lambton, there was a great estate nearby called Pemberley, and the master was Mr. George Darcy."
"How great an estate?"
"I believe that the estate earned at least eight thousand pounds a year."
"Oh!" Elizabeth replied. Her own father's estate of Longbourn was worth two thousand pounds a year, so Pemberley was obviously very grand indeed. She considered the girl she had met the day before; Miss Darcy was dressed very well, but not ostentatiously. It seemed unlikely that she was the scion of such a distinguished family.
/
The Nursery
Gardiners' Rental
The Next Morning
Madeline Gardiner stepped over to the northern window of her bedchamber and pushed the curtains aside, permitting her to stare out at the brick building some twenty feet away. It was not an attractive view, precisely, but the Gardiners, while very comfortable, were not rich, and she was grateful that her husband had found sufficient funds to allow them this time in Ramsgate. Nor did she particularly care about scenery when she was tired and worn out, not to mention overly emotional after the fatigue and fears of the last weeks. Her maid had left the window open the previous night, and she breathed in deeply the cool air, which smelled of the sea.
There was a familiar yowl from outside her room, and she hurried out of her chamber and toward her precious children, who were dwelling in the temporary nursery. She opened the door and stepped in, and for a moment was unnoticed, which gave her time to inspect the room in the bright morning light.
The room was on the end of the wing, and thus there were windows to the south, north, and east. They were not overly large, but they were not small either, and the curtains had been drawn back. The sunlight gleamed along the wooden floors, turning the wood the color of honey. A cheerful red carpet sat in the very center of the room, also not large, but soft for the baby to play on. The trunks still sat on the floor, wedged in between the cots that had been set up for the children and Mrs. Simpson. A chest of drawers, its corners chipped, sat half-open, some of the children's clothes already placed inside.
A table sat near to the windows, the porridge bowls and plates of eggs set upon it glowing brightly in the sunlight.
"Mamma!" cried all four children, and Mrs. Gardiner, noting with relief that the earlier yowl had not portended any sort of crisis, replied, "Good morning, children! I am delighted to see you, but please do eat your meals."
"That is excellent advice," Elizabeth said cheerfully as she maneuvered a bite of sweetened oatmeal into young Benjamin Gardiner's mouth. The child clamped his mouth over the silver spoon, his eyes twinkling merrily, and it took some effort on Elizabeth's part to get the spoon back from him.
"Benji, behave," Mrs. Gardiner said with a fond look at her youngest child. Elizabeth grinned and waited for the toddler to finish chewing, and then put another bite into his mouth.
"May we join Cousin Lizzy at the beach today, Mamma?" Phoebe Gardiner asked.
"If Lizzy says you may," her mother replied, "Elizabeth, do you want me finish feeding Benji?"
"No, I am enjoying myself," her niece replied truthfully. Elizabeth had grown up in a household where young children were seen and heard as little as possible. Her Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, while they employed nursemaids and a governess, spent far more time with their children than Elizabeth's mother ever had.
"I would be very pleased to take all the children but Benjamin to the beach," she continued, "though I will wish for some assistance."
"Want come!" one year old Benjamin Gardiner exclaimed, his lower lip stuck out truculently. "Want come!"
"You will need your nap, Benji," Elizabeth said gently, leaning over to plant an affectionate kiss in her little cousin's head.
"No! No!" the child yelled indignantly, and when he showed no signs of stopping or of eating more, Mrs. Gardiner sighed and gestured to Milly, who swooped forward, picked up the baby, and carried him out the door and down the stairs, presumably to let him run about in the garden behind the house. Elizabeth was amused to observe that the older children did not even watch their brother depart; they were accustomed to yelling, apparently.
"I presume you do not yet feel well enough to come, Aunt?"
"No, no, not yet. Indeed, I will enjoy my nap along with Benji, while you and the children enjoy your time on the beach."
/
/
Author Note: Thank you for reading. Be sure to let me know what you think of the story so far! :-)