An End to Estrangement - A Pride and Prejudice Variation

Part 13

"I assume, from the silence, that you are not particularly pleased to see me, Darcy? Or, perhaps, it is rather that you are surprised to see me at all, and doing so well." Egerton cleared his throat. "You did leave me for dead, after all."

For dead? Darcy reeled back a step, crashing noisily into the chair he had so recently vacated and causing it to scrape noisily across the floor.

"Er -" Charles bounced on the balls of his feet, glancing uncomfortably from one gentleman to another. "Mr Egerton, perhaps you will sit down. And Darcy...?" He looked at his friend, wide-eyed with anxiety he could not quite conceal. When Darcy did not immediately react, Charles turned, imploringly, to his sisters, both of whom were watching the exchange with evident curiosity. "Caroline?" Charles squeaked, summoning her to his side.

"Let us order some tea. Perhaps, Charles, you can help Mr Egerton to a seat..."

She did not leap into action, despite her suggestion being the clearest and most sensible, and seemed reluctant to leave the room for fear that she would miss some crucial detail. With evident hesitancy, she crept to the doorway, her ears pricked for any word or sound from either gentleman. At last, Darcy drew a breath and spoke.

"I fear you have mistaken me for another, Mr Egerton," he said, as calmly and clearly as he could. "To my knowledge, we have never met. My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else."

"There is more than one Fitzwilliam Darcy running about the English countryside, I suppose? You have a twin brother?"

"No," Darcy said, patiently, shooting a glance at Charles, who was pale and anxious as he watched this interaction in shocked silence.

"You do sound a little different, I'll grant you that much," Egerton said, the merest trace of uncertainty creeping into his voice. This was Darcy's chance and he capitalised on it.

"I assure you I am not the man you think I am, sir, for we have never met before today. Unless, of course, you are thinking of the recent assembly at Meryton."

Egerton let out a humourless bark of laughter.

"Our acquaintance dates back a few months before that, Mr Darcy." His tone grew gently mocking, as if he did not for one second believe Darcy's claim of innocence, and was not about to let him think he had. "Perhaps I ought to refresh your memory, although I was the one that emerged the worse from our last meeting." He tapped his head. "That blow may have cost me my sight but it not entirely destroy my faculties. You'll claim ignorance of Joanna as well, I suppose?"

"Joanna?" Darcy murmured, massaging his forehead wearily.

"My sister," Egerton said, with a bitter sniff. "She has not joined me in Hertfordshire, so she, at least, will be spared this unpleasant reunion." He smiled, grimly. "I ought to advise you that our younger sister Sally is here - I cannot travel without one sister or another to chase around and look after me now, you see, thanks to the accident." He put a strange emphasis on the word as if whatever had befallen him could scarcely be considered an accident at all. "Your name is as good as a curse in our household, and not without cause. I'll advise you to give our home a wide berth whilst you remain here, Darcy, unless you wish to feel the full wrath of my sister for what you did to Joanna and me."

"Tea!"

Caroline burst into the room again ahead of a servant who struggled under the weight of a heavily-laden tea tray.

"Is the matter settled?" she asked, glancing breathlessly from Charles to Darcy to Mr Egerton and, at last, her sister, who seemed entirely delighted to have witnessed the snippets of conversation that had taken place in Caroline's absence.

"Hardly -" Darcy began.

"My sister has just returned to join us, Mr Egerton," Charles offered, sensing his guest's discomfort and seeking, in this instance at least, to offer some explanation. "Will you take tea?"

Egerton said nothing, but the room bustled with activity as cups were poured and passed to each person with care, and one by one all eyes found their way to rest on Darcy once more, silently urging him to offer some rebuttal to Mr Egerton's impassioned, if mistaken, accusations.

"You say you had an altercation with a gentleman by the name of Darcy," he began, frowning a little at the absurdity of having to protest his own innocence of whatever accusation this stranger should choose to mount against him. He felt pity for the man on account of his infirmity but wondered if the matter might not be all the more easily resolved if he could see for himself that the man before him was not the man he imagined, whatever the confusion over their names.

"Yes." Egerton nodded, firmly. "Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire. We met in June of last year, in a small town that bordered my cousin's Norfolk estate -"

"Aha!" Darcy saw, now, his escape and seized it with such enthusiasm that Mr Hurst, who had tired of this gentlemanly misunderstanding and permitted his head to nod again, jolted awake with a loud ahem. "Well, there is my alibi - if I had need of one. In June of last year, I was nowhere near Norfolk but in London. Recall, Charles, we spent a good deal of time at the club, and saw that exhibition from the returning explorer and silk merchant Sir James Hesse".

"By Jove, you are right, Darcy!" Bingley remarked, with a relieved laugh. "Yes, indeed, that's precisely where we were. I saw you almost every day." He turned to Egerton, relief etched into his features, and Darcy felt a strange uncertainty whether, had he not possessed such an iron-clad alibi, Charles would have taken him at his word.

"You have a double, then?" Egerton asked, defeat evident in his voice. He did not believe Darcy, perhaps, but he saw there would be no winning the point now, at least not in this particular parlour.

"So it would seem," Darcy said, grimly. He drained his teacup and turned to look out of the window, pleased, at last, to see the rain beginning to clear. His frown darkened as he turned over Egerton's accusation in his mind. The poor man had clearly come to some misfortune at the hands of another - as had his sister, for what would he have to gain from fabricating such a story? If it was true that the altercation had cost him his sight as well then it was only too understandable why he would bear a grudge against the man he held responsible for his injury - a man who had used the name Fitzwilliam Darcy as if it was his own. And if such a man has used my name once to evade prosecution or consequence I do not doubt he has done it again. His heart thudded noisily in his chest, and he began to compose a letter to his solicitor querying how one might pursue a case of defamation against a fellow who was, for all intents and purposes, nought but a spirit...