George spent two hours that second day at
Pemberley ensconced in the library, reading through entries made in a much
younger Mr. Thompson’s hand. The next morning he continued the task before
breakfast, attended his first lessons in Mr. Carson’s tutelage, and returned to
the library later that day. This pattern continued on Friday, only interrupted
when Aunt Lizzy insisted the boy accompany her to Lambton for some much needed
new attire. By Saturday, as the family prepared for the arrival of the
Bingleys, Mr. Wilcox reported to Mr. Darcy that Midnight had yet been ridden
only once by her new master. When his nephew presented himself in the breakfast
parlor, Mr. Darcy tasked him with this neglect.
“Is Midnight not
to your liking, George?” he asked.
“Oh no, Uncle Darcy! She is magnificent horse.
I am most grateful for the consideration you showed in selecting her for me.”
Mr. Darcy glanced at his wife in confusion.
“Perhaps you are unaccustomed to having such an animal of your own, but you
will need to take her out more regularly. She requires the exercise, and it is
now your responsibility to see she gets it and benefit from the exertion
yourself. You have no lessons today and our guests will not arrive until later.
Join Tom and Edmund when they go out.”
It was George’s
turn to glance uncertainly down the table, catching Tom’s eye.
“If my cousin
wishes to remain indoors, Edmund can ride Midnight for George today.”
“And what of
Hamlet?” Mr. Darcy questioned.
“Wilcox will see
he gets some exercise.”
“Your generosity on your brother’s behalf notwithstanding,”
Mr. Darcy replied dryly, looking at his eldest with some chagrin, “George must
not shutter himself away in library all day long. A young man needs fresh air
and activity. You will ride today,” he concluded with finality, speaking
directly to George.
“Yes, sir,” came
the somewhat meek reply.
“I understand your enthusiasm for the library,
George,” Mrs. Darcy said. “When I first came to Pemberley, I too could lose
myself in it for hours on end, but that was winter. You will have ample time to
hide away in the months to come.”
“I like reading in the library, too,” Maria
offered, “but there are many more interesting books there than those old
ledgers, Cousin George.”
“Old ledgers?”
Mr. Darcy questioned.
“Edmund brought them to my attention my first
morning here,” George quickly explained. “They reveal much about the workings
of the estate.”
“If you wish to know more of the estate, you
would do better to attend Mr. Thompson in his rounds, a task that he performs
on horseback, incidentally.”
“I should like
that very much, Uncle Darcy.”
“I will arrange
it for next week.”
When the meal concluded and the boys headed
out towards the stables, Tom questioned George on his progress.
“Have you found
anything yet?”
“Well, yes, in fact, I did. There are two entries
listing payments made to my father in 1808. The first was a one thousand pound
legacy stipulated in your grandfather’s will. The second, more interesting
payment was for three thousand pounds.”
“That is a tidy sum
of money. What was that for?” Tom eagerly asked.
“I am more curious to know what happened to
it,” George said with a slight hint of bitterness, “The note said ‘in lieu of
Kympton,’ nothing more.”
“Well! That is something! So my father paid
him the value of the living? He must have decided not to take orders, and I
cannot say that I blame him. T’would be a dull life for such a man. I think he
must have been far better suited to a military career.”
“Perhaps,” George concurred, looking
consciously at Edmund, “but I suspect it would have been a better life for his
family. Besides, my father did not join the militia for several more years,
just before he met my mother. She has told me countless times that when they
were first introduced he did not yet have his uniform. All he required was a
redcoat to become the most dashing man of her acquaintance.”
“I bet he
squandered it gambling and whoring,” Tom replied with some glee.
George had no
reply. He feared his cousin was all too correct.
Soon they arrived at the stables and were met
by Mr. Wilcox. “Is it true that George’s father was intended for the living at
Kympton?” Tom asked with little preamble.
“Aye, and a good thing it was too that Mr.
Darcy refused to give it to ‘em. A worse rector ye’d be hard pressed to find.”
“Father refused him?”
Edmund asked in surprise.
“We were under the impression that my father
rejected the living and was compensated in kind,” George pressed.
“Aye, that he was. But then he turns up here
again, a few years later when the old rector died, pestering Mr. Darcy for what
he gave up all rights to, fair and square,” he shook his head
disapprovingly. “I’m not one to speak
ill of the dead, but he was a bold one, yer father.”
Tom and George exchanged excited glances.
“That must be when they cut ties,” the former commented. “Your father joined
the militia instead and ran away with Aunt Lydia.”
George was taken aback. He had pieced the
story of his parent’s betrothal together well enough, but he would never dare speak
of it so openly.
“I’d told ye before, Master Tom, that the past
is best left to itself. No good will come of ye pryin’ about in what don’t
concern ye.”
“I have said the
same, Mr. Wilcox, to no avail,” Edmund said grimly.
“Ye’d do well to
heed yer brother, Master Tom,” Wilcox said ominously.
Tom laughed off the warning. Once the boys
were on their way he said, “You can have some more time in the library after
tea today, George.”
“But the Bingleys
will be here,” Edmund protested.
“When else is he to do it? Sunday is sure to
be busy with church and all the family here, and Father has made it difficult
for him to sneak off in the mornings. When you ride with Mr. Thompson next
week, George, be sure to press him for information. I bet he knows it all.”
“I am not sure I wish to learn anymore,”
George said reluctantly. “It makes sense that he and Uncle Darcy fought over
the living and explains a great deal of my Father’s grievances.”
“I think there is more to it than that. Such a
mundane squabble they would have overcome years ago. Something kept our families
from contact until after your father’s death. You must want to know what it
was!” Tom insisted. “How could you not? It is your birthright!”
George shook his head. “I did want to know, when I was worried that Uncle Darcy would never
accept me, but now that he seems to have taken a liking to me, it seems wrong
to pry. Besides, he has proven himself an exceedingly thoughtful and honorable
man in my few days here.” He shook his head sadly. “I do not wish to know all
the tawdry details of my father’s indiscretions.”
Edmund nodded. “Some
information we are better off without.”
“So you are both content to let sleeping dogs
lie,” Tom said grimly, surveying his two companions. “Well, so be it, then. Know
that I think you both chicken-hearted.”
George felt the injustice of Tom’s words but yet
was reluctant to stand up for himself against the domineering heir, even as his
cousin’s brittle temperament cast a dark shadow on otherwise rosy prospects.
Holding his tongue, he tried to forget his hurt in observation of the
landscape, but before this salve had a chance to absorb Tom resumed his
censure.
“I understand why you are afraid of what you
might learn, George” he taunted. “Certainly you hoped your father was innocent
all along and not the dastard we all know him to have been.”
“Badly done,
Tom!” Edmund cried in outrage.
He shrugged. “I only speak the truth. Who
would not wish to redeem their father’s sullied reputation, no matter how well
deserved?”
“No matter the sins of my father,” George
spoke in a terse, controlled voice, “they do not give you leave to besmirch his
memory so. I shall have your apology.”
“Will you now?”
Tom sneered. “And if I refuse, what will you do? Challenge me?”
The suddenly belligerent look in George’s eye
suggested it was exactly that course of action he had in mind.
“Tom,” Edmund
intervened, “apologize to my cousin. You must.”
“Very well,” Tom relented, adopting an
affected manner and bowing dramatically. “I am sorry if Mr. Wickham’s honor was
offended. Do accept my humble apology and be assured I shall never so trespass
again.”
“Do be serious,”
Edmund chided.
“I am serious!”
Tom exclaimed. “Do you accept my apology, Cousin?”
George paused
before conceding. “Yes.”
“There you have it! Everyone is satisfied,”
and Tom turned the subject to what fun they would have once the Bingleys
arrived.
§§§
All the family living at Pemberley and Mrs.
Norton gathered on the steps of the house to greet the guests. Mrs. Darcy
presented George to Mrs. Bingley with pride, and she quickly took the boy into
her warm embrace, exclaiming on what she insisted was his uncanny resemblance
to Lydia. Mr. Bingley shook his friend’s hand before likewise embracing George,
asking about his horse, and generally endearing himself into the boy’s heart.
Nearby a seemingly endless stream of Bingley cousins poured out of the three
carriages required to transport them all. Tom, delighting in his reunion with
Mark, was in great humor, and conducted George through the mass, making
introductions with aplomb. A host of attendants soon had the unwieldy crew
bustled indoors, and with remarkable efficiency attended to all the various
needs and wants of the travelers. George was in awe of their skill, wondering
if the assistance Mr. Darcy was sending to his mother would be equally
competent. It would mean a vast improvement in the comfort of her household.
The eldest Bingley, Charles, and his next
sister, Fanny, were content to sit and take tea with the adults, but all the
rest of the youngsters except the very smallest, who had been dispatched to the
nursery, were soon again outdoors. Games were organized, and George found
himself a valued member of his new social group, proving his skill in both
hiding, seeking, and cracking the whip. After having exhausted himself in such
pursuits, George retreated from the others to lean against a nearby oak and rest.
As his breathing quieted, he became aware of his name being called in a whisper
from a nearby shrubbery. Following the sound, he found Tom and Mark hiding
behind the foliage.
“Come with us, George!” Tom said. “Aunt Norton
just left for Kympton on foot. Mama always offers her the use of a carriage,
but she always declines even as she complains about the distance all the
while.”
“’I think nothing of the inconvenience to
myself,’” Mark mimicked in a high falsetto nothing like their aunt’s voice but
no less hilarious to the three boys for its lack of resemblance.
“I am going to give her a fright that will
make her think twice about walking alone from now on and spare us all her
griping.”
“What do you plan
to do?” George asked, and Tom held up a sling shot in response.
“I won’t hurt her. My aim is excellent. It
will just unnerve her a bit. You have not yet seen my aunt in high hysterics.
It is excellent sport,” Tom said as Mark nodded his concurrence.
“Let us go now before anyone sees us,” he
said, leading the way off into the woods. Tom grabbed George by the wrist and
pulled him along before he could register any further objection.
The boys forged a trail through the trees in
order to cut off the path to Kympton. Soon after they concealed themselves
behind a convenient boulder, they perceived the sounds of Mrs. Norton’s
approach.
Tom rose from his concealment and took aim,
firing his shot just in front of Aunt Norton’s nose and missing her by only a
hair. The pebble ricocheted off a nearby tree with a loud bang and the lady
screamed, promptly turning on her heels and fleeing back in the direction she
came, tripping over her skirts as she went. Tom and Mark smothered their laughter
as she ran, but George could find no amusement in the sight. She might have
been severely injured, even killed, but when pressed by the others, he forced a
smile. Tom and Mark were anxious to return to Pemberley and witness the fallout
from their prank. George followed them, a sense of foreboding descending upon
him with each step.
At Pemberley they found the house in uproar
and the air pungent with the scent of the burnt feathers that Mrs. Bingley
waved beneath Mrs. Norton’s nose, who was swooning upon an ornamental chair
near the entryway. All the children were gathered around, eagerly ignoring the
minders who futilely sought to remove them from the scene. A great deal of the
staff had also assembled. Only Edmund saw the three stragglers enter. He
approach them and said to Tom in an harsh whisper, “Where were you?”
-->
His brother evaded replying as Mrs. Reynolds arrived
and began ordering her underlings to either assist Mrs. Bingley, go fetch a
doctor, or return to their duties. Soon Mrs. Norton was being lifted by a
footman and carried into the drawing room, followed by a parade of her many
nieces and nephews, all of whom suddenly found their dull aunt irresistibly
fascinating.
_________________________
Come back tomorrow to read Part Eight!
Stop by, read the story, and enter to win! Increase your chances of winning by leaving multiple comments (be sure to include you email address in at least one). At the end of the event (giveaway open through November 7th), I will randomly select two grand winners. Each will receive copies of all five Twisted Austen ebooks, including Young Wickham, plus a set (six each) of these adorable decorative clothes pins, purchased at my local grocery here in Switzerland. Two runners up will receive Young Wickham ebooks. What if you already have all the Twisted Austen books? Enter anyway. We'll work something out. This giveaway is open internationally. Extra entries for social media shares, but you must mention them in your comments for credit. Good luck to all who enter, thank you so much for reading, and have a very happy Halloween!
I hope Mrs Norton will be okay and that George is not blamed for the prank.
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