18. Council of War

CHAPTER 18

Council of War

W hen they returned to the small sitting room sometime later, Elizabeth's father was sitting beside Colonel Fitzwilliam and the major, staring at the map that had earlier been in the breakfast room.

"Good, you are back," the colonel uttered by way of a greeting. "I have spoken to Mrs Lloyd, and she has news." He pointed to an area a small distance from the squares that Elizabeth took to be the village. "A stranger has been lurking about, his description matching George Wickham. We fully believe him to be in the vicinity."

Ice shot up Elizabeth's spine. It had been easy to put the danger out of her mind. Here, in this comfortable and protected house, with soft beds and good food, the worry of the last week had melted like ice in the summer sun. The presence of Jane and her father, too, lent that sense of security and familiarity that made the looming spectre of Wickham's plans feel like something from a bad novel.

How easy it would be to imagine the past several days a dream, to return to the mundane concerns of whether to wear her green frock or the blue, or if the ground was too soft to walk in her new boots. How enticing to believe herself quite safe here within these walls, with no perils awaiting on the lanes toward the village or the roads into town.

But reality was elsewise. Now every intimation of the real danger they faced rushed in, threatening to sweep her off her feet and drown her. She caught her foot on the edge of the carpet and stumbled, only to be caught by Will's strong hands. He kept his hand around her waist now, pulling her close to him, a gesture of intimacy that could not be lost on the others in the room.

"Here?" he asked. "Where?" His voice was urgent.

The colonel leaned back on the sofa, eyes still fixed on the map before him.

"That, we do not know. He is not in the village, although he has been there asking questions. The villagers have been asked to say little, but who knows if they will obey or if a word might slip out inadvertently." The colonel then looked at Elizabeth directly, his eye tracing the dress she wore. "Further, Mrs Lloyd's request for some frocks is surely no secret. Such matters do not occur every day, and it would not take a genius to discern that there is a lady here who arrived without her wardrobe. He knows you are here. We have to assume that much. Now we must determine what to do."

Will's hand dropped from Elizabeth's waist, but fumbled for her fingers to keep the contact. He moved towards the sofa across the low table from the two seated men, pulling her with him. They sat down together, a small council of war convening to discuss strategy.

"I insist upon keeping my daughters safe," her father spoke up. "Is this house secure?"

"It is," came the reply, "but we cannot keep them locked up here as prisoners forever. It might be gilded, but it is still a cage. We need to find this rat and deal with him."

"My concern," Will interjected, "is what he has planned. Can he really think he will emerge triumphant in this? Even should he succeed in finding and killing me, what then? Does he expect to leave the area in a blaze of glory, free to live his life? He must know that if I am harmed, his life will not be worth the dust on the bottom of his shoes. And knowing that, he is almost certainly desperate. Who knows what he might do?"

"Angry men are not always wise, son." Papa shook his head. Elizabeth startled at her father's choice of words, but the conversation around her continued.

The colonel sighed his agreement. "He has lost hold of sanity. His irrational need for revenge seems to have overwhelmed all other considerations. You must take the greatest of care. Hawarden has made some suggestions, which are excellent, and I have requested from the regiment at Oswestry whatever assistance they can offer us. If necessary, we can smuggle you out, disguised as one of the soldiers. But we must find Wickham. That is imperative."

"What do we do?" The words escaped before Elizabeth could stop them.

"You, my dear, do nothing," her father replied with a stern gaze. "You remain here and do not set foot out of these grounds. I may confine you to the house, if Colonel Fitzwilliam thinks it better."

"Keep close to the house, Miss Elizabeth," the officer said in a softer voice. "I shall set guards all about the gardens. As for you, Will," he continued, "you are also to stay low. No, none of that bluster. I know it will rankle to be chained up like an errant pup, but we need to draw Wickham out, and if you will not go to him, he must come here. And here is where we will catch him."

"And so, I just wait for the viper to come to the nest?" Will was still holding Elizabeth's hand, and she felt his grip tighten.

"No. We will smoke him out. As well as the soldiers I hope will be coming, I have requested, through Mrs Lloyd, for a small regiment of local men to be formed. She knows those whose sentiments towards our family are friendly, and who will help us with open hearts. They will come from the village, as well as the market town, and will meet here this evening to set a plan to hunt for our quarry.

"If Wickham is near," he articulated, eyes steely, "we will find him. And soon."

Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. Wickham's approach meant danger for Will, and at once, the threat of losing him, even before she had him, dawned upon her. Her fingers gripped Will's as he held her hand, and he answered likewise.

"Lizzy," her father's voice penetrated the black spectre about her. "I had hoped for a moment alone with you, but it seems action must proceed more quickly than I had anticipated. You surely understand that you and Mr Darcy must marry." His mild eyes remained fixed upon her until she nodded. "I know he might not have been your choice, but I imagine he is a good enough sort of man."

Beside her, Will sputtered and then clamped his teeth together with an audible snap.

"Despite having absconded with you in a most impolite manner, he has brought you safely to this house, and at some cost to himself, and for that, I supposed, we must forgive him. He will, in time, become somebody you can like."

I do not like him, I love him! she wished to cry out, but that would not do, not here with the colonel staring at her in his inscrutable way. Instead, she nodded again and shifted ever so slightly closer to Will's side. "I believe we can expect happiness." Such mild words, so weak and damning, but the only ones suitable for the ears of others.

"Very good, my girl. Mr Darcy, we must talk terms, but the good colonel here says we can expect the town parson here in the morning, that the chapel in the village is still a consecrated church." Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. "You shall marry tomorrow."

"What? Tomorrow? How can that be? This is not Scotland, sir," she exclaimed. Tomorrow was so close, and rather than trepidation, her concern was that they had not time to call the banns. How had it come to this, that she was worried that a wedding might not take place?

But her father could not hear her thoughts.

"We made a trip, the colonel and I, whilst he was engaged with his business at Oswestry, and made our request to the archdeacon."

"An old family friend," the colonel supplied.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam vouched for you, Mr Darcy, and I for you, Lizzy. We have a licence. It will all be perfectly correct. It appears, my girl, that tomorrow you will be a bride."

The rush of dread she expected at these words never arrived. Instead, she caught a glimpse of Will's serene smile as he sat next to her, and he squeezed her hand once more, a gentle and assuring gesture. Her father's eyes alighted on their joined hands and his brows rose toward his receding hairline.

"Mr Darcy, shall we? Colonel, is there a library or study we may use?"

Will stood, urging Elizabeth to rise beside him. "I am more than pleased to offer a generous settlement, but this is Elizabeth's future we are to discuss. I insist she join us."

The brows rose again. "It is most unusual, sir."

"Perhaps, Mr Bennet, but Elizabeth is a most unusual young lady, and I would have her no other way." He turned soft eyes to her. "You will join us?"

"Thank you." This gesture, as much as anything else he had done, convinced her that he was the best sort of man in the world. If only he could grow to love her.

Jane ambled along the paths that threaded through manicured hedges and decorative shrubbery, feigning deep interest in the varieties of roses that grew in this part of Wales. She looked at the grass, at the flower beds, at the stones along the side of the small pond that formed the centre of this garden—everywhere but at the man walking beside her. Why now, after having been in company with him for so long, could she think of not a single thing to say? And Mr Bingley, likewise, had been uncharacteristically silent.

They had spent that pleasant afternoon in Wolverhampton, strolling down the high street, and then the entire day at Oswestry, with the parson or his wife as company, but now things felt different, somehow. What was it? The answer taunted Jane, but like a flitting butterfly, danced around her but constantly evaded her grasp.

How odd, to finally have the time and opportunity for real conversation, and not have the words. It was almost as if her father or the colonel's looming presence, whether real or imagined, had been the key to their previous solidarity. Two souls, at odds with?—

She took in a short gasp. Of course!

"A penny for your thoughts, Miss Bennet?"

Mr Bingley's voice brought her out of her ponderings.

It was too soon, perhaps, to say out loud what she had just realised. It had been deliberate! The colonel, she now understood, had been taunting Mr Bingley on purpose. His goal had never been to secure her affections at all, for now that they were here and with other matters to deal with, he had all but forgotten about her.

How ungentlemanlike.

How very strange.

But why? Had the colonel been baiting Mr Bingley deliberately? Could it have been at her father's request? What a ridiculous notion! But still… Surely her father was not trying to test their new neighbour's mettle. Not even he would resort to such a thing. It was most perplexing.

She could hardly discuss this thought with the young man walking beside her. She would have to ponder it later. Instead, she turned to her companion and smiled in that way that Lizzy always told her looked too practised, despite her assurances that it was sincere.

"Have I said something to disturb you?" Mr Bingley asked. "You seem somewhat out of sorts today. Or have I done anything foolish? I do hope I have not, although I fear that it is my lot. My sisters are always chiding me for not behaving as they believe a gentleman ought. They say I am not serious enough, not sufficiently discerning."

Jane stared harder at the ground. How was she to respond to this? It was an intimacy she had not expected, far beyond their cautious conversation over hats and ribbons. Could Mr Bingley also wish to talk about the colonel's strange behaviour? She screwed her forehead, trying to think of a response, but Mr Bingley continued before she could find the words she wanted.

"Even my friend Darcy complains that I am too gullible, too eager to be pleased by everything. But I do not consider that too serious a fault. Is it?"

So plaintive was his voice that Jane had no option but to look up at his face. His expression was confused, almost hurt, and she was struck by the urge to comfort him.

"No, I do not believe it a failing at all. To call somebody gullible is merely an acknowledgment of a generous nature, which seeks the best in everybody. And why should one not be pleased with the world, unless there is some reason to find it otherwise? A happy attitude can only bring one satisfaction, and what more can one wish than to be at peace with oneself?"

"Oh! Do you really believe so?" His shoulders straightened at her words and his large eyes shone. "How extraordinary! My sisters always feel they are missing something, and no matter how much they have, it is never enough for them. I would not wish?—"

"No! I cannot imagine a life marred by constant envy or unhappiness." Jane pinched her lips. "Do you mean your friend Darcy is that way inclined as well, always seeing ills that are not there? It seems he is to marry my sister, and I would not have her be unhappy all her life. It is not too late to stop the wedding."

Mr Bingley paused in his steps. They were now about as far from the house as the perimeter of the garden would allow, just steps from the tall iron fence that enclosed the area. The forest encroached upon the gardens here, much like the area near the outbuildings where Lizzy and Mr Darcy had entered the day before, if not quite so close. The gate in the fence was closed now, but the pathway on the other side meandered through some low and sparse bushes to where the stream poked its watery way out of the wood for a moment, before darting back into the deep shade. A stone bench backed against the fence near the gate, and that is where Mr Bingley gestured, inviting Jane to take a rest.

They sat quietly, and for a moment all Jane could hear was the breeze ruffling the leaves and the calls of distant birds. It was rather pleasant.

"Darcy is most unlike my sisters," Mr Bingley said after a pause. "They were raised to look higher than their station, I believe, and so will never be pleased with what they are allotted in life. Darcy is quite the opposite. He has nowhere to climb, and has no such aspirations. His faults, if he is permitted any, are of pride, and in expecting the world to live up to the same lofty standards he sets himself."

Jane could not suppress a giggle. "He did not look so very lofty yesterday when he arrived, all filthy and unshaven, in ripped clothing not fit for a vagabond."

"Indeed not." Mr Bingley smiled at her and then began to laugh as well. "Perhaps the experience will have been edifying."

The leaves rustled again…

But no! That wasn't the breeze.

"Sir!" Jane's voice caught in her throat. "Do you hear that?"

Mr Bingley was already on his feet, staring out over the fields towards the trees.

"Get down, Miss Bennet!" He all but pushed her to the ground before the stone bench.

"Oi, there! You in the woods… show yourself!" he yelled, his voice far louder than Jane had expected.

She dared a glance upwards. Something was definitely glinting in the trees. A spyglass? A pistol? The sun was reflecting off some object that most assuredly was not a bird.

"What is it, Mr Bingley?"

"I cannot… I do not know… You there, show yourself!"

But he was answered only by the sounds of somebody retreating quickly through the thick woods.

"He is gone."

Jane's pulse thrummed in her throat. "What was it? Was that really somebody watching us from the woods? Or was he trying to get into the gardens?"

Already, Mr Bingley's cries had summoned a small army of large footmen, whose presence would have sent any miscreant scrambling for safety.

"Never fear, Miss Bennet. Nobody will trouble you while I am here." His chest puffed out, although his eyes, to Jane's glance, looked as troubled as hers.

They walked back to the house, Jane clinging a bit more tightly to his arm than civility required. She was unsure if he would present nearly as much of a challenge to an attacker as would Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she did feel better in Mr Bingley's presence. And that, perhaps, was the answer she needed to her own unasked question.