Fan Fiction: A Little Essay, and a Pride & Prejudice Story

I have been interested for a long time in fan fiction, particularly slash fiction, and have whiled away the occasional evening reading it on-line. One of my favorite reads of last year, in fact, was a novel-length piece of Harry/Snape slash fiction which I have, sadly, lost the link to. The thing I liked about it was that the writer gave her characters motivations that fit with the way they were written in the canonical universe. Harry was drawn to Snape, for instance, because he was the only person who could see Harry as he really was.

Fan fiction is an interesting world to dip into. A piece of fan fiction may be a brief as a paragraph describing a conversation that took place off-screen, or a fully-formed romantic story, or an entire novel. You can find fan fiction for every TV show or series of novels that has a following. I've even found fan fiction for the TV show Joan of Arcadia, which I watched on DVD a few years ago. I recently came across some extremely well-written Aubrey/Maturin fan fiction as well. Fan fiction can be faithful to the original, or, as with slash fiction, it can put characters in situations their creators never would have thought of. It can bring in new elements; some of the Aubrey/Maturin fiction I read set them in a magical universe. It can even bring universes together. For instance, at this link in the crossovers section at fanfiction.net you can find Pride & Prejudice crossed with everything from Jane Eyre to Anne of Green Gables, Yu-Gi-Oh, and X-men: Revolution. I'll have to go back there later and see if there's anything good.

I have been joking about writing my own fan fiction for several years. I often write it in my head after I've spent time with an engrossing story. This is the first time I've actually done it. I just seemed to be inspried this week. I set out to write a Darcy/Wickham slash, but my story ended up having no sex in it. I guess my mind just isn't as bent that way as I imagined. I might have to do a companion piece of flashback slash; it just wouldn't fit right in this one.

For someone who has never had any talent for writing fiction, I think I did a pretty good job here. I like my dialogue, and I particularly think I managed to make my characters behave like they would in the book: Jane thinks the best of people, Lydia is heedless of social norms and blurts things out (thus driving the plot for me, just like she did for Austen herself); Lizzie is smart and inquisitive, and Wickham is shameless. I am especially pleased with the conversation between Jane and Lizzie, and I like Lydia's line about the cuckoo very much--that was a lovely bit of inspiration. I am disappointed that the plot starts with Elizabeth's curiosity about Georgiana Darcy's behavior but there's no payoff; what does Lizzie think by the end of the story? Who knows? And a writer with more self-control would have had less exposition up-front.

You are welcome to read it. You'll like it better, I think, if you're familiar with the book. I want to be clear about one thing: I wrote this as a self-indulgence during a very busy week nestled in a series of challenging months, for my own amusement and my friends'. If you like it, I'm glad to hear you say so, though it's not necessary. If you don't like it, you are welcome to say that, too. Just not to me. This is not a writer's workshop, and if anybody tries to give me "feedback" I will call down the wrath of Cthulhu on your ass. Consider yourself warned.

At one point I couldn't see any way for my characters to get out of the situation I'd put them in except to have Wickham suffer an unfortunate but too-convenient accident. My friend John S. and I had a playful conversation about it on Facebook that showed me a way out. Thank you, John, with all my heart. Writing this was the most fun I've had in a long time.

I WROTE THE DARN THING, SURELY YOU DON'T EXPECT ME TO COME UP WITH A TITLE TOO

"I must say, I was astonished by Georgiana's behavior this evening," Elizabeth Darcy commented to her husband as she brushed her hair before bed.

"Were you?" he answered in some surprise, looking up from the book he was reading as he waited for her. "I saw nothing out of the ordinary in her behavior."

Elizabeth said, "But that is precisely what is so astonishing! Confronted with Wickham, she showed no consciousness at all. Indeed, she greeted him like a lost friend of her childhood, and I overheard her commenting to him in the course of the evening on the strange coincidence that has, for the past several years, had the Wickhams leaving everyplace just before we arrive."

The Darcys had arrived that afternoon at Heatherhill to begin a long-planned visit with her sister Jane and Jane's husband Charles Bingley. The Wickhams, who had been imposing on the Bingleys' good humor and excellent larder for even longer than usual, should have been gone before the Darcys arrived. Indeed, Jane had assured Elizabeth in a letter written as recently as three days ago that they would be. That they were not gone was the reason for Darcy's cold demeanor throughout dinner and a long evening of whist and lottery tickets. Darcy was out of humor with the Wickhams, of course, but also with Charles Bingley, whose tractable nature he approved of only inasmuch as it allowed him to be the superior in their own friendship.

The Bingleys, sympathetic and easy-going, had been at the mercy of her sister Lydia and Lydia's shiftless husband since the early days of their marriage. Bingley could never bring himself to go so far as to tell Wickham to go, and the Wickhams had long since been inured to hints, no matter how pointed, or how frequently made. Jane's tendency to make the Wickhams feel welcome by ordering especially good dinners, and by improving Mrs. Wickham's wardrobe during her visits, only made matters worse. Mrs. Wickham always brought out her most out-of-style gowns, those which were badly mended, or those from which intractable stains could never quite be removed, during the early days of a visit, to inspire Mrs. Bingley to suggest a visit from her mantua-maker.

Since the arrival of three unwanted, overlooked, and ill-mannered Wickham children, Jane's sympathy had been especially engaged. She could not help but notice the improvement in the Wickham children after some weeks in the care of her own daughters' governess, and, while she might perhaps have been made indifferent to the fate her sister's own choices had wrought for her, she could not be indifferent to the well-being of children who could not in any way be blamed for their parents' ill behavior.

Mr. Wickham had always been able to use his considerable talents for charm and flattery to secure invitations to the country homes of new acquaintances, and if the Wickhams' tendency to long outstay any welcome meant that a second invitation was rarely proffered, there were always new bachelors or young couples looking to fill out a country party.

That ended with the arrival of the children. The Wickhams had no settled home of their own, no nurses or maids or governesses with whom the children could be left, and there were few who would tolerate the invasion of an entire family. That, and the Wickhams' spreading reputation, had long meant that only Lydia's sister Jane, and her doting mother, would offer them a refuge.

Mrs. Bennett was now herself a dependent. Through the compassionate intervention of his wife Charlotte, Mr. Collins had allowed her to stay on at Longbourne for well over a year after the death of her husband, and Mrs. Bennett had seen both of her remaining daughters married from that house. But she had made her removal to Surrey with her daughter Mary upon Mary's marriage to a rector with a modest living, and their home being too small to admit guests had made the Wickhams desperate for invitations to the Bingleys' home, and nearly impossible to pry loose once they had arrived.

Thus, the arrival of the Darcys to find the Wickhams still in residence. Elizabeth, who had endured many visits over the years, and retained some affection for her youngest sister, felt confident of her own ability to enjoy her visit with Jane in any case, and she was even confident that her husband, when he accustomed himself to the situation, would show something more like the cheerful, open demeanor he normally wore in the Bingleys' company.

Elizabeth's concern had been all for Georgiana Darcy, who at just fifteen years of age had been prevented at the last minute from eloping with George Wickham only through her brother's intervention. Surely it could not be comfortable to be with him again, and in the company of a wife whom he had also seduced away from her family at a tender age, and only married because her brother had once again intervened.

But Georgianna seemed perfectly happy to find the Wickhams at Heatherhill. Indeed, of everyone in the drawing room that evening, only Miss Darcy had seemed entirely at ease. "I would not have expected her to have the self-possession," Mrs. Darcy said. "Georgiana has every pleasing quality of character, but she is so easily mortified. I would not have thought her capable of it."

Darcy replied, "Perhaps her engagement to Mr. Winter has increased her confidence. She may previously, confronted with Wickham, have felt that she was still the naive girl with whom he took such liberties, but with her marriage to a most eminent and respectable gentleman less than two months away, she must think of herself as a grown woman who need not be concerned with the follies of her girlhood. In any case, Wickham will soon be gone. Bingley has assured me that he will put them out by Saturday."

Elizabeth laughed. "You mean he has agreed to allow you to do so."

Darcy could not help smiling. "It may be something rather like that. I am surprised Wickham did not choose to go; he must have known I would not tolerate their presence here."

Elizabeth was thoughtful. "I do not think they have anywhere to go. Nothing more than rooms, in any case. I know that it troubles Jane greatly to think of them taking the children out of her care. Perhaps the Bingleys have, for this reason, been less forceful than they otherwise might have been."

Darcy smiled again. "The Bingleys have ever been less forceful than they might have been. I have tried time and again to convince Bingley that the fact of the Wickhams having worn out their welcome in every house in England but this does not give them leave to become permanent residents. He is too soft." He paused a moment. "But I am not. Come to bed, Lizzie."

 

 

Elizabeth returned to the subject the next evening, in the drawing room. She and Jane had settled down to needlework, with their chairs pulled close for comfortable conversation. "Jane," she essayed, "do you not find Georgiana's behavior extraordinary?"

"Miss Darcy?" Jane replied, glancing over to the table where that lady was engaged in a hand of cards with the Wickhams and Mr. Bingley. "Her behavior is always above reproach."

"But it has not always been so, Jane," Elizabeth replied. "Surely you recall her near-elopement with Mr. Wickham?"

Jane said, "I confess I had not thought of it. It was so long ago it hadn't come to my mind."

Elizabeth said, "But now that you have recalled it, do you not find it strange that she should be so comfortable with Wickham?"

"I do not find it strange at all, Lizzie. People do not always think of the past. It may be as far from her mind as it was from mine."

"You cannot believe it! It is not in Miss Darcy's nature to be so composed in such a circumstance!"

"Lizzie!" Jane said, "This is gossip. If the parties involved do not care to rehearse the events, it is surely not your place to do so. In any case, why should it trouble you? Surely, since Wickham is here, it is better that Miss Darcy be comfortable than otherwise."

Elizabeth sighed. "As usual, you are right, Jane. But I confess it does trouble me. I cannot stop myself from puzzling over it."

"Perhaps Mr. Darcy can put your mind at ease?"

"I have spoken to him already, Jane. He cannot give an explanation. Or he will not."

 

 

The gentleman of whom they spoke had withdrawn to a writing desk in the corner of the room, explaining that he had some urgent letters of business to write. There were in fact no letters to be written, and the paper in front of him remained blank, the pen forgotten in his hand. He was as troubled in his mind as his wife, and with better reason: he knew the reason why Georgiana Darcy had no consciousness around Wickham. She had never had any dealings with Wickham but those of blameless friendship, and she had no memories of him except those of a girl who had enjoyed the friendly attentions of a boy she looked up to as a friend of her brother. Her near-elopement had been a fabrication of his own. The story was faithful to Wickham's character; he had not exaggerated that. But he had told Elizabeth a story that he hoped would engage her sympathy, in place of the truth, which he feared would drive her from him forever. Even now, were it to come to light.

He was interrupted by Wickham himself, who, the card game having broken up, seated himself nearby. "We have not had a chance to speak since your arrival," he said.

Darcy answered coolly. "I do not see that we can have anything to say to each other. Except perhaps, farewell. How progresses your packing?"

Wickham smiled. "Although Mrs. Wickham is eager to return to London, we cannot possibly take our leave until we have secured lodgings. I hope to make enquiries soon regarding townhouses to let."

Darcy scoffed. "You mean to let a townhouse? I had not heard that you had come into a sum of money."

"I have not," Wickham answered. "But one never knows. I have been thinking of your father lately."

Darcy made to rise. "You can have nothing to say to me about my father."

Wickham rose, too, and stood firmly before Darcy. "No, indeed, but I had some things I wished to say to him before he died, and never had the opportunity. Mrs. Darcy has always been a sympathetic friend; perhaps she will lend me an ear. But I did not come to speak to you of that. The ladies have proposed a game of charades, and sent me as their emissary to invite your participation. Will you come?"

 

 

"Bingley," said Darcy to his friend over a late glass of port that evening, "Wickham means to ruin me."

"Ruin you?" replied Bingley. "Indeed not. He is too busy ruining me. I was going over my accounts on Tuesday, and they are absolutely dismal. So long as you stand firm on barring them from Pemberley, you have nothing to be concerned with."

"I am serious, Charles," Darcy said. "He means to blackmail me."

"He has revived that old scheme? It was never a good one. Schoolboy buggery is shocking to nobody. If a gentleman can be ruined for it, no one in England is safe."

"It was shocking to my father," Darcy said. "As you well know. He was unbendingly severe on the practice. And it will be shocking to Elizabeth. She has no notion of such things."

"No more has Jane," Bingley agreed. "That is what he threatens? To tell Mrs. Darcy of your pederasty if you do not pay a sum of money?"

"Exactly. And I cannot pay, that is very plain. I would be at his mercy forever. But if I do not pay, he can ruin me with Elizabeth. I had no notion I could love a woman as I love her. She has made my happiness, which I thought lost forever. I could not bear to lose her." He turned to look out the window.

Bingley laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "It speaks to the perversion of Wickham's character that he never could see how sincerely you cared for him. He threatened to tell your father about your affair in an attempt to secure a portion of your fortune, but I could have told him you were prepared to lay it at his feet, were he only to say the word."

Darcy smiled bitterly. "I had a scheme to pass our youth abroad together, to marry at the last possible decent moment, and, with no regard whatsoever for my future wife or her feelings, to carry on as we had been as soon as I had gotten myself an heir. I was remarkably naive, as well as shockingly callous."

"Many women would have willingly entered into such an arrangement, provided they were given the same freedom," Bingley said.

"True," said Darcy. "But not Elizabeth." He sighed. "I suppose I should have anticipated this threat. I did not realize how desperate Wickham had become."

"I could have told you," Bingley said. "Mrs. Wickham has unburdened herself most thoroughly to Jane with regard to their means and prospects. But I did not consider it could affect you in any way."

"Do not trouble yourself. I cannot think of any way in which being forewarned would have aided me," Darcy said.

"You should rest now," Bingley said. "Only hold him at bay for a few days, perhaps with a false promise of payment that must be secured, and we will come to some resolution."

 

 

No solution, however, presented itself to either Bingley or Darcy, and over the next few days Darcy grew increasingly despondent, while Wickham reveled in his discomfort. The ladies, however, merely attributed Darcy's sour mood to the presence of the Wickhams. "Lord, Lizzie," said Lydia Wickham to her one day as the sisters walked out together, "I would not be married to your husband for ten Pemberleys. He is always out of sorts."

"What are your husband's plans, Lydia?" Elizabeth replied. "He must have some notion of where you will go next. You cannot stay at Heatherhill forever."

"I do not know where we will go," Lydia replied. "I would love to go to London, but it is so dear. We were in Portsmouth last, and la! such society is there among the sea officers' wives. They are not so puffed-up as the ladies you encounter in London, being at least some of them from common stock. And housing can be had very cheap. But we cannot go back there until the Otter sails."

"The Otter?" Jane said. "How can the sailing of a ship possibly affect you?"

"There are two officers on board who have called Wickham out. One for cheating at cards, and the other for having relations with his wife. But once the Otter sails, she will be gone for months, and we can go where we will."

Jane said, "How could they accuse him so?"

Lydia laughed. "Oh, they are entirely in the right. But of course he will avoid the engagement if he can."

Jane said, "Lydia! How can you be so unfeeling!"

"I have been married to Wickham these nine years, Jane," Lydia replied. "I have been much in the world. Besides, what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."

Elizabeth was shocked in her turn. "Lydia, you can't mean it!"

Lydia said, "I do indeed mean it. I cannot even tell you for certain that Wickham is the father of our youngest. But it makes no difference. So long as I am married the child is not a bastard. And I daresay Wickham has laid his share of cuckoo's eggs."

 

 

Elizabeth unburdened herself to her husband that evening. "I had no idea Lydia had grown so coarse. She speaks unfeelingly of another man fathering their youngest child, and of Wickham being challenged on grounds of honor as merely an inconvenience to her housekeeping. I should not be surprised--indeed, I am not surprised--but I am disappointed. One hopes for better. I thought Jane perhaps could have had some influence."

Darcy said, "Wickham has been called out?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said, "by two men, both officers of a ship called the Otter."

"Do you know their names?"

"No, Lydia did not specify."

"Is the Otter presently at sea?" Darcy asked.

Elizabeth was taken aback by his urgency. "No, she is at Portsmouth. It is the reason they cannot go back there."

"I must go to Portsmouth, Elizabeth. I shall leave at first light. You must say that I have been called to London on a financial matter. I shall be back as soon as may be possible, and in the meantime you must not be alone with Wickham, or allow him to put a letter into your hand. Do you understand me?"

"No," Elizabeth said. "I do not understand you at all."

"Then let me ask this instead: will you follow my instructions? Will you trust me, and follow my instructions without deviation?"

"I will," Elizabeth said, "if you tell me that by my doing so all shall be well."

 

 

Darcy returned nine days later, and on the tenth day, the Wickhams departed Heatherhill, saving the children, who remained in the care of their aunt. "I daresay we will be back soon," Lydia said as she mounted the carriage. "We always have such a jolly time." In response to this, Darcy and Bingley looked stern, and Wickham came as close as he ever had to showing consciousness, letting an expression almost like embarrassment, or fear, flicker over his features for a moment before rearranging them into their customary expression of ingratiating charm.

He was at some pains to maintain his composure. Darcy had paid their fare on the post-chaise to Portsmouth, and the cook had put up a basket of food for their journey, but he and Lydia were taking their leave with no money in the world but what Jane had slipped her sister in their leave-taking. He had sent off two letters of apology to the gentlemen in Portsmouth in the previous evening's post; this, and the money Darcy had paid them, had persuaded them to drop their claims of honor against him. But in his pocket was a list, and in Darcy's pocket an identical list, of other men he had cuckolded, which Darcy had been able to compile during his stay in Portsmouth, from intelligence the officers provided and through his own additional inquiries.

In his mind was the promise that Darcy had made him: that if Wickham again threatened his marriage, or indeed so much as returned to Heatherhill, he would contact these gentleman by clandestine means, inform them of their injuries at Wickham's hand, and offer a generous sum to the one who succeeded in killing him in a duel.

 

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