by Nancy Kelley
Georgiana placed her head in her hands. "Oh, that poor girl!"
Darcy bit his tongue--it would be no good to share his own opinion of Lydia Bennet. Though not usually wise in the ways of women, he was smart enough to realize that if he laid censure on that girl's head, Georgiana would take it to heart.
"That is why I am leaving. I have hope that I may be able to find where Wickham went when they might not."
She sat up, a look of determination in her eyes, and Darcy had never been prouder of her. "What would you like me to do, Brother?"
"Stay here. Entertain our guests; keep the true nature of my absence from them. I depend upon you for this, Georgiana."
Darcy was surprised when she bit her lip and looked down--the action did not fit with the courage she had just displayed. He knelt in front of her and tilted her chin up so he could look her in the eye. "What is it, dearest?" he asked.
"Fitzwilliam... If I, that is, if you had not..." She sighed, then straightened her shoulders. "Would you have come after me in this manner?"
Darcy pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "In an instant," he promised, his voice thick. He felt the tension ease out of her body, and he pulled back to look her in the eye. "Is this what has troubled you, Georgiana? Did you think I would leave my sister in the clutches of such a man, knowing what misery he would bring upon you?"
Her smile was sheepish, but happy. "It was my own folly which led me to him."
"Never," Darcy denied. "His avarice and desire for revenge led him to you. Now, I trust we finally understand one another?" Georgiana nodded. "Good. Then I will see you after I return from London."
Chapter Thirty-one
Darcy had never been so glad he kept horses at the posting inns along the London Road. Fresh horses gave him extra speed to reach London before nightfall the next day--at least two days ahead of when Mr. Gardiner could be expected in town.
"Good evening, Remington," he said to his surprised butler as he rushed through the door of his London townhouse. "I apologize for showing up unannounced--there was no time to send word. I will be here but a week, and I am quite alone. You need not open up all the rooms. The breakfast room only, I think, and my study of course."
"Yes, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy heard the bustle of servants below as he climbed the stairs toward the master suite, and he felt a pang of remorse for the maids who would lose sleep so the house would be ready when he rose the next morning. "Remington," he called over his shoulder, "they need not do the work tonight. I can take breakfast on a tray in the morning. It is late--let us rest for the night."
"Very well, Mr. Darcy."
The ever-efficient Vincent had already unpacked Darcy's valise and laid out his nightshirt and dressing gown. "Will you be needing anything else, sir?"
"Just a word, Vincent," Darcy said. "You are no doubt wondering why I brought you with me on such a short trip. After all, ordinarily I would simply let one of the senior footmen handle my toilet, if I planned to be back in Pemberley in less than a week."
"I did wonder, but you never do anything without a reason, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy laughed. "How well you know me, Vincent. I have come to London in search of George Wickham. I needed somebody with me who could readily identify him, but whom he might not know as easily." He gazed steadily at his valet. "Will you help me?"
Vincent nodded. "Of course, Mr. Darcy."
"Thank you. I shall need to start quite early in the morning, so if you will see that a breakfast tray is ready for me at six o'clock, and then come and dress me at seven, that would be sufficient."
"As you please, sir. Good night, Mr. Darcy."
"Good night, Vincent."
After two days of travel, six o'clock came quickly, even for an early riser like Darcy. By the time Vincent came in at seven, however, he was fully awake and ready to start the business of the day.
After they were seated in the coach, Vincent looked over at him. "Have you any idea where we might find Mr. Wickham, sir?"
Darcy nodded. "I have a clue, however slight it might be. We are going now to the address Mrs. Younge gave when she left us. I doubt she is still there, but they will have a forwarding address."
As they approached the City, traffic thickened with London's financiers on their way to work. Their own progress slowed to a crawl until they crossed Blackfriars Bridge. Once over the Thames, they were able to pick up the pace, and it only took them another ten minutes to reach their destination.
When he saw the house, Darcy almost doubted they had the correct address. He had pictured Mrs. Younge in a dilapidated house, but there was no sagging roof or peeling paint here. You forget, he told himself, that she once appeared quite respectable to your eyes.
"Shall I come with you, sir?" Vincent asked.
Darcy glanced at the house and shook his head. "I would rather you stay out of sight. You are unknown to Mrs. Younge, and I prefer it remain that way."
Vincent nodded, and Darcy exited the carriage and took the steps to the door. A footman answered his knock, and Darcy gave his card. "Would you please tell the proprietress of this establishment that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire has come to call on her?"
The man allowed Darcy into the foyer and went in search of his mistress. Less than five minutes later, Darcy stood in front of a tired looking middle-aged woman. "I am Mrs. Davies. How may I be of service, Mr. Darcy?"
"I apologize for bothering you, Mrs. Davies. I am looking for a woman who was formerly in my employ--Mrs. Younge. I just learned we have more matters of business to conclude."
"Mrs. Younge..." She frowned and was silent so long Darcy feared she could not recall Mrs. Younge at all. At last, she said, "Oh yes, she stayed with me about a year ago, is that right?"
"That is near the time I last spoke with her, yes."
"She is not here any longer, I am afraid. She only stayed about a month, then she started a boarding house of her own."
Darcy smiled politely. "Would you happen to have a forwarding address?"
"I believe I do somewhere, though it has been months since I have needed it. Wait here, I will see if I can find it."
She hurried out of the room, and Darcy tapped his foot nervously. If she has lost Mrs. Younge's address...
She had not. A minute later, she returned, with a triumphant smile. "Ah, I knew I still had it. She is located on Edward Street."
Darcy stood and bowed. "Thank you, madam. You have been most helpful."
"Harry will see you to the door, Mr. Darcy. I am glad I had the information you required."
Once Darcy was in the carriage, he let out a soft huff of air. "Mr. Darcy?" Vincent asked. "Did you find her?"
"I did. Take us to Edward Street, Broderick," he called out to the coachman, and they set off.
Darcy shook his head. Edward Street, in the heart of the City. Could Miss Lydia be that close to her uncle's house, hidden in plain sight? He had expected a seedier neighborhood, here in Southwark perhaps, or even in Lambeth. But we may not find our fugitives with Mrs. Younge, he reminded himself.
Mrs. Younge's boarding house was as respectable looking as any other building on Edward Street, but this no longer amazed Darcy. After all, this whole affair hinges on the ability of the unscrupulous to appear creditable, does it not?
"Mr. Darcy?"
Darcy looked at the neat brick townhouse and then back at Vincent. "First let me see if I can learn anything from Mrs. Younge. If not, I will explain your task, Vincent."
"Yes, sir."
Darcy walked up the front stairs and rapped on the door three times. A servant opened the door slightly and said, "Who be there?"
Darcy blinked. It seems the manners of the mistress have been passed on to the servants.
"You will tell the lady of the house that Fitzwilliam Darcy desires to speak with her."
The man looked him up and down and said, "Wait here."
Darcy had never suffered the indignation of being left to
wait on a front step before, and he liked it little more than he had imagined he would. Luckily, the servant came back with an alacrity that was more admirable than the rest of his manners. "Mrs. Younge is not at home."
Darcy raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie. "Very well. I shall have to return another time."
"She don't intend to see you ever."
"I am sure she does not." Darcy nodded his head slightly and went back to his carriage.
"Drive down the street and then pull over," Darcy ordered Broderick.
Vincent looked at him expectantly. "Yes, Vincent, now we come to the part you are to play. Mrs. Younge would not even receive me, which tells me she has seen Wickham since his arrival in town. I wish you to make inquiries of anyone leaving the house and see if he remains here, or if he has moved on."
"Very well, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy handed him a pocket full of money. "Here is enough coin to hire a hack home at the end of the day, and to buy yourself a meal while you wait. As soon as you have a definitive answer, come back to Grosvenor Square."
"Yes, sir." Vincent stepped out of the carriage and soon disappeared into the melee.
"Take me home, Broderick," Darcy called out, and the carriage started back down the street.
The staff of Darcy House had never seen the master so agitated. He entered the house at a slight run and retreated immediately to his study, pausing only to order that Vincent be brought to him as soon as he returned. His coat and hat were tossed on a chair in the foyer and the study door shut before any of them had time to so much as acknowledge his command.
Darcy did not even attempt to do any business, though there were papers sitting on his desk that he needed to read. He knew the limits of his attention, knew he could not focus until he heard news of Wickham.
Do you not think Mr. Bennet is in the same agony of suspense? his conscience whispered. Is it your right to deny a father any news of his daughter? Would you be happy if the positions were reversed and it was Georgiana who was lost?
But thoughts of Georgiana only strengthened his resolve. If he had made Wickham's true character known to the general assembly at Meryton, this could not have happened. "I, who knew what he was..." Elizabeth's guilt-stricken words kept him firmly on course. He would discover the fugitives; he would right this wrong--for her sake.
Darcy knew not how much time had passed before someone knocked on the door. "Enter!" Vincent walked inside with a smile on his face. "Yes?"
"Mr. Wickham was there earlier this week, Mr. Darcy. He sought a room, but the house is full."
Darcy bounded up from his chair in anticipation. "You heard this from someone who saw him?"
"I did. The man even knew Wickham's name."
Darcy smiled at last. "I had not dared hope for such luck. I will return to Mrs. Younge tomorrow and confront her with this bit of truth. Thank you, Vincent."
The same servant answered the door the next morning when Darcy arrived, but this time he anticipated the man's rudeness. When the door opened, he did not wait to be acknowledged but pushed his way past the servant into the foyer.
"Here now! You can't go pushing your way into other people's homes!"
"I am afraid it is not polite to leave visitors waiting on the front step, even if they are to be denied. You may tell Mrs. Younge I am here."
The footman's beady eyes glared at Darcy beneath his bushy eyebrows. "I told you she wouldn't be seeing you."
"I do recall that, yes. However, you find I am here anyway."
Darcy removed his hat and gazed about the room, which seemed to annoy his adversary further. The man harrumphed out of the room and returned a few minutes later, a gleam of triumph in those same black eyes. "Like I said, she don't want to see you."
Darcy sighed. "Very well, I shall just have to remain here until she changes her mind." He took a seat on the divan in the foyer.
"You can't stay here!" the man blustered.
"Unless you plan to remove me yourself--which I do not recommend--I believe I can."
Darcy pulled out the morning paper he had brought with him and settled in to read. The servant glared at him for some time before he finally left the room.
Though he projected an image of calm indifference, Darcy's heart raced. He took a large risk by demanding to see Mrs. Younge in this way. If she chose to ignore him, he had no other cards to play. He was now convinced that the couple was not within the house. If they were present, Mrs. Younge would have received him, if only to keep him from accidentally discovering them. He had no leads, therefore, beyond whatever intelligence this woman could offer.
Several servants wandered through the room, and he knew they had been sent to see if he remained. He smiled coolly at all of them and then went back to reading his paper.
It was more than an hour later when the first footman returned. "Follow me."
Darcy folded his paper neatly and tucked it back under his arm. The footman led the way into a small sitting room located at the front of the house. Mrs. Younge stood by the windows, her thin lips set into a deep scowl.
"Mrs. Younge."
"Mr. Darcy, I must protest this invasion of my home."
Darcy allowed confusion to show on his features. "I was not aware I had mounted an invasion. I simply wish to speak with you."
She tossed her head and sniffed. "Now that you have, you may leave."
"I am afraid, madam, that I cannot. You see, I have business to conduct with you."
"Aye? And what might that be?"
"Has Mr. Wickham come to visit you lately?"
"And what if he has? He's a good man, a far sight better than yourself."
Darcy tilted his head and examined her flushed cheeks. She knows something. "I wish to know where he is."
She snorted. "If I knew, why would I tell you? I told ye before and I'll tell ye again--George Wickham is worth five Mr. Darcys. If not for you, he would have all the ready he deserved."
Darcy found it surprisingly easy to keep his temper in the face of her unfounded accusations. One thought of Elizabeth's tear-stained face was all it took to keep his resolve coolly in place.
"Ah yes, money. That always has been at the crux of the story. It is too bad that you do not know where Wickham is. I was prepared to pay handsomely for such information."
Darcy laid his hand on the door, but Mrs. Younge called him back. "Exactly how much money would you be willing to give, assuming someone knew where he was?"
Darcy shrugged. "That does not really signify, since you do not know. Good day, madam." He left before she could say another word.
Chapter Thirty-two
The note arrived the next morning before Darcy even finished his breakfast. He read the short message quickly and could not withhold a victorious smile.
Mr. Darcy, I may have the information you seek.
Mrs. Younge
Though his first instinct was to rush to the City, Darcy waited until past noon to set out. The longer I wait, the more anxious she will become.
Indeed, when he arrived at the now familiar boardinghouse just after two o'clock, the footman opened the door before he could even knock. "Mrs. Younge will see you in the drawing room, sir."
"Thank you." Darcy handed his hat to the footman and entered the drawing room.
Mrs. Younge was seated on the chintz divan when he entered the room. "Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy. Please, have a seat."
Darcy shook his head. "I prefer to stand, thank you."
Her nostrils pinched together and her fingers flexed around the edge of her seat, but a moment later she smiled. "Of course, if that is what you wish. Did you receive my notice this morning?"
"That is why I am here. I confess, it confused me. I thought you said you did not know where Wickham was--in fact, you said you would not tell me even if you did."
"Well, as to that... perhaps..." She traced the brocade pattern of the upholstery with one finger. "You see, I cannot guarantee he went where I suggested; that is what I meant when I said
I did not know his location."
"I see." Darcy kept his voice carefully neutral.
Mrs. Younge tilted her chin up. "If you are willing to pay, I may be willing to give you the address of the house I recommended."
"With no guarantee I would find Mr. Wickham within? I think not." For as soon as you have my money in hand, you will certainly send Wickham a message, warning him to move.