Page 25 of Wickham Likes 'Em Young
Mr Smith and James mounted up and rode towards the lodge.
“Thank you for taking my idea—my fears—seriously,” Elizabeth mumbled into his chest as her father gave her a long hug.
They walked to the bookroom, then warmed up a bit in the parlour, then checked the front steps again, and finally returned to the bookroom. Impatience at least helped to warm them up a bit, and when Mr Smith and James returned, Elizabeth and her father bounded from their seats, eager for news.
But James just shook his head. “No sign of anyone at all in or near the ole’ lodge, sir,” he said.
“Was there any sign of someone waiting there recently?” Elizabeth asked. “I am thinking of still-warm ash in the fire ring outside the lodge, or in the fireplace inside.”
“We checked,” Mr Smith said. “And there was no sign of a recent fire in either spot. If someone waited at all, tonight, they were likely chilled through.”
“Thank you for checking the area,” Mr Bennet said to them. “Obviously, we expect your discretion on this matter.”
The men bobbed their heads and James said, “Mrs Hill has threatened us and all our progeny if a single word of any of this is bandied about.”
Elizabeth’s father thanked them again and sent them off. But mere moments after the two servants had left the room, there was a knock.
Bade to enter, Hill opened the door and manhandled the younger of the Bennets’ two footmen, a young man named Franklin, into the bookroom. “This one has something to say to you, sir.”
Elizabeth felt glad that her father did not insist that she leave them, but Franklin looked at her with such shame, she wondered if she ought to exit on her own so that he would be more truthful. Before she could move, however, Franklin burst into his confession: “I am so sorry, sir; I did not fully realise the follyof following Miss Bennet’s orders until just moments ago. She is just such an angel, every single bit as sweet and good inside as she is completely and wholly beautiful outside, and there could be no wrong, no wrong at all, in anything that she would say or do or even, I was certain, order someone else to do; do you not agree, sir?”
Franklin gulped and stopped speaking for a split second, and Mr Bennet demanded, “What has she ordered, and what have you done, boy?”
He gulped again, and his voice was breathy with anxiety as he said, “I delivered and collected notes from a certain hiding spot in the forest. But I had no idea of there being any possible scandal from the notes, as it is simply impossible for Miss Bennet to do anything even a little bit wrong, I think?—”
“Enough!” Elizabeth’s father put his hand up to stop the flow of words, and Franklin flinched. Mr Bennet said, “Am I to understand that you carried notes to and from my eldest daughter, Miss Jane Bennet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you also carry notes from my youngest, Miss Lydia?”
Franklin looked puzzled and said, “No, sir.”
He opened his mouth again, as if he wished to elaborate—or perhaps just heap on additional praises of Jane—but Elizabeth interrupted with her own question, “Where exactly is this hiding spot?”
“There is a certain oak tree near the northwest corner?—”
“I believe I know the one, Papa. Should we send him to see if there is a note not yet picked up?”
“Perhaps, but I think it unlikely.” Her father removed his spectacles and tried to clean them, but the handkerchief he used might not have been the cleanest, and Elizabeth could see that the results were imperfect. Sighing, Mr Bennet said, “Franklin, please do keep silent about all of this. Miss Bennet, of whom youthink so highly, would be badly injured if you tell others what you have done on her behalf.”
“Yes, sir. Uh, should I go, sir?”
Elizabeth sent a pleading look at her father, and he seemed to understand her. “Best get a mount ready for a three-mile ride, Franklin,” he said. He turned to Elizabeth and said, “Write your note, Lizzy.”
She sprung into action, and she quickly penned a message to Mr Darcy. She had spelled out the pertinent facts about both Lydia’s and Jane’s note exchanges, Lydia’s attempt to elope, and Jane’s disappearance. She wanted so dearly to ask for his assurance that her sisters’ poor behaviour would not end her hopes with him, but of course she made no allusion to that. It was not the time for such concerns. Jane needed their help. Worry about future repercussions would have to remain, for now, in the future.
Elizabeth and her father went to the front steps, where Franklin appeared, riding Gwennie, perhaps the swiftest of the Bennets’ horses. He took the message that Elizabeth handed up and tucked it carefully away in his inner coat pocket. She said, “Check the oak tree first, in case there is a message still waiting there. If there is, please keep it alongside my note as you ride to Netherfield Park. Ask for Mr Darcy’s valet, whose name is Wilkins. Please do not give this note to anyone other than Mr Darcy or Wilkins.”
Franklin nodded and rode away.
Mr Wickham, with a long knife!
Elizabeth told herself sternly that she had never seen Mr Wickham wielding a knife, while awake.Thus, she addressedherself,you are clearly dreaming. If your dream upsets you, you might consider simply waking up.
Prying her eyelids apart, Elizabeth realised that she had fallen asleep while uncomfortably seated in one of the parlour’s wingback chairs. Her back and neck complained as she sat up and then stood. She looked at the clock on the mantel and, seeing that it was half past six and soon to be morning, she ran up to her bedroom to refresh herself and to scrub her face with the chilled water. Looking in the mirror and seeing her dark-ringed eyes, Elizabeth felt regret that Darcy might see her looking this terrible.
Oh! She had sent her note with Franklin, and Darcy had not come.
