Happy last day of January, friends! What a long month it’s been! Certainly a busy one for me, so I apologize for offering this fifth part of “On Air” a bit late — and unedited, as usual. If you’re interested in reading the earlier parts of this Elizabeth and Darcy story, set in 1939 New York, here are the links:
On to Part 5! Hope you enjoy!
On-Air (Part 5)
(An Elizabeth and Darcy Short Story)
Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0
She’d made it as far as the kitchen stairwell before he caught up with her.
“Wait, Bennet, please.”
Was it the “please” or the “Bennet” that stopped her? Not the “please,” for she didn’t care a whit about his attempts to be polite, not after what he’d said about Jane.
But her name: well, he was the only person who called her Bennet, and she wished it didn’t affect her so.
“Don’t you find it…strange?” Charlotte had asked once, when she’d overheard them arguing after a staff meeting.
“What—that we disagree? I’m not afraid of him!”
“No, that he calls you Bennet.”
“What’s wrong with it? Last names are common enough around the office.”
“For the men, yes! When did that start?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
A lie, for she knew exactly when it had begun: during the their first real debate, about a week after he’d arrived. They’d been going back and forth about how much time to give over to commercials during “Tales for Tots.”
“I’m not keen on ads for kids, Bennet, but we require revenue to—”
He’d stopped then, color flooding his cheeks, as if he’d only just heard the name he had so casually uttered.
It had been the first time she had seen him discomposed—the first time he had seemed real to her. Then their eyes had met, and she’d felt that first delightful lurch.
She’d been so surprised—not by his use of her last name, but by her reaction to it—that she’d laughed. “Well, Darcy?” she’d managed, cocking a brow for good measure. “Aren’t you going to finish your sentence?”
That could have been the end, rather than the beginning, if only he’d frowned or gone cold, lectured or reprimanded. But that lovely mouth of his had softened, the lips arching upward, just slightly, just enough—and from then on, she’d been Bennet.
“Treats her like one of the boys,” old Mr. Darcy had quipped, just a few days earlier.
Yes—and no.
Presently, she found herself wishing she were one of the boys; then she might be forgiven for throwing a few curse words at him.
“There is nothing you can possibly say,” she told him, “to explain away your insulting words about my sister!”
“I did not insult her.”
Looking at him had been a mistake. His tone, curt and flat, ought to have infuriated her, but to see the way he leaned forward, as if beseeching her to listen—no. She would not be swayed!
“But you did! You called her—”
“An unwed mother.” He crossed his arms, and that helped, for now he appeared just as cold and arrogant as his words: “I spoke only in factual terms.”
“Factual terms? You called her immoral! You said—”
“No!” His arms dropped to his sides, and he was back to leaning forward, face flushed, eyes flashing. “You misunderstood! I—”
“By your reckoning, I am always misunderstanding you! Have you ever stopped to wonder if you”—she took two steps toward him, finger pointed—“are fault? For someone in the radio business, you are a very poor communicator!”
“And have you,” he shot back, closing the gap between them, “ever wondered if you are at fault? You have a propensity for taking everything I say out of context!”
They were close enough now that she could have touched him, if she’d dared. What did it say about her that even now, in her anger, she was tempted to place her hand flat against his chest and feel that unsteady rise and fall against her palm?
She stumbled back a step, and he exhaled roughly.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, and that might have improved matters, if only he’d not added, “but…”
“But nothing! My sister is the best employee your pampered friends could ever hope to find!”
“Pampered? You don’t know Bingley.”
“And you don’t know my sister!”
Her voice was rising, even as his grew lower, colder: “I know her presence here is a risk to my friend’s reputation, to his practice, to—”
“Oh, I cannot believe you!” She was yelling now. She could hear the stridency, the unhinged pitch, the trembling fury, but she could not seem to stop herself. “Jane is—”
“Lizzy?”
At the sound of her sister’s voice, floating up the stairwell, Elizabeth froze.
“Lizzy, is that you?”
She glanced down the stairs, praying Jane hadn’t emerged from the kitchen—praying that she too wouldn’t suffer from overhearing words better left unsaid.
“All right up there?” Jane called. Her voice was muted, and she was not visible, suggesting she remained in the kitchen, safely out of sight.
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Yes, Janey, all’s well.” Her voice sounded so even, so neutral. Oh, what a fine actress she was! “I’m coming down to help you clean up.”
Without a word, she turned away from Darcy, and this time, when he said, hoarsely, “Wait, Elizabeth, please,” her steps did not falter.
But her heartbeat did. First name, last name: it didn’t seem to matter. He had, in spite of everything, gotten to her.
*
Only when Tommy was in his room, fast asleep—when Mary was in the study, working on her typing skills; when their mother was in the bath, flipping through the latest issue of Glamour of Hollywood; when Kitty and Lydia were in the living room, practicing their dance steps to the radio broadcast Count Basie’s Orchestra (on CBS, not PBN, unfortunately)—only then did Jane turn to Elizabeth and ask, “What’s going on with you and Mr. Darcy?”
“It’s Dr. Darcy, actually.” Elizabeth kicked her feet up onto the railing of Longbourn’s front porch. It was one of those perfect August evenings: a half moon, a zillion stars, and a breeze just strong enough to keep the heat and mosquitos at bay.
“Yes, Charlie…that is, Dr. Bingley said they’d met at Johns Hopkins, then worked together for several years. He claims Darcy was one of the best physicians he’d ever known. I wonder why he stopped.”
Elizabeth wondered, too, but said only, “Charlie, eh?”
She immediately regretted her coy question. Was she any different from Darcy, with his unkind words? Then again, Darcy hadn’t asked a question; he’d made an outright accusation. Well, as good as one.
But Jane only smiled at her sister’s teasing tone. “He’s asked me, time and again, to call him by his first name, and sometimes…well, sometimes I do. Dr. Bingley is very kind.”
“I hope he is.”
Jane leaned back in her rocking chair, wrapping her arms about herself. “You don’t have to worry about me, Lizzy.”
“I’m not worrying.”
“You are. Why else would you have been arguing with your boss about my role at Netherfield?”
Elizabeth sighed. “So you did hear us.”
“It was impossible not to, Lizzy.” Jane laughed softly. “You are the best—and the most defensive—sister a girl could have.”
“Look: what he said about you—”
“Sounded fair enough to me.”
“Jane!”
“From what I could tell, he was worried about his friend, Lizzy.”
“You didn’t hear everything!”
“I didn’t have to.” Jane turned in her chair to look at her. “I know my own reputation. Believe me, I’ve heard the town gossip.” She sighed. “Mama doesn’t help matters. She’s telling all her friends—or the women who pretend to be her friends—that Charlie is smitten with me!”
“Argh! Mama has never learned to keep a thought to herself.”
“Like mother, like daughter.”
“Touché,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “Well, is he smitten with you?”
“No! Of course not! It’s been only three weeks and two days since I started, five weeks and a day since he moved here.” Jane bit her lip, then added, quietly, “But Lizzy…he just what a man should be: kind and caring and funny and…”
“Oh, Jane.”
“I’d quit if I could,” she said, dropping her head in her hands, “but it’s a really good job, Lizzy.” She glanced over at her sister, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “Should I quit?”
“Goodness, Jane, I… I don’t know! I wish you weren’t in this position at all. You’re a teacher, not a housekeeper! Why won’t this ridiculous town hire you again at the school?”
“You know why, and besides, I do love to bake. My bread is quite good, if I do say so myself.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And he’s shut up most of the rooms in Netherfield, so the cleaning is very light work. I can even bring Tommy with me. Oh, Lizzy, he’s so good with Tommy, so very good! And the pay—well, he pays me too much, which I’ve told him, but he won’t hear another word about it, which is all the more reason I should quit, because I’m taking advantage of him! But the money, Lizzy, the money.”
Elizabeth reached over and took hold of her sister’s hand. “Jane, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Her sister smiled a sad little smile, wobbly and uncertain. “I told you: don’t worry about me. He’s never done anything improper. Never even come close! It’s all in my head, these feelings. Anyway, didn’t we begin this conversation by talking about Dr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth glowered at her sister. “You began it that way. I have nothing to say about a man who insults my sister.”
“Oh, Lizzy. He’s just being a loyal friend. It’s not unreasonable for him to be worried about Charlie’s reputation—or mine, all things considered.”
“Of course it’s unreasonable!” Elizabeth tugged her hand free from Jane’s. “Anyone who makes such assumptions is unreasonable! How dare he question your integrity, merely because you were unlucky enough to meet a scoundrel like George Wickham!”
“I’ll never,” Jane said, with quiet resolve, “think of myself as unlucky for meeting George, Lizzy. Not when I have Tommy.”
She winced. “Of course not. I’d never wish away Tommy. But his birth doesn’t make Wickham any better of a man.”
“He’s not a monster, you know. I did have an equal role in matters!”
Elizabeth looked over at her sister, surprised by the fervor in her voice.
“I don’t like it when you make me out to be the victim, Lizzy! I feel…small.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to apologize, but her breath caught and her chest ached too much for words.
“I wanted to sleep with him, just as much as he wanted to sleep with me,” Jane continued, with a little laugh that made Elizabeth certain she was blushing. “And I wasn’t so innocent or naive that I didn’t know of the possible consequences. I just thought…”
“You thought he’d be there for you,” Elizabeth finished, finding her voice at last. Scrambling out of her seat, she hovered beside Jane, reaching for her—and then pulling back. “Oh, Jane, I am so sorry for making you feel small! I have never met a a stronger, more capable—”
Jane jumped up, throwing her arms about her sister. “Shush, Lizzy, shush! You are making fools of us both!”
Only a few minutes later, when their tears were dry and their laughter had subsided, when they were back in their chairs, the rockers squeaking against the porch floor, did Elizabeth say, “Wickham is a liar, Jane.”
“Yes, he lied. He lied even to himself, I think.”
“Oh, for goodness sake—”
“I’m not defending him, Lizzy! It’s only—well, he really did try to make himself believe he could live here as a respectable postal clerk in a small town. I think that’s why he asked me to marry him; he wanted to make it seem real, you know?”
No, she didn’t know. Elizabeth felt quite certain Wickham asked Jane to marry him because he knew there was no other way to get into her bed.
“But this isn’t the life for him,” Jane continued, “and I knew it, too.”
“That may be the case, but he still has a responsibility to Tommy!”
“And he sends money…on occasion.”
“Yes, on occasion. He might be—he should be—sending more!” Elizabeth paused, then added, quietly, “He’s going to get his own show on PBN.”
Jane turned to stare at her. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well…that’s good news, isn’t it?”
It all came out then: Wickham’s maneuvering, the fate of “Tales for Tots” — even Darcy’s concerns about Wickham and Georgiana.
Perhaps if Elizabeth were a less selfish creature, she wouldn’t have told Jane of Wickham’s latest flame. Then again, as Jane had so wisely pointed out, she was no victim. She was strong enough to stand on her own two feet—and to move on.
“Janey,” Elizabeth said after a long moment of silence, “should I tell Darcy about Wickham—about Tommy and you?”
“Oh, Lizzy.” Jane exhaled heavily. “I don’t know. If it were just up to me, I’d say, Fine, tell them! Around town, I don’t talk about it, of course, and I dread the day when Tommy will be old enough to understand the gossip. But Dr. Darcy and his sister—well, maybe they should know.”
“They absolutely should!”
“Well, except—shouldn’t George be the one to tell them…to tell her, especially?”
“Jane, he’ll never tell her the truth!”
“We don’t know that, Lizzy. How long should a person wait before telling their new love interest about their past lovers?” Jane managed a breathy laugh. “At least I don’t have that problem. Any man who might be interested in me already knows…well, it would take a brave man, wouldn’t it?”
“A brave man? A lucky man— and a smart man!” Elizabeth huffed. God willing, Charles Bingley was indeed smart enough to see Jane for all that she was. “As for Wickham, he’s been taking Georgiana Darcy out often enough that it’s getting serious. Or at least, Darcy thinks it’s getting serious, and he seems the kind of man who—”
Who loves his sister. The words stuck in her throat, but she knew the truth. Yes, he could be arrogant and socially inept, but he did care for others: he was a loyal friend, a loving brother, and a considerate boss. Sure, he argued with her, but she had never heard him say a cross word to anyone else around the office. More than that, he spoke with respect to everyone he met: from Mel the lift operator to the owner of PBN himself.
Indeed, she was beginning to suspect Darcy had taken on the title of Vice-President of Finance—a role for which he had absolutely no training—purely at his father’s urging. She had only circumstantial evidence to support this belief: the coughing, the wheezing, the stoop of the old man’s shoulders. Elizabeth may not have had many conversations with old Mr. Darcy, but she’d seen him around the office often enough these past several years. Until recently, he had moved and acted like man in his prime.
“Jane, I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.
Her sister opened her mouth to respond, but then came a shriek of laughter from inside the house—Lydia, no doubt. It grew so loud that, within moments, Tommy was wailing from an upstairs room.
“Thoughtless Lydia” cried Elizabeth, shooting up from her chair.
Jane merely shook her head. “It is not easy, being a lively young woman in a home with a young child.” Pushing herself to her feet, she added, “Besides, Tommy has been having more and more nightmares lately. No, do not worry!” she added, when Elizabeth made a squeak of alarm. “He’s fine. It’s perfectly normal at this age, or so Charlie—er, Dr. Bingley said.”
Elizabeth followed Jane into the house. “He’s a pediatrician, then?”
“By training, yes, though he practices general medicine here. He said there aren’t enough small town doctors and—”
“Mommy!” Tommy stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at them. “There were monkeys flying everywhere!”
“Come here, my boy,” she said, rushing up the stairs and taking him into her arms.
“Well, that’s what we get for taking him with us to movies!” declared Lydia, who had come to stand next to Elizabeth at the bottom of the stairs.
“It was your idea to see The Wizard of…whatever it’s called!”1 said Kitty.
“No, you were the one who wanted to see it!” said Lydia. “I don’t care about witches and monkeys!”
“Monkeys!” screeched Tommy, sobbing into his mother’s shoulder.
“It was a terrible picture,” noted Fanny Bennet, wandering past in her silk bathrobe, hair still wrapped in a towel, nails glistening red from a recent painting.
“Look, would you all mind?” Elizabeth nodded toward the top of the stairs, though Jane and Tommy were no longer there. No doubt she’d taken him back to the small bedroom where they both slept.
“Ooh, look at you, Miss Lizzy,” said their mother, as she headed for the kitchen. (No doubt it was time for her evening tonic—and gin.) “You come home for two days, and you think you’re mistress of Longbourn!”
“Besides, it’s not my fault about Tommy. That kid is always crying!” Lydia heaved a dramatic sigh. “What I wouldn’t give to live in Manhattan with you, Lizzy!”
Elizabeth thought she’d give a great deal to make sure that never happened. “Just turn off the radio and get some sleep, will you?”
Lydia stuck out her tongue, while Kitty sullenly followed Elizabeth’s orders.
“There’s no place like home, eh?” Jane asked Lizzy a few minutes later, when they both found themselves waiting for Lydia to finish in the bathroom.
“Tommy got back to sleep all right?”
“Yes, it only took a lullaby or two.”
“You’re a saint, Janey, for managing it all.”
“No, I just do the best I can.” She bit her lip, then said, quickly, “Tell him if you want, Lizzy.”
“What do you mean?”
Lydia threw open the door to the bathroom then. “It was Kitty who stank up the bathroom before me, I’ll have you know!”
“I mean Dr. Darcy,” said Jane, after Lydia had sailed past them. “If you think it’s for the best that he—that his sister—knows the truth, you ought to tell them.”
“I…I don’t know what’s for the best, Jane.”
And she didn’t. She could be out of a job soon. If she lost her income and Wickham stopped sending his check—what then? Longbourn might be chaotic, but there really was no place like home.
*
The next morning, when she boarded the train to Manhattan, she still didn’t have an answer. What would she say if Darcy asked her, once again, why she didn’t like Wickham?
But he didn’t ask. He didn’t even acknowledge her, except to meet her eyes, ever so briefly, as he came down the aisle of the train car. Then he sped up, striding all the way to the front of the car, as if he couldn’t get far enough away from her.
All week it was like this: she’d be in the lift, talking with Mel, and he’d be hurrying across the lobby, only to turn away at the last moment, calling out, “Don’t hold the doors for me, Mel; I’ll take the stairs”; or he’d be passing the cluster of desks where the “Tales” team worked, and Charlotte would jump up, hoping to ask him a question about the accounts, only he wouldn’t stop, as he used to do, but instead would say, as he hurried past, “Mrs. Reynolds will schedule a meeting for us, Miss Lucas.”
It hurt so much more than she wanted to admit. Infuriated her, too—for what had she done but stand up to him, as she always had? Then she’d feel a wave of guilt, thinking of the insults she’d thrown at him. But he’d been so insulting toward Jane! (Or had he been?)
She’d seesaw from anger to sadness, confusion to consternation, only to hope, each time their paths almost crossed, that he might stop and argue with her—about anything, anything at all.
By the following Saturday morning, when the Tales team were gathered in the studio, preparing to go on air, she was emotionally exhausted—so much so that she only hoped she’d be able to give a decent performance for the children, far and wide, who had been eagerly awaiting the end of this story arc. (Would Tania, the runaway princess, be able to save Mr. Pipsqueak, the mouse who had once saved her from the cruel palace guard? Tune in next time, kids!)
Elizabeth was determined, in spite of everything, to do her best. It was, after all, to be the team’s penultimate Saturday morning show.
She and Denny were checking the various sound effects—the tap shoes and plywood for quick-running footsteps, the temple block and slapstick for horse hooves and riding whips, the motor in a tub for the rumblings of thunder—when a voice from the hall exclaimed, “Oh, George, can we stop and watch them?”
“Who forgot to shut the damn door?” muttered Denny, shooting old Mr. Philips a glare.
“We’ve still got eight minutes before we go on air,” soothed Charlotte, who then said, in a brighter voice, “We’re honored to have you visit, Miss Darcy!”
Elizabeth just stopped herself from glancing back at the young woman she had, hitherto, seen only in the papers.
“Georgi, we ought to let them work in peace.”
At that voice, she couldn’t help herself. His might not have been a voice for radio, but it had some magnetic property, one that never failed to draw her eyes to his.
“Oh, you’re Miss Lizzy, aren’t you!” Georgiana Darcy strode across the studio, hands outstretched. “Is it odd of me to admit I’m one of your biggest fans?”
Yes, Elizabeth thought, taking the younger woman’s hands automatically. It was odd, for a number of reasons. She was tempted to ask this fan of hers just what she thought of the decision to move the show to 10pm, but she found herself looking at Darcy, who wore an inexplicable expression as he glanced between her and his sister.
Forcing a smile, Elizabeth said, “Thank you, Miss Darcy. I had no idea you listened to the show.”
“Oh, three Saturdays a month, all four if I can make it to the Henry Street Settlement House in time for the broadcast.2 I spend my mornings with some of the children there. I’d be there today, but George”—here she glanced back at Wickham, who lurked in the doorway, looking rather like he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else—“insisted on taking me to East Hampton today. It’s my birthday, you see, and he knows how much I love the seaside.”
“Anything for you, my dear.”
God, how that voice made her skin crawl!
It was clear Georgiana was immune to the sliminess lurking beneath those melodious tones, for she blushed prettily as Wickham strolled into the studio, placing an arm on her shoulder.
To Elizabeth, Georgiana said, “I do feel a little guilty not being at Henry Street with the children when they hear the exciting conclusion of Tania’s tale. What is going to happen?”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ll just have to wait and see—or hear, I suppose.”
“Why couldn’t you be at Henry Street?”
Georgiana turned to look at her brother. “Whatever do you mean?”
“If you had wanted to go to Henry Street before you left for the Hamptons, you could have.”
“Oh, well, I—” Georgiana glanced at Wickham, whose hand tightened on her shoulder. “George said it would be quicker if we left directly from PBN, so—“
“Henry Street is closer to the bridge,” said Darcy, eyes on Wickham.
“Well, George is very good at organizing,” Georgiana said, frowning at her brother. “He knows what he’s doing, Will.”
“Organizing is the one thing I can do,” said Wickham, with that unctuous smile of his. “Well that, and a little acting, I suppose.”
“Oh yes, you’re quite the actor,” said Elizabeth.
“I’m nothing to you, Miss Lizzy.” Then, offering Georgiana a winning smile, he said, “Your brother’s right, dear: Henry Street is closer to the bridge, but it’s not closer to a certain shop I hope to visit before we head out of town.” He winked at Darcy. “Those little blue boxes, you know—they make quite the birthday gift.”3
Georgiana flushed. “George, I don’t need jewelry!”
“Aren’t you going to let me spoil you a little on your birthday?” He wore a wounded expression. “I know I don’t quite have the same means as you do, my dear, but—”
“Oh, but that’s not what I meant, only—“
“WeIl, if you won’t be seen with me at Tiffany’s, surely we can visit Glaser’s for one of those black and white cookies you love.”
Her smile was tentative. “All right, then. That I’ll accept.” She turned to Elizabeth. “George thinks of every detail.”
Oh, there were details he found easy enough to forget.
Perhaps Wickham knew just how tempted she was to make such a remark, for he cut in quickly with, “Attention to detail was drilled into me during my dull days as a postal clerk!”
“Postal clerk,” said Darcy, flatly. Then he looked not at Wickham or his sister—but at Elizabeth.
Good god, he knew. Somehow, he knew.
“Er, yes, I was a postal clerk, once,” said Wickham, clearing his throat.
“So what if he was a postal clerk?” Georgiana asked, crossing her arms. “It is a very good job, Will!”
“Er, excuse me,” said Charlotte, stepping forward hesitantly. “It’s just, we’ve only two minutes till we go on air, and—”
“Right, of course,” said Wickham. “We should leave.”
“Oh, but I was hoping—” Georgiana looked over at the set, at the microphone, at Elizabeth.
“You can stay, if you like,” she said, turning away quickly to grab her script. “We’ve performed for live audiences before. Just don’t make a sound,” she added, with a grin.
“I think the Darcys know how to behave on radio, Miss Bennet,” said Wickham, smirking.
“And I think it’s their studio right now,” said Darcy. He met Elizabeth’s gaze. “We’ll leave if you want, Bennet.”
One minute to go, and so many emotions swirling. But was she a professional, or wasn’t she?
“No, don’t leave,” she said, holding his gaze for just a moment longer. Then she grabbed her script and headed for the microphone.
Later, after Tania had indeed saved Mr. Pipsqueak and Denny had played a few celebratory notes on his bugle, Elizabeth leaned into the microphone.
“The truth about endings,” she said, in her best narrator’s voice, “is this: they aren’t really endings at all. Do you suppose Tania and Mr. Pipsqueak are gone, now that this tale has come to a close? They’re still here, my friends—so long as you want them to be.”
She glanced at Mr. Philips, who played the show’s closing tune on the phonograph. Only when the last note sounded did she breathe again.
“Oh, that was lovely!” cried Georgiana, as soon as the on-air sign had gone dark.
“Yes, but not quite the ending we wrote,” murmured Charlotte, taking the script from Elizabeth’s hands.
Elizabeth grinned at her friend, gave a nod of thanks to Georgiana, and then hurried from the studio, sparing Wickham not a single glance. As for Darcy? Magnetism, damn it, magnetism.
Perhaps it was magnetism that caused them, a half hour later, to be walking together, perfectly in sync, along Fifth Avenue.
“Another weekend in Meryton?” he asked, after they had walked in silence for several minutes.
“Yes,” she said, “but I have a feeling you already knew that.”
“Bingley mentioned it was Tommy’s birthday tomorrow.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Jane calls Tommy her birthday present, though he came eight days after the fact.” A few more steps in silence, and then, “And you? Another weekend at Netherfield?”
“Yes.”
“Trying to ensure your friend isn’t ensnared by an immoral woman, are you?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“For God’s sake, Bennet, do you let anything go?”
They had reached that glorious lobby of Grand Central and this week, she had the time to stop and stare up at the vaulted ceiling.
“When it comes to my sister, no,” she said, the mural above blurring behind her tears. “I don’t let anything go. I love her too much.”
“I know the feeling,” he said quietly.
She met his gaze. “Yes, I think you do.”
Around them, a cacophony of sound: the footsteps of hundreds, the echo of their chatter, the announcements and train whistles—all the vibrations that came with this effort to transport so many people from here to there.
Between them, a long moment of silence—at least until she drew in a breath and said, “I want to tell you about George Wickham.”
© 2025 Christina Morland
Notes:
-
The Wizard of Oz was first released on Friday, August 25, 1939. It’s Sunday, August 27 in this story!
-
The Henry Street Settlement House was one of many settlement houses that provided daycare, health care, and other services to people who couldn’t otherwise afford them in early 20th century America. You can find out more about the Henry Street Settlement House here. https://www.henrystreet.org/about/our-history/
-
Wickham’s referring to Tiffany’s blue boxes.
If you’re interested in reading Part 6, it will be available here after February 10. Thanks!
20 comments
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oooooh!
What a cliffhanger! Can’t wait for the next installment.
Author
Hi, Stephanie! Thank you so much! I hope to post Part 6 the week of February 10. Happy February!
What a surprise to find a new part of this story waking up in the morning! It feels like finding presents under the Christmas tree. A cup of milk, cornflakes and your story and my day can start in a better way, despite the rainy weather.
I do love your “Bennet”: so full of energy, impulsive but also ready to recognize her mistakes. One note on your Jane characters: you always give her dignity, wisdom and she is also ironic and more interesting than ever. Brava!
Author
Lisa, thank you so much for your thoughtful comments! I’m so glad Jane and “Bennet” both resonate with you. Also, if my writing (in spite of the typos and such) can improve a rainy day, I feel very happy!
I hope to get the next part up the week of February 10. Thanks again!
I so completely love this story. I get caught up it in and regret that it a serial, because I cannot turn the page and go on.
Thank you
Author
Deb, thank you for putting up with the serial nature of the story. I completely get you on that! I hope to have the next part up the week of February 10, and I hope to be finished with the entire story by mid-March. Thanks again for reading!
Phew! How could you stop there? How can I wait for the next chapter? How will despicable Wickham get his comeuppance? How long until I know? How do ODC finally get together? How will I stand the wait?
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. These questions and more need answers but I suppose I’ll just have to keep waiting and keep reading to learn what they are? 
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Author
Glynis, your great questions and heartwarming emojis bring me such joy! I hope to have the next part up the week of February 10 and the whole story completely by mid-March. We’ll see if I can do justice to your anticipation. In the meantime, we are lucky to live in a world full of so much great Austenesque fiction that I’m sure you will have much better things to read between now and then! Enjoy and thank you, as always, for all your kind comments!
What a nice treat to wake up to the next installment this morning! Thank you for the entertaining story!
Author
Many thanks to you, SAF, for taking the time to read and comment! So glad you’re continuing to enjoy the story. Hope to have the next part up the week of February 10. Until then, happy February to you!
NICE!!!! Love the ending!!! Can’t wait to see how it turns out, thanks Christina!!!
Author
Ah, thanks, Char! I appreciate all the exclamation points, as they’ve got me more excited to get moving this morning than I otherwise was!
Many thanks for continuing to read and comment, Char! I hope to have the next part up the week of February 10. Thank you!
Wow!!! Love this story and hanging on for the next bit. Would love to know Darcy’s thoughts and feelings for the last week…what was going on in his head and heart??????
Author
Aw, thanks, Lexi! I managed to put up a new chapter today, and though I’m not confident it fully answers your questions — or answers them as well as I’d like — it’s been fun to develop this story as I go. Thanks so much for reading and commenting!
I’m really enjoying this PP variation! Im both exicted for the conclusion but also sad that it’s coming to the end.
Author
Thanks, Emily, for your comment and for reading! While I managed to get another post up recently, I’m still a ways from the end…maybe 2/3 of the way through the story? I’m figuring this one out as I go along, which I haven’t done in a while, so it’s fun for me! (But perhaps not fun for readers. You’ve been very patient with my bumbling progress and generous with your encouragement.) Thank you!
I am enjoying this story so much! I look forward to the next chapter and will be sad when it’s over.
Author
Thanks so much, Catherine! There’s a new (partial) chapter up today, and I suspect I’m about 2/3 of the way through the story as a whole. We’ll see. Figuring this out as I go! Many thanks for reading, and hope you and yours are well!
This is a great start to a story! The tension between Darcy and Lizzy is fantastic. Darcy Sr. is such a sexist! Of course, it went with the times – but it highlights how his son isn’t one. Why did Darcy stop practicing medicine?
Author
Thank you so much, Isabelle, for taking the time to read the story! Yes, I’ve had some fun imagining Darcy, Sr. as a very different sort of man than his son. It’s a major departure from canon, but then, so is the entire story! I’ve had fun playing around with the characters and the world. Not sure at what point this becomes P&P in name only, but it makes me very happy to know you’re enjoying reading it!