Chapter 24

The Bishop

En Route to the Isle of Man

Wednesday, August 19th, 1812

The wind was from the south west, propelling the merchant ship to the north, toward the Isle of Man. She was doubtless a pretty sight from shore, with her white sails and wooden bridge, which stretched above the lower deck.

George Wickham was not of a mind to consider beauty or charm as he lurched over to the side of the ship and vomited into the gray-green waters frothing and churning below him. He groaned and massaged his stomach before turning his attention on Liverpool, which was retreating into the distance.

An overly cheerful hand slapped his shoulder and he turned to glower into his captor's face. "Not feeling so well, Wickham?"

"I will be well enough," Wickham growled at Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who was looking annoyingly cheerful in spite of the ship's irritating tendency to rise and fall and rise and fall and…

He spun around and threw up again, but this time his stomach was empty, and his stomach twisted in agony. He groaned and leaned over the railing, sucking in deep draughts of cold air in the hope of reducing the nausea.

"I advise you not to fall in," Fitzwilliam said drily. "We would not turn around to pick you up."

Wickham wiped his mouth, turned toward his tormentor, and narrowed his eyes. "I am well aware that you hate me, Fitzwilliam. You need not belabor the point."

"Hate and despise, yes," Richard agreed, his brown eyes cold, his lips stretched into a grim smile.

Wickham nodded, straightened, and said rigidly, "I am certain that my company is of no pleasure to you. I think I will lie down below."

"By all means," Fitzwilliam replied with a mock bow.

"Just make certain that you bring your bucket with you," a nearby sailor yelled out. "You make a mess down there, you'll be cleaning it up!"

/

On the Great North Road

Wednesday, August 19th, 1812

The mud of the previous days had dried smooth and hard, with minimal rutting, to their coachman's pleased surprise. Horses and wheels alike were able to move at a good clip, and Elizabeth watched with pleasure as fields and hedges and woodland flashed past the window. The clouds had dispersed at last, leaving the sky a stunning deep azure. Abundant sunlight touched leaf and grass blade to set them all glowing in jewel tones of green, while breezes set everything dancing like puppets on strings.

Lydia sat, equally animated, on the far side of the carriage, conversing with Sir Christopher, who was slightly leaned forward to speak with the girl. Laughter and light topics flowed easily between them. The conversation was eminently appropriate for company in a small enclosed space, with no great topics of heavy weight being discussed, but Elizabeth noted with pleasure the sparkle in her sister's eyes as Lydia breathlessly rushed to agree with Sir Christopher as he described his favorite amusements and pastimes in London and at home in the evenings.

Mrs. Greenfield, between the two sisters, watched the proceedings with an indulgent, professional eye. More than once, as Lydia's boisterous nature grew too loud, the older lady quietly but firmly interpolated with a reminder for Lydia to show herself a lady. Elizabeth watched with ever mounting admiration as her younger sister made a tolerable effort to rein herself in in the face of Mrs. Greenfield's adept handling.

They were, perhaps, an hour out from the town where Darcy planned to stop and dine when Lydia asked curiously, "And what of your estate, Sir Christopher? Do you have a steward or do you oversee your estate by yourself?"

Sir Christopher smiled winsomely. "I do oversee my own estate management," he disclosed. "My father, God rest his soul, was…" He hesitated.

Darcy stirred a little and provided, "Not the best manager."

A faint, fleeting smile from Sir Christopher. "He was not," he agreed ruefully. "He had an unfortunate penchant for gambling and a taste for the finer things in life, beyond what his income could easily support. But the land is good, and the animals are healthy, if few. I truly believe that with good management and an influx of ready money to make some improvements, it could be not only solvent but even prosperous again."

Talk remained in this vein for awhile, Darcy and Sir Christopher discussing best estate practices and the difference between administering a smaller estate and a large one. Elizabeth listened more than she spoke, interjecting only occasionally with some tidbit of wisdom read from a book or learned from Longbourn's steward and tenants. Lydia, most unusually, spoke not at all, but listened attentively, her focused gaze switching from one speaker to another. Elizabeth watched her sister in surprise, pleased; perhaps Lydia had realized that, should Sir Christopher marry her, his estate would be her home, and it would behoove her to know and plan for the situation she would enter.

It was an hour after noon when the carriage rolled past the first buildings of Newark-on-Trent, which displayed clusters of small charming houses. The castle clinging to the bank of the river towered forbiddingly over the town, the slender spire of the church rising like a knight's sword to face a dragon. Their carriage carried them past the Marketplace, busy and bustling with vendors and farmers and stout tradesmen's wives haggling cannily over prices.

A small charming inn that stood almost in the castle's shadow hosted them for lunch, the innkeeper's wife – a cheerful, rubicund, amply-proportioned woman – setting out a fine spread, ably seconded by her two daughters. A simple white linen cloth was hastily thrown over the scuffed oak table in the parlor, and heaped high with cold beef and cold chicken and an abundance of salad and a very respectable assortment of the local fruits and pickles.

Mr. Bennet shifted in discomfort throughout the meal, and as they all rose, he said low-voiced to Mr. Darcy, "I fear I am aching badly once more; it is entirely too early to stop for the night, but I would appreciate if we do not extend our traveling well into the evening."

Captain Scofield, quick-eyed and solemn, had marked the conversation, and now suggested, "Perhaps we could try for Tuxford? It is not far, but is a reasonable distance, and there is quite a comfortable inn there."

Darcy nodded decisively. "I shall send John on ahead to make arrangements for us."

It was Captain Scofield, as well, who handed Lydia up into the waiting carriage, before following her in. Elizabeth rested back against the squabs, listening to the pair converse. Their acquaintance, too, had grown easier, and Lydia often laughed, but Elizabeth could not help but think that her younger sister was correct – Lydia had more in common with Sir Christopher than with the captain.

She was pulled from her thoughts as Mr. Darcy, across from her, pulled out and unfolded a small travel chess set. He smiled at her as he set out the pieces and asked, "Do you prefer to play black or white, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth perked up at this promise of an enjoyable pastime, and she and Mr. Darcy whiled away the remaining miles with hard-fought games of chess. Though he took the best two out of three, by the time they rolled into the yard of the Red Dragon Inn, she was nonetheless pleased with her victory over him.

/

The Blue Parlor

The Red Dragon

Tuxford

Later

The servants had just served the lemon custard for dessert when Darcy heard the strident sound of a familiar female voice approaching rapidly from outside the door. He jerked in surprise, and the pudding on his spoon was jolted sufficiently to spray across the table and land on an empty bottle of wine.

Everyone else at table turned a bewildered look on him, everyone but Elizabeth, who said, in an alarmed tone, "Mr. Darcy, is that…?"

"I fear so," the gentleman replied grimly, and rose to his feet just as the door opened and the innkeeper stepped in, followed by a tall woman of some fifty years of age, dressed in a dark green silk gown, with a feathered hat on her head.

The lady pushed rudely past the owner of the establishment and glared up into her nephew's face.

"Here you are, Darcy! How dare you?" Lady Catherine shrieked.

Darcy took a hasty step forward and said to the innkeeper, "Would you be kind enough to give us some privacy?"

The man withdrew, a startled expression on his face. Darcy waited until the door shut before turning on his aunt. "Lady Catherine, what are you doing here, and how dare you burst in here without invitation?"

"I need no invitation to intervene when my nephew, my own nephew, shows every sign of having lost his mind!"

"Perhaps you could introduce us, Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Bennet suggested coolly, standing up from the table, followed by the other gentlemen. Elizabeth, thoroughly annoyed, chose not to stand, and the other ladies followed her lead.

Darcy tightened his lips and nodded. "Of course. Ladies, gentlemen, may I introduce my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings in Kent. Aunt, Mrs. Greenfield, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Lydia Bennet, Sir Christopher Harding, Mr. Bennet, and Captain Scofield."

Lady Catherine's eyes had flashed when her nephew had chosen to introduce her to the assembled party first, instead of the other way around as was her due as the daughter of an earl. But by the end of the introductions, her expression had settled into one of grim satisfaction.

"So Miss Lydia is not married and the Bennets are ruined!" she said triumphantly. "Darcy, I do not know how can even consider joining yourself with such a defiled family! How could you…?"

"Lady Catherine, you will be silent!" Darcy interrupted, taking a step forward and glowering down at his aunt, who was sufficiently surprised that she stopped for a moment. Elizabeth, who knew the lady well, was confident that the mistress of Rosings would not remain silent for long, and she did stand up now and said, "I think that it would be best if Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy were able to speak in private."

"Absolutely," Darcy said, exactly at the same time as Lady Catherine bellowed, "Absolutely not!"

Aunt and nephew glowered at one another and Mr. Bennet said, "Yes, I think you need to speak alone. Ladies, gentlemen, shall we?"

"I wish to speak to Miss Bennet!" Lady Catherine insisted. "It is she, through her arts and allurements, has made my nephew forget what he owes to himself and his family."

Darcy felt himself flush with rage but Elizabeth, turning toward him, winked, which reduced his ire sufficiently that he was able to remain quiet until he was alone with his exceptionally tiresome aunt.