by Leenie Brown
“As if you do not know!” Bingley’s right fist connected with Harris’s abdomen, causing Harris to gasp and bend forward. Bingley pushed Harris backwards into the chair behind him.
“Before you call to have us thrown out,” said Richard, placing one hand on each arm of Harris’s chair and leaning down to speak very closely to the man’s face, “you will wish to hear what we know. And if you are smart — a level to which I believe you might be able to rise — you will fill us in on the details we have not yet discovered.”
Harris’s eyes darted from one angry face to the other.
“Will you listen?”
Harris nodded.
Richard stood and relaxed his position but remained standing over Harris. “Today, I have heard stories circulating about Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Dobney, and they all have one person in common. Do you wish to tell me of whom I speak?”
“It was Miss Bingley,” offered Harris. “His sister.” He pointed at Bingley.
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at Bingley. “Will you deny that?”
Bingley shook his head. “No. I am certain she did share most of what we heard with Harris, but how it spread from my sister to Mr. Williams’s ears is the question, is it not?”
“Indeed,” said Richard, turning back to Harris. “Would you like to inform us as to whom you spoke?”
Harris’s eyes grew wide, and he swallowed. “I cannot.”
Richard leaned over him again, taking note of the increased level of fear the mere mention of this unnamed person had caused in Harris. “Tell me why you cannot.”
Harris shook his head.
“Tell me,” demanded Richard.
“I cannot.”
Richard glanced at Bingley. “Perhaps we should move this outside. I would hate to bloody the furniture.”
“I cannot say,” pleaded Harris. “I am not withholding the information for my sake alone.”
Richard’s brow rose in interest at the comment. His lips curled in a slanted, sly smile as he once again stood and looked at Bingley. “I would wager a month’s pay that if there is a reason to fear for the safety of any person, Wickham must be involved.” He took a step away, hoping that his hunch about Harris’s fear of Wickham was correct. “Thank you for your time, Captain Harris. We will consult with Wickham regarding this matter. ”
“No!” Harris was on his feet and had hold of Richard’s arm. “I will tell you as much as I can if you promise to neither share it with Wickham or Mr. Williams.”
Richard studied Harris’s face. There was no trace of anything but fear in the man’s eyes. “Very well, we will not speak of this to Wickham or Mr. Williams. Sit and tell us your story.”
Harris released Richard’s arm and returned to his chair. “Three years ago…”
Priscilla wiped her eyes with the corner of the shawl she held tightly about her shoulders. “Is…is he dead?” she asked, peering over Harris’s shoulder at the white face of her father.
“I am afraid he is,” Harris replied. He looked up toward the top of the stairs. “Did he fall?”
She nodded.
“Is no one here?”
“He was in his cups,” she whispered.
Harris knew what that meant. Priscilla’s father became violently angry about everything when he was in his cups. No doubt the servants had scurried to find places to be busy and hidden so as not to accidentally become the target of the man’s ill temper.
“And none came to investigate the noise of his falling?”
Priscilla’s lips trembled.
Harris rose and pulled her into his embrace. “Shhh…all will be well.”
She flinched when he began to rub her back.
“Did he hurt you?” Harris attempted to pull the shawl from her shoulders.
“No, please.”
“Pris, you must let me see.” He gently tugged the shawl from her grasp and unwrapped her. He turned her and froze. The buttons of her dress had been torn from their places, and the material gapped revealing the unmistakable marks of a whip. “Is this the only damage he did?” If her father was not already dead, Harris would have killed him himself.
She shook her head. “Please do not make me tell you.”
“Pris, you must.” He wrapped her in the shawl once again and, taking a seat on the stairs, pulled her onto his lap.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “You will not leave me?”
“I love you, Pris. You know this.”
“Even if I was ruined? Would you love me then?”
Harris’s blood ran cold. He had heard how more than one maid had fled her place of employment with Priscilla’s father. He forced the question from his lips. “Did he give you to one of his friends?”
“He tried, but I refused and locked myself in my room.” She shuddered. “When he came in, I told him that I was going to marry you — that you were the only man who was ever going to know me in that way.” She drew a shaky breath. “He said I would earn my keep. He had gambled beyond his means, and I was the payment.”
“Oh, Pris,” Harris kissed her forehead.
Her lips quivered, and she shook her head. “I thought he would only beat me, but after he had lashed me thrice, he said I would lift my skirts for his friend. I again told him I would not. I expected another lashing, but instead, he thought to rid me of my hesitance to be with a man.” She buried her face. “I am ruined. He ruined me.”
“He…your father…ruined you?”
She nodded. “I was so angry. I screamed, but no one came. I tried to not let him do it, but …” Her body shuddered at the thought. “When he left, I followed him and watched until he got to the stairs, and then…”
“You pushed him?”
She nodded. “I did not mean to kill him. I just wished for him not to be able to send for his friend.”
“Pack a bag, Pris. You cannot stay here.”
“Where will I go?”
“Somewhere where only I shall find you,” said Harris.
“I told Mr. Williams that Priscilla had been sent away because her father did not wish for us to marry. When the servants finally came out of hiding, it was one of them who discovered the body.”
Richard sank back in his chair. The story was nearly enough to wipe the anger of the rumors that Harris had started from his mind.
“Apparently, there was a maid who was not ignorant of what happened, and with the right kind of persuasion, she told the story to Wickham.” Harris gave Bingley an apologetic look. “I had to find a way to harm you, or he would have told Williams that Priscilla killed her father.”
“Does Wickham know where she is?” Richard asked.
Harris nodded. “He does.”
“Then,” said Richard, “it is even more important that you consider my offer. The Canadas are in need of soldiers. Take your young lady and find a new life in Canada.”
“But what of my place here.”
Richard ran a hand through his hair. “She was sent away. Could she not have had a relation in Canada? If she had remained in England you would have hunted for her until you found her, would you not have?”
Harris nodded slowly.
“I can make arrangements for you to spend a short term in Canada and when the skirmish with the Americans is resolved, you can return with the wonderful prize you found — Miss Priscilla. We can find passage for the two of you.”
“It is not two. There is a child.”
Richard’s brows rose. “Yours, I assume.”
Harris shook his head. “Her father’s.”
Richard blinked. “Well, then, it will be passage for three, if you will go.”
Harris looked at Bingley and then back at Richard. “And if I do not wish to go?”
“She will never be free from the danger of Wickham.” It was unlikely that Wickham, after this week, would be in a position or country to cause any serious danger, but Richard was not willing to share that bit of news with Harris. There was still the matter of the rum
ors that were started. “And there is still the fact that you have disparaged the future Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley.” He smiled as Harris looked at Bingley in shock.
“I did say the misunderstanding had been sorted out,” said Bingley with a grin.
“And,” said Richard before Harris could recover to make a comment in return, “beyond that, you have also shared tales of your cousin, and since she has had the good sense to accept an offer of marriage from your commanding officer, things could become decidedly unpleasant for you.”
“You…you…,” he stammered. “She finally caught your attention? I did not think she would.”
“Women will surprise you,” Richard replied. “Now, as to my offer to you, will I be off to make the arrangements tomorrow?”
Harris’s shoulders sank with his sigh. “I see there is very little choice but to accept.”
“See,” said Richard, rising from his chair, “I knew you could rise to the level of intelligence of which I suspected you were capable.” He picked up his hat from the table just inside the sitting room door. “Tell your friend tomorrow that she should expect to travel with you in a fortnight.” He paused. “A trip to Gretna before might be advisable.” He motioned for Bingley to exit before him.
Bingley blew out a breath as they rode away from the Harris estate. “And I thought Wickham evil, but that poor girl’s father…” Bingley shook his head in disbelief.
“The depravity of man is hard to fathom at times,” agreed Richard.
“Indeed,” said Bingley, “I almost feel sorry for Harris.”
Richard chuckled. “I would be lying if I said I am not slightly persuaded to show him compassion. However, since he had intended to marry Jane even though he loved Miss Priscilla, I believe we have done him a favour in sending him away with the woman he loves.”
Bingley shrugged. “Perhaps we have.”
“It was a good meeting,” said Richard. “Very little force was needed, and the results were favourable. Hopefully, the next meeting will go so well as this one.”
“No,” said Bingley with a dark smile, “the next meeting shall be successful, but I expect and hope a bit more force will be needed.”
Chapter 16
The sun was setting as Bingley and Richard wound their way through the streets of London. They had paused long enough upon arrival to leave their bags at Bingley’s townhouse and for Bingley to stop at his solicitor’s to check on the progress of marriage papers and a special license. Now, however, they had left the favourable portion of town and slowly made their way down toward the river.
Bingley waved to some chap who was seated on a crate marking things off in his notebook.
“She sails at dawn,” the man called.
“Where to?” Bingley called back.
The man wore a large grin. “Portsmouth.”
A gull swooped and called as Bingley drew his horse close to the man. “And my package?”
“Plenty of room,” said the man standing, “and not a question to be answered. Always looking for an extra set of hands to man the ropes and hoist the cargo.”
“He’ll not be a willing worker.” Bingley knew how hard the men on these ships worked. His father had made him take a turn at it a time or two. It was, according to his father, the best way to learn about and appreciate the business his family oversaw. It had been weeks before the blisters had healed completely. But his hands were not fated for calluses; his were destined to write in ledgers and see others do the things that needed to be done. He was to be master — not of a company, but an estate. Still, he father thought it best to teach him about those who were less blessed with prosperity.
“Not the first reticent squab I’ve dealt with.” The man swore as a dog with a piece of bread in its mouth raced between his legs attempting to escape the lad that chased it. He eyed the colonel cautiously. “As long as the cur can stand and function, he’ll be of use.” There was a hint of a warning in the man’s voice.
“No promises,” muttered Richard. He would like nothing better than to send Wickham off to sea without two good legs or arms.
The man raised a brow and chortled. “Not just you wishin’ to see him off?” he said to Bingley.
“We are but two,” Bingley replied. “It would be best if he were kept below until you have set sail.”
“Aye, a sneaky scoundrel, is he?”
“Among other things,” Richard replied. His horse stepped sideways as impatient as his master to be going.
“If you see my uncle while in port, give him my greetings.” Bingley gave a bow of his head and moved a short distance down the road before dismounting and tying up his horse. He waited for Richard, then ducked into a tavern and wound his way through the establishment and out a side door. Across the alley, a large man leaned against the wall of a building, smoking. Seeing Bingley, he nodded and tipped his head toward the door to his right. Bingley gave a look up and down the narrow passage before entering the building.
“You continue to surprise me,” whispered Richard as he ducked through the door behind Bingley. “Ever considered espionage?”
Bingley chuckled. “No, although covert imports did cross my mind when I was younger.”
Richard raised a questioning brow.
Bingley shook his head. “All legal, nothing covert.” A slow smile spread across his face, “Well, until now, I suppose.”
Richard chuckled softly and followed Bingley down a hall and into a room where Wickham sat slumped over a table, a bottle of rum three quarters empty and a scattered deck of cards framing where his head lay.
Bingley motioned for Richard to take a seat and then took one himself as he picked up the bottle of liquor, wiped the top, took a draught, and passed it to Richard. Richard took the bottle and a gulp of his own, all the while eying Bingley with a mixture of intrigue and appreciation. Bingley gathered the cards and gave them a shuffle. He also gave Wickham’s leg a nudge with his foot.
“Leave me be,” Wickham muttered.
“I am afraid that is impossible,” said Bingley, discarding the deck of cards and catching the legs of Wickham’s chair with the toes of his boots upset it, sending Wickham sprawling backward.
“What is the meaning of this?” Wickham sputtered as he clambered to his feet. He swayed slightly as he stood, blinking his eyes as he attempted to focus on the men before him.
Bingley waited patiently until Wickham’s eyes grew wide, and he took an unsteady step backward.
“I’ve heard stories,” said Bingley, rising and moving toward Wickham, who matched Bingley’s every step with a retreating step of his own. Bingley only smiled and continued to advance, steadily moving his prey toward the wall. “Lady Catherine visited Derbyshire.”
“Did she?” Wickham replied, attempting to sound surprised by such news. However, it was a feeble attempt as the fear in his eyes grew.
Bingley nodded. “She was displeased with Darcy’s choice of bride.”
Wickham’s eyes shifted to look at the door behind Bingley.
“Her curate is a gossip, it seems, but then you knew he would be.” Bingley placed a hand on each of Wickham’s shoulders and pushed him against the wall. “You told him about Lydia,” he hissed close to Wickham’s ear.
Wickham attempted to push Bingley away, but Bingley placed his right arm across Wickham’s neck, pushing against it firmly enough to make the man gasp and cough. “You thought I would not follow through on my promise.” He pressed a bit harder. “You misjudged me.”
Bingley released Wickham and stepped back. As he expected, Wickham lunged toward him, attempting to make his fist connect with Bingley’s face but only being successful in making contact with the air as Bingley ducked and with a swift jab to the abdomen, doubled Wickham over. Bingley’s fist caught Wickham’s jaw and sent him staggering. He caught Wickham by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him against the wall once again. “You have two choices,” he growled, leaning close to Wickham’s ear. “I leave my associate, who is waitin
g outside, to do as he will with you, or you accept my offer to leave England and never return.”
“You were to be in Brighton yesterday.” Richard sat at the table with his legs outstretched and ankles crossed as he flipped through the deck of cards. He was quite content to see Bingley roughing Wickham up a bit. “Dereliction of duty is frowned upon, and I shall make it known that you deserted. Returning to England is not an option.”
Wickham’s attention shifted from Bingley to Richard, as if seeing the colonel for the first time.
“There is a boat at the dock which sales for Portsmouth at dawn.” Bingley released Wickham. “You will be on it.” He waved to the toppled over chair on the floor. “Sit.”
Wickham did as instructed.
“I said you would pay with your life if you did not remain silent,” said Bingley, taking his own seat. “You accepted my money but did not hold up your part of the agreement; therefore, your life belongs to me.” He pulled three folded documents from his pocket and placed them on the table.
He tapped the first — “fish.” He tapped the second — “sugar.” He tapped the third — “spice and tea.” He passed a hand over the documents. “Newfoundland, the West Indies, or India ─ your choice, but the third would seem to have the greatest potential for seeking your fortune and have the benefit of removing you furthest from me.”
Bingley leaned forward. “Before you make your decision, hear me and hear me well. You will not return. As Colonel Fitzwilliam, has said, you will be labelled a deserter, and rumor has it that you spent the last two nights in the bed of a French woman known to harbour sympathizers.”
Bingley smiled as Wickham’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, she was selected for you for that very reason. You did not think you just happily met such a beguiling woman and were successful in bedding her based on your luck and charm alone, did you?” He motioned to the papers on the table. “Choose.”