Page 53 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“We lost track of him, until we met a lady walking out with a friend. She had seen a man of Wickham’s description, riding to Langdale. She knew the pack-horse trail up Rosset Hill, and its connection to Wasdale by way of Sty Head. Wickham was attempting to get ahead of your party; he had discovered you intended to travel to Buttermere, then down the Cumbrian coast to Furness.”

“Perhaps I can finish the story, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy. “Wickham came upon us by surprise, though whether he or our party were the more surprised, I do not know. He pulled a horse pistol from its holster, and forced Mrs. Bennet to unsaddle our ponies and set them free.” He looked up the table to Mrs. Bennet. “I must apologise, Fanny, for not being able to protect you or Georgiana.”

“He would have shot you, George, if you had attempted anything,” said Mama with great emotion. “He was desperate. Please, there is nothing to apologise for. Oh, it was so hard for poor Georgiana, that I had to tie her hands so she couldn’t ride away.”

Georgiana took Mama’s hands in hers. “But, Mrs. Bennet, we were saved, were we not, by Lizzy! I shall always remember her flying down the mountain. I’m sure Wickham thought her blood-curdling screams were the Beast of Barrisdale come to snatch him away!”

The table’s mood lightened. Colonel Fitzwilliam set down his glass and regarded me with a wry smile. “Miss Elizabeth, you certainly have a talent for appearing at the most critical moment. Should I ask the War Office to engage your services?”

“No, sir. Were I to attempt to skewer the tyrant Napoleon by tumbling down Mont Blanc, I would certainly have too few legs and arms remaining after I collided with the man.” I smiled at Darcy. “To ascend Mont Blanc, Mme Marie Paradis—the first woman to make the summit—was carried over the difficult parts. For myself, I was not physically carried to the summit of Scawfell Pike, but Fitzwilliam surely carried me as God carries us through the hardest times. He promised never to let me falter, and, like a true brother, he made sure of his promise, and I am glad for it.”

Darcy’s countenance had softened to an expression I could not decipher.

‘Oh, Lizzy,’ cried Lydia, ‘he is staring at you ever so intently. Whatever does it mean?’

‘I don’t know, Lyddie—but he is the best of brothers.’

* * *

We had been at Pemberley a full week when Mr. Pettigrew, the Darcys’ physician, declared that I could remove the sling for an hour or so each day. What joy! Now I could sit at dinner and not have Mama cut up my food, as though I were a young infant.

As we had been at home sufficiently long, Mr. Darcy thought it necessary to invite some of the neighbours to dinner: Mr. Wainwright, the vicar of Kympton, and his wife; and their neighbours, Mr. Rupert Crawley and his sister, Miss Marianne Crawley, children of Admiral and Mrs. Crawley—the Admiral’s infirmity precluding him from making visits. The brother and sister were young people of fortune: Mr. Crawley was to inherit the estate which bordered Pemberley, and Miss Crawley had twenty thousand pounds.

“I should hope,” said Mr. Darcy, on the evening of the dinner, “that you, being younger”—speaking to Georgiana, Darcy, and myself—”will be pleased with the Crawleys’ company. Mrs. Bennet and I will be satisfied with the Wainwrights, particularly as Mrs. Wainwright is very proud of her garden.”

I was disappointed that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been obliged to leave for Town—his cheerful conversation would be missed. Though Georgiana and I always had plenty to talk of, Darcy had seemed a little withdrawn, and even my liveliness did not return him to that teasing, cheerful man who had accompanied me up Scawfell Pike. Often, in my company, he was grave and silent, though he still attended to my every need.

The guests were introduced, and there was sufficient time before we were called to dinner to become a little acquainted. They were already known to Georgiana and Darcy, who were pleased to renew the acquaintance, as I was to make a new one. Miss Crawley was charming, with her lively dark eyes, clear brown complexion, and general prettiness. She was neither as tall as Georgiana nor as full-formed as myself, but was most allowably a sweet, pretty girl. Her brother was not handsome, but was an agreeable young man; perhaps three and twenty, and Miss Crawley of an age with me.

“Miss Bennet, I trust your convalescence is proceeding apace?” Mr. Crawley came to stand at my side. “If I were more polite, I would not notice that your arm is in a sling—but I am rather gauche, particularly in the company of charming women.”

My arm had begun to ache due to overuse during the day, so I wore my sling to the drawing room, prepared to remove it during the meal. “You are too gallant, sir. I assure you that my sling did not notice your directness, and I, myself, am too polite to comment on it.”

“And how, may I ask, could such a genteel woman as yourself find herself so disadvantaged?”

“Disadvantaged? Certainly not! Now, whenever I enter a room, I am immediately fussed over, and given the sweetest treats from the cake basket. But to answer your question—it is not a secret. I took a slight tumble while walking in the Lakes and had the misfortune to suffer a dislocation of the shoulder. I am assured that it will cure itself, provided I exercise my arm only gently.”

“Then you must allow me, Miss Bennet, to sit beside you at dinner, so that I can select the choicest morsels requiring no exertion on your part to cut them into dainty, ladylike portions.”

He chortled. Could I endure such conversation from him over a full five courses? Chortling? Undoubtedly, he thought himself amusing, and perhaps felt some duty to entertain me, as Darcy was occupied with Miss Crawley and Georgiana.

Shortly afterwards, we were called to dinner, with Mrs. Bennet leading us in on Mr. Darcy’s arm. She took her place at the head of the table as hostess. I saw the Wainwrights look at each other in surprise. Miss Crawley, on Darcy’s arm, glanced over her shoulder, caught her brother’s eye, and raised an eyebrow.

A sudden insecurity overtook me. If Mama, indeed, were to marry Mr. Darcy, then I would not merely be a sister to Georgiana and Fitzwilliam, but Mr. Darcy’s daughter—Miss Elizabeth Bennet Darcy. Mama’s fortune exceeded forty thousand pounds; if she were to remarry, then likely it would become mine. I had never before thought of it. As a daughter to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, with a substantial dowry exceeding, in truth, that of his own daughter Georgiana, I would be relentlessly pursued. Even the Duke of Devonshire gave each of his daughters less. Mr. Crawley was beaming at me as I clutched his arm a little tighter—not out of admiration, but quite possibly out of fear.

I was seated next to the gentleman, though on account of my injured ankle, Georgiana sat opposite, as was becoming our custom.

“Do you think, Mr. Crawley, you could slice the soup into smaller portions, for I do not believe I could comfortably pick up the bowl with just my one mobile hand?” I smiled very sweetly, for I was determined to outlast him in wit and banter.

“Pick up the bowl? I do not understand you.” The gentleman looked at me with consternation, then abruptly laughed. “Oh, you are a wit, Miss Bennet. I was quite taken in.”

Across the table, Georgiana gave Mr. Crawley a curious look. Surely he should have immediately seen that I was joking. She gave me a glance, then placed her hand over her mouth to hide a silent giggle.

“My apologies, sir. I had misplaced the soup spoon. But now it has found its rightful place, I can enjoy the meal.” I turned to Mama. “Mrs. Bennet, is this Mrs. Hill’s receipt for onion soup? It is quite delicious.”

“I must admit, Elizabeth, that Mrs. Hill’s receipt does not compare to that of Mrs. Abernathy, Pemberley’s cook. Having spent some time in the kitchen with Mrs. Abernathy, I can say she truly is a culinary genius.”

“You visit the kitchens, Mrs. Bennet?” queried Mrs. Wainwright. “I am sure that Lady Anne would not have done so.”