Create Your Own JAFF Adventure – Part 8

Thanks for joining me on our Create Your Own JAFF Adventure! Just starting? You can catch up on previous posts collected here: https://austenvariations.com/category/sarah-courtney/ .

Last week, Elizabeth told Miss Darcy about seeing Mr. Wickham at the park. After Miss Darcy defied Aunt Gardiner and went out alone, Elizabeth got into a slightly heated discussion with Mr. Darcy about his sister and about his apparent lack of concern for the safety of those left behind at Netherfield Park. Elizabeth then had to decide whether to pry Mr. Darcy for more details about the attack or whether to write to Charlotte Lucas to get the news from Meryton instead. A slight majority of readers chose for her to continue working on Mr. Darcy, so that is where we will start this week!

If you’d prefer the third person version, you can read it here. There’s a link at the bottom of the intro part that will jump you to the newest part. Just don’t forget to come back and comment to tell me what Elizabeth should do next!

“Mr. Darcy,” you say, determined to get to the bottom of this, “is there danger for my family in harbouring you here?”

He blinks, startled. “Danger? I cannot imagine so.” He glances toward the door as if hoping his cousin will come in to save him from your enquiry, but you are determined.

“And yet you were set upon on the grounds of Netherfield Park—”

“—which is almost twenty miles from here,” he interrupts.

“Yet you show no urgency in alerting Mr. Bingley to the danger on his property, which leads me to believe that the danger is not to the people of Meryton, but to you specifically.”

You watch him very carefully at this. He does not reply immediately, but you can see him swallow hard. You are right in your guess, but he does not wish to tell you more.

“You were very concerned for Miss Darcy when you arrived here,” you go on, frowning as you try to think over the sequence of events. “The danger extends to her.”

Mr. Darcy runs a hand over his eyes in a surprisingly casual gesture, then huffs out a laugh.

“Miss Bennet, you are too astute for your own good.” He shakes his head, a slight smile gracing his face. “It is no wonder your father called you the wittiest of his daughters.”

“And yet you are not answering me.”

He sighs and leans back in his chair. “To be honest with you, I do not know much myself. I have some conjectures, but I am hesitant to say much without proof. What I know for certain is that I was riding at Netherfield Park when I came across a rope stretched across the riding path.”

“A rope!”

He nods sharply. “There are a number of trails throughout the grounds, but there is one that I take most frequently—and I am the earliest rider of the Netherfield party. Thankfully, Rupert was able to stop in time.”

“Rupert?”

He reddens. “My, erm, horse.”

Mr. Darcy has a horse named, not Wellington or Zeus or Bucephalus, but Rupert. “A lovely name. Go on.”

“As I said, he stopped in time, but it was a near thing. And while I was regaining control, I was set upon by two men. I remember little else.”

“What did they look like?”

“Farm labourers,” Mr. Darcy says slowly. “I was fighting to keep Rupert calm after our sudden stop, so I saw them more out of the corner of my eye. For a moment, I thought they had come to help me. But then one grabbed my arm and yanked me sideways off the saddle, and then I felt the blow to the back of my head.”

“Do you think Mr. Bingley involved?”

Mr. Darcy bolts upright so suddenly that he groans and clutches at his head. “Bingley? Certainly not.”

“Then why are you hesitant to write to him?”

Mr. Darcy does not speak for a moment, but his jaw works as though he wishes to say something but will not. Finally, he says, “Because I believe the men who attacked me think they killed me, and I do not wish Mr. Bingley, however unwittingly, to spread the word of my survival. I know my friend. He would not mean to, but he would read the letter aloud, or he would walk around with a pleased smile on his face, and then all of Meryton would know I survived—including those who wished me dead.”

It makes sense, in a way. It must be part of the reason Mr. Darcy was so concerned about getting to London, along with his worries about his sister.

His sister! “Miss Darcy—do you think her in danger?”

“I do. I have been remiss in not explaining to her my concerns, but I will do so as soon as possible, so that she does not leave this house without sufficient escort. I may assume too much—perhaps they really were merely opportunists who laid a trap for the next horseman who rode that direction, as I would imagine the grass was worn away to make an obvious trail—but I dare not risk it.”

“Did I put you in danger by taking you to the Gardiners’ instead of to your London house?” You have been anxious over the idea since he first mentioned keeping his survival a secret. By bringing him here, you have necessarily involved more people, people who were not in his employ and might not keep the secret.

“I cannot say. In a way, this may be better, as anyone watching my London home will see that I do not arrive.” He sits forward in his chair, his eyes intent on yours. “Miss Bennet, I believe it goes without saying that this must remain between us. I cannot hope to conceal my survival, but I do want to keep as much information to myself as possible.”

There is a clamour outside in the passage, and Mr. Darcy stands up just as Miss Darcy enters the room, Aunt Gardiner on her heels.

“Brother!” she exclaims merrily. “You are awake! I am so pleased to see you downstairs.”

He takes two long strides toward her, and for a moment, you think him about to embrace her. Instead, he takes her hand in his and releases a long breath of relief. “Georgiana, where were you?”

She lets out a puff of air and pulls away from him, lowering herself elegantly onto a chair. “Calling on a friend of mine. Our aunt wishes me to keep up with my acquaintances from school, as a number of them are from influential families, and of course we will all be coming out close together.”

You frown. Her phrasing reminds you a little of Lydia when she does not wish to tell an outright falsehood but is not willing to tell the strict truth, either, although you cannot imagine what Miss Darcy would be concealing.

“Our aunt may have a point, but for the moment, I do not want you venturing out of the house without a proper escort—and not just your maid. Either Colonel Fitzwilliam or myself, or perhaps Mrs. Gardiner or Miss Bennet might be willing to go on calls with you.”

Her eyes go wide. “That is not fair!” she cries, leaping to her feet. “You were injured at Netherfield! That can have nothing to do with me! I have already left home to stay here in Cheapside with you, and now I cannot even go to see my friends without the escort of a tradesman’s wife or niece?” If she stamped her foot, her Lydia impression would be complete.

Mr. Darcy, ever the gentleman, excuses himself to take Miss Darcy upstairs so that they may continue their conversation in private. To your private dismay, unlike Lydia, Miss Darcy does modify her voice such that you have no idea how their conversation concludes. Your only clue is that she does not come downstairs for dinner but instead takes a tray in her room. When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrives just before the meal, he goes upstairs to speak with her for a little while, but he returns just as you are all about to proceed to the table, shaking his head and giving his cousin a speaking look.

“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy asks after dinner, “I wonder if you might play something for me.” His cousin looks at him in surprise, but he does not spare the colonel a glance.

“It will not aggravate your headache?” you ask, for you have noticed him wince and touch his head from time to time, and he is still willingly taking tea with bitter willowbark added.

“I thought you might play that lullaby you played at Lucas Lodge,” he says. “It was lovely.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. He remembers a single song you played weeks ago? “As you wish,” you say, taking a seat at the pianoforte. You will not act the blushing young miss by protesting that you do not play well. He clearly heard you play before, as have the Gardiners, so if he and his cousin are not pleased with your performance, it is his own fault.

But disappointment is the last thing you see on his face when you look up as you play. If anything, he seems . . . enraptured? It is a simple lullaby, soft and pleasant, and it suits your voice well, but it is nothing complicated or impressive. Yet he gives it more attention than he did Mrs. Hurst’s far more impressive performance of Rondo Alla Turca. What an odd man.

“Thank you,” he says when you finish, standing up gingerly. “I should retire for the night, but your playing was a delight.”

“Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam says, “I will come with you.” His look says that there are things to discuss.

Your aunt and uncle are sitting very close together, and it occurs to you that they have had little enough time alone since your dramatic arrival with the injured Mr. Darcy. Perhaps it would be a kindness if you, too, were to go upstairs a little early.

As you near the stairs, you catch a glimpse of a man’s coat in your peripheral vision. You turn just in time to see the library door close behind—was that Colonel Fitzwilliam? What is he doing in the library? Are he and Mr. Darcy planning to discuss the situation?

You know there is still something Mr. Darcy is concealing from you. You noticed the absence of a real motive or culprit in his story earlier. You do not think he was lying, but he must have his suspicions that he is not sharing with you. He may, however, share them with his cousin.

“—to Miss Darcy,” a voice says in the other direction, and you pivot again to see the housekeeper speaking with one of the maids, who carries a tray with a hot chocolate. “The poor girl says she cannot sleep without it.”

Miss Darcy is still awake. Is she still sulking after the limitations Mr. Darcy set upon her? A sympathetic ear might make her inclined to pour out her own woes—and maybe a few of Mr. Darcy’s as well. Would she know anything about someone who might have a grudge against Mr. Darcy? Of course, you dare not ask outright, but a few leading questions might lead to interesting answers. She is less guarded than Mr. Darcy.

Do you:

creep to the library and crack open the door, hoping to eavesdrop on Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s conversation

or

offer to take the chocolate upstairs to Miss Darcy and see if she might be more open about what she knows?

Let me know which you want to choose in the comments! And remember, no matter how hard the decision, you can only choose one option if you want your vote to be counted.

Next week is tech week and performance week for my daughter’s play, so it will be a fortnight again before the next posting. Gives you plenty of time to choose which way you want to vote!