25. Mrs Younge

Chapter Twenty-Five – Mrs. Young

Mrs. Young sat looking into her vanity mirror, one hand absently brushing her hair with the ornate brush and the other hand fingering a locket, both gifts from her George. She knew that he had stolen the brush from a wealthy woman's bedroom, just as he had taken the locket from Miss Darcy's jewelry box... but he had placed both in her hands for her to sell, and she liked to pretend they had been gifts... after all the locket had his miniature portrait inside.

Her George... the man who had saved her... the man who had ruined her... the man she hated and loved. She was born Annabeth Williams, the youngest, yet highly accomplished daughter of a wealthy landowner in Leeds. She was only seventeen when she met George after returning from finishing school. Oh, he had been so handsome and so gentlemanly. When he first appeared at a dance, asking for her next set, she could barely breath he was so glorious. And he continued to seek her out in the following days, at every dance, when she went into town to shop, and even in their family's own private gardens.

A tear ran down her eyes as she remembered their stolen moments together. He had done the honorable thing, formally requesting her hand and even meeting with her father, but her father had refused. Another man, the Baron of something or other, had already met with her father and made his own request. John Williams was an ambitious man and he saw the Baron's request as altogether a more profitable option. Annabeth begged and cried, but her father only locked her into her room and demanded that she "stop this foolishness!"

Annabeth was kept in her room and ignored by the family for days, with only her personal maid to attend to her. Thankfully Elise, though young and unskilled as a lady's maid, was loyal to her mistress. Through her she was able to send letters to her George. They communicated like this for a week, until he sent her a letter with a proposal that shocked, horrified, and intrigued her. If she agreed, he would arrive outside of her window with a ladder at one o'clock that night. They would elope.

She agreed, and with the help of Annabeth, she prepared all of those things she thought she would need and waited. Her maid would accompany her, naturally, so the pair made a quick exit when George's handsome, loving face appeared at her window. They headed north in a borrowed carriage, speeding through the night, but by mid-morning horses and driver were exhausted and George called a halt. George rented two rooms and there he took her for the first time, insisting that he couldn't wait any longer to express his love for her. It hadn't been all that Annabeth had hoped, but she convinced herself that it would get better now that the pain was over.

They continued north and made their vows over the anvil at Gretna Green. Then they took a slower journey back towards Leeds. They stopped short of the city, putting up in a seedy boarding house, while George conducted business. He seemed hopeful and pleasant the first day, cross and sharp the second, and on the third he became stolidly silent as he paced the floor. Annabeth had seen the bruise on his jaw and noticed him wincing in his movements, but he only snapped at her when she inquired. On the fourth day he told her that he had to go out... and this time he never came back. She knew now that he had been trying to collect her dowry and her father had refused.

A week passed and the landlady was becoming abusive in her demands for the rent. Annabeth finally decided to sell some her jewelry to meet the demand, only to discover that her jewelry box was gone from its hiding place. All that she had remaining was the precious necklace that had been passed down from her grandmother. The final straw came when her maid, Elise, tearfully announced that she was pregnant... with George's baby. In a fit of rage she attacked the girl and sent her packing.

Annabeth wanted to go home, but she was twenty miles at least from her father's estate and the landlady wouldn't let her out of her sight. Finally she gave up and, with the guidance of that same lady, took her necklace to the pawn. She suspected that she was cheated, but there was little she could do. With enough to ride post to Leeds and only a little extra, she headed home.

She was met at the door by the butler she had known all of her life, but his stern face showed no recognition of her. Instead he said, "I am sorry, Madam, but Mr. Williams is not taking visitors. You will have to leave." No amount of begging or histrionics swayed the man and eventually Annabeth slunk away.

How she survived the following week, she never remembered, but she woke one evening to find her beloved George shaking her. "Annabeth, what happened? I have been searching for you for more than a week! I wrote and wrote, but you never answered!"

"Wrote?" Annabeth answered groggily, unsure whether this was a dream or reality. "You never wrote. You just disappeared." Then, as she woke more fully, she sat up in her tiny cot, "And you slept with my maid! Elise is pregnant, you... you rake! And you stole my jewelry!"

George's handsome face twisted in surprise, "Your maid? What was her name? I never slept with her... though she did try to seduce me once... is it possible... of course! That's why you never replied! Annabeth, didn't you get one of my letters? And you say she stole your jewelry?"

Confused, Annabeth shook her head, "No... there were no letters... and I thought... you mean Elise stole everything?"

George dropped down on the cot beside her and scrubbed his face with his hands, "That little liar must have intercepted all of my letters... and the money! I sent for you two days after I left. My business took longer than expected, but I found work and... though I hate to ask this of a gentleman's daughter like yourself, I also need you to work... just for a while... as an old woman's companion."

Wickham went on to explain that he had secured a position as the steward to a grand old estate, and that he needed Annabeth to serve as the owner's companion. The old gentlewoman had no remaining family except a simpleton son and was in need of help. Annabeth was so pleased to know that she had misjudged George that she happily consented. Three days later the pair presented themselves before Mrs. Jeremiah Younge, but not as a married couple. George had explained that Mrs. Younge required an unmarried woman, or a widow, so they had to pretend for just a while. He still made his way regularly to her bed, but outside of her chambers they pretended to be strangers.

Over the following months Annabeth began to see Wickham's true character. He was a gambler and a swindler, not a true gentleman at all. She also suspected that he was bedding at least one of the household staff. But somehow she was able to overlook it all because of her love for the handsome man. She convinced herself... or he convinced her... that his other activities were all her fault. If she had only been more pleasing in bed or a better wife, then he wouldn't need to seek entertainment at the gaming table or in another woman's bed. And without her dowry, what use was she in their marriage?

A part of Annabeth knew that she had been wrong in eloping and that George wasn't what she believed, but her spirit was effectively broken down by her hardships and she tried to be a dutiful, compliant, and pleasing wife to him. The final blow came when George demanded that she begin playing up to the simpleton, Marcus Younge with the hopes of marrying the fool.

She balked. She cried. She begged. George pushed. He cajoled. He threatened to toss her in the street for being so ungrateful. Annabeth tearfully relented after George ignored her for a week except for shooting her wounded, disappointed looks. Mrs. Younge was spending most of her time in bed at that point, so she wasn't witness to Annabeth's clumsy efforts at seduction. Marcus, unused to any female attention, was an easy mark regardless and firmly believed himself in love within days of the onset of her efforts.

It all happened quickly after that: Mrs. Younge became deathly sick. Marcus Younge proposed marriage. George demanded and Annabeth gave in again. She never knew how George managed to secure a common license, but it was done and suddenly Annabeth found herself dreading a second wedding night. Marcus might not have known how to read or write, but he knew what his body wanted. When, in the early morning, Marcus finally fell into a deep slumber, Annabeth stood looking out of the third story window, contemplating the distance to the ground and the efficacy of throwing herself out of that opening.

The elder Mrs. Younge passed on within days of the false-marriage, never even aware of the event. Months later Annabeth finally admitted her fears to herself that her true husband, George, had poisoned the woman in some untraceable way. For the moment they waited for the solicitors to present the will.

George somehow got himself included in the proceedings, probably citing his responsibilities as the steward to oversee any posthumous orders concerning the estate. In fact he was there ready for his moment of glory. He hadn't decided yet what to do with the simpleton. If he killed the little fool off too quickly, then others would be suspicious. He supposed it wouldn't matter as long as he had control of both the estate and Mrs. Younge. Annabeth had made greater efforts to please him lately and made an effective bedwarmer... though he was enjoying the upstairs maid, the cook's helper, and that pretty little scullery maid much more.

When Mr. Banner, the solicitor read the will, however, his face turned first white with shock and then red with rage. "Mr. Marcus Younge will receive the five-thousand pounds set aside for him and kept in the four-percents to be overseen by me. The bulk of the estate is entailed away to the male line, an investigation having identified a distant cousin, Mr. Timothy Baines, as the heir. He has been notified by courier and is expected to arrive here in two days time. All assets other than the five-thousand belong with the estate, and as such I have secured the services of an agency to catalog all items so that nothing is lost or missing." The solicitor gave a significant look to Wickham, who was grinding his teeth in barely controlled fury.

"Mr. Baines had informed me that he will be bringing his own steward and staff, and therefore will no longer have need of your services, Mr. Wickham. He does, however, require a full accounting of your tenure as steward. The remainder of the staff will be paid up until the moment of his arrival. He may choose for some of the staff to continue, but he will make that decision at that point. Mr. Wickham, the remainder of the will is private family business, so you are excused. Please see that your ledgers are complete and ready for presentation on Mr. Baines arrival."

George stomped out of the room and Banner turned his regard first on Marcus Younge, who was playing some game with several knick-knacks on a table, and then on Annabeth. "Congratulations on your nuptuals, Mrs. Younge. You will be pleased to know that you and your husband have a place to go. The elder Mrs. Younge set aside a cottage in the village where you both may reside. The cottage belongs to the estate, so it may not be sold. Additionally, Mr. Younge's monies, including the four-percents, will be overseen by the new steward to ensure that they are used wisely. Do you have any questions for me?" His hard eyes told her that he was well-aware of the reasons that she married Marcus. She shook her head 'no.' "Very well. I have already instructed the staff to begin moving your possessions. You will be able to sleep there tonight. Good day, Mrs. Younge."

Annabeth numbly watched the man leave. She needed to speak with George right away, but Marcus grabbed her arm. He was remarkably strong, "Let's go back to bed, Annie!" By the time she was finally able to escape the man's enthusiastic attentions, George was gone.

Nobody could hate George Wickham more than Annabeth. It wasn't long after he left that she heard the rumors that both the upstairs head maid and the scullery maid were disgraced and in a family way because of the steward. For her own part, Annabeth was having to survive the attention of Younge and the disdain of the new steward as he made her justify every farthing spent. The new owner of the estate didn't even acknowledge the existence of the Younges and his wife cut Annabeth openly when she shopped the village. Within two months of her exile to the village, she became pregnant with Younge's child.

Worst of all, with nobody to parent him, Marcus had discovered the local pub. He was enthusiastic in bed when he was sober, but mean and demanding when he was drunk. When she thought that she couldn't take another day, two events happened: She suffered a painful miscarriage and a drunken Marcus stumbled in front of the post coach and suffered an ignominious death in the muddy street.

Again the solicitor made his appearance. To her surprise, Annabeth learned that Marcus' entire amount would now go to her. Mr. Banner looked her over with disdain, but he seemed to be aware of her beauty for the first time, "Mrs. Younge, I would recommend that you keep the full sum in the four-percents so that it will last, but that will be little enough to sustain you. If you are open to other... ahem... arrangements, then I would be pleased to discuss that with you."

Annabeth wanted to claw the man's eyes out. Since her foolish elopement, she had descended further and further. Abandoned, then in service, then a bigamist and tied to a simpleton. But enough was enough. With as much dignity as she could muster, she answered, "No, Mr. Banner, I believe that I will relocate to London."

Banner's eyes turned cold, "Ah, but you misunderstand, Mrs. Younge. To clarify, I control your husband's legacy. Granted, it is your money, but certain concerns make it necessary for it to remain under my control... concerns such as the sudden and unexplained sickness that took your mother-in-law... and your relationship with Mr. Wickham."

So Annabeth descended again, this time becoming the kept mistress of a country solicitor. Her status was not a well-hidden secret, and if the villagers disdained her before, now they ignored her existence. Then the first letter from George Wickham appeared, in which he wrote of his continuing love for her and made mention of an opportunity to restore their fortunes. After reading it, Annabeth consigned it to the trash. But then another letter came, and another. She hated the fact, but she couldn't burn the letters without reading them. And the more she read, the more she wanted to believe.

The catalyst that sent her back into George's arms was not his letters though, it was Mr. Banner's sudden disappearance. She didn't know anything about it except for the fact that he hadn't come to her cottage for three days, the longest such occurrence. Then Mr. Baines came pounding at her door, demanding to know where the man was. It was only then that Annabeth learned that the solicitor had run off with Mr. Baines fortune, with Mrs. Baines... and with her own five-thousand. And so, with desperation, Annabeth sent a post to George Wickham.

For two glorious weeks, George pampered her and made much of her, making her believe that perhaps, just perhaps, his love was sincere. And then he explained his plan. She had already heard his diatribes against the son of his former godfather, Mr. George Darcy. Now she heard about the inheritance that he had been refused. Annabeth doubted the veracity of his story, but she finally had her George back, so she agreed to help him with his plan.

When Annabeth first met Georgiana Darcy, she was struck with how much the girl reminded her of someone... it was a week before she realized that the girl reminded her of herself... in her innocent and foolish youth. For a month she balked, though she allowed George's plan to continue. But when she saw her George carrying on and whispering sweet nothings to the twit, she became enraged with jealousy and no longer cared. She never questioned the fact that her rage was directed at the innocent girl instead of her seducer. At some time in the past few years, her mind had snapped. The world was an ugly place, filled with terrible people, and Annabeth convinced herself that she was only helping Georgiana to learn that.

When the plot failed and George abandoned her again, it broke the last slender threads of her former self. Somehow she made it to London, where she used her beauty to make her way, until she met an old widower who owned a boarding house, enticed him into marriage, and shortly thereafter engineered his demise. Then, like Lady Macbeth, her crime ate at her. Outwardly, Annabeth Wickham was the dignified and still beautiful proprietress of The Traveller's Haven. Inwardly, Annabeth was a dark and twisted soul who both loved and hated George Wickham... and who completely hated the rest of the world.

As she sat there and brushed her hair, her eyes drifted over to the newspaper again. It was opened to the small, almost inconsequential note about the conviction and hanging of George Wickham. In contrast, the front page was filled with information about the pending nuptials of Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy and Lady Elizabeth Bennet. She pushed her fingernail into the locket and opened it to look at George's miniature again, while her other hand gripped the brush so hard that it made her bones crack. Yes, I'll begin with Lady Elizabeth Bennet. I'll make her pay and cause Darcy pain at the same time. Then maybe we'll grab that little tart Georgiana and do it all over again.

She knew that the newly-elevated Lady should be back in town soon. After all, the wedding was in only five days... or that is what they thought.

oOoOOoOo

In a much more stylish part of town, three men watched from discreet vantage points as a carriage pulled in front of a well-appointed home and an elegant young woman was handed down. The leader, a big, dangerous looking man, blessed his luck when the carriage rolled away and around the corner. The street was clear so he gave the signal. He and one other moved rapidly across the street and up the steps. The other man slapped the reins on a closed coach and drove it forward.

The young lady was at the door when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned, first in curiosity, then in fear, but before she could utter a scream one big hand covered her mouth and another hit her just behind the ear. As she collapsed, the two men rapidly descended the steps and rushed the unconscious body into the coach. Within two more minutes the coach had left the neighborhood. Only the young woman's valise remained on the marble steps.

ooooooooooooooooooo

AN: Things begin to get interesting. I'll try not to take too long on the next chapter. In a way it hurts to write thischapter because it reminds me too much of a young woman I know who kept going back into an abusive relationship even thougheven she knew that it was a bad situation. Eventually we all had to step back because she became defensive of the man and hostiletowards anyone who tried to help her or stop him.

A reviewer (sorry, can't find the name again) asked if Jane's son was Andrew or Benjamin. His name is Benjamin. Stephen Archer's nephew, the young boy who Jane was nursing who still died of fever, was named Andrew. I slipped up and kept typing the wrong name. After reviewers noted this, I tried to go back and fix it. If I missed any, please let me know.

Thank you to everyone who has noted my (numerous) errors. I really do need a beta, especially when I type parts of this story sitting in an emergency room. All is well except my typing errors and blunders.

On another note: two reviewers have now noted that I used the word "okay," but I can't seem to locate my error. If you see it, pleasetell me where?