The unraveling of plot srands continues in the carriage as cousins Darcy and Fitzwilliam argue. Fitzwilliam was kind of the Keyser Söze of this entire inrigue, arranging all the failed baby handoffs and other schemes to get Wickham out of trouble. But was this interference due to cousinly concern, or self-interest? Turns out the latter; he didn’t want Georgiana’s “history with Wickham” to taint her reputation, and thereby his? Or something? “I will take her even if he hangs,” he assures Darcy. Who promptly kicks him out of the house forever with a scathing demand that his horse be prepared.
Helpful reminder: this character, “Fitzwilliam” has absolutely nothing to do with Fitzwilliam as written by Jane Austen.
Once more, Mr. Darcy has recognized the error of his ways. He runs to his sister Georgiana and says: “Marry the person your heart cries out for. And when you have them, do not doubt them.” Lizzy, overhearing, gets all swoony (But of course, this has no logical end point. I mean if Lizzy never doubts Darcy and Darcy never doubts Lizzy, then wouldn’t they just still be fighting, but on opposite sides?) Anyway, I think what he’s trying to say is that real love is all about fucking up and misunderstandings and temporarily hating each other, but then having makeup sex…Wait, are they actually having makeup sex?
IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?
All signs point to yes.
DARCY MAKEUP SEX?
OH MY GOD.
Well, that was quick … yet oddly satisfying? How was it for you, fellow viewers?
Onwards to post-coital cuddling and a chat between Lizzy and Darcy in bed. Nice. Very nice…unfortunately while in bed they make like detectives, and talk about the case. Couldn’t we get one tiny exchange of witty banter, screenwriters? One little verbal sally and rejoinder? No? No?
Apparently not. Darcy now has become convinced that Wickham is guilty, and therefore thinks Lizzy should break the news to Lydia about Wickhams’ wandering, err, eye. Darcy’s guide to Being an Awesome Husband: Insult wife horribly, apologize profoundly, get wife into bed, do your thang, then while you’re both basking in the afterglow, be sure to tell her to mozey on down the hall and inform her little sister that said sister’s beloved husband knocked up someone else and, oh yeah, is probably going to hang at dawn. When Lizzy tries to broach the subject with Lydia, however, she’s rebuffed. “Wickham and I, we find our way through, we always have,” says optimistic Lydia, just before her husband is sentenced to death and his secret sister Mrs. Younge kills herself by walking in front of a carriage.
Once again, Death has come to Pemberley.
The future of the Darcy Family Honor and the integrity of Wickham’s neck are looking grimmer than ever. But… a breakthrough! Sleuth Lizzy goes back to the Bidwells to say goodbye to the dying son and cracks open the case. Turns out the son is ready to confess to hitting Denny, thinking he was sister-seducer Wickham. Denny then tumbled into a Gully and hit his head on old grandpa Darcy’s gravestone
Lizzy takes down his confession and runs with it. He signs the thing and promptly dies. Once again again, Death has come to Pemberley.
Not knowing salvation awaits (dramatic irony!) Lydia and Wickham say tearful goodbyes. RIP Lydia and Wickham as the narcissists we knew. Hello, Lydia and Wickham, who secretly have some sort of great consensual sadomasochistic marriage going on?
The fated hour draws nigh. Wickham is led to the gallows with a group of other guys and the noose is literally around his neck. Darcy looks miserable and even a last minute bro-down with the conciliatory magistrate (“I am not my father”) can’t lift his spirits. But then… heroine ex machina!
Lizzy shows up at the last minute, rushes up to the scaffolding (super-realistic, I’m sure) with confession in hand, and Wickham narrowly dodges the gallows while all the guys around him just, well… die. They die. A bunch of guys just died.
But never mind all that! Georgiana gets her Henry, Wickham and Lydia get to be insufferable, and all is well, The thunderstorms lift, the sun shines, Darcy and Lizzy make out in front of their extensive grounds which have somehow been Restored to Honor despite their cameo on the scaffold. Lizzy announces she’s pregnant. Which is great and all, but shouldn’t they all be in serious counseling for PTSD? They were standing right in front of multiple people getting executed and also a lady committing suicide by carriage. Just saying.
Well, we’re through. To paraphrase Austen, a woman who felt less might say more upon this occasion. My parting advice is to go urge you all to return to the text and read one single sentence of Pride and Prejudice, which I believe you fill find is worth an infinite number of middling sequels and spinoffs.