Chapter 23b ~ Very Different accounts

The day, as they were confined all in one coach, was not likely to be very agreeable. Darcy had proposed making Wickham ride with the driver but the ladies objected. Lydia, exceedingly affected by grief that her thoughtless actions would so harm the man she had learned to admire, was unable to look at him without tears. This Darcy considered further proof that the gentleman had behaved despicably and his anger was further inflamed. Elizabeth attempted to dispel the tension by talking on indifferent subjects. Receiving little assistance from her companions, eventually she gave it up, turning all her attention to unpicking the hem of another dress. Her husband observed her as was his wont, occasionally glancing at the letters he had with him. George Wickham, having brought only one book, pulled a copy of the New Testament from his pocket and began to read. Darcy noticed and sneered. They had four days more to travel in this unpleasant manner before they reached Scotland.

At some point after the first change of horses Darcy placed a letter on top Mr. Wickham's Bible.

"That will do more for your soul at the moment, I think."

The letter was the very one Mr. Bennet sent by express, informing his absent daughters and their husbands of Lydia's elopement. His concerns and his plans, the actions he had already undertaken to recover her were disclosed in his usual style. She had not named the culprit and it was assumed that it was an officer, Colonel Forster had sent two of his men to London. They were guiltless and questioning them had provided no information worth having. Mr. Bennet could think of only one other possible culprit. However, having such faith in his curate's principles he could not believe him capable of anything so atrocious. Those words heartened George, there was someone who might still believe in his honesty. He smiled softly and returned the letter saying with guileless appreciation,

"Thank you, it has done me much good."

Having expected to prick his conscience, Darcy was appalled by this response.

"Can you really read those words and feel no shame."

Lydia came immediately to his defense, shame, guilt, brokenness were all behind her and she was her bold self once more.

"Why must you be so mean to him, it is all my own-"

"You are really quite the gentleman allowing a young girl to take the blame for your own misdeeds."

Ignoring Darcy, George Wickham leaned forward to look at his intended bride. "Miss Lydia, think no more about it. It is my own fault, I had no right to interfere. Had I remained in Hertfordshire and done my duty all of this could have been avoided."

Lydia fell in love with him all over again; lowering her voice she confessed, "They are so horrid to you, how can you bear it?"

"They are defending you. How can I blame them?" He settled back in his place and returned the letter.

The next day was neither so silent nor so cross. Fitwilliam Darcy had been perplexed by the curate's reaction to the letter and the graciousness of his response to all of Darcy's little slights. It was discomfiting knowing oneself to be in the right and discovering that your behaviour has been faulty nonetheless. Alone in their room the previous evening, Elizabeth said not a word about his childish attempts to make Wickham admit his guilt, but he felt her disappointment all the same. George Wickham was the one who acted most like a gentleman and Darcy was determined not to allow it to happen again.

To show that he was in truth a gentleman, Darcy attempted to engage Lydia in conversation but she refused to notice him and Elizabeth was forced to answer for her. Knowing better than to speak to either lady for fear of irritating Darcy, George made an obsevation on the condition of the roads and so they began the bland, commonplace, conversation that put everyone at ease. It was familiar and inoffensive, neither old grudges nor current disputes could interfere until the subject had been exhausted. When they fell once again into silence, it was amicable rather than agitated.

Lydia, putting some of her lessons to good use, was unpicking the hem of another dress. It looked a fright on Lizzy and knowing that it was better suited to Kitty or Jane's colouring, still she asked for it especially. It was a sacrifice of her vanity for – she hoped – a little redemption of her soul. So imperfect was her understanding of both religion and virtue that she considered character and soul interchangeable. Contemplating those weighty matters she dropped her thimble and it bounced down the dress and landed softly on the floor. Continuing its escape it rolled towards the bench where the gentlemen sat. Before she could react George stopped its progress with his foot. He smiled at her, trying not to draw the attention of the coach's other occupants, his long arm swiftly plucked it up. He almost made her laugh as he carefully polished the thimble with his handkerchief. Glancing at their companions, one with her nose in a book the other apparently sleeping, George leaned forward and placed the object in her hand giving it a little squeeze as he did so. She blushed and sighed and felt a little less like a villian.

All this subterfuge was entirely unnecessary for despite appearances Darcy and Elizabeth were both alert. Their focus, however, was not on books or dreams and certainly not their companions. It was entirely focused elsewhere. When he stretched himself out, Darcy's leg nudged his wife's and she silently adjusted her skirt to cover both his feet and hers. It is universally understood that contact with your beloved, however trivial, is sometimes necessary. For newlyweds separated by the requirements of propriety, to manoeuver circumstances such that discrete caresses might be enjoyed is a wholesome restorative. It must be carefully managed lest it become a disadvantage; the activity can be absorbing – even if it is only calves, ankles and stockinged feet.

The coach stopped and as they approached the inn, Darcy threaded his wife's arm through his own. It was a significant alteration to their usual practise with Elizabeth protectively escorting her sister while her husband belligerently guarded Wickham. This new arrangement was repeated when they stopped for the night. After dinner the ladies withdrew and Darcy introduced a subject that had distressed him.

"It is evident by your dress and your profession that the funds provided by my father to secure your future have been – as I knew they would be – wasted on your indulgent habits."

"Indulgent habits?"

"Yes, I believe, you once boasted of drinking a bottle a day - - "

"I never-"

"No? Was it the cockfighting and other brutish sport?"

"What makes you think I could endure-"

"You could not have spent it all in brothels, unless- you didn't fall in love with an opera dancer did you?"

Red with righteous indignation Wickham stood and by tensing every muscle resisted the urge to strike the man who would so insult him.

Taking this as confirmation Darcy goaded, "Were you indeed such a fool? What was her name?"

Clenching his teeth in place of his fist George responded, "Do not worry I never touched such a woman, you needn't fear that we ever shared a mistress."

It was now Darcy's turn to be affronted. White with insulted dignity, he spluttered, "I- I visited thrice and gave up the sordid business, I did not squander a fortune on any of them."

Raising a dubious brow George Wickam answered emphatically: "Neither have I!"

"Cards then?"

"I believe our conversation is finished. If you will permit me to pass I will go below. You need not fear that I will desert Miss Lydia."

"You are aware that she is portionless, That her father cannot enrich you."

"That was not a consideration- If you will excuse me."

George opened the door, made his way to the public rooms, and requested a pint. Its purpose was more to occupy his hands and to avoid further conversation with that implacable, pig- headed, princeling than to dull his senses or quench his thirst. He drank sparingly, giving his blood time to cool. He must calm himself before he could meet the duplicitous gentleman with equanimity.

If his circumstances were not so dreadful he would have laughed at the absurdity. He had been carefully instructed by his grandfather's daily example, his aunt's careful instructions and his father's frequent letters. He saw his father and mother only a few weeks each year. His mother smiled at him but showed very little interest otherwise. Her letters were infrequent and full of fond stories of Fitzwilliam Darcy. His father was different, during his visits he always took the time to talk with his som. The Kympton parsonage and the duties of rector and minister were often discussed. It was imperative that he not merely learn and repeat the lessons found in scripture but he must also strive to live them. He had done his imperfect best, he knew of no one who could accuse him of the vices Mr. Darcy so continually heaped on him.

Why that gentleman obstinately clung to his belief that he was a reprobate was remarkable. Well it ought to have been, he must concede that he was found on the road to Scotland in company with an improperly attired gentleman's daughter, which circumstance did little to support his assertions of innocence. He had thought ill of Darcy as well. He had heard young men at school discussing Darcy's set as fast. If he were to be perfectly honest he rather wanted a reason to dislike the boy who stole his mother's affections and he was happy to believe him guilty of any vice. There was also Moreland's friend. He had met them at an inn just south of London where a cockfight was to take place. Because so many young men from both Oxford and Cambridge were to attend, he and Moreland - with no gigs of their own – could easily find a ride to the place. Moreland required some assistance with his Greek lessons and Wickham had offered to assist him. While the other young men there were indulging in every vice, he and his friend were translating ancient texts, keeping at it most of the night. Even as the light faded and candles burned low they strained their eyes until they had accomplished the task. Moreland's friend Thorpe - whose company he had found vexing – frequently interrupted their study to talk of horses or hunting until at last he left them to watch the savage sport. It was the next morning that Darcy appeared to take him to his father and it was Thorpe who informed him.

"See here Wickham!" the man had said exhaultantly. "While you and Moreland were pouring over your books all night – waste of time, good sort Moreland but not half so clever as me – I was having a grand frolic with the really high flying chaps – bottle of wine a piece – ladies with dampened gowns, you know the sort – met your friend Darcy, he had a doxy on each arm and another in his lap – won a fortune off 'im. See here ten guineas by jove and he did not bat an eye, just reached in his purse and fetched the coins out pretty as you please. I will buy you a Bath roll apiece - see if I don't. Wickham you must fetch it quick because he has come to take you off to Derbyshire - sent you an express it came t'other day. Look here - - I must have lost it somewhere but no matter can you see him standing with that soldier there."

As if conjured by his recollections, John Thorpe strode cheerfully to his table.

*~.*.~*

This Chapter grew too long so I cut it in half. I like engaging with the characters and exploring how different circumstances affect them. Do I lose the interest of the reader of 'historical romance' when too much time is spent focused away from the primary couple?

I may post the final chapter in rough draft form to have everything up by the end of the day.