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Chapter Five

Elizabeth

E lizabeth pulled a chair up beside the man and sat down. He looked at her, and she wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. He didn’t know who he was and seemed terrified, yet she had to wonder, how did one end up in such a condition?

“Miss… Elizabeth?” he said and looked at her. “That is your name?”

She nodded while dipping the cloth in water once more and wringing it out. “Do you remember what my father said about who we are?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice uncertain. “The Bennets…” He trailed off, confusion evident in his eyes. “But… where am I?”

Elizabeth placed the cloth on his forehead again. The tension in his shoulders eased and he closed his eyes, as if savouring the sensation.

“You have remembered our name, that is good. We live in a small village called Longbourn, near Meryton in Hertfordshire. We found you lying in the middle of the road, clearly injured. We brought you here and sent for the town surgeon.”

He watched her intently as she spoke, his eyes following every movement of her lips. Elizabeth noticed how handsome and attentive he was, despite his situation. She felt terrible for him but couldn’t help but wonder where he might have come from.

“Where exactly did you find me?” he asked again. “And why do you think my name is…” He paused, his brow furrowing. “What do you think my name is?”

She took a deep breath. “George Wickham. It was sewn into your jacket. You were lying in the middle of the road about ten minutes from here, near a property called Netherfield. Are you familiar with it?”

She saw his lips and eyes narrow in concentration but then he shook his head.

“No I am not. So I had nothing with me other than the coat? No money? Nothing?”

“Nothing. The coat was thrown over you, as if someone meant to cover you up with it.”

“I see, so… that might not be my name,” he said. “It doesn’t feel like my name.”

Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy. He truly seemed lost, not just in memory but in identity. She could see the fear in his eyes.

“I understand this is difficult,” she said softly. “But we will do everything we can to help you remember. Maybe all you need is more rest. But… If I may, the coat was with you and nothing else was, so it stands to reason that it is your name.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to will his memory back. “I don’t feel like a George Wickham,” he grumbled. “But I suppose it might be my name. I shall have to be called something until I remember, so it might as well be that.”

Elizabeth reached out and gently placed her hand on his arm. “We will find out who you are. For now, rest and try to heal. The more you worry, the harder it will be for your mind to recover.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her, gratitude mingling with the fear. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I don’t know what I would do without your kindness.”

She smiled, hoping to reassure him. “You are welcome. We shall take care of you, Mr Wickham, or whoever you turn out to be.”

As she sat beside him, watching over him, Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel a connection forming. Whoever he was, she wanted to help him find his way back to himself.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching interrupted the quiet of the room. Elizabeth glanced at the man in her bed one last time before rising. She smoothed her dress and walked towards the door, her heart still heavy with concern for the stranger who did not know his own name. Her father was hurrying down the hall, alongside the surgeon, a tall, thin man with spectacles, carrying a leather bag.

“Mr Wexler, thank you for coming so quickly,” Elizabeth said, stepping aside to let the surgeon enter.

“Miss Bennet,” he replied with a nod as he entered with Elizabeth’s father following behind. “This is our patient? And how is he?”

“He is awake, but still quite confused,” Elizabeth explained. “He does not remember who he is.”

“Or where he came from,” her father added. “We found his name stitched into the lining of his coat. It’s Wickham, George Wickham.”

“But he doesn’t think that is his name,” Elizabeth said quickly.

“Right, right, well, I’ll talk to him and see what we can do for him,” Mr Wexler said as his brow furrowed and he made his way to the bedside, his keen eyes already assessing the man. “Mr Wickham, are you awake?”

The stranger grunted, and Mr Bennet and Elizabeth quietly left the room, her fingers lingering on the door handle for a moment. She saw the surgeon open his bag while Mr Wickham sat up and swung his legs out of the bed for the examination. He looked up, his brown eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. She gasped, not sure why, and closed the door.

“Let us sit in the parlour,” her father said, “Give them some privacy.”

She followed her father down the creaking stairs and headed to the parlour, where her mother was sitting. Elizabeth breathed deeply, trying to shake off the tension that had settled in her shoulders.

“How is he, Lizzy?” Mrs Bennet asked as soon as Elizabeth entered the room.

She repeated what she had said to the physician, and her mother nodded.

“Well, I hope Mr Wexler can tell us more about him. Oh, Mr Bennet, I do hope you haven’t brought a criminal into our home,” she said, giving him a chastising look.

“Now, why would your first thought be that I would bring a criminal into the house? He might be a wealthy man, Mrs Bennet,” her father replied and winked at Elizabeth, who smiled while her mother clamped her lips shut, considering this.

Before Mrs Bennet could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps approached. Elizabeth’s younger sisters, Lydia and Kitty, burst into the room. Lydia’s eyes were wide with curiosity, and Kitty followed close behind, looking equally intrigued.

“Lizzy, what’s going on?” Lydia asked breathlessly. “Is it true there’s a strange man in the house? Kitty said she had to fetch the surgeon!”

“Yes, there is,” Elizabeth said, trying to keep her tone even. Lydia had been in Meryton most of the day, alongside her friends to view—and no doubt flirt with—the militia who had come to Meryton a few weeks ago. The idea of setting her cap on an officer had been Lydia’s primary focus, and of late a young man named Mr Denny was the object of her obsession. However, it appeared the stranger at Longbourn now took precedence.

“Is he handsome?” Lydia asked with a mischievous grin. “That’s the most important question, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth frowned, feeling a surge of irritation. “Lydia, this is not a matter for jest. The man is injured and has no memory of who he is. Show some compassion.”

“No memory? How intriguing,” Kitty chimed in. “Maybe he’s a prince from a faraway land.”

“Or a Scottish laird,” Lydia mused. “Oh, how very exciting. Can I go and say hello?”

Obviously, Lydia’s imagination was running away with her again. Elizabeth looked at her parents, hoping they might rein her in, but as usual, they simply said nothing.

“He is with Mr Wexler, and you need to leave him be. The last thing he needs is you bursting in and fawning and giggling all over him,” Elizabeth said sternly.

Lydia’s smile faltered for a moment before she recovered with a giggle. “Oh, Lizzy, always so serious. Perhaps you’ve already claimed him for yourself? Is that why you’re so defensive?”

Kitty snickered beside her, and Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush with anger. Before she could respond, Mr Bennet intervened at last.

“Girls, that is enough,” he said sternly. “This is not a subject for your amusement. Show some respect.”

Lydia and Kitty exchanged a look, their amusement fading under their father’s rebuke. They fell silent, though Lydia’s eyes still sparkled with curiosity.

Elizabeth sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Mr Wexler will do his best to help him recover. We should focus on making him comfortable and ensuring he has the rest he needs.”

Mrs Bennet nodded, her worry still evident. “Of course, Lizzy. You are correct. Let us hope Mr Wexler can help him regain his memory. I do not know what we’ll do if he can’t remember. I should not like to have another mouth to feed in this house for too long.”

“Is that what the vicar teaches you about compassion, Mrs Bennet?” Mr Bennet said coldly. Mrs Bennet snapped her lips shut and for once looked mortified. Elizabeth was torn between feeling badly for her mother for having been admonished by her husband in front of her daughters, and glad her father had spoken up.

She wished Jane were here so she might tell her everything that had happened, but she and Mary had gone to church to help prepare food for the needy and would not return until the evening.

They sat in silence for a moment, Elizabeth’s thoughts still with the stranger lying in her bedchamber. She couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence would bring more than just a mystery to their doorstep.

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