Chapter 17

T he window was lowered, and, without moving, Mr Darcy spoke. “Miss Bennet… What an unfortunate coincidence… Please enter and close the door. And keep silent,” he said in a tone that vexed and embarrassed her.

“Sir, what on earth are you doing here? You should be in bed! Where are you going? I am sorry if my presence bothers you. I shall leave immediately. I certainly do not want to be an imposition.”

“No, no…please…” he whispered, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “That is not what I mean… It is that… You should not be here. You cannot be here. You must return to Longbourn this instant.”

His countenance was transfigured and his voice unrecognisable.

“Sir, what should we do?” Stevens asked.

“Wait and keep silent!” he answered harshly, and his tone increased Elizabeth’s anxiety. She took a moment to look at him; he was formally dressed, and next to him, on the bench, were two double-barrelled, silver, heavy-looking pistols.

Elizabeth held her breath; her heart seemed to pause, then began to race. She put her other hand upon his, as he was still holding her arm.

“Mr Darcy, what are you doing? Where are you going?” she repeated.

“You should not ask, and I should not respond. If you have any feelings of friendship or consideration for me, I am begging you to do as I ask. We shall talk again later if you wish.”

“I do have more than a little friendship and consideration for you, sir. Which is why I shall not leave until you tell me what is happening. You have pistols with you, and you are hurt and alone in a carriage. You cannot force me to return to Longbourn unless you shoot me. So, I am begging you, tell me what this is about.”

He sighed, and she could see the gesture was painful to him. He hesitated and moved his hand, causing their fingers to brush against each other, then entwine.

“You are an obstinate and headstrong young woman, Miss Bennet,” he said, attempting a trace of a smile.

“Let us not enumerate each other’s faults at this particular moment, Mr Darcy, as you are certainly at a disadvantage.” The brief teasing exchange brought them both a little comfort, while their hands were still joined.

“I received a note from Wickham last night. He is still in the neighbourhood, apparently, while others are looking for him in London. He has requested money in exchange for some objects he has in his possession. He declared his intention to then leave the country — which he will probably do, as he has no other escape.”

At this, Elizabeth gasped with horror and pulled her hand away, pressing it to her mouth. “Excuse me? And you are going to give him the money? Where? If you wished to pay him, why not invite him to Netherfield?”

“He requested we meet here. He certainly would not show his face in any place where he might be captured and cannot hide.”

“But why would you even listen to him? He is the worst villain! He has already attempted to harm you! He is trying to deceive you and steal more money from you.”

Her heart was pounding, and she could hardly control her anger.

“I could not refuse him as he asserts that he has some letters from Georgiana that he will make public otherwise.”

“Dear Lord…” she whispered. “He will hurt you. I know he will. Do you have the money with you? He will hurt you and take it. You cannot meet him — this is madness!”

Tears of anger and frustration burned her eyes, and she tried to wipe them away.

“Please…” she whispered.

“Miss Bennet, your tears and pleas are my greatest weakness at this moment. I must go — and this time I am prepared. But I cannot do it if you beg me not to.”

“Prepared?”

“Yes. I am armed and shall give him no time to make his move.”

“So you intend to duel with him? Have you lost your mind?”

“Not at all — to both your questions. I intend to do something highly dishonourable, of which I am deeply ashamed. I would rather not tell you, as I fear I might lose your good opinion forever.”

“Mr Darcy, do not trifle with me, sir! Just tell me.”

“As soon as Wickham approaches the carriage, I shall shoot him.”

She gasped again, staring at him with consternation.

“I shall not kill him. Only shoot him in his thigh or in his shoulder, enough to stop him and cause him to fall. Then my men will capture him. There is no other way. I cannot lose this chance. I cannot let him escape.”

“But…but…why would he allow you to shoot him without fighting back?”

“Because he does not expect me to do such a horrible thing. I have always kept my promises. I have always acted honourably. I gave him my word that I would bring him the money in exchange for the letters.”

“What if he has companions who will fight back? You only have Stevens and a coachman.”

“There are others. Stevens sent another three servants from Netherfield here before dawn. They are hidden somewhere, waiting.”

“Oh…”

“Yes. Wickham cannot have much help. Perhaps Lieutenant Denny — of whom we know nothing yet. And perhaps Harriet Forster. My cousin spoke to her yesterday and threatened to expose her as soon as her husband returned. She must be as desperate as Wickham.”

“And equally dangerous,” Elizabeth said.

“Perhaps. But we shall outnumber them in any case. I shall be in the carriage. I shall be in no danger. Trust me.”

“I do trust you — but I do not trust that which cannot be predicted. If there is truly no danger, I shall stay here, with you.”

“Miss Bennet — I shall not even reply to such nonsense! You must leave immediately! You are only delaying me, and your intervention will expose us all to risk. You must understand that!”

“I do understand that. And I understand you are trying to deceive me, sir. If there really was no danger, you would allow me to stay.”

“Elizabeth, you must understand that even with the most perfect plan, something unforeseen might occur. I cannot expose you to even the smallest danger. If you are here, I shall think of nothing else except how to protect you. I cannot keep my mind clear if you are with me. Even now, I can hardly think of anything else but you and your nearness intoxicating me. I would give anything to be alone with you in a carriage, yet there is nothing I have ever wanted more than to protect you now.”

His last plea, his tone, and the use of her given name were heart-wrenching for Elizabeth. Amidst his words was a hidden yet strong confession of feelings that she had dreamt of hearing without daring to hope it might ever happen.

She felt helpless and defeated, and tears choked her voice when she answered.

“I wish to share the risk with you. It is not fair that you are denying me that.”

“Then you may call me unfair and even worse. Just leave.”

“I am going back to Longbourn to tell my father. We shall return here together.”

“You may do that. But you must wait until at least an hour has passed.”

She nodded and was about to leave. Then, with courage enhanced by despair and fear, she turned, leant towards him, caressed his face, and gently brushed her lips against his. It was only a moment, so brief and soft that it felt almost unreal; then she stepped away. Immediately, the carriage resumed its journey at an increasing speed.

Elizabeth remained in the middle of the road, gazing after it.

By the time she had walked back to Longbourn then returned, much more than an hour would have passed. Mr Darcy would probably meet Mr Wickham within half an hour, perhaps sooner. She looked from one side to another, then, driven by an impulse that admitted no reason, she turned off the road, pushed her way through the trees, and began climbing. It was steep, and she had to grab stumps, bushes, and branches and crawl on her hands and knees for what felt like an eternity until she finally found a spot that allowed her a view over the meeting point.

She saw Mr Darcy’s carriage, and then, a short distance away, another carriage, much smaller, hidden behind the trees.

She wondered whether Mr Darcy or his men had seen it.

She tried to see where Mr Darcy’s men were hidden, but she was too far away, so she carefully made her way back down, step by step. To support herself, she grabbed a branch — heavy and knotted — which she used as a cane.

There were enough trees to shield her presence, and she managed to reach a place that allowed her to both see and hear without being noticed. Nobody should know she was there — especially Mr Darcy. Hidden behind an oak, still holding the branch, Elizabeth barely dared to breathe.

She saw Mr Wickham stepping towards Mr Darcy.

“I have come in person, as you requested. Do you have the money?” he shouted.

“I do. I need to see the letters and the watch.”

“My partner has them — you can see she is holding them.”

Elizabeth observed Harriet Forster a few steps away, holding a package.

“Very well,” Mr Darcy said, and Mr Wickham stepped closer. Out of nowhere, the sound of a shot broke the air, followed by a sharp cry and moans.

“You shot me! Why?” Mr Wickham yelled, the shock obvious in his voice. He grabbed his thigh, which was bleeding.

“Why? I should have killed you years ago, as Richard suggested! You deserve nothing less. Everything I did to help you change, everything my father did for you, was all in vain. You tried to shoot me two weeks ago and left me to die there! Do not believe I am ignorant of that!”

“I did not!”

“Shut your mouth, Wickham. Enough lies. I shall not waste any more time with you. This ends now! No more!”

“You could have killed me!” Wickham whined.

“Stop crying like a child — you are an officer! I would have killed you if I had wished to, but unlike you, my aim is flawless.”

Mr Wickham turned and tried to run back to his carriage, but another shot, though only fired into the air, frightened him enough to stop him.

“Do not make me shoot you again, Wickham. There will be no other conclusion to this. My men will tie you up and take you away. Your wound is bleeding, and you need immediate help. You will go to prison, but at least you will live.”

As Mr Darcy spoke from inside his carriage, three other men appeared from the trees but kept their distance. Mr Wickham glanced from one to the other with obvious despair.

“He is not going to prison. Come, George, let us go, or someone else will be hurt!” Mrs Forster interjected. Elizabeth heard her voice but could not see her clearly.

“Mrs Forster, or whatever your name is, do not be ridiculous. You are a silly girl and have already ruined your life. We are six armed men, and you are holding a small pistol. You may shoot one bullet and hurt someone, and then my men will shoot you.”

“And whose life are you ready to jeopardise, Mr Darcy? How will you live with your honour and your conscience if one of these men dies because of you? You almost killed your childhood friend, but I cannot believe you would hurt a woman, nor have someone killed for money!”

The woman spoke loudly and boldly, and Mr Wickham was already moving towards her.

Without thinking, Elizabeth stepped out from behind the tree near the woman’s carriage. She was still holding the branch, without any particular intention of doing anything. The woman continued to speak, and Mr Wickham took another step towards her; the tension was palpable. When she reached the back of the woman’s carriage, Elizabeth had a full view of her; she was holding her pistol pointed towards one of the servants. She was paying attention to the men, with no idea what was happening behind her.

Elizabeth’s body acted more quickly than her mind, and she leapt out from behind the carriage, shouting, “Harriet!”

The woman turned round, startled, and with all her anger, Elizabeth hit her with the branch, right in the face and with so much strength that she fell to the ground. In a moment, Stevens had run to her and taken her pistol, holding her down in the mud. Mr Wickham showed no further opposition, and within minutes both were tied up.

Only then did Elizabeth look at Mr Darcy; he was trying to step out of the carriage with visible effort, gazing at her, his eyes and mouth opened in shock. She smiled and walked towards him but paused near the two who were sitting at her feet. Harriet’s pretty face was now all bruised, with traces of blood and dirt; she was very young and looked pitiful, and Elizabeth felt momentarily sorry for her. Until she spoke again.

“How ridiculous that you believed George had any real designs on you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”

“Ridiculous indeed,” Elizabeth answered. “I trusted him for a while, not because of any designs but because of his appearance of goodness. And speaking of designs, your face is like a painting, Harriet. A very colourful one. You should have known that a gentleman like Mr Darcy would never hurt a woman, but a country girl would surely do so if you angered her enough.”

While the men pushed Wickham and Harriet into their own carriage, Elizabeth walked on until she found herself face-to-face with Mr Darcy.