Alliance and the Artifice of War 61—
Chapter Sixty-one — In which a journey is ended
Darcy
Unwittingly, the cousins followed the same route as the young women who held their hearts. But, unencumbered by carriages and carts, took only two days to reach Derby. Despite their nagging, Darcy had not told his cousins their destination.
They settled in at the inn to find that the innkeeper remembered Mr Gardiner’s party of travellers. “Very polite the young misses were. Dint want to put us to extra work,” he told them.
Richard leaned forward keenly. “Aye, good to hear it, and when did they leave you?”
“’Twere Wednesday, the day afore yesterday, me thinks.”
“Did they say where they were heading?” asked Steven attempting nonchalance.
“Er, let me see, ‘twere north to Matlock then to the Peaks, me thinks.”
Excitement renewed, they set off to Matlock and Darcy then directed them to Bakewell.
“Willy, are we returning to Pemberley?”
“Aye, we were there bearding a bear in his lair, not long past.”
Darcy decided to relent —a little— and replied, “At Bakewell, we shall go on to Lambton. There,” he paused and looked at their expectant faces. Their teasing faces. Their taunting faces. Their mischievous faces. Their mocking faces. He sighed: their supportive faces. “At Lambton we shall have the choice of going directly to them in all this state or going to Pemberley first to make ourselves presentable.”
The cousins regarded each other. A fortnight and more in the saddle had left them looking more like ragamuffins than gentlemen.
“Pemberley first,” said Steven, clearly a little disappointed.
“Aye, no! My lady draws me to her.”
“Very well,” said Darcy. “We shall go to Pemberley while you carry your dusty …”
“… sweaty …”
“… greetings to our friends.”
Richard galloped ahead. They caught him up a mile or so later.
“Pemberley first, Dicky. Then I shall tell you where they are.”
They arrived, laughing and joking, at Pemberley in the early afternoon. Mrs Reynolds, the ever-efficient housekeeper, soon had hot water and a meal readied for them.
Is it too late to call? wondered Darcy as they prepared to leave. He looked up at the sound of a carriage: it was Georgiana! He ran to the door to hand her down and found Lady Prudence’s hand instead.
“Aunt! What do you do here?”
“I have been on a mission of mercy,” Lady Prudence replied. “And I cannot possibly tell you more until I have had some tea and shortbread.”
“I shall tell Brother, Aunt,” cried Georgiana. “We have paid a visit to our new neighbours at Aunt’s old estate.”
Richard and Steven crowded around them.
“Tenston? They are at Tenston?”
“Aye, we shall be off!”
First kissing Georgiana, Richard and Steven hustled Darcy into the waiting carriage.
“Take these distant nephews to Tenston, coachman,” cried Lady Prudence. “Distant niece, we shall have to have tea without them.”
Hearts pounding, they arrived at Tenson. Grinning, Mrs Hill met them at the door and bid them to follow her.
“Miss Lizzy,” she said as she entered the parlour, “Willy, Dicky and Cock Robin.”
Chapter Sixty-two — In which hearts sing in perfect symphony
Elizabeth
“Miss Lizzy,” said Mrs Hill, “Willy, Dicky and Cock Robin.”
The men followed her in and Elizabeth’s heart sang. Mary’s joined in, as did Charlotte’s.
At last.
The end …
…or might there be an epilogue?
Aye! Good eating on a hedgehog* — have to, you know* — fighting for king and country!*
Indeed.
* The veracity of this is irrelevant to the plot.
* The advisability of this is irrelevant to the plot.
* The edibility of this is irrelevant to the plot.
HedgehogEpilogue — In which there are letters
Lucas Lodge
My dearest daughter,
Your mother and I find that it is far too quiet here without you. I would not deprive you of your new adventure, but I do miss your lovely presence, dear daughter. Your siblings do too, and we hope to hear from you as soon as you are settled.
Your mother tells me that you will wish to hear of the local goings-on. She says that while you might have a passing interest in Mrs Long’s new bonnet and that Jimmy from the Goat and Whistle seems to be taking an interest in the butcher’s daughter, you will most want to hear about Longbourn. It is strange that the Bennet girls are no longer there — for it seems as though there have always been Bennets at Longbourn. But if they were still there, you would not be on your capital adventure.
Your mother tells me to stop gossiping and to tell you about Longbourn.
We were disturbed at luncheon by a messenger, the baker’s youngest, I think, with the message that I, as the magistrate, was required at Longbourn. Forgetting for a moment that the Bennet girls had moved away, I was a-feared for their safety, so sent the baker’s lad to the blacksmith and to Colonel Forster for their assistance.
When I arrived at Longbourn I found that Mrs Bennet and her daughters and their new husbands were trying to force their way inside. Sir Lucas and Lady Williams, the new residents, had closed the door, but Mr Bingley and Ensign Wickham were pounding upon it, threatening to break it down. I tried to calm them, but Mrs Bennet and little Miss Lydia, Mrs Wickham as she is now, set up such a screeching and screaming I could not make myself heard.
Colonel Forster arrived with two of his men and dismissed the actions of Mr Bingley and Ensign Wickham as ‘men being men.’ I had forgotten that he was so mightily ineffectual and am glad that I have not told him tales of St James’s as they would be wasted on such a man. His officers then pulled Mr Bingley and Ensign Wickham away from the front door. One of them demanded money from Ensign Wickham. It appears that the ensign owes gambling debts to his fellows.
Next, the smith arrived with Mr Phillips. I did not think that such rowdiness necessitated an attorney but, as the village constable, Mr Black knows best, I suppose.
Mrs Bennet fell upon her brother, weeping and wailing and demanding that he put things to rights. Miss Lydia Mrs Wickham remonstrated with her uncle saying that as the tallest, Longbourn was now hers. Mr Bingley started to shout. He was adamant that Longbourn was his as he had married the heiress even though she had rather worrying troubles of the female kind.
I thought to summon the apothecary, but your mother said that it is best that I did not as Mrs Bingley is now under her husband’s protection. She is very wise, your mother.
Ensign Wickham broke free from his fellow officers and advanced upon Mr Phillips with a most inappropriate expression as there were ladies present. Mr Black stepped in front of him and felled him with one enormous fist. Mr Phillips took Mr Bingley by the ear and dragged him to his carriage and pushed him inside. I looked in to see if he was comfortable and there was the new Mrs Bingley with an empty expression. Your mother agrees with me that she was probably in shock (or else it was grievous troubles of a female kind). Mr Phillips led his sister and niece to the carriage and I handed them in. Mr Black lifted Ensign Wickham’s unconscious body and shoved him in at their feet. Mr Phillips bade the coachman to make all haste to Netherfield.
I offered my own carriage to Mr Phillips and the constable, thinking that they wished to follow the miscreants. As the magistrate, I thought that it was my duty to do so. Mr Phillips graced me with a nod, but went to the door of Longbourn instead. He knocked and when Sir Lucas answered, asked if they were well. I overheard Sir Lucas saying that his wife was alarmed —the poor, dear lady, of course she was— but they did not want to see them, those people, again. This will make socialising somewhat difficult, but your mother says that all will be well.
Upon our arrival at Netherfield, we were admitted to a scene of quite unnecessary chaos. Mr Bingley’s widowed sister, the dowager, Lady Caroline —how well that sounds— and Mr and Mrs Hurst were shouting at each other. Mrs Bennet was screaming that some of her most charming pottery ornaments were broken and what a wicked plain girl Miss Eliza was. Mrs Wickham was decrying the theft of some ribbons. Your mother said that I should not concern myself with such a small crime and that it was likely to be a misunderstanding.
Mr Phillips and Mr Black attended Mr Bingley and an unsteady Ensign Wickham in the library leaving me to see to the care of the ladies. They were too distraught to hear of St James’s, so I rang for the housekeeper to order tea. A maid came and said that the housekeeper has gone missing. I was already thinking with horror of the thoughts of vandalism and theft, so you can imagine my great distress at the thought of kidnap. Your mother has assured me that the housekeeper has not been kidnapped. I admit to relief as I should not like our little town to be beset by such things.
A tray of tea things arrived just as Mr Phillips and Mr Black announced that it was time to leave. There did not appear to be any shortbread, so I went with them quite willingly. I did not discover what the other men discussed in the library, but Mr Black muttered darkly about fools not reading contracts.
I must finish now, dearest daughter, by telling you of my love for you and my greatest wish for your happiness,
Pappa
Lucas Lodge
My dearest daughter,
Be not alarmed in receiving a second letter from me so soon after the last. Be assured that we are all well, except for Maria who has a slight cold, and we are all missing you immensely.
I thought that Mr Phillips had finished dealing with his sister’s new sons-in-law and their misguided assumptions of the ownership of Longbourn, but we were called again to remonstrate with her family at Netherfield. Mr Phillips and Mr Black and I arrived to find some uncouth fellows demanding entrance. Such behaviour would not be tolerated at St James’s, dearest daughter. (Your mother tells me that you are aware of that.)
To my relief, Colonel Forster did not come, but sent three of his men in his stead. Mr Black and the officers persuaded the uncouth fellows to desist. I pointed out that nothing would be resolved without cups of tea but, in their distress, the inhabitants of Netherfield Park forgot to admit us.
Mr Bingley opened a window above us and shouted down, in high dudgeon, that Mr and Mrs Hurst had left Netherfield during the night. I was concerned for their safety, the very thought of travelling in the darkness with a gentlewoman in the carriage makes me shudder. Mr Bingley insisted that Mr and Mrs Hurst had taken some of his belongings with them. I understood him to mean that, by packing by candlelight, they inadvertently took some small items, so was shocked when Mr Bingley said that they had taken all of the silver and all of his money.
The uncouth fellows demanded to know where Mr Hurst had gone. I was touched by their concern for Mr Bingley’s silver but Mr Bingley denied all knowledge of their destination. The uncouth fellows muttered together then ran around to the stables. I thought that it was generous of Mr Bingley to loan extra horses to the uncouth fellows while they searched for his silver.
My dearest daughter, I regret to say that I misinformed you in my last letter, Jimmy from the Goat and Whistle is no longer paying court to the baker’s daughter but has turned his fickle attentions to the fishmonger’s sister. Please accept my apologies along with my fervent wishes for your happiness, my dearest daughter. Your mother says to tell you that we liked the colonel and that she would like a new bonnet should you choose to marry him.
Pappa
Lucas Lodge
My dearest daughter,
You will be pleased to know that Maria has recovered from her cold. She stayed in bed for a few days with a hot stone clutched to her tummy. I did not know that this was a treatment for a cold, but your mother says that it sometimes works.
We were delighted to receive your letter. I daresay that we have all memorised it now. You do not need my permission to marry the colonel, but you have it and my heartiest blessings all the same. Do tell Miss Bennet (no, she will always be little Miss Eliza to me) that we gratefully accept her invitation to stay with you (wherever you are) for the wedding. Your mother says that we will come for Christmas and stay for a month complete. I shall leave the arranging to her as she is much better at these things than am I.
Since writing the above, dearest daughter, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you — be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to the tenants of Netherfield Park. The most shocking thing: while engaged in brotherly fisticuffs, Mr Bingley and Ensign Wickham have fallen down the stairs, breaking their necks. Poor Lady Caroline attempted to assure me that Mrs Bennet and her daughters pushed the men, that they were not fighting. I cannot put any faith in this as she is surely still distressed according to the usual practice of mourning females. Mrs Bennet and Mrs Wickham were sobbing as though their hearts might break, though your mother tells me that they are heartless and thus have no hearts to break. Mrs Bingley was in shock again, looking unblinkingly at nothing. I sat with her to tell her comforting tales of St James’s but —oh, the poor young woman— she was too greatly disturbed and showed no response. Again, I thought to summon the apothecary, but your mother said that I did the right thing by leaving Mrs Bingley’s care to her mother and sister.
Mr and Mrs Goulding send you their felicitations, as do Mr and Mrs Purvis. Jimmy from the Goat and Whistle’s wooing of the fishmonger’s sister proceeds apace.
We miss you a great deal, dearest daughter
Pappa
Lucas Lodge
My dearest daughter,
Thank you for another letter. You are such a lovely daughter to write with all of your news. Your mother is pleased and says that she is not surprised to read that little Miss Eliza and little Miss Mary are to wed Mr Darcy and his valet. She has arranged with Mr and Mrs Gardiner that we all travel together to see you (wherever you are).
Our dear little town is quiet once more as the militia have moved on to Brighton. The quietness has been alleviated a mite by the inclusion of Sir Lucas and Lady Williams of Longbourn in our social gatherings. A nice couple they are, and very interested in hearing of St James’s. I believe that I have seen envy upon Lady Williams’ face when I talk of my time there. The thought of her envy makes me uncomfortable as I share these tales to bring joy not envy. Your mother says not to worry, that perhaps Lady Williams has not attended St James’s with Sir Lucas, so a little envy is understandable in the circumstances.
Into this quietude has dropped more upset at Netherfield. Not having seen Mrs Bennet and her daughters since the funerals for her sons-in-law, I rode to Netherfield to condole with them. A maid answered the door in tears. Oh, dear daughter, I do believe that that family is most unfortunate, the maid had found Lady Caroline dead in her chambers. I summoned Mr Black and he arrived with Mr Phillips. Lady Caroline was indeed dead, it seems as though she had been sniffing some poison in the belief that it was smelling salts. How she got the bottles so dreadfully carelessly muddled up, I do not know.
I asked the maid where the mistress of the house was and she said that the other three ladies had left, flown away, with the militia. Your mother says that she is not surprised but I believe that such behaviour is highly inappropriate while they are in mourning.
It seems like there will be a wedding here while we are away visiting you, my dearest daughter (wherever you are), as Jimmy from the Goat and Whistle is to wed the fishmonger’s sister.
Your mother and I look forward to seeing your beautiful face, dearest daughter. With much love,
Pappa
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