Chapter XVIII

T he day after what the residents of both Netherfield Park and Longbourn considered a day of great consequence dawned more peacefully. Though most were not disposed to spend the morning abed, several took a more leisurely time in preparing to meet the day, and no one was of a mind to stray far from the estates. They had even agreed before Fitzwilliam and Darcy left Longbourn the previous day to eschew visits that day. Those two gentlemen had informed the rest of the party that they meant to visit Wickham in the local jail that morning, but that was only to inform him of what his fate would be. Once completed, they intended to return to Netherfield at once to rest for the remainder of the day.

Anne de Bourgh was grateful for the dedication of their servants, men and women who had worked at Rosings for many years, even before her father's passing more than a decade ago. As her mother had informed them, the carriage bearing their effects had gone to London, then had proceeded north based on the Darcy housekeeper's suggestion. The Darcy footmen had come across them and, knowing the de Bourgh family crest and being familiar with the drivers because of yearly visits, had directed the carriage to Netherfield Park. Thus, the ladies had changes of clothes available for their use that morning, a simple luxury Anne had not appreciated before.

The party gathered for a late breakfast that morning, and they attended it with little conversation, eager to break their fast despite the excellent dinner at Longbourn the night before. With such a day of leisure planned, it would not be a surprise should the party all separate to their various activities for the rest of the day, though Anne supposed that she and her mother truly had little to do. The way her mother regarded her surreptitiously, her scrutiny speaking to thoughts Anne would prefer did not take hold on her, she took steps to ensure her mother understood exactly what would ensue in the coming days.

"Since it appears my mother wishes to speak this morning," said Anne when she had finished her breakfast, "I believe it would be best to sequester ourselves at once." Anne smiled and Mr. Bingley and added: "I apologize, sir, but we should confine this to a family gathering."

"Not at all," said Mr. Bingley. "As I have been away for some time, I should speak with the steward and familiarize myself with the status of the estate. Please feel free to use any room you like for your conference."

Lady Catherine, Anne noted, scowled at her, though she nodded with approval at Mr. Bingley's plans. Darcy and Fitzwilliam appeared to have no objection, so they rose, excused themselves, and made their way to the library. Once within, Lady Catherine lost no time in reprimanding her daughter.

"Must you speak of such things so openly, Anne?"

"If you recall," said Anne, "I only said there are matters we must discuss. That Mr. Bingley likely understands what they are is a consequence of his close association with the family this past day, not because of anything I let slip."

A grunt comprised her mother's response. She said nothing else, likely from a perverse attempt to ignore the subject. If it was, then she had underestimated Anne—she had better become used to this new dynamic between them if she wished to keep the peace.

"Do you have nothing to say, Mother?" asked Anne, noting Fitzwilliam's amusement with her directness. Darcy said nothing, remaining inscrutable behind his mask.

Lady Catherine peered at her, brimming with exasperation barely suppressed. "I do not know if I appreciate your new and direct way of speaking. It is born of your association with Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Perhaps it is," said Anne. "But as I stated last night, my discontent has been growing for years. Elizabeth was the catalyst for it, but she was not the genesis."

"That is another thing," said Lady Catherine. "The Bennets appear to be decent enough folk, but they are not suitable friends for you."

"And yet I mean to have Elizabeth as a friend. Is there anything else you wish to say?"

Lady Catherine scowled but this time she remained silent. Anne was a little surprised, having expected her mother to attempt to forbid her, to treat her as a child, and to control her thoughts, movements, and actions. That she did not, suggested she could learn. It was, perhaps, a novel experience to think about her mother in such a way, but Lady Catherine had never behaved as she ought toward her only daughter, and Anne did not mean to endure it any longer.

"Very well," said Anne.

She allowed her expression to soften if only a little. "You are my mother, and you deserve my respect for bringing me into this world. That I acknowledge without hesitation.

"Yet, for my entire life you told me my opinions rather than asking for them, you controlled every facet of my life without my consent and kept me from becoming the young woman I ought to be."

"I have only striven for your happiness!" exclaimed her mother.

"Mother," said Anne, her tone now firm. "If you attempted to see to my contentment, it has been a miserable failure. You never even asked what would make me happy."

Lady Catherine reeled as if slapped, but Anne did not back down. If she did, she knew her mother would take that sign of weakness and try to bring her under control again. Better to be a little unkind now to avoid greater harshness later.

"I know you believe you have my best interests at heart, Mother. Can you truly say that it was all for my benefit?"

The stare Lady Catherine directed at her spoke to her utter devastation at the way Anne was destroying her pretensions. Darcy and Fitzwilliam looked on in silence, their looks nearing pity. They would not speak, for it was Anne's responsibility to assert her independence; they would offer their support later when needed.

"I am your mother, Anne. Of course, I know what is best for you."

Anne shook her head instead of the snort she had wished to display her opinion of her mother's assertion.

"Mothers see to their children's interests. When that child becomes old enough to make their own choices, they must step back and allow the chick to learn to fly. I am near five and twenty and have never had a season. Was keeping me locked away at Rosings truly for my best interests?"

"Do not say Anne was destined to marry me," said Darcy when Lady Catherine opened her mouth to protest. That she snapped it shut again attested to Darcy's accurate understanding of what she meant to say. "Even if that was so—and you know of my skepticism—all young ladies should enjoy the benefits of a season."

"Anne's health is poor," said Lady Catherine, falling back on her stubbornness. "I did what I must to protect her."

"Perhaps that may have been true," replied Anne. "But I recently learned that I can do much more than I thought. I traveled from Kent yesterday, then walked a mile from Meryton to Longbourn, and yet I feel well today."

"I still say that woman might have ruined your health," grumbled Lady Catherine.

"Yet, she did not," said Anne reasonably. "Regardless, I am now of age and may choose for myself."

Lady Catherine let out a long breath. "Yes, I suppose you must be correct. I apologize, Anne, for I never meant to stifle you. All I wished was to protect you."

"I appreciate that, Mother," replied Anne. "All I ask is that you allow me to follow my path. And for heaven's sake, do not go on about Darcy and me! That will never happen, so you may as well allow the matter to rest."

This was perhaps harder for her mother than anything else Anne had required of her. With some effort, however, she nodded but did not say more. It was, Anne thought, the best she could expect. As Anne asserted her independence and made her own choices, she expected her mother would become accustomed to the changing situation between them. There would undoubtedly be times when she would need reminding, but she would confront her mother's future obstinacy when it arose.

At Longbourn, the day began much the same as it had at Netherfield. The more boisterous nature of the family there rendered any thoughts of the quietude that existed at the neighboring estate problematic. This was exacerbated by the control exerted by the family patriarch, communications that were not at all palatable to his youngest daughters.

"No, Lydia, Kitty," said he when the girls loudly discussed their wish to go to Meryton that very morning. "I think the day spent in tranquility at Longbourn would do wonders for us all."

"But Papa," whined Lydia, "we simply must tell the other officers what has happened to Mr. Wickham. They will be so interested to hear it."

"I suspect they already know, Lydia," said Mr. Bennet. "The prison has an occupant; such news will make it around the community in a trice."

"They will wish to hear it from us," said Lydia with all the confidence of a girl of fifteen.

"They will do well enough hearing it from another source," said Mr. Bennet, unconcerned by his daughters' pleading. "Today I require you all to remain at home."

Though the girls grumbled, they eventually yielded, and the Bennets all remained together at the estate that day. That was when Mr. Bennet took to the floor to announce the other bit of news to the consternation of all. Or the youngest and silliest, at least.

"Now that we are together," said Mr. Bennet a little later that morning when they were all seated together, "there is an announcement I must make."

"Yes, Papa?" asked Jane, suspecting nothing amiss. Elizabeth could not imagine what her father wished to say to them, for the subject of which he was about to speak had utterly slipped her mind.

"I have decided regarding a recent invitation made to a certain member of our family."

At that moment, Elizabeth recalled the invitation to Brighton, her advice to her father to refuse consent, and the departure of the regiment within the next week. In her defense, the events of the previous day had quite driven the matter from her mind. Lydia too had some sense of what he was about to say, and the girl's frown suggested a pending outburst should her father say something she did not like. Elizabeth was not incorrect in this supposition.

"As you all remember, Mrs. Forster invited Lydia to accompany her to Brighton for the summer. I apologize, Lydia, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to go."

"But Papa!" Lydia's response was nearly a screech. "I must go!"

"Excuse me, Lydia," replied Mr. Bennet, no sign of hesitation in his response, "there is no ‘must' about this. You should remember that you are but fifteen and I am your father, thus my permission is required for you to accept any invitations.

"Before you say something that will force me to take action," said Mr. Bennet when his youngest appeared ready to release an impressive outburst, "I ask you to reconsider. You have got it into your head that enjoyment in this world consists of naught but red-clad men and flirting. Life is a more serious business than that. It seems about time that we taught you of those simple facts."

"Mr. Bennet," said the man's wife, her manner hesitant and uncertain, "might I ask why we must deny our daughter this amusement?"

"Again, Mrs. Bennet, there is no ‘must' in this situation." The gentleman regarded his wife with a kind smile. "In considering this matter, I have determined that it is best that Lydia remain at home and above all, should not go to Brighton."

"Papa!" whined Lydia. "I already gave Mrs. Forster my consent. I cannot renege now."

"Tell me, Lydia," reproved Mr. Bennet, "did you come to me and ask permission?"

The way the girl stared, Elizabeth suspected she had never thought he would call her on that omission. Though Elizabeth had advised her father against the scheme, she had been uncertain herself.

"No, you did not," said Mr. Bennet, answering his own question. "Instead, you assumed. Let this be a lesson to you, for in matters such as this, to secure consent you must ask. Merely assuming will more likely than not end in denial.

"Now, Mrs. Bennet," continued he, returning his attention to his wife, "I have good reasons for denying my consent. Not only do I believe she is not ready for the responsibility of being in such a place without her parents to guide her, but what I have seen of Mrs. Forster informs me that she is no fit chaperon."

Mrs. Bennet regarded her husband, her glances at a pouting Lydia speaking to her uncertainty. "Mrs. Forster is very young."

"That she is, Mrs. Bennet. While the colonel is a capable man, Lydia would spend the bulk of her time with the man's wife, as he has certain duties that must be his focus. Yet that is not the primary source of my disquiet.

"Just yesterday, a most despicable man was unmasked in a manner no one of us can mistake. Mr. Wickham was no longer part of the regiment when it occurred, but he was a member before. If one such man wore the scarlet, it is no stretch to suppose there are others. Lydia's behavior toward the man yesterday was not the best, especially as she directed him to Longbourn in search of Miss de Bourgh."

"Stuff and nonsense," muttered Lydia. "How was I to know what he was about?"

"By observing the situation and making a judgment," said her father, fixing her with a pointed glare. "There were enough clues to suggest he was up to no good. Then , you attempted to accept his offer to travel back to Longbourn in his carriage, only desisting when Kitty insisted you abandon your purpose."

Lydia threw an accusatory glare at her elder sister, but the way Kitty reacted informed Elizabeth that she had not been the source of Mr. Bennet's information. Mary, however, appeared smug; as Lydia was focusing on Kitty, she saw nothing of this, which was likely for the best.

"Do not blame Kitty, Lydia," admonished Mr. Bennet. "She, at least, acted with sense. Do you not see what might have happened had you accepted his offer? Wickham might have held you against the return of Miss de Bourgh. Had he presented such a bargain to me, I would have had no choice but to agree to his demand and betray Miss de Bourgh."

That Lydia had not considered that end was obvious, for she paled. It was not enough to regulate her behavior, however, for she soon shook it off and glared mulishly at him.

"Then you do not wish to give other officers a chance to importune our Lydia," said Mrs. Bennet, attempting to clarify his reason.

"In a word, yes, Mrs. Bennet. While Lydia may claim there are no other officers in the regiment like Wickham—and she may be correct—Wickham hid his true self from us the entire time he was here. There may be others of a similar bent. In Brighton, where many companies gather, there are almost certain to be more. I will not risk another such man behaving inappropriately toward her.

"Consider this, Mrs. Bennet," said he, "if such a man should impose himself upon her, he might ruin our daughter with no fault attached to her. If that should happen, the association will stain her sisters. Would you risk them all becoming unmarriageable?"

The way Mrs. Bennet stared at her husband, her mind filled with incalculable dread, informed them all she understood. It was an inspired warning on Mr. Bennet's part, for Mrs. Bennet's purpose in life was to ensure her daughters married, and she was not precisely choosy about who would do. Informing her of the potential impossibility of her designs coming to fruition was a path guaranteed to ensure her understanding and support, as she proved at once.

"I see you have given this matter all due consideration, Mr. Bennet," said she, nodding vigorously. "Given your explanation, I cannot but concur—it is best that Lydia does not go to Brighton."

"Mama!" cried Lydia aghast.

"No, Lydia," said Mrs. Bennet firmly. "There are too many dangers to risk sending you so far from home where we cannot predict what might happen. You had best stay home."

"Consider this, Lydia," said Mr. Bennet, drawing his sullen daughter's attention back to him. "If what I saw of Jane and Mr. Bingley was any indication, your sister will leave this house before long, which will give her greater access to society. Should you behave yourself, she might host you."

"Mr. Bingley has not proposed, Papa," said Jane.

It was interesting to Elizabeth that Jane did not blush or offer false modesty. Instead, she appeared serene, leading Elizabeth to wonder if Mr. Bingley had made his intentions clear, even if he had not already offered for her.

"No, I suppose he did not," replied her father, "even if he gives the appearance of impatience. But you cannot say he will not act now that he has made his way back to your side. I am not so blind as this, Jane."

At last, Jane showed a bit of her self-effacing character in her blush, but she did not hesitate to nod and offer her father a tiny smile.

"Who knows when Mr. Bingley will propose?" demanded Lydia. "It may be some time yet. And the season in London is now over."

"It is worse than that, Lydia," said Mr. Bennet, clearly amused. "For you are but fifteen and young ladies in London do not come out until they are eighteen. As you are sixteen this summer, the next two seasons in London will not be available for your enjoyment."

Aghast at what she was hearing, Lydia sucked in a long breath. Mr. Bennet cut it off neatly.

"The other factor," said he conversationally, "is the maturity of the girl on the cusp of introduction. If I am not convinced you are ready, we may delay for a year or even more. Childish outbursts will not help your cause."

Sulkiness would not help Lydia's cause either, but a brooding Lydia was far preferable to a shrieking Lydia. With those words, Mr. Bennet's decision was final, and while Elizabeth expected the girl to continue to press her case, it was now a fait accompli that she would not go. To reinforce the decision, Mr. Bennet composed a letter at once to be delivered to Colonel Forster, thanking him for his wife's kind invitation, but firmly declining it.

"Thank you, Papa," said Elizabeth later when she was certain Lydia would not overhear.

"It is because of your advice, Lizzy," said Mr. Bennet. "I must thank you for thinking clearly. While I dreaded Lydia's response, yesterday's events helped make it easier, for your mother is now opposed to Lydia's going."

Mr. Bennet chuckled with genuine mirth. "Lydia is angry now, but I dare say she will get over the disappointment soon enough."

Unbeknownst to all but Elizabeth, a reply came soon thereafter from the colonel, thanking Mr. Bennet for his restraint. While the colonel had been prepared to indulge his wife, he had not anticipated living in a house for several months accompanied by Mrs. Forster and Lydia's giggling every moment he was within it.

Darcy wished to avoid Wickham, for he knew exactly what would ensue. It was, however, a necessity to put the man and his intrigues in the past once and for all. There was no question what must happen, for Wickham had pushed so far past decent behavior that there was a claim against him by the law, quite beyond the debts he had accumulated and the women he had defiled. Even if Darcy espoused any notion to offer Wickham mercy, his uncle would insist on Wickham's blood.

"Buck up, Darcy," said Fitzwilliam when he noted Darcy's long face. "After we see Wickham from England's shores, you will never need to so much as lay eyes on him again."

"I do not regret what we must do," said Darcy. "My only regrets are for the waste of a life, one for whom my father had high hopes."

"I understand," replied Fitzwilliam, fixing him with a serious expression, not in keeping with his usual jovial demeanor. "Your father would be quite disappointed. That is not in question."

"Then there is nothing else to discuss," said Darcy. "Wickham has brought this on himself with his entitlement and his lust for riches at any cost. What follows is on his head."

Fitzwilliam nodded but did not reply.

The jail in Meryton was a small, nondescript building a street away from the primary thoroughfare, set into a corner between other buildings. The only thing that identified it was the bars in the windows and the massive timbers they had used in its construction. In a town the size of Meryton, Darcy doubted its cells were much occupied, except for perhaps the occasional drunken rowdy incarcerated within until the effects of drink wore off.

When Darcy and Fitzwilliam stepped into the small building, they noted the building was more extensive than appeared from the outside, a small main room and office for the constable, with a door in the far wall, no doubt leading to the cells, of which there could be only two. The constable looked up upon their entrance, and seeing Darcy's expression, interpreted it correctly.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said he, extending his hand in greeting. "I see the town's lockup surprises you. Though I was not involved in its construction, I am grateful for the foresight of those who planned it, otherwise, I would receive no peace when we are hosting our guests."

"Yes, I can well imagine it," said Fitzwilliam with a grin. "That is why a regiment usually constructs a stockade a little away from the camp."

The constable nodded and lost no time in addressing the reason for their presence. "I assume you wish to see Mr. Wickham?"

"Has he given you much trouble?" asked Darcy.

"Not with that stout door in the way," said the man. "When we take him his meals, he makes it a point to protest his innocence, but other than that, I have had a peaceful time of it.

"Now," said he, looking between them, "can you tell me how long I will need to hold him?"

"Not long, with any luck," said Fitzwilliam. "My father is an earl. Given Wickham's offenses, I do not think there is any need to bother with a trial, which will mean his incarceration much longer than you would wish."

The constable grunted his agreement. "The next assizes are in Stevenage, for Meryton is too small to hold trials, and it is not for another two months."

"Then all the more reason to deal with our friend at once," said Fitzwilliam. "I wrote to my father to request his intervention. With his influence, I hope to see Wickham on the next ship to Van Diemen's Land."

"Very well, sir," said the constable. "I can hold him until then.

"Now, I assume you wish to see him?"

"‘Wish' is a strong term," jested Fitzwilliam.

"But it must be done," said Darcy, wishing to dispense with this business at once.

"Very well," said the man, producing a ring of keys.

He stepped to the door and unlocked it, allowing them to enter, while locking it behind them, telling them that they need only knock when they wished to leave. Within the next room stood two cells, one on either side of a walkway between the two. Darcy noted it was wide enough for the jailor to elude any attempt from one within the cells to reach out for them. The cell on the left was empty, while the occupant of the other looked up at them as they entered, desperate hope lighting his features.

"Darcy!" exclaimed he, rising to his feet.

"This is where he begs for mercy," said Fitzwilliam in an aside to Darcy.

Wickham made a credible attempt to avoid glaring at the jibe. That he saw Darcy as the only path to freedom was clear in the way he focused his attention, completely ignoring Fitzwilliam.

"I see you wish to negotiate with me. Perhaps a new start in the Americas might be for the best?"

Darcy regarded his former playmate, unsurprised by the man's audacity. Then again, nothing about George Wickham's boldness was a surprise and had not been for many years.

"No, Wickham, I believe your offenses extend beyond the point of offering you freedom in the New World."

"What do you mean?" asked Wickham as he blanched at the implication.

"You attempted to elope with the granddaughter of an earl," said Darcy.

"For the second time," added Fitzwilliam.

Darcy nodded and turned his attention back to the pathetic scoundrel in the cell. "Besides this, you entered the house of a man with five daughters, attempted to abduct that granddaughter and hold her for ransom, to say nothing of what I suspect you meant to do to the man's daughters should he defy you. Do you suppose the earl would stay silent if we granted you clemency? Would any decent man plead for your salvation with such sins staining your conduct?"

"He would flay you with his tongue," muttered Wickham, coming to the correct conclusion far more quickly than Darcy might have imagined.

"That is the least he would do," replied Darcy. "No, Wickham, you are now beyond all decency and must pay the price.

"And before you invoke my father, he would be no more forgiving were he in my shoes now. Though you might not like to confess it, the only reason he approved of you so much was because he was unaware of your more dubious habits."

The way Wickham regarded him, Darcy thought he would ask Darcy why he never informed his father. It was a relief when he decided against it, for it was a subject that still produced pain.

"Then what is to become of me?" asked Wickham as if he feared the response.

"My father will use his influence to see you transported," said Fitzwilliam. "You may work your sins out in Van Diemen's Land lacking the ability to profit from your fellow man again."

Wickham nodded without emotion. "I suppose it is the best I can expect. At least I will keep my life."

"You will," replied Darcy. "At the moment, I consider it far more than you deserve."

"From your perspective, I suppose it is."

"There is little more to discuss, Darcy," said Fitzwilliam. "I will not stay and listen to him insinuate we are misusing him. We have done what we needed to do; let us leave."

"I agree," said Darcy.

Without another word to the prisoner, they turned and knocked on the door, and the constable soon unlocked it and let them through. Despite dismissing him and departing without another word, it surprised Darcy that Wickham did not even speak in anger. They left with a farewell for the constable and a promise to keep him abreast of Wickham's disposition.

Less than half an hour later, Darcy and Fitzwilliam reined in their horses before Netherfield and dismounted, separating to their rooms to change from their riding clothes. When they joined the rest of the party, they found a most unwelcome development. Miss Bingley and the Hursts had arrived.