Ok thanks for the feedback, FatPatricia515. That's a good idea.
Thanks, JohnnyFlynnFan. I'm a fan too. I think Johnny Lee Miller is still my favourite Mr Knightley but I kind of fell in love with JF as William Dobbin in Vanity Fair. As all my crushes go, I have pretty much watched everything he has starred in since, including his cameo in Detectorists.
The chapter title Fox on the run was previously suggested by Deanna27.
Chapter 9 Fox on the run
"You have a hide* turning up here!" hissed the lady at the door in Edward Street.
"Now, now, Mary," chided her visitor. "Be nice to a poor fellow who is down on his luck."
The woman sighed and opened the door. "Step in quickly, then. Who knows but the earl's men are still watching me. If they find you here, they will know my complicity."
Once she had closed the door behind her guest, the lady raised the volume of her voice considerably. "Why did you not take Georgiana directly to Gretna Green as we had planned? Darcy was a day and a half behind you. If you had hired four horses, there was no way he could have caught you, even if he rode like the wind!"
"I was set upon by some thieves when I left The Wheatsheaf the night before," replied the man in a glib tone.
"More like you lost the money I gave you at play! Well, no more, George."
"Did Darcy die? Is there a warrant for my arrest?"
"It would have been wise to ascertain that before you returned to London," the woman said sourly.
"As you see," said Wickham, stroking a bristly moustache. "I come in disguise. I think it looks rather Continental."
Mrs Younge scowled at him. George Wickham was a handsome devil and he knew it. "I heard Darcy is very bad," she said in an undertone. "Not expected to live. But as yet there has been no notice in the papers of his death. What possessed you to fire upon him?"
"It was an accident," said Wickham, not lowering his voice in kind. "Darcy should not have flown at me like he did. You should have seen him! He was quite diabolic! I never thought he had it in him!"
Mrs Younge almost rolled her eyes. It seemed highly unlikely that the staid Mr Darcy had done anything of the kind. George couldn't lie straight in his bed*. "You can stay here tonight," she conceded. "but you need to be gone before dawn."
Wickham smiled to himself. He was sure he could get Mary to change her mind before dawn. "Do you have anything to eat? Some ale and some bread?"
"There are some leftovers from tonight's pie," she said, leading him towards the kitchen.
Wickham dumped his carpetbag in the hall and followed her. They got as far as the dining room, dimly lit by two candles and the hearth. Two men in militia uniforms were lounging at their ease, sharing a cigarillo over their empty plates.
Mrs Younge coughed and waved away the smoke. "Smoke that outside," she reprimanded.
"Your mother said it would be all right," replied the older man mildly, but he stubbed the cigarillo out anyway.
"Why, Harry!" cried Wickham, recognising the voice.
The older man, who was wearing a lieutenant's uniform, peered through the smoke and gloom at the stranger who had walked in with the landlady's daughter.
"George! Why, I didn't recognise you with that growth upon your face! What have you being doing with yourself?"
Wickham smoothed his moustache. "Why, blending in with the Frenchies, what else? I had to skip town over a little matter."
"George! the tipstaffs aren't after you again? By God, you'll end up in the King's Bench Prison!"
"Look who's talking!" retorted Wickham. "What are you doing in that uniform, Harry?"
"My father bought me a commission in a militia. This is my friend Denny," Harry said, indicating the younger man who was clearly only an ensign.
George pulled out a chair and sat down. Mrs Younge glared at him resentfully and continued to the kitchens, returning after five minutes with a tankard of ale and the remains of a cold pie on a plate. She dumped these unceremoniously in front of Wickham and bid him a cold goodnight.
"Good evening, Mary," replied George sweetly. "I'll be up in half an hour."
Mrs Younge scowled at him again, annoyed he'd made his intentions so clear in front of the others, particularly Harry Winston, who was not a bad looking man and whose father seemed to have money. Thinking that discretion was the better part of valour* Mrs Younge went off—she would have words with George later about his high-handed ways.
Harry relit the cigarillo from a candle as Wickham began to ply his knife and fork.
"So," said Wickham, "how is life in the militia?"
"Damned horrible," replied Harry. "We are currently posted to a sleepy town in Hertfordshire and our colonel is a strict disciplinarian. It's damned flat*! Stealing chickens has afforded me the only bit of fun I have had in my time there. Denny and I came up to London on two days' leave to get a bit of relief, if you know what I mean."
"Hertfordshire, heh?" mused Wickham. He had hoped it would be safe to return to London after his short excursion to France, but Mary's circumspection suggested the earl was still looking for him. "I don't suppose they are taking on any more men?"
"Yes, we are short two officers," said Denny eagerly. "The colonel asked us to keep a lookout for recruits."
"How much is an ensigncy?" asked Wickham.
"They won't take you," said Harry, drawing on his cigarillo. "You're too old. You'll have to buy a lieutenancy if you want to join—two hundred and fifty pounds. But I tell you what—I've a fancy to join the regulars. My father told me he wouldn't pay the extra for the transfer unless I managed to sell my current commission—knowing damn well they're having trouble getting enough officers after Waterloo. I'll sell you my commission cheap."
"No, Harry! Don't go!" pleaded Denny. "It'll be damned flat without you! Besides, if you join the regulars, they'll pack you off to France!" he warned.
"It's got to be better than Meryton!" retorted Harry. "Tell you what, George. I'll sell you my commission for half-price. You won't get a better deal than that."
Wickham grimaced. He had fifty pounds in his pocket, all that was left from his lucky streak in Dieppe. The rest had gone on his return voyage on the packet. But if things were as bad with Darcy as Mary claimed, he couldn't stay in London.
"What about fifty?" he said, placing his money on the table.
"No, not enough," said Harry dismissively.
"I might have some more in my carpetbag," Wickham temporised, knowing damned well he did not. But he had an idea where more money might be found.
Taking a candle, Wickham got up and tiptoed back down the hall to the parlour where an ancient oak dresser stood. He knew old Mrs Danvers, Mrs Younge's mother, kept her ready in it somewhere and he began to search the end of it where he suspected some hidden drawer was concealed. It was not difficult to find, knowing it was there. It had no handle and the edges were concealed with decorative beading, but the front moved slightly when he slid his hand along it. Though he did not know the trick for opening it, he was able to prise it open with his knife. The drawer contained a dirty leather purse bearing over fifty carefully polished gold guineas—likely her life's savings. George slipped them into his pocket, threw the purse back into the drawer and returned to the dining room.
"You're in luck!" he beamed as he returned to sit down. "I pawned my fob and watch before I got lucky in Dieppe and had forgot completely about it!"
Wickham counted the fifty guineas out, carefully palming the three extra. "That make's one hundred!"
Harry grimaced. "I am tempted, but I think not."
Wickham pondered a moment. "What if I can get the additional twenty-five before morning?" he offered. If things were as bad as Mary said, perhaps he could get her to pay him to go away...
"Done!" agreed Harry. "I leave at six. If you can get me the rest of the money before then, the commission and the uniform are yours!"
Denny complained again about being abandoned and pleaded with his friend to stay in the regiment.
"Don't worry, Denny," said Harry. "Wickham's a great gun! You won't be bored when he is around!"
As George expected, whatever went on between the sheets, Mary was keen to get rid of him before dawn and agreed to loan him twenty-five pounds to help him on his way. In the morning, she dressed quickly and left her room to retrieve the money. For a moment, Wickham thought he might be undone by the discovery of the theft of Mrs Danver's stash. But when Mary did not descend the stairs, he was relieved to find she kept her money hidden elsewhere.
George folded his arms behind his head as he waited, but when Mary returned to proffer him the money, he threw the covers off himself to press his lean naked body against her gown.
"Thank you, Mary," he said huskily as he removed the five-pound notes from her grasp before giving her a kiss to remember.
Mrs Younge received his caresses slightly resentfully, reminding herself that George had helped her access jobs with a better class of people than she had worked for in the past. Even if the easy life he had promised her as his mistress once he was married to Georgiana Darcy hadn't worked out, she still had references that would allow her to return to work as a governess or companion in upper class households.
George did not bother to dress properly, merely throwing on enough clothes for propriety's sake if he should meet Mrs Danvers or one of the boarding house guests in the hallway.
Wickham gave Mary's hand one last squeeze. "I'll let you know if I hear of any jobs in Hertfordshire and will send you the twenty pounds when I can."
"Twenty-five," Mary reminded him, knowing she would likely never see the money again. "Make sure you go out by the back door."
Wickham skipped stealthily downstairs with his carpet bag, to knock on the door of Harry and Denny's room. He handed over his money and was soon being helped into his new uniform by Denny while Harry donned some civvies* he had about him. Harry's breeches and boots fitted George to a nicety, although the coat was a little wide across the shoulders and torso. While he dressed, they discussed their plans. Denny still had one day before he must return to Hertfordshire. Wickham immediately determined that he would find a seamstress who could take the coat in. First impressions were important and Wickham, as always, was determined to make a splash* in his new career.
They let themselves out the front door. Wickham almost had cause to regret it—coming along the street were two horsemen wearing the earl's livery. George believed he was pretty safe with his uniform and moustache, but thought it wouldn't hurt to be cautious. Turning his back to the horsemen, Wickham walked backwards while laughing and gesticulating as he told Harry and Denny an anecdote. He tracked the sound of the horses' shoes striking the cobbles, dancing round his companions who were none the wiser as to the cause of his antics, keeping his back to the horsemen.
Harry slapped Denny on the back when Wickham finished his joke. "See! I told you he is a great gun!"
Denny laughed and nodded, and the earl's men were gone.
Jane improved rapidly on Sunday—she was talking and eating, and although she still remained weak, everything promised she would soon be fully restored to health. Jane knew her sister longed to return home and felt herself to have trespassed upon the Bingleys' hospitality too long. Lizzy did not wish to press her sister but realised that if Jane's period had come, hers would commence soon in sympathy, and she would much rather be in the comfort of her own home when it did.
In consequence, the sisters agreed that Lizzy should write to their mother in the afternoon, requesting the carriage for their return to Longbourn. As it was Sunday, no work could be done on the farm, so they knew the horses would be available. Yet the carriage did not arrive. Instead, a footman delivered a note from their mother, saying she had made a special trip to Meryton to consult Mr Jones, who agreed that it might prove fatal to move Jane too soon.
Lizzy was furious. She had suspected her mother of keeping away after her initial visit so that Jane would be forced to stay at Netherfield longer, but to actually deny them the carriage when it was requested was taking scheming too far.
Thus Lizzy was forced to ask Caroline if the Bingley carriage might be available to them. After a long speech expressing solicitude for Jane's condition and—with hypocrisy oozing from every pore—regret at their going, Caroline offered its services.
The Bennet sisters were not welcomed home with much happiness by their mother. Lizzy was scolded in front of Mr Bingley's coachman and footman for disturbing her sister from her bed, which tirade was only cut short when Jane broke into a paroxysm of coughing when she tried to speak in defence of Lizzy.
But after the slight debacle of their homecoming, Jane improved apace.
Her illness was no sooner behind her than the most recent event of country living consumed the Bennets—there was rumoured to be a fox in the area. Several chickens had gone missing in the vicinity of Meryton in the past month. The henhouse of Longbourn had not suffered any losses, but the hens were disturbed on one or two occasions and Mr Hill feared they would be next to lose some poultry. Mr Bennet loaded the scattergun and set it on the sideboard in the hallway every night, should their own chicken coop be the scene of a raid.
"It is quite unusual for a fox to range so far," said Mr Bennet over his coffee one morning after Mr Hill reported the night's activities—more cackling but as yet no depredations. "But perhaps it is a vixen with cubs. They can be demanding to feed."
Mrs Bennet was the last to join the breakfast table that morning, her maid Sarah having experienced inordinate difficulty in getting her mistress's curls to sit rightly under her lace cap.
"I hope you might shoot her dead," Fanny said, having caught the tail end of Mr Bennet's information. "Then her cubs might starve and we will suffer fewer losses when they are grown up!"
"Indeed," said Mr Bennet dryly, "they will have a difficult time growing up when they are dead."
He then retrieved a letter from his waistcoat pocket. "I fear I have been unable to discourage a raid of another sort, Mrs Bennet," he said laconically. "My cousin Mr Collins, who will inherit Longbourn once I am dead, begs to visit us."
"You must tell him to go away, Mr Bennet!" advised his wife. "We do not want him here! It is shockingly unfair that Longbourn should be entailed away from your own daughters to a nobody!"
"It is a surely an iniquitous affair," agreed Mr Bennet. "But his letter was most persuasive. Mr Collins studied for the Church and recently gained a living in Kent as the rector of Hunsford. His patroness, the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has encouraged him to find a wife in Hertfordshire. If I do not mistake his broad hints, he hopes to make amends to our fair daughters by matrimony."
"Oh!" said Mrs Bennet, considerably mollified. "No doubt, being a lady, his patroness perceived the unfairness of the entail and encouraged him to do the right thing!"
"Perhaps," said Mr Bennet, without much conviction, "though if I read correctly between the lines, he has been making a nuisance of himself to the well born young ladies of his parish. I presume his patroness thinks he will find a less disinterested cohort here among his cousins."
"Well!" said Mrs Bennet. "If he should find one of my daughters to his liking, I will not be objecting."
"I did not think so," said Mr Bennet, and getting up, he flung the letter into the centre of the table near the toast rack. "Let me give you the means to make an initial study of his character."
Mrs Bennet fielded the letter with surprising agility and began to peruse it with some interest, reading aloud those comments that particularly pleased her—'amiable daughters', 'heard much of their beauty' and 'every possible amends' were all exclaimed at.
Mary got up to read over her mother's shoulder while Jane and Elizabeth exchanged looks of alarm, trusting to the judgment of the young ladies of Mr Collins' parish. Only Kitty and Lydia were not affected—they were too fixated on redcoats for a man wearing any other colour to be of interest to them.
Mr Collins duly arrived and immediately proved himself to be as pompous and silly as his letter. Mary was truly disappointed, for she had held out great hopes based on the length of his letter and the number of long words it employed. In person, the Bennet ladies' cousin was as oily as his hair. He was neither ugly nor handsome, rather his ridiculous aspect was the overriding impression. He praised the house and the daughters, in that order, but mostly he praised his patroness Lady Catherine and her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh who, he told them, was without equal in all the country in gentility and beauty.
The second time this encomium escaped his lips, Lydia muttered, 'Well, you should marry her, then!' and was kicked under the table by Lizzy. But Mr Collins' homage to Miss Anne continued throughout his stay without cessation.
On the first night of his visit, Mr Collins offered to entertain the ladies by reading to them after dinner. A volume was passed to him by Kitty. But when he discovered it to be The Castle of Wolfenbach; or the Horrid Machinations of the Count Berniti by Eliza Parsons, he cried out and instead retrieved a copy of Fordyce's Sermons from his luggage, which he had, with great foresight, brought with him.
On the second day of Mr Collins' visit, the Bennets were gratified to receive a visit from Mr Bingley, who had heard that Jane had fully recovered and thus could receive him. The tenant of Netherfield was reluctantly accompanied by his sisters and Mr Hurst, the latter having only exerted himself on the prospect of more of Mrs Hill's apple pie.
Mr Bingley was very assiduous in his attentions to Jane during his visit, which later gave Mrs Bennet the opening to hint Mr Collins away from her eldest. As to the others, Mrs Bennet assured him, they were all as free as birds.
On his leave-taking, Mr Bingley produced a card and, with great ceremony, presented it to Mrs Bennet, inviting her family to the Netherfield ball, which had been fixed for a week hence. As Mr Collins would still be in Hertfordshire at that date, he was included in the invitation, much to his gratification.
That evening there was another disturbance in the henhouse.
Lizzy, having been plagued by her cousin's attentions throughout dinner, was lying awake beside her sleeping sister when she heard the ruckus. Knowing her father to be a sound sleeper, Elizabeth pulled on her dressing gown to knock on her father's bedchamber door. But instead of summoning her parent, the knock produced Mr Collins, who emerged from the guest chamber next door, wearing a grubby bed cap and gown.
"Is there a problem?" he whispered.
"Merely a fox may have got into the henhouse," Lizzy whispered back before proceeding directly downstairs, hoping her cousin would again retire.
No such luck. After retrieving his slippers, Mr Collins padded downstairs after her. By this time, Lizzy had picked up the fowling piece from the sideboard and was unbolting the front door.
Being the second daughter, Lizzy had become aware of her father's sad disappointment in her sex from a tender age. Accordingly she had tried to redress the deficit by accompanying her father shooting often—occasionally taking her turn with the gun, but more often retrieving the birds from the dogs and bagging them. Nonetheless, she felt a little nervous about handling the gun in the dark and so close to the house. So when she found her cousin had followed her, she offered it first to him.
Mr Collins put up his hands in alarm. "I do not shoot, Miss Elizabeth," he hissed. "Indeed, as a man of the cloth, I prefer gardening and beekeeping."
Lizzy looked at her cousin contemptuously for a moment before deciding philosophically it was just what she should have expected of him. She shouldered the gun and stepped out onto the portico in her bare feet.
The henhouse was off towards the stables, not far from the kitchens. Lizzy trod carefully over the few feet of gravel drive that she needed to traverse in order to reach the grass and began to stalk her prey. All was quiet in the henhouse until suddenly another burst of cackling broke out and Lizzy thought she saw a movement in the shadows. In her excitement, she unleashed both barrels simultaneously and the stock flew backwards painfully into her shoulder. The report caused all hell to break forth among the hens, but amidst the tumult, Lizzy could have sworn that she heard the word 'damn' unleashed.
After approaching carefully, no trespasser—man or beast—was apparent. Lizzy inspected the henhouse; could find no breach, nor any carcasses of Bennet chickens, and concluded that if there had been an intruder, she had managed to scare it away. She decided to delay any further investigations until morning. Pressing her aching shoulder, she made her way back to the house where she found Mr Collins cowering in the hallway.
"Did you get it?" he asked in trembling tones.
"No," replied Elizabeth. "Perhaps it is not a fox, but poachers. Whatever the cause of the disturbance, the hens appear fine and I hope I have frightened the intruder off."
After she laid the gun back down on the sideboard, Mr Collins solicitously asked if he might assist her up the stairs. Lizzy looked at him with bemusement, shook her head, and ran ahead of him before he could importune her further.
Elizabeth found Jane sitting up in bed, obviously woken by the gun's report. After explaining her adventure, which Jane accepted without demur—being too sleepy to express surprise or reproach—they settled down together. Despite her injured shoulder, Lizzy was finally able to fall asleep.
Lizzy went out early to the henhouse for a more thorough reconnoiter before breakfast. She opened the door of the coop to allow the chickens to wander the yard and checked for eggs, finding only one rather than the usual three or four—no doubt the hens would not lay for several days because of their fright.
Emerging from the henhouse, Lizzy cast about outside, noticing some trampled grass that was more consistent with the intruder being a poacher than a fox. That was when she saw the piece of black fabric.
Picking it up, Elizabeth discovered it to be a handkerchief, damp with dew. It was only when she noticed the stains on the grass underneath that she realised her mistake. Opening her fist, she saw what the black fabric had disguised—her hand was wet, not with dew, but blood.
Footnotes
have a hide - have a thick skin, nerve, chutzpah, shameless audacity.
couldn't lie straight in his bed—idiom, denoting a pathological liar
discretion is the better part of valour—Caution is preferable to rash bravery. Said by Falstaff in King Henry the Fourth, Part One, by William Shakespeare.
flat - boring, lifeless
couldn't lie straight in his bed - crooked, a liar.
civvies - civilian clothes
make a splash - become noticed or become popular, 1804
Pinterest captions
[1] "You have a hide* turning up here!" hissed the lady at the door in Edward Street.
[2] "Why did you not take Georgiana directly to Gretna Green as we had planned?"
[3] "I was set upon by some thieves when I left The Wheatsheaf the night before,"
[4] "As you see," said Wickham, stroking a bristly moustache. "I come in disguise." This pic - Aaron Taylor Johnson as George Wickham. Picture from Anna Karenina where he played Count Vronsky.
[5] George couldn't lie straight in his bed*. idiom, denoting a pathological liar
[6] "Your mother said it would be all right," replied the older man mildly, but he stubbed the cigarillo out anyway. This pic - Greg Wise as Harry. Picture from The Horatio Hornblower series where he played Major Cottard. He also played Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility.
[7] "George! the tipstaffs aren't after you again?" This pic - The tipstaff that Nicholas Brentwood carries. Writs (arrest warrants) were stored within as the top crown part screwed off. It was also a handy tool with which to whack a criminal in the head...Bow Street Runners
[8] "By God, you'll end up in the King's Bench Prison!"
[9] This is my friend Denny," Harry said, indicating the younger man who was clearly only an ensign.
[10] "We are currently posted to a sleepy town in Hertfordshire and our colonel is a strict disciplinarian.
[11] "It's damned flat*!" This pic - Kitty and Lydia think so too
[12] The rest had gone on his return voyage on the packet. This pic - The packet was a regular shipping service that took the international post as well as paying passengers and small freight, much like we would use a courier service today.
[13] Taking a candle, Wickham got up and tiptoed back down the hall to the parlour where an ancient oak dresser stood.
[14] Mrs Younge's mother, kept her ready in it somewhere Defn ready - cash
[15] The edges were concealed with decorative beading
[16] The drawer contained a dirty leather purse bearing over fifty carefully polished gold guineas
[17] "I pawned my fob and watch"
[18] "Don't worry, Denny," said Harry. "Wickham's a great gun!
This pic - James Norton as Harry, pictured here is War and peace.
[19] Harry donned some civvies* he had about him. This pic - Greg Wise as Harry, pictured here as Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility
[20] Wickham, as always, was determined to make a splash* in his new career.
[21] The Bennet sisters were not welcomed home with much happiness by their mother. This pic - Anne Hathaway as Elizabeth, pictured here
[22] Mr Bennet loaded the scattergun and set it on the sideboard in the hallway every night
[23] "Indeed," said Mr Bennet dryly, "they will have a difficult time growing up when they are dead."
[24] "You must tell him to go away, Mr Bennet!" advised his wife.
[25] …getting up, he flung the letter into the centre of the table near the toast rack
[26] Mr Collins duly arrived and immediately proved himself to be as pompous and silly as his letter.
[27] On the first night of his visit, Mr Collins offered to entertain the ladies by reading to them after dinner.
[28] But when he discovered it to be The Castle of Wolfenbach; or the Horrid Machinations of the Count Berniti by Eliza Parsons, he cried out
[29] …instead retrieved a copy of Fordyce's sermons from his luggage, which he had, with great foresight, brought with him.
[30] Mr Bingley was very assiduous in his attentions to Jane during his visit,
[31] "Merely a fox may have got into the henhouse," Lizzy whispered back.
[32] she had tried to redress the deficit by accompanying her father shooting often
[33] The henhouse was off towards the stables, not far from the kitchens.
[34] Opening her fist, she saw what the black fabric had disguised—her hand was wet, not with dew, but blood.