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The next morning brought the news that Sarah’s condition was slightly improved, though her fever remained high. But there was another grisly discovery which now drew everyone’s attention: when the scullery maid went out into the rear yard to feed the chickens, she found two of the pullets dead. They lay on their backs, their legs still twitching in convulsions. The girl’s terrified scream brought all the family running and there was great puzzlement for no wounds could be seen, no signs of bleeding or disease.
“’Tis the Sakura curse!” Lydia declared, her eyes wide. “First it struck Sarah and now this!”
“Be quiet, Lydia,” said Elizabeth, seeing how much her youngest sister’s words were frightening the servants. “We know nothing of the details of the curse and it is foolish to jump to conclusions.”
The thought, however, was planted and the rest of the household remained uneasy, with the servants huddling together to speculate and gossip for the rest of the day. At breakfast, a heated dispute ensued as Lydia and Kitty attempted to persuade Mary to dispose of the music box and she obstinately refused. At last, she agreed to lock it inside an old trunk so that it could be out of sight for a short period.
Elizabeth had been curious about the Sakura curse ever since hearing her uncle mention it in his letter the previous day and now—with the events of the morning increasing her interest—she was determined to learn more of its details and origins. Thus when breakfast was complete, she sought her father’s permission to browse his extensive library. She spent a good hour exploring the shelves before she came upon a volume which might aid her in her quest. Climbing up the ladder, Elizabeth retrieved the title and blew the dust off its old leather cover. It was entitled Legends, Folklore, and Superstitions of the Far East. She took the book to a comfortable seat by the window and settled herself for a pleasant period of study. Elizabeth found the contents of the book fascinating and was soon engrossed in its pages. She was halfway through the slim volume when she was rewarded with a mention of the very curse in question:
The Sakura curse is an ancient curse invoked by one of Japan’s oldest noble families. To protect their treasured heirlooms and antiques, they cast a jinx on all possessions so that—should they be stolen—the new owners would be vigorously punished. In particular, the curse is most potent around the time of a full moon. Therefore, anyone who has come into possession of an item afflicted by the Sakura curse should take particular care to avoid using the item during a night of the full moon. Should this rule be broken, death and suffering will follow. It is not a curse to be trifled with. Those who have been struck down by it shall find their worst fears realised.
Elizabeth looked up uncomfortably. Despite the rays of morning sunshine slanting in through the library windows, she felt a chill creep up her spine. She reminded herself that she did not believe in supernatural terrors and chided herself for allowing a few colourful words in an old book to stir her emotions. She was about to read on when she was disturbed by the opening of the library door. Kitty stood in the doorway and her eyes brightened as she spied Elizabeth.
“There you are, Lizzy!” she said. “Mama and Mr Collins have been looking everywhere for you. Mr Collins would like a private audience with you.”
“With me?” said Elizabeth with some unease. She shut the book and stood up. She had an inkling of Mr Collins’s intentions and she had no wish for this interview.
“I shall go and tell Mama that you are here in the library,” said Kitty, turning to leave.
“No, wait, Kitty!” said Elizabeth quickly. “I shall be leaving the library directly. In point of fact, I am going this very moment.”
She hurried to the French windows which gave onto the patio. It was not a route which was normally used, but she fancied that her father would forgive her this unorthodox exit from the library when he learnt the reason for her hasty departure.
“But... what shall I tell Mama and Mr Collins?” asked Kitty in confusion.
“Tell them... tell them I have gone to visit Charlotte Lucas!” said Elizabeth as she struggled with the latch on the French window. It was stiff and rusty, having not been used for years, and for a moment she was fearful of not being able to make her escape. Then with a sudden creak, the window opened and she was able to step out into the garden.
Without speaking a further adieu to Kitty, Elizabeth hurried across the lawn and down the main drive, keen to quit the grounds of Longbourn as soon as possible. She was not properly attired for walking, but it was too late to go back now. She knew it had been a silly and rash action—she could not run from Mr Collins forever—but nevertheless, her feet heeded not rational thought but emotional impulses. She wanted to avoid the interview with Mr Collins, which she suspected could lead a proposal of marriage she would have to refuse. Such a refusal would no doubt bring much distress to her mother and dispute within the family. Perhaps by postponing it, she could somehow prevent its occurrence altogether.
The walk was slightly better than the one they had embarked on to Meryton not two days earlier, for the weather had continued dry and the ground had become less water-logged. But there were still extensive sections of muddy puddles and Elizabeth had to make a great effort to avoid them, particularly as she was clothed only in her morning gown and kid slippers, for she had not dressed that morning with the anticipation of a hasty departure from Longbourn. She came at last to the final field which separated her from Lucas Lodge and saw with dismay that it was particularly marshy. A walk through the mud and grass there would certainly ruin her slippers beyond repair and likely her gown too.
She cast her eyes around for another solution and spied a stretch of woods to the right of the field. The trees there appeared to be growing on higher ground and Elizabeth reasoned that the going would be much easier. Thus, she changed direction and made for the trees, climbing the slight incline to reach their shade. She was delighted to find that the ground here was indeed harder and drier, for the trees’ dense foliage had sheltered the ground from much of the rain. The higher level had also meant that most of the deluge had moved downwards to the lower ground and settled in the fields.
With her new advantage, Elizabeth hastened her steps, keen to reach Charlotte’s abode and confess her ill-advised plan of escape to her friend. But this desire for greater speed was her undoing, for as she attempted to climb over a fallen log, she misjudged her step and slipped, pitching forwards into the undergrowth. Her foot, which had wedged beneath the log, was twisted in an unnatural way, causing her excruciating pain.
Elizabeth gasped and cried out. She found herself prostrate on the ground, surrounded by leaves and twigs. Rolling over, she assessed her position. Her foot was still trapped beneath the log, but by careful wriggling, she was able to eventually extricate it, though the activity caused her much pain and she was unable to contain her cries of suffering.
At length, she was able to pull her leg entirely free and check its condition. Her ankle was decidedly swollen, the skin angry and hot to the touch. She winced as she attempted to wriggle her foot. More pain was to come when she attempted to stand. She found that she could not rest her weight on the injured foot and was reduced to hobbling, holding the tree next to her for support.
Another sharp flare of pain sent her stumbling again, almost landing once more on the ground. She caught the tree next to her just in time and eased herself carefully back down to sit on the log, massaging her sore ankle as she debated her options. She was not that far from Lucas Lodge and yet she did not think that she could draw their attention by dint of her cries. It was frustrating to be so near the source of help and yet be so unable to access it.
The heavy foliage of the trees also hid her from view of the road, so she was unable to signal for help from that quarter. Elizabeth bit her lip in vexation. She could not stay here forever! She took a deep breath and attempted once more to stand. Then her attention was caught by the sound of footsteps approaching.
Elizabeth turned towards the sound, pleased at the thought of a rescuer. Perhaps it would be a wandering woodsman or a nearby farmer, making an inspection of his land. She would be able to explain her mishap to them and they could perhaps assist her to Lucas Lodge. Her surprise was great when the man came into view and she recognised the smile upon that handsome countenance.
It belonged to Wicked George the Highwayman.
“You!” she exclaimed.
“We meet again,” he said with obvious delight. “I heard cries of pain and came to investigate.”
Elizabeth drew back. She was very aware of the isolation of these woods and the dangers attendant upon such a solitary encounter. She also remembered Charlotte’s warning against a friendship with the brigand. But—as before—she found it difficult to muster any real fear of this man. Instead, she found her lips parting in an involuntary smile as he swept her that flamboyant bow again.
“It seems that fate is determined we should meet,” said Wicked George. “Considering that this is the fourth of such encounters, may I be so bold as to ask your name?”
Elizabeth knew that she ought not to answer him. Indeed, it was the height of impropriety to be conversing with the highwayman in such a social manner, but before she knew what she was doing, she found herself answering readily.
“It is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“And pray, may I ask, were those your sisters I encountered the other day?”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “And the gentleman we were with was our cousin, Mr Collins. We were on our way to meet to visit our aunt in Meryton...”
Elizabeth shut her mouth firmly, unable to believe what she had just related to this stranger. Had she taken leave of her senses? She was not at some soirée, exchanging social pleasantries with a member of the local gentry! Unnerved by her own behaviour, she gathered the skirts of her gown and turned to leave. Unfortunately, her injured ankle handicapped her progress and she could not stifle a moan of pain.
“Madam! You are hurt!” said Wicked George.
“’Tis merely a small injury,” said Elizabeth quickly. “I have turned my ankle. It shall be better presently, I am sure.”
“I do not share your optimism, Miss Bennet,” said he, looking sceptically down at her feet.
Elizabeth followed the line of his gaze and was dismayed to see that her ankle did indeed look in poor condition. It was now swollen to twice its size—indeed her entire foot was enlarged and the slipper could barely fit. She moved gingerly and attempted to place her foot on the ground, wincing as fresh pain assaulted her.
“Come, Miss Bennet, you cannot be thinking of walking on that foot?” said Wicked George.
“It seems I have no choice, sir. I do not wish to spend the night here in these woods,” said Elizabeth with some asperity.
“Then will you permit me to carry you?” he asked.
Elizabeth recoiled in horror. “Carry me? No, no, certainly not, sir! That would be highly improper!”
He waved his hand dismissively. “And are you always bound so rigidly by the rules of society, Miss Bennet? Come, I had not thought you so weak-hearted as that! You strike me as one who is independent of spirit and courageous of mind, unafraid to challenge the accepted social mores if they align not with reason.”
Elizabeth could not help feeling flattered by his words. That was indeed how she liked to see herself and felt to be the strength of her character. That he should recognise and admire it gratified her immensely. Unlike those such as Mr Darcy who seek to chastise me for my independent personality, she thought peevishly.
She looked back towards the highwayman. “You appear to know me quite well, sir,” said Elizabeth, with a small smile. “But in this instance, I must insist that such a course of action could lead to irreparable damage to my reputation. Even I cannot escape the judgement of society, no matter how hard I strive. Perhaps...” She hesitated. “My friend’s house is not far. It is that large manor you see yonder. Perhaps you would consider going there yourself and notifying the inhabitants of my predicament?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Me? Are you advising that I should present myself on their doorstep? How should I introduce myself? There would be no question of my gaining their confidence and leading them to your whereabouts without revealing who I am.”
“Perhaps they will not realise who you are...” said Elizabeth desperately.
He shook his head. “You cannot be serious, madam. Much as I would do anything for so beautiful a lady as yourself, I am afraid that my gallantry quails before the thought of imprisonment. You are aware, of course, that the punishment for highway robbery is death by execution?”
Elizabeth dropped her gaze. “Yes, I am aware of that. I am sorry—it was uncharitable of me to suggest such a course of action.”
“Therefore, you see, my carrying you is the only real solution,” said Wicked George with a smile.
Elizabeth demurred. “I cannot allow it, sir. The consequences of scandal are simply too terrible to contemplate. I suppose I shall have to resign myself to spending an evening here in the woods.”
“That is an abominable suggestion! Can we not come to a compromise?” He gestured towards the field and the direction of Lucas Lodge. “I can carry you to within sight of your friend’s manor and deposit you at a closer location whereupon you might signal for help.”
His suggestion had merit. Elizabeth had to admit that and she was sorely tempted to accept his offer. Seeing her hesitation, he pressed his advantage.
“Perhaps you may feel more comfortable about the proposal if we were to be properly introduced. I know your name and now you shall know mine—my proper name and not the mischievous nickname that has been wished upon me.” He made her an elegant bow. “George Wickham, at your service.”
“George Wickham?” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, that is my name,” said Wickham. “And it was once a proud name. My father was a very respectable gentleman, the steward to a noble family with a great estate, and I grew up in gentility and comfort. Were it not for the turn of circumstances, I should have been continuing my life in the manner that my father had hoped for me.”
Elizabeth could not help a surge of curiosity at his words. What could he mean? She was keen to know more of his background and, happily, it seemed that Wickham was prepared to tell her. With very little prompting, he gave her the full details of the story. She listened with mounting surprise to his account of his pampered boyhood growing up within the large estate in Derbyshire, assured of the best education and comforts.
But the greatest surprise came when she learned the name of the master of that estate: Mr Darcy.
