Chapter 24

The Bishop

En route to the Isle of Man

Wednesday, 19th August, 1812

The wind was from the southwest, propelling the merchant ship to the north, toward the Isle of Man. She was doubtless a pretty sight from shore, with her white sails and wooden bridge, which stretched above the lower deck.

George Wickham was not of a mind to consider beauty or charm as he lurched over to the side of the ship and vomited into the gray-green waters frothing and churning below him. He groaned and massaged his stomach before turning his attention to Liverpool, which was retreating into the distance.

An overly cheerful hand slapped his shoulder, and he turned to glower into his captor's face. "Not feeling so well, Wickham?"

"I will be well enough," Wickham snapped at Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who was looking annoyingly pleased in spite of the ship's irritating tendency to rise and fall and rise and fall and…

He spun around to throw up once more, but this time his stomach was empty and twisted in agony. He groaned and leaned over the railing, sucking in deep draughts of cold air in the hope of reducing the nausea.

"I advise you not to fall in," Fitzwilliam said drily. "We would not turn back to pick you up."

Wickham wiped his mouth, turning toward his tormentor, and narrowed his eyes. "I am well aware that you hate me, Fitzwilliam. You need not belabor the point."

"Hate and despise, yes," Richard agreed, his brown eyes cold, his lips stretched into a grim smile.

Wickham nodded, straightened, and said rigidly, "I am certain that my company is of no pleasure to you. I think I will lie down below."

"By all means," Fitzwilliam replied with a mock bow.

"Just be sure that you bring your bucket with you, landlubber," a nearby sailor yelled out. "You make a mess down there, you'll be cleaning it up!"

/

On the Great North Road

To the relief of the coachmen driving the Darcy carriages, the mud of the previous days had dried smooth and hard with minimal rutting. Horses and wheels alike were able to move at a good clip, and Elizabeth watched with satisfaction as fields and hedges and woodland flashed past the window. The clouds had dispersed at last, leaving the sky a stunning deep azure. Abundant sunlight touched leaf and grass blade to set them all glowing in jewel tones of green, while breezes set everything dancing like puppets on strings.

Lydia sat equally animated on the far side of the carriage, conversing with Sir Christopher, who was slightly leaned forward to speak with the girl. Laughter and light topics flowed easily between them, and Elizabeth noted the sparkle in her sister's eyes, as Lydia hung on Sir Christopher's every word as he described his favorite amusements and pastimes in London.

Mrs. Greenfield, between the two sisters, observed the proceedings with an indulgent, professional eye. More than once, as Lydia's boisterous nature grew too loud, the older lady quietly but firmly interpolated with a reminder for Lydia to show herself a lady. Elizabeth watched with ever mounting admiration as her youngest sister made a tolerable effort to control herself in the face of Mrs. Greenfield's adept handling.

They were, perhaps, an hour out from the town where Darcy planned to stop and dine when Lydia asked curiously, "And what of your estate, Sir Christopher? Do you have a steward, or do you oversee the estate by yourself?"

Sir Christopher smiled winsomely. "I do oversee my own estate management," he disclosed. "My father, God rest his soul, was…"

He hesitated and Darcy stirred a little and finished, "Not the best manager."

"He was not," Sir Christopher agreed wryly. "He had an unfortunate penchant for gambling and a taste for the finer things in life, beyond what his income could easily support. But the land is good, and the animals are healthy, if few. I truly believe that with proper management and an influx of ready money to make some improvements, it could be not only solvent but even prosperous again."

Talk remained in this vein for a while, with Darcy and Sir Christopher discussing best estate practices and the difference between administering a smaller estate and a large one. Elizabeth listened more than she spoke, interjecting only occasionally with some tidbit of wisdom read from a book or learned from Longbourn's steward and tenants. Most unusually, Lydia spoke not at all, but she listened attentively, her focused gaze switching from one speaker to another. Elizabeth watched her sister with pleased approval. Perhaps Lydia had realized that, should Sir Christopher marry her, his estate would be her home, and it would behoove her to know more about how to be a good mistress of an estate.

It was an hour after noon when the carriage rolled past the first buildings of Newark-on-Trent, which displayed clusters of narrow, charming houses. The castle clinging to the bank of the river towered forbiddingly over the town, the slender spire of the church rising like a knight's sword to face a dragon. Their carriage bore them past the Marketplace, busy and bustling with vendors and farmers and stout tradesmen's wives haggling cannily over prices.

A small attractive inn that stood almost in the castle's shadow hosted them for lunch. The innkeeper's wife – a cheerful, rubicund, amply proportioned woman – set out a fine spread, ably seconded by her two daughters. A simple white linen cloth was hastily thrown over the scuffed oak table in the parlor, and heaped high with cold beef and cold chicken and an abundance of salad and a respectable assortment of the local fruits and pickles.

Mr. Bennet shifted in discomfort multiple times throughout the meal, and as they all rose, he said softly to Darcy, "I fear I am aching badly once more; it is too early to stop for the night, but I would appreciate if we do not extend our traveling well into the evening."

Captain Scofield, whose hearing was sharp, had overheard the conversation and now suggested, "Perhaps we could try for Tuxford? It is not far, but is a reasonable distance, and I am aware that there is quite a comfortable inn there."

Darcy nodded. "I will send John on ahead to make arrangements for us."

Once the meal was complete, Captain Scofield handed Lydia, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Greenfield up into the waiting carriage, before he and Mr. Darcy followed the ladies within. Elizabeth rested back against the squabs, listening to the pair converse. Their acquaintance, too, had grown easier, and Lydia often laughed, but Elizabeth could not help but think that her younger sister was correct – Lydia had more in common with Sir Christopher than with the captain.

She was pulled from her thoughts as Mr. Darcy, across from her, produced and unraveled a traveling chess set. He smiled at her as he set out the pieces and said, "I had a servant purchase this last night. Do you prefer to play black or white, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth perked up at this promise of an enjoyable pastime, and she and Mr. Darcy whiled away the remaining miles with hard-fought games of chess; a welcome distraction that was only possible because of Darcy's well sprung carriage, which kept the pieces from shifting about. By the time they rolled into the yard of the Red Dragon Inn, he had won two out of three games, but she did not mind; it was great fun playing with an equally matched player.

/

The Purple Parlor

The Red Dragon

Tuxford

Later

The servants had just served the lemon custard for dessert when Darcy heard the strident sound of a familiar female voice approaching rapidly from outside the door. He jerked in surprise, and the pudding on his spoon was jolted sufficiently to fly across the table and land on an empty bottle of wine.

Everyone else at the table turned a bewildered look on him, everyone but Elizabeth, who said, in an alarmed tone, "Mr. Darcy, is that…?"

"I fear so," the gentleman replied grimly and rose to his feet just as the door opened and the innkeeper stepped in, followed by a tall woman of some fifty years of age, dressed in a dark green silk gown, with a befeathered hat on her head.

The lady pushed rudely past the owner of the establishment and glared up into her nephew's face.

"Here you are, Darcy! How dare you?" Lady Catherine shrieked.

Darcy took a hasty step forward and said to the innkeeper, "Would you be kind enough to give us some privacy?"

The man withdrew, a startled expression on his face. Darcy waited until the door shut before turning on his aunt. "Lady Catherine, what are you doing here, and how dare you burst in here without invitation?"

"I need no invitation to intervene when my nephew – my own nephew – shows every sign of having lost his mind!"

"Perhaps you could introduce us, Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Bennet suggested coolly, standing up from the table, imitated by the other gentlemen. Elizabeth, thoroughly annoyed, chose not to stand, and the other ladies followed her lead.

Darcy tightened his lips and nodded. "Of course. Ladies, gentlemen, may I introduce my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings in Kent. Aunt, Mrs. Greenfield, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Lydia Bennet, Sir Christopher Harding, Mr. Bennet, and Captain Scofield."

Lady Catherine's eyes had flashed when her nephew chose to introduce her to the assembled party first, instead of the other way around, as was her due as the daughter of an earl. But by the end of the introductions, her expression had settled into one of grim satisfaction.

"So Miss Lydia is not married, and the Bennets are ruined!" she said triumphantly. "Darcy, I do not know how you can even consider joining yourself with such a defiled family! How could you…?"

"Lady Catherine, you will be silent!" Darcy interrupted, taking a step forward and glowering down at his aunt, who was sufficiently surprised that she stopped talking. Elizabeth, who knew the lady well enough, was confident that the mistress of Rosings would not remain silent for long, and she stood now and said, "I think that it would be best if Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy were able to speak in private."

"Absolutely," Darcy said, exactly at the same time as Lady Catherine bellowed, "Absolutely not!"

Aunt and nephew glared at one another, and Mr. Bennet said, "Yes, I think you need to speak alone. Ladies, gentlemen, shall we?"

"I wish to speak to Miss Bennet!" Lady Catherine insisted. "It is she, through her arts and allurements, who has made my nephew forget what he owes to himself and his family."

Darcy felt himself flush with rage, but Elizabeth turned toward him and winked, which reduced his ire sufficiently that he was able to remain quiet until he was alone with his tiresome relation.