by C. P. Odom
Mrs. Younge glared at him for some seconds, and her excellent mind seemed to be mulling over what Darcy had said. Moments later, she reached back to jerk one of several cords. A door opened suddenly in the hall, and a large, ugly man filled the doorway. Darcy was instantly on his feet, a foot of his rapier pulled out of his cane before Mrs. Younge could offset the situation.
“Stop!” she commanded the big man, who halted immediately, having only taken a single step into the room. “Tell Mr. Wickham I should like to see him.”
The man gave Darcy a menacing glance, nodded once, and disappeared down the hall.
“Well, that was stimulating,” Darcy said dryly, as he sat down and slid his rapier back into its sheath. Mrs. Younge gave him another glare before she sat silently to wait for the arrival of Wickham.
“You wanted to see me?” said a familiar, cheerful voice from the hall. Then the doorway was filled by the figure of Wickham, who stiffened as soon as he saw Darcy inside the room.
“Good day, Wickham,” Darcy said, surprised at the composure in his voice.
Wickham’s fists clenched as he looked at his boyhood companion. “What are you doing here?” he said with a snarl of hatred.
“Looking for you, as it happens, and I am fortunate to find you in the first place I looked.”
Wickham and Mrs. Younge shared a glance.
“However, I am also wondering about the whereabouts of a mutual acquaintance of ours—a certain Miss Lydia Bennet—who appears to have departed Brighton with you in the belief the two of you were to be married.”
“That was her delusion,” Wickham said. He had his voice under control as he took the chair across the room from Darcy. “But she is not here, so that part of your errand is unsuccessful. Why were you looking for me?”
“So, you are saying you never intended to marry the girl, yet you took her with you when you left Brighton.”
“I was forced to leave the regiment suddenly. I would have resigned before I left, but there was the matter of…um…some very pressing debts of honour. Miss Lydia was determined to accompany me. If matters did not turn out as she expected, that is on her shoulders, not mine. Where is she, then? Has she gone home to her family?”
Darcy had wondered whether she might have returned to Hertfordshire and been hidden from the rest of society, but the look on Wickham’s face told him this was not the case. He glanced over to look at Mrs. Younge’s face, which was cast in hard lines.
“Tell him, George,” she commanded, and Wickham unhappily related how he had deserted her at the inn after learning she was going to have his child.
Darcy looked at him with disgust, sickened to hear open confirmation that Wickham had not only taken Lydia with him with no intention of marrying her but had cruelly abandoned her. He envisioned Lydia alone and friendless on the streets of London.
“And what date was this?” he asked harshly
“Almost two months ago.”
“But you did leave behind the note I gave you, did you not?” interjected Mrs. Younge suddenly.
“Of course, but I do not remember the name you wrote on it.”
“I do,” Mrs. Younge said coldly, having just finished writing something on a bit of paper, which she handed to Darcy. “Try the Bedford Charitable Home for the Unfortunate. The address is there. George left a note with this address for the girl when he quit the inn, and she should have been able to find shelter and sustenance there.”
Darcy nodded, folded the paper, and put it into his coat pocket. Then he turned to Wickham. “Now we can get to the second and the main reason I came here. I am determined to be quit of you forever. This present villainy is only the latest way you have managed to destroy the peace and order of my life, and I am determined it shall not happen again.
“Now, I could report you to the authorities, especially your old regiment at Brighton, as well as to the local tradesmen. They would undoubtedly be very interested to find the ne’er-do-well who left a string of debts, but I am sure you would simply disappear again before the constables could lay their hands on you.”
“Of that you can be sure,” Wickham said smugly.
Darcy thought he looked a little uncomfortable at the threat, but only a little. It was certain he was not unduly worried. “I dare say, so despite the fact it rather disgusts me to pay yet more funds because of you, I have concluded the only way to make sure you never trouble me again is to remove you from England.”
Wickham sat up at this.
“I thought such a proposal might interest you,” Darcy said with a bitter smile. “So this is what I propose. I will pay for your passage to the Continent and provide enough support to last you several years. I will not give you any funds directly because I cannot be certain you will go and stay away. Instead, I will deposit the sum of £3,000 with a financier in Milan with instructions to disburse £250 to you each quarter. That should be more than sufficient to provide food and lodging, and you can try to make your fortune there.”
Darcy looked at Wickham closely then said softly, “Which shall it be? Banishment to the Continent or a chase by the authorities?”
Wickham hardly needed to consider this offer since he immediately saw his chance to evade his creditors forever and set himself up as a gentleman elsewhere. He had often thought he could find some way to make his fortune in another country. Beyond doubt, a widow with a substantial income would be interested in a young companion of grace and style. He was certain he could find something abroad more appropriate to his station anywhere but in England. And he did speak all the continental languages with some fluency.
“I accept, of course.”
Darcy noted, with a degree of satisfaction, the glare Mrs. Younge bestowed on her erstwhile partner. Evidently, she did not favour Wickham’s departure as much as he did.
Well, that is bad luck for her, he thought harshly. In fact, if she happens to have one of her associates break Wickham’s neck and dump the body in an alley, I would not complain too strenuously.
“Very well,” Darcy said as he stood. “I shall send word in a few days after arrangements are made. In addition, I shall provide my carriage to transport you to the docks once your passage has been assured.”
“You do know I will be gone in an instant if I see an attempt to entrap me,” Wickham warned.
Darcy never looked back as he left.
***
Colonel Fitzwilliam was already at Darcy House when its owner returned in the late afternoon. After leaving Mrs. Younge, Darcy had spent the rest of the day with his solicitor and several friends with contacts in other countries in order to find the best way to arrange matters with a trusted banker so the funds he sent were disbursed in accordance with his instructions.
“I say,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, holding up his half-empty glass of port, “I had not expected to see you until Christmas. What brings you back to town when winter is about to set upon us?”
“George Wickham,” Darcy said, crossing to fill his cousin’s glass and one of his own.
“Wickham, eh? What brings that wretch back to your attention?”
Darcy heard the concern in Fitzwilliam’s voice, but his back was turned, so he did not see the sudden surge of anger in his cousin’s eyes. However, by the time he turned around, Fitzwilliam was sitting at ease in his chair, a bland expression on his face.
“I received a rare letter from Cousin Anne, and she told me Wickham had practiced the same scheme he attempted with Georgiana, except this time he had no plans of marrying the girl.”
“That is the cad we know, for certain.”
“Too true. And the girl in question is a relation of a mutual friend. She is, in fact, the youngest sister of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whom you met when we visited our aunt at Easter.”
“No!” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a sha
rp intake of breath.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Darcy said, taking a long draw on his glass of port. Putting the glass down, he continued. “He deserted her, as you might suspect, two months ago, but only after learning he had got her with child.”
“That bastard!” Fitzwilliam said with a snarl, and Darcy nodded in agreement.
He did not look closely at his cousin, however, and thus he did not see that Fitzwilliam’s eyes had turned a dark slate rather than their usual warm grey. They were a killer’s eyes, and anyone who saw this gaze directed their way would instantly either reach for a weapon or turn to flee for their life.
“I do not have any information on how this has affected Miss Bennet’s family, but it cannot be good,” Darcy said.
“If Anne knows this, then her mother must know of it. But I received a letter from Lady Catherine a fortnight ago, and she mentioned nothing of it,” Fitzwilliam said, his brows knit in confusion.
“Nor did I know of it until Anne’s letter arrived. She had her maid take it to the village to post so our loving aunt could not intercept it.”
“Poor Anne!”
“Yes, poor Anne,” agreed Darcy. “And poor Bennet family, including our friend. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do for either.”
“I hate it when you are right, Darce.”
“I should much rather be wrong on either of these matters, but I am afraid I am not.”
“Did you want me to call so you could inform me of this?”
“Only somewhat. Mainly, I wanted you to know I have decided to rid ourselves of Wickham for good,” Darcy said, and he quickly related his agreement with Wickham and his accomplishments during the rest of the day.
“I cannot tell you how infuriating it was to sit in the same room with him again. At least, I shall only be afflicted with his company a final time—when I take him to the docks.”
Fitzwilliam leaned over and squeezed Darcy’s shoulder sympathetically. “Let me take care of this disagreeable task for you. Since you are arranging everything else, it is the least I can do.”
“That would be a great service.”
“It is done then,” Fitzwilliam said agreeably and sat back, careful to hide the smile of cold satisfaction that tried to turn up the corners of his mouth.
“I still have to visit this Bedford Home tomorrow. It happens to be one of the charities my father supported, and I have continued to support it since his death. I do not know whether Miss Lydia Bennet is there, but I hope she is. Otherwise, she will have been abandoned in a quite unwholesome part of town for close to two months. And you know what that would mean.”
Richard nodded unhappily.
The two men discussed possible ways of providing for the wayward girl if she could be found, having several glasses of port before dinner and several more afterwards. Darcy’s steps were unsteady when he finally arose to retire, and Richard’s were scarcely steadier, so he was quick to accept Darcy’s offer of a bed for the night.
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, however, did not inform his cousin of any part of the plan scrolling through his mind.
Chapter 6
A wise man makes his own decisions; an ignorant man follows the public opinion.
— Chinese proverb
Friday, November 6, 1812
London
The next day, Darcy’s coach took him to The Bedford Charitable Home. He had a pair of footmen with him, but he did not feel the need to arm himself as he had the previous day. He had sent a note early in the morning, introducing himself to the director and explaining he had become aware of the possibility that the younger sister of a lady with whom he was acquainted had sought shelter at his establishment.
Accordingly, when he presented himself at the front door, the director was there to greet him as soon as he entered.
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” he said with a deep, respectful bow. “My name is Dickerson.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Darcy said, returning the bow. He did not know the background of the other man, but since Mr. Dickerson was managing a charitable institution for which there was a critical need, he would meet him as an equal.
“Pray, come into my office. I ordered tea as soon as I saw your coach, and it will be only a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said and allowed the other man to guide him to a cramped office containing a small desk cluttered with numerous piles of paper. Mr. Dickerson indicated a chair that was larger and sturdier than the one behind the desk, and Darcy cocked an eyebrow at the other man as he carefully eased his weight onto the smaller chair.
“Am I being overly suspicious, Mr. Dickerson, or have you somehow contrived to give me your own chair?”
“Ah, I see you have a quick eye.” The other man smiled cheerfully. “But do not concern yourself. I borrowed this chair from my secretary, and he assured me it has never failed yet, though he did admit to having had it repaired several times.”
“A wonderful assurance, I am sure.” Darcy’s brief smile faded. “I wish the reason for my visit were not so sad, but given the purpose of your establishment, it cannot be otherwise.”
“A cogent observation, sir. Now, you said you were looking for the younger sister of a family with whom you are acquainted?”
“Correct. I was introduced to the Bennet family when I was visiting in Hertfordshire last autumn, and a relative informed me that the youngest of the girls had eloped with an officer of a militia regiment stationed in Brighton. Nothing had been heard of them, and since I was acquainted both with the family and the officer with whom the girl eloped, I took it upon myself to try to locate him. I thought I could at least inform the family where their daughter might be found. To my horror, I learned the reprobate had abandoned the girl when he found she was with child but had left the address of your establishment with her before he left.”
“A sad story, sir, very sad. And one with which I am unfortunately far too familiar. Now what was the name of the girl who eloped? I cannot guarantee her name will be in my records since the young ladies who seek us out are sometimes very reluctant to give their correct name.”
“Her name is Miss Lydia Bennet, and she is the youngest daughter of a gentleman in Hertfordshire.”
“Ah yes, I know her, and she is assuredly here. She must have given us the correct name.”
Darcy gave a sigh and slumped back in the chair, unaware he had been leaning forward expectantly. He looked at Mr. Dickerson and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“I confess I had not managed to think any further than locating the poor girl. What can be done from this point is a puzzle to me. Is the family aware she is at your establishment?”
Mr. Dickerson had located the papers for Lydia by now, and he shook his head in answer.
“One of the agreements we make with the unfortunate young ladies who come to us is that we shall abide by their wishes if they will give us their correct name. Miss Lydia was adamant she did not want her family to know where she was. This is not at all unusual, by the way.”
“I suppose that is true. Would it be possible to ask her again whether she would like to inform her family?”
“I shall have her summoned so we can ask. It is difficult to find any employment in town after the child is born, but we do what we can to teach the girls some kind of trade, such as seamstress. From what I see here, I do not think Miss Lydia has any talents that might make employment easier to find, such as musical skills or knowledge of foreign languages.”
Mr. Dickerson pulled a cord in the corner, and when his secretary responded, he asked him to invite Miss Bennet to his office.
In about five minutes, Lydia came to the door, and she looked at Darcy rather blankly as he rose and bowed politely. In the two months since Wickham had abandoned her, she had seen little of politeness and none o
f deference to her gentle birth, but she soon recovered herself and was able to greet Darcy by name.
The secretary also brought another chair, and Lydia sat in it quietly.
“How did you find me, Mr. Darcy?” she asked dully.
“I found Wickham and managed to learn the address of this place, but I was not sure that you were here. Now I am unsure what to do. Mr. Dickerson says you are absolutely opposed to letting your parents know where you are.”
“I cannot return home,” she said in a voice that mingled resentment with anger. “Wickham has ruined me, and I cannot return to Longbourn. Never, never, never! Better they think me dead than know of my shame!”
Darcy was taken aback by the ferocity of her response, and he could not help but note she said nothing about the shame her elopement had attached to her family. Her only thought was for herself.
“What about marrying Wickham, then? I know where he is, and I might be able to—”
“No! Never! I hate him. Even if we married now, I have been gone for months, and my ruin is complete. I could never show my face in polite society again, and no one would have anything to do with me—or with Wickham. He has no income to support a wife, which is why he had to leave the regiment. I hate him for what he did to me, leading me on and then abandoning me. I would never marry him.”
“Wickham left the regiment because he ran up gambling debts, and the other officers were pressing him to pay. I know about his debts. I have assumed them twice already. But see here, Miss Lydia, your sister mentioned an aunt and an uncle in town. Would you be willing to go stay with them if they would permit it?”
“They will tell Papa, and I could not stand that.”
Darcy heard the yearning in her voice, and he knew she would agree to some other remedy, as long as her family did not know where she was.
“Perhaps your aunt and uncle could arrange for you to stay with a family in the country until the child is born. I am not your relation, and I only found you because I was searching for Wickham. Could I inform your uncle, perhaps? Would he agree to keep your secret?”