Page 53 of The Fee Entail

Richard’s head snapped back around to stare at her, but she was thinking furiously.

We all gave her a moment to get to it, and she finally said, “Yes, that explains part of it but not all.”

I asked, “How so, Mary?” Sometimes she needs a little prompting.

“Richard, how much time did you spend at Pemberley growing up?”

This seemed an odd question, but he answered, “A great deal. Darcy and I were nearly inseparable.”

Mary glanced at the rest of us then stared at him, before asking, “You and our other brother have certain mannerisms you share, part of being raised together—accent, figures of speech—do you not agree, sisters?”

All of us nodded. We had not noticed, but it was so.

“Who else might carry a reasonable packet of those same mannerisms? Someone else who spent considerable time in your company?”

It hit us all about the same time, but it was brother Darcy who spit out the name. “Wickham.”

Now we were all agitation again, but Lydia spoke up unexpectedly. “Richard! Aunt! We never told you of my shame, but Darcy knows. When I was fifteen, I tried to elope with that scoundrel, and Charlotte is one of the very few people my father could not keep the truth from. He left Meryton with a mountain of debt, nearly ruining several shopkeepers. He may or may not be the man who accosted her, but she certainly has sufficient reason to revile him even without that.”

Then she turned her attention on Richard. “Is it possible that you, standing in a red uniform, with your Derbyshire speech, and your Derbyshire manners, would remind someone painfully of a man best killed or forgotten?”

Richard got to add bruised knuckles to his list of injuries, since he smacked the wall with his fist in agitation, saying, “He is a dead man,” which I took as confirmation of Mary’s thesis.

I was all business after that. Mary was the brains of our little duo, but I knew what had to be done.

“Jane, I know she asked for you; but you can see it would be senseless to send the two most mercurially tempered Bennets, including one with alarmingly obvious connections to that scoundrel. It must be Mary and I. Do not fret. We will deliver our friend here in good order before supper. If she is too stubborn, we will place her with Mrs Hewes and the sergeant.”

Jane looked ready to argue until Fitzwilliam said, “I agree! Aunt, would you care to go with us to extend the welcome? You and I will stay in the coach or the inn while Kitty and Mary calm Miss Lucas. We all agree she belongs here!”

Aunt Catherine just nodded, and we all wondered about her rather abrupt change in demeanour from what had been widely reported. Fortunately, none of us really cared what she was like the previous month, but it was a matter of some thought.

Fitzwilliam stared at Richard. “Before we do this, I must ask. What are your intentions?”

He said it with dead seriousness, as if he already considered Charlotte under his protection, which was most likely true. He seemed to be collecting wards at an alarming rate.

Richard did not blink. “Marriage, family. Even if Wickham is the natural father, that child shall be mine, if she will have me.”

Darcy said, “If she accepts you, it shall be her choice. She will be forced into nothing, neither by browbeating, nor prosperity, nor circumstance. You will woo her properly and walk away if it does not work. Are we agreed?”

For a man who had made such a hash of his own courtship, he was remarkably implacable, but Richard agreed immediately.

“Make yourself scarce. You may start your campaign tomorrow, but not tonight.”

Richard saw the sense in that and agreed immediately.

Within five minutes, Fitzwilliam was helping Aunt, Mary, and me into our wraps, a habit he picked up in the parsonage he seemed reluctant to let go. I imagine it reminded him of those brief days when Lizzy did not hate him, and I thought it might possibly help rekindle some hope in his breast.

For myself, I could not wait to get to Charlotte. This was something I was born to do.

Waiting

Betsy

Lydia says to write the story just how I remember. Anyone what knows Lydia can tell you it’s a sight better to be on her good side than her bad one, so I’ll write it, even if it takes me the whole day and makes my fingers cramp up.

Mary says my recollections might not coincide with how things really happened. That’s the trouble with Mary. I had to look up six of the words in the big dictionary… else ask her what they meant. Asking Mary always gets me a whole sermon on words and more questions than answers, so I mostly just nod like I know what she’s on about and sneak a look at the book after she goes. I don’t fool her a bit, and she lets me get away with it… though Lord help me if I pretend to know a word and can’t spell it right a week later.

I’ll ask your leave not to write it down quite how I remember it. Back then, I couldn’t read a letter or hold a pen, and I didn’t talk right neither. I’d be ashamed to put down how I really sounded, so I hope you’ll forgive the small lie to save me the embarrsment. (I didn’t know that word back then neither, an I’m still not sure I got all the letters right, which shows you how bad this would be if I writ it the way I used to talk.)