Page 43 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

What a delightful time: exploring the Vale of Keswick, which stretched from the head of Derwent Water to the foot of Bassenthwaite Lake; discovering the bird’s-eye view of the lake and surrounding mountains from Castle Head; enjoying the exceptionally fine view from Catbells, where I gazed in admiration over the country. What a glorious place! Mama was obliged to drag me away, for I could scarce bear to descend once again and lose the splendid vista from the summit. Yet, dare I say it, in company, the picnick on the shore of Derwent Water was everything special. I lay back on the grass soaking up the sun, uncaring that my skirt was pulled up, showing my ankles—at least my thick woollen stockings I had purchased to ease the discomfort of my walking boots.

On the evening of our fifth day at the Royal Oak, having returned from our excursion to Bassenthwaite, Mr. Darcy found an express waiting for him.

“It is from Richard,” he declared, quickly scanning the letter. “He made quick time to Pemberley, thence to Meryton.” He paused, reading ahead. “He approached Colonel Forster to present the vowels and receipts held against Wickham, but found the man already taken into custody.”

“A strange turn,” said Darcy, “whatever had the man done?”

“Let me read on—for an officer, Richard takes long enough to get to the point.” There was silence for a while, before Mr. Darcy spoke again. “Mrs. Bennet, do you know a Mr. Denny, a lieutenant in the militia?”

“Certainly, sir,” she replied, “he often visited in the company of Mr. Wickham.”

“It seems he and Wickham had a falling out”—Mr. Darcy paused—”over a lady, no less. A Miss Mary King.”

“It was rumoured she had inherited ten thousand pounds,” I added. “Both Wickham and Denny abandoned their pursuit of Mama and me, and switched their attentions to her. Oh, the poor girl.”

“According to Richard, Mr. Denny won her suit, and their engagement was announced by her uncle who came down from Liverpool to give his blessing.”

“And Wickham? I gather he took losing the prize to Denny exceedingly ill.” I grasped Georgiana’s hand. She had gone pale—still suffering the shame of her near elopement.

“Very ill indeed. He accused Denny of all manner of things, claiming the lady was his, that he should have her, not Denny. As though she were nothing but a horse to be bought or sold at Tattersalls. That evening, he took to drinking heavily, growing more and more angry. When Denny came to celebrate his engagement with his fellow officers, Wickham lost all control and violently assaulted him. He was dragged away, only after doing Denny serious injury.”

“Well, the matter is settled then. He will be discharged and Richard can have him arrested for his debts, with no interference from the military. A good outcome, and we are rid of the man.” Darcy took a sip of wine and settled back in his chair, well-satisfied with the business.

“My apologies, there is another note, hurriedly written.” Mr. Darcy grimaced. “Wickham has escaped! He broke through the roof of the shed in which he was held—unfortunately, he was not shackled. He stole a horse—the Colonel’s, no less—and fled during the night. Also, it seems, he took a quantity of money and other items from the officers’ quarters.”

“My God, sir! Has he been recaptured?” Darcy stood, taking the note from his father’s hand and quickly scanning it. “He has gone to London, for that was where he was last seen on the turnpike, having ridden down the toll-keeper. Richard says he will pursue him, but Wickham has a half-day start and may turn off the main road at any time.”

“Still in uniform,” mused Mr. Darcy. “And now a deserter and a thief. When caught, he will hang, there is no other option. I cannot wish it upon him, for his father was a good man; and as a child, I was very fond of him. No doubt the poor blood came from his mother’s side.”

We were subdued when the party retired for the evening. But, in truth, little had changed. Wickham had now fled to London, whereas before he had been in Meryton, both distant from the Lakes. Doubtless, he left debts and possibly other young women who had succumbed to his charms—likely as not, now ruined. We would learn the truth of it when we returned home to Hathaway House.

* * *

Chapter 18

Buttermere

If I were to place a time when I gained a sister, and consequently a brother, I would say it was the week after we left Keswick for Buttermere. Truthfully, I should not call Darcy brother—though he was possessed every attribute I had ever imagined a brother should have.

I could not repine when our week at Keswick came to an end, for there remained so much more of the Lakes to visit—fells to climb and expansive views to exclaim over—that departing one beautiful district for another was never a hardship. We came to Buttermere following the road through the Vale of Newlands, ascending steeply to Newlands Haws. Once again, our Cumberland Bays were harnessed with Mr. Darcy’s horses. The ascent to the Haws would have been difficult indeed with just two horses—the landau, without the benefit of a lightweight body, was a very heavy vehicle. We hired additional horses for the Bennet carriage, which followed behind with the baggage.

In the descent from the Haws to Buttermere, the road runs at an alarming height above the ravine which separates it from the opposite hill. The chain of mountains revealed during the descent is the most magnificent in the whole circumference of the Buttermere valley. The appearance of High Stile and of the whole horizon from Green Crags to Red Pike is scarcely equalled.

Near to the lake, we passed a very small chapel—certainly not capable of holding more than half a dozen households—and soon thereafter came to the Fish Inn. We were expected, of course, as Mr. Darcy had sent a man ahead to reserve our rooms. It had a very pleasant aspect: two storeys, whitewashed, with three charming bay windows decorating the front.

After refreshing ourselves, we came down to the small taproom where, much to our surprise, we encountered Lady Augustus and her daughter. We were very much pleased to see them, for their company in Ambleside had grown quite agreeable. Truly, Miss Eustacia was a sweet thing, and, once the awkwardness that always accompanies making a new acquaintance was resolved, she and Georgiana had become firm friends.

“Miss Darcy! We did not expect you here—we had thought you intended to remove to Keswick?”

“And that we did,” replied Georgiana brightly.

A shortish, fair-haired gentleman, who had been sitting with the ladies, stood and bowed. “Lady Augustus, might you introduce us?”

“Oh, silly me. The Right Honourable William Lowther—our dear friends, Miss Darcy and…” At that moment, there was a large crash from the kitchen, followed by a rather sheepish maid who was clutching a metal tray.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, me lady, I’ve gone an’ dropped t’ tray—it fair made a right racket. I were just wonderin’ if ye’d care fer a fresh pot o’ tea?”

“Oh, you are such a sweet dear. Indeed, we all had quite a fright, but it is of no matter. No, we shall shortly be going in to dinner.”