Blinded By Prejudice by KaraLynne Mackrory
Chapter Twenty-Four
Soon thereafter, I found the excuse to leave the gentlemen. My headache, at first fabricated to explain my silence, was in truth no longer a falsehood. The tumult of my mind was now painfully great. I knew not how to support myself in public. My astonishment and pain, as I reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review of it.
“Please excuse me, gentlemen. I fear I am unwell and must beg to return home.”
Fitzwilliam stood immediately and offered his hand to assist me to stand. “You do not sound well, perhaps it would be best if you were given a room here at Netherfield in which to retire.”
“No! That is, I thank you. I would much rather not impose, and wish only for the comforts of my own bed.”
“Then you must take every care. Richard, will you see that Miss Bennet is informed and their carriage is called?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam accepted and soon left us again.
“I must apologise for the events of this afternoon. I fear it was unpleasant for you.”
I did not venture to speak; indeed, I could not have forced any words through the constriction of my throat. Fitzwilliam took up my hand after a disconcerting travel of his touch down the length of my arm.
“I hope to hear soon you are well.”
Somehow, I was able to look into Fitzwilliam’s handsome features, wondering how long I would be afforded the pleasure of calling him mine. No doubt his cousin would be successful; he seemed to be the type of cunning strategist where all parties played into his hands. My intended’s dark locks curled around his face, soft and inviting, as I knew them to be. His eyes, although still lost as they had been since we emerged from our tomb, seemed to look right through me. I murmured a goodbye, watching as if time had slowed to a crawl as he pulled my hand to his lips once again, this time turning it to kiss the flesh of my palm too.
In a daze, I managed to arrive at the carriage. Charles assisted my sister into it before me, and gave me his best wishes for my health. And then the colonel was before me, his eyes boring into mine, expecting answers I did not feel he deserved to have. I knew he had seen that my feelings for his cousin had changed. I could little afford for him to reveal that to Fitzwilliam.
Even though my heart had long since lost its will, somewhere inside rose a fever that built into a conflagration. Without any wish to hide my thoughts, I glared at the colonel.
“You will not say anything to him.”
He seemed stunned by the ground out words and attempted to question me. “You love him! I cannot see why you would wish him not to know. I can assure you he would—”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, be so good as to, for once, step out of my head and allow me to have this…” Every fevered coal, burning with anger, went cool. My knees trembled with actual weakness. “This mercy, sir. Allow me this mercy.”
His hand reached out to steady me at my elbow, his expression that of concern, almost as though he did not intend to be the sword wielded with Fitzwilliam’s permission that would deal the killing blow to my heart. It was all too much.
“It will be as you wish, then.” His brow furrowed with obvious disagreement and displeasure.
I could do no more than nod, and allowed him to assist me into the carriage. When we began rolling along the gravel drive, Jane asked after my head. I spoke only vaguely, then burst into tears as finally my heart allowed it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Jane, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of her concern and observe me in compassionate silence.
When safely left in solitude in my chamber, I succumbed fully to the reality of my broken dreams. I had been reborn when I emerged from that tomb only to be feel buried again in this anguishing defeat. At times Jane and our aunt attempted to care for me. They brought cool cloths for my head and teas to help the megrim, and admonished me to remember tears did not help with the pain. Believing me to be simply suffering under a severe headache, I acquiesced to all their concerned attempts to ease my pain. I drank the tea, left the cool cloth over my eyes, and eventually even slowed my tears.
Although their belief of the source of my pain was mistaken, they had at least been accurate in saying that tears would not help the pain. Indeed, they had not. When a blissful sleep overtook me, I welcomed the oblivion with desperate thanks.
Unfortunately, as is the case with heartache, sleep did not cure it. In a way, I opened my eyes the next day not fully awake, and I spent the day walking the house in a state of distracted wretchedness. I haunted the upstairs hall, pacing from the landing to the small oval window at the other end, and I felt like a ghost, half my soul removed. The view out the oval window was the lane to the house and afforded me advance warning of any visitors. Therefore, for several days, I was quite able to anticipate when to retreat to the safety of my room. As it was, my low spirits contributed to an actual cold, and I was not expected downstairs in any case.
Of course I was questioned. My father, Jane, and even my mother expressed concern for my continued poor health. The former two wondered whether they ought to call Mr Jones on my behalf. My mother was worried I would displease my intended by being away. How little she knew, yet how closely she guessed the truth.
My aunt, like Colonel Fitzwilliam, seemed possessed of an uncanny ability to read people, and even though she did not believe I was physically feeling as poorly as I let on, she did not press me either. It was a nod to her greater understanding that she did not question me. Still Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam called, always sending their best wishes for me through Jane.
I knew I could not hide away indefinitely. Although I was entitled to some days of wallowing, my cold was running its course, but I kept to my room for more days than I might otherwise have done with such a minor illness. I intended to make use of the excuse of my health to seclude myself, and then one day—when I had crushed this love for Fitzwilliam down into the depths of my soul to a place where I might not have to live with its slicing cuts every day—I would hold my head up again and pretend feelings of wellness I knew I would never really feel again.
Once, while I watched unseeing out the oval window, I spied Colonel Fitzwilliam riding towards Longbourn unaccompanied by his young cousin. He had a purpose to his stride when he handed the reins to our groom. I cannot describe what motive would cause me to subject myself to the torment, but I crept down the stairs to the landing, where I could hear his address to Mrs Hill. If he was calling again upon me, then I would take the coward’s path and retreat to my room. Loath as I was to be this despicable creature, I was not ready to hear what the military man might have to say. When he spoke then of wishing to see my father, I was left with the cruel realisation that he had come to execute his plan on behalf of Fitzwilliam.
My legs no longer able to support me, I slipped onto the bottom stair. My head leaned against the smooth curves of the bannister. I expected the tears would come again, but they did not, and I sat there unseeing, even when the men emerged some thirty short minutes later. That was all the time it took to destroy one’s happiness. A mere thirty minutes.
“You mistake me, Colonel, for a man of more action than indolence, but I shall this once agree to this unpleasant commission. I shall have to endure many tears, and I suspect even perhaps a broken heart, if I am not mistaken.”
“I assure you, if there were any other way, I would not ask it of you.”
“I dislike it very much,” he replied, “but it must be done.”
“Then you will inform Miss Elizabeth? I had hoped to speak to her myself, if she was well. I dislike leaving these kinds of things for others to cross off.”
My heart seized and I went still. If I rose now, the sound of it would warn the gentlemen of my presence. I even held my breath.
“Aye, she will certainly be informed, though I cannot think she will be much affected by the news. I am sorry to say, she is still unwell this morning.”
Not much affected? Had I been so vocal in my dislike for Fitzwilliam’s moods, and before the accident, to lead my father to believe I would be immune to desertion from my intended? Any decision so critical to my future was bound to cut, yet he believed I would not be affected. Had he truly just mocked the possibility that my heart might be broken?
The colonel spoke of his concern for my continued ailment. He expressed his and Fitzwilliam’s best wishes for a speedy recovery to be conveyed to me as well as the hope of seeing me again at Netherfield ere long, and then he left as swiftly as he had arrived.
I took to my bed for the rest of day. A part of me railed at this weakness I was displaying. Where was the lively Lizzy of before the accident? The girl who could laugh at the absurdities of one arrogant man and was immune to any words of malice from him? That girl had been lost in the ruins. This one, who lay hiding beneath the covers and wiping the occasional tear, had very much been affected by Fitzwilliam Darcy and, I daresay, in a way that would leave me changed the rest of my life.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s visit at least gave me the knowledge that this detestable state of half mourning was not endurable. I must face my future, as bitter as it would be. Knowing I had fully recovered from the cold, I decided enough was enough, and the next day, I ventured to the breakfast room instead of requesting a tray. I was gladdened that news from Meryton distracted my family from what could have been acute observation. My façade was newly in place and untested against the scrutiny of some.
“I cannot believe it of him. I shall not! He was much too handsome to be a scoundrel,” Lydia wailed, tossing half her scone onto her plate with a pout.
“Oh, my dear girl,” began my mother in soothing tones, “I, too, know what it is to lose my heart to a soldier.”
“I shall thank you, Mrs Bennet, to remember that Mr Wickham’s desertion is not a loss to any member of our family.”
I turned to Jane and asked what this was all about. Hearing the name of Fitzwilliam’s childhood companion threatened to bring my thoughts too close to those I had been mired in for the past week.
Jane leaned in to whisper to me as she poured me some tea. “It seems that a soldier, Mr Wickham, has accrued a fair bit of debt in the village and offended one of the shopkeeper’s daughters. When his misdeeds became known, the other officers declared he owed them debts of honour. He left the militia and has not been seen for two days. As of this morning, he was declared a deserter.”
A hanging offence. I wondered how Fitzwilliam would feel about this. I cannot imagine he would welcome news that his former friend, although long a source of anguish, had a capital offence to his name. Where there were good memories of childhood escapades, there would be pain. How uncanny the timing of this development, coming so soon after his revelation regarding Mr Wickham. I longed then for the chance to see Fitzwilliam, to offer my sympathy for what must not be a pleasant business despite the sins perpetrated against him by Mr Wickham. I felt all at once the foolishness of my self-seclusion. I had not saved myself any pain in the process, as I had hoped. Instead, I had deprived myself of any opportunity to be in his company and had stolen chances for more memories for myself. One day, all I might have of him were these memories. It was unacceptable and stupid.
“I am exceedingly sorry to hear it. Do Mr Darcy and his cousin know?”
“I believe it was the colonel himself who smoked him out. He came to tell our father about Wickham’s habits and entreated him to speak to the shopkeepers since, as local gentry, he would have more credibility with them.”
“So he purposely sought to make Mr Wickham’s deeds public?”
“I believe so. Charles has said as much. It was part of the plan to get Mr Wickham to act, and as we see, he has done so.”
“I wonder at what Colonel Fitzwilliam could be thinking. How could he know Mr Wickham would not retaliate and speak of…”—I caught myself before I spoke Georgiana’s name—“…some fabricated tale of mistreatment on the part of Mr Darcy or the colonel? Their reputations might have been harmed.”
“The colonel would have been too late for that, Lizzy. It seems in the hours we had been spending at Netherfield, Mr Wickham had been doing just that. Our sister is convinced that your intended has deprived Mr Wickham a living bequeathed to him in the old Mr Darcy’s will.”
“That is true enough, though only after paying Mr Wickham the value of the living when that man declared no intentions of going into the church.”
“You are well informed, it would seem.” This came from Aunt Gardiner, who had appeared at my side.
“Mr Darcy and his cousin spoke to me of their acquaintance with Mr Wickham before my illness. I am surprised that Mr Darcy would approve of his cousin’s plan, for there seems much risk in it.”
“I have no doubt the colonel anticipated Mr Wickham’s flight and more than likely has had men watching him. He needed only wait long enough for the militia to declare the desertion before Mr Wickham could be apprehended. I suspect we shall hear soon of that news.”
My aunt’s prediction was not long in its fulfilment. Indeed, later that day, much to the wailing and tears of my youngest sisters, a note arrived from Netherfield informing us that Lieutenant Wickham had been found near Billingsgate in London, attempting to purchase passage on some vessel. The letter for my father was included in one of Charles’s missives to Jane.
I could hardly believe it, but as the days following would prove, the entire scheme had been arranged by the colonel for the purpose of ridding England of Mr Wickham for good. I craved the chance to ask Fitzwilliam his thoughts on the matter. I wondered whether I could predict his reaction with any accuracy. At one point I might have said I knew him well enough to say, but I doubted my abilities now. I, too, wondered and worried for Georgiana. I hoped she was not much affected by hearing of Mr Wickham. Certainly there could be no escaping it. The news was much talked of at Longbourn over the next day or so. Lydia often took herself to bed in mourning, feeling personally affronted that Mr Wickham could dare be so handsome and quit the militia. Naturally, in a girl of not quite sixteen who had not yet learned to value much else other than a handsome face and a red coat, Mr Wickham’s more grievous misdeeds would not have been a concern for her. Lydia still believed that Fitzwilliam was the source of her favourite’s troubles, and no amount of reasoning from my family would convince her otherwise. Mr Wickham was as ill-used as she was.
Still, Mr Wickham did not long dominate the lives of those at Longbourn. Instead, news of a more alarming nature reached our ears. Just as I had convinced myself and others that I would soon feel well enough to resume my visits to Netherfield (for I had been asked on several occasions by my aunt and father in such a manner that left me certain they had their suspicions that my headache and subsequent cold were not the only reasons I stayed away), we had visitors.
Charles and Colonel Fitzwilliam came one day, the former striding into the morning room with all the energy and cheerful jubilance that he was known for. But instead of going straight to my sister’s side as was expected, Charles walked purposefully to me.
“Elizabeth, we came straight away to inform you of the wonderful news.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam, now standing beside him, added, “My cousin has regained his sight in full.”