The Darcy Brothers

by Abigail Reynolds

  Elizabeth smiled, her eyes sparkling, but then her expression sobered. “Is there,” she looked from Darcy to Theo and back again, “is aught amiss?” She gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. “Tell me, is it Wickham? Are we too late?”

  Darcy quickly reassured her to the contrary. “Theo and I were just about to discuss some business—nothing for you to be concerned about, Elizabeth.”

  “Precisely,” Theo added with a smile as he replaced the poker. “Incredibly boring, hence our disgruntled air! I do not suppose there is chance of a cup of tea? I am quite parched.” He glanced at Darcy. “It does not usually take much persuasion for William to indulge either.”

  Darcy met his brother’s eye and nodded, pleased to see the spark of anger gone.

  “Would you be so kind, Elizabeth?” He squeezed the hand he held gently. “If one of your aunt’s maids could oblige, we would both appreciate it.”

  “Of course! I will see to it directly.” She turned towards the door, pausing on the threshold to smile reassuringly at Darcy. “I shall leave you to your business and return to aid my aunt. Lydia is—well, Lydia still.”

  There was silence for a moment after the door closed, and Darcy tugged uneasily at his neck cloth before glancing at Theo. Then, he waved a hand at the seats they had vacated. “Shall we continue? Perhaps you had best share your tale. And Theo,” as they took their seats, Theo looked across at him. “I promise to hear you out, and apologize now for any further exclamation I am driven to. You do try a man, you know.”

  Theo smiled ruefully. “Indeed, I do. I will attempt not to shock your sensibilities too often.” His smile faded. “Only hear this, William. There is no other I would relate these facts to, and I am trusting to your absolute confidence in doing so.” He moved to the edge of his seat and held out his hand. “Do I have your word, whatever you hear from me now, it will go no further than these four walls? Do you trust me sufficiently to make such a promise?”

  Without hesitation, Darcy reached out and shook his brother’s hand firmly. “You have my word, without question.”

  “I have found the person who attacked Wickham; I have discovered her motive, such as it is, and have heard how it came to pass.”

  Darcy released a slow breath. “So it is as we thought: a woman.”

  Theo shrugged lightly. “Perhaps; she is little more than a girl.” He paused, staring into the distance as though recalling something, then shook his head. “It is a sorry tale, and—”

  Just then, a light rap upon the door heralded the arrival of the tea, and nothing further could be said until the maid left them in peace once more.

  Darcy took a welcome sip of the hot liquid before placing the cup on a side table, and Theo began to talk.

  “I passed a bad night; sleep would persist in evading me, and as I lay in the darkness, my mind began to weave together the threads lingering in the recesses of my memory.” Theo paused. “Do you recall a couple of weeks ago, Georgiana and Anne calling upon Miss Elizabeth—here, in Gracechurch Street?” Darcy nodded, unsure of the connection. “They called at a flower shop on the way to purchase a gift for the lady, only for Georgiana to see George Wickham lurking in the establishment’s shadows.”

  Biting back the desire to demand why he had not known of this, Darcy grabbed his tea again and swallowed a mouthful so that he could not speak, but Theo was continuing.

  “Georgie was not overly distressed when she spoke of it to me, more concerned her instinct had been to bolt like a rabbit and would he ever affect her thus. I thought no more upon it, until last night.” Theo stopped to take a sip of his own tea. “Richard said yesterday that the assailant left two things behind: some pruning shears—identified as the weapon—and a discarded nosegay.”

  Theo flexed his hand, and the now almost faded bruising on his knuckles was sufficient to indicate to Darcy the direction of this thoughts.

  “On the day of Wickham’s arrest, there was a flower girl on the corner of his street—an incongruous location, with no hope of any trade—and she disappeared once Wickham had been removed in the jail cart. It occurred to me this morning the scoundrel must be known to her, and I felt certain the small pruning shears would be traced back to the very same flower shop Georgiana visited.”

  Darcy sighed. A young girl—probably much the same age as Georgiana, and much the same age also as Lydia Bennet, merrily preparing for her marriage, still seemingly oblivious to the appalling circumstances.

  “But she will face the gallows if apprehended.”

  Theo stared at Darcy for a moment. “Aye, perhaps—if she is apprehended.”

  Narrowing his gaze at his brother, Darcy nodded slowly. “Pray continue; forgive the interruption.”

  Theo inclined his head gravely in acceptance of this, and Darcy endeavored to conceal a smile. There were times when his brother could not help but assume the mantle of his profession and this was surely one of them. Well, he was prepared to let him present his case.

  “I rose as soon as first light came, keen to determine the location of the flower shop, yet I knew only that it lay between Mayfair and Cheapside. It was too early to consult Georgiana—and I was reluctant to do so—but I paid a quick call to the mews behind Darcy House where the coachman was able to assist.”

  “You did not reveal your purpose?”

  Theo threw Darcy an exasperated look. “Of course not, you dunderhead!”

  Darcy blinked, then choked back a laugh. His younger brother had never called him names—at least, not to his face. He found it strangely endearing.

  “Why do you think I appear thus?” Theo waved a hand at his state of dress, which Darcy had not paid any mind to. Now he noted the poorly tied neck cloth and, amusingly, the ill-matched gloves he had discarded. “I dressed hurriedly in near darkness, not wishing to disturb my man. The fewer who knew of my purpose, the better.”

  “And you found her, this flower girl? At the shop?”

  “After a fashion,” Theo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Darcy noted for the first time the shadows beneath his eyes. “I had not thought my plan through before turning Theseus in that direction. I could not swear to recognize the flower girl even if face to face with her. I paid her little enough attention at the time, my eye caught by the colorful basket she held; all I could attest to was her being full young and of slender build.” Then, he shrugged lightly. “And truth be told, she found me!”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I arrived at the shop’s location and though the hour was early, all was a-bustle with delivery carts from Covent Garden being unloaded by young lads, and a woman giving orders as to what to place where. I tethered my mount, and took up a position just across the street, tucked into a passage where it joined the main thoroughfare, prepared to watch and wait until any possible likely figure appeared.”

  “And she did.”

  “Indeed. A voice behind me spoke—it seemed I was blocking access from the passage, and I stepped aside only to behold a young girl whose cap and apron clearly showed her connection with the flower shop opposite. Before I could consider if this might be the person I saw near Wickham’s lodgings, her face went white, she let out a faint cry and all but fell to the floor.”

  “Good grief! She recognized you from that day! Her reaction surely confirms her guilt!”

  Theo got to his feet and walked over to one of the long windows fronting onto Gracechurch Street. Then, he turned to Darcy, his expression grave.

  “Yes; she has confessed the whole to me, yet the attack was not premeditated.”

  Darcy stood and walked to join Theo at the window and they both stared into the street for a moment.

  “Damn Wickham,” he muttered, and Theo threw him an understanding look. “Damn him for the lives he has ruined. What is her story, Theo, and how came you to discover the whole?”

  “I offered my arm to aid her, walking back the way she had come. At the other end of the passage was a quieter thoroughfare and on its corner a sma
ll area of greenery with some seating. She fell upon a bench, her pallor yet indicative of her disquiet. She was trembling, William,” Theo ran a hand through his hair and drew in a long, deep breath. “She shook like a frightened deer upon my arm, her eyes wide with trepidation, yet she did not speak, nor try to run. I felt for her in her distress—who could not?”

  A little awkwardly, Darcy patted his brother on the shoulder. “I do not blame you.”

  Theo stared out of the window, though Darcy suspected he saw little of the bustle of Gracechurch Street. He was unused to such solemnity in his brother and was not sure he liked it. Then, Theo cleared his throat and took up his story again.

  “Wickham was her lover—whenever he was in Town, that is. He seduced her with his smiles and his words, said he loved her, promised to marry her when she found herself with child.”

  Darcy bit back on an expletive, and Theo once again sent him a sympathetic look.

  “Who knows whether he would have stood by her had he not received intelligence of your engagement? He saw his opportunity to prosper from the Darcys yet again, promptly detaching himself from the young flower seller and setting off in pursuit of Miss Lydia Bennet.”

  “This girl was familiar with his hangouts, so soon tracked him down to the lodgings where Monty and I found him; she had planned to call upon him, beg him to reconsider, but saw the activity at the inn and hesitated to act, hovering on the corner for a while. Thus she saw Wickham’s removal to Newgate.”

  “And also saw you.”

  Theo nodded. “Indeed. She has an uncle who is a jailor at the prison—it did not take much for her to persuade him to let her visit her beloved—she did not reveal he had cast her off—she took the nosegay as an offering to Wickham, knowing the stench inside would be dire.”

  Darcy shook his head. “Why did she wish to take him back?”

  “She loves him—or she did; and the child has been born, but ten days ago. She wished him to acknowledge his son.”

  “Damn him.”

  “Yes, yes—you already said that, William. Wickham cannot be more damned than he already is, scarred of face and facing his Maker.”

  Darcy growled. “Even that is too good for him.”

  “Most indubitably,” Theo agreed. “Well—he got his comeuppance. She set off for the prison before going to work the other morning, and under cover of the predawn greyness, she was allowed into his cell, where she begged him to stand by her and their child. Admittedly, he could have done little for her, incarcerated as he was—but it was his constancy she desired more than pecuniary comfort, the reassurance she remained dear to him.”

  Theo looked troubled and turned from the window to face Darcy. “He refused—not only to having any affection for her, but even had the gall to question whether he truly was the father of her child. She says she became distraught, hysterical; she grabbed the small shears from her apron and lashed out at him in her grief, marking his face and, as you know, badly lacerating his arm as he tried to defend himself.”

  Darcy shook his head, saddened by all he had heard. “Dear Lord. What a disaster Wickham has made of his life; what ruin and despair he has brought upon others.”

  “Indeed. As for the girl, Wickham’s screams brought her to her senses once more and, horrified at what she had done, she dropped the shears and fled.” Theo breathed heavily. “There you have it; a sorry tale, with no happy ending for either party.”

  “And the young girl,” Darcy narrowed his gaze. “You asked me to remain silent, to say naught of any of this—you do not intend to take the matter further?”

  “It is what I wish. She does not deserve, despite what she has done, to end on the gallows, and her child does not deserve to end in the poor house. I am no law enforcer, William. My purpose is to see justice done, and I believe it has been.”

  “And the uncle? He will no doubt keep his silence to protect his niece.”

  Theo nodded. “Apparently, she later found out he threatened Wickham as he lay on his sick bed—that if he spoke of his assailant to anyone, his remaining hours on this earth would be all the more painful. As you know, Wickham is not the bravest of men and has a low pain threshold. It was sufficient to keep him quiet.”

  “I still cannot believe you managed to track the assailant down with such ease when the law enforcers seem to have admitted defeat.”

  Theo rubbed his eyes, his weariness almost palpable. “They have lost interest with no one baying for answers or for justice to be done, I suspect; there is crime far more worthy of their interest than that of a prisoner attacked in his cell. Yet, I have an enquiring mind. I would have it satisfied.”

  Darcy huffed out a breath. “You have damned excessive curiosity, you mean! Ever it led you into scrapes as a child—you are fortunate this did not end differently. Had the assailant been of different inclination, or taller stature…”

  Theo raised a hand in protest. “Hey, steady on, Fish! I am no defenseless weakling!”

  “No—I know you are not. I am just…” Darcy swallowed hard on the lump that arose from nowhere into his throat. “I have perhaps more regard for your safety than you credit me. I have no wish to lose you, when I feel I have only just found you again.”

  They stared at each other, but just then there was a loud clatter from the floor above followed by a burst of laughter.

  “It seems Miss Lydia Bennet’s spirits remained unimpaired as her nuptials approach.” Theo shook his head. “It is a poor contrast to the young girl I saw this morning.”

  Darcy glanced at the ceiling. “Miss Lydia will not perhaps find things so amusing when she lays eyes upon her intended. He is not a pretty sight.” Then, he frowned. “How did you come to bring the bridal flowers?”

  “Ah—yes; by delaying the girl’s arrival at work, she was behind in her duties, the first of which was to deliver a wedding bouquet. I offered to take this on, Theseus being to hand, and you can imagine my surprise when I was given the address!”

  “And what of her welfare? Will she cope?”

  “I believe so. The proprietor, though she scolded her roundly just now, seems a steady woman. The girl says she supported her through her confinement and is prepared to continue employing her. There is an elder sister who is helping care for the baby.”

  Darcy sighed. It was indeed a sorry tale, though likely less common than one would hope in that there was a chance for this girl to make a future for her son. Like his brother, he believed she deserved that. He glanced at the clock. “It is almost time to depart. Will you not reconsider? It may help you to accept the inevitable if you see him.”

  Theo chewed his lip. “I do not know.”

  Before they could say more, the door was tapped and Elizabeth came in, and Darcy walked to meet her.

  “It is time we made our way to the chapel. My aunt is bringing Lydia down now.”

  “Theo?” Darcy turned to look at him where he remained by the window. “Will you not come?”

  Releasing a long breath, Theo nodded. “You are right, William; I shall regret it later if I do not.” He glanced at his discarded gloves as he joined them at the door. “Though you will have to forgive me for not being more suitably dressed.”

  Darcy allowed Elizabeth to precede them out of the door as Lydia and the Gardiners came down the stairs, then turned to Theo.

  “You will be considerably more presentable than the groom. You must prepare yourself.”

  Theo nodded, his expression grim. “I am ready; let us be done with it.”

  CHAPTER 18

  It was without question the most pathetic wedding ceremony Theo had ever seen, starting with Lydia's gasp of dismay on beholding her bridegroom, followed by clapping her hand over her mouth. The fetid stink of rotting flesh in the room made Theo wish he could do the same. The sight of the jagged wound running across Wickham's cheek and across his lower lip almost caused his stomach to rebel. Lydia garbled her vows, her eyes fixed on Wickham's feet and never meeting his eyes. Darcy put the wedding
band in Wickham's good hand, but still needed to assist him in pushing it onto Lydia's finger and in signing the register which was brought to his sickbed.

  Lydia was out the door as soon as it was over, though Elizabeth stayed a moment longer to apologize for her sister's behavior and to thank him for his cooperation. At least she had no difficulty looking Wickham in the eye. As she spoke, Theo sidled up to Darcy and said quietly, “Go ahead without me.”

  With a serious look, Darcy nodded, then escorted Elizabeth from the darkened room, leaving Theo alone with Wickham.

  Theo tried to see some likeness of his childhood friend in the wasted figure lying before him, his face turned toward the wall. In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, he said, “Who would have thought you would be married before me?”

  Wickham grimaced. “Who would have thought you would be the death of me?”

  Theo shook his head. “This was your own doing. I did not wrong that poor girl in the flower shop.”

  “Wrong her? She was a very active participant in being wronged, as I recall it. And you—you would have had me transported. You. The one I called my friend.”

  It was Theo’s turn to have a bad taste in his mouth. “The friend whose sister you tried to seduce. That is not how I treat my friends.”

  “I…” A fit of coughing wracked Wickham. He reached out for his glass, and Theo placed it in his hand and helped to raise it to his cracked lips. “I thought you would be pleased to have me marry Georgiana. Then we could be brothers in truth, and I would not have to scrounge for every penny. I could have lived the life your father wanted for me. But in the end you were just like the rest. It might have amused you to keep company with me, but I was not good enough for your precious little sister. You could not stand a mere steward’s son aspiring to marry a Darcy.”

  “No, I could not stand a wastrel marrying Georgiana for her money. Remember when you threw away the living my father had left you, and I tried to persuade you to study with me? But you would have nothing to do with anything that resembled work, not when there was gambling and loose women to be had instead.” Theo sucked in a long breath of air. Why was he bothering to explain himself? Wickham would never admit the part he had played in his own ruin. His troubles were always someone else’s fault.