by C. P. Odom
Lydia thought over the proposal for several minutes, and she finally agreed to allow Darcy to talk with her uncle Gardiner. She was not sure where on Gracechurch Street he lived, but Darcy was certain he could find the address.
“Then I suppose my business here is finished, at least for now,” he said to Mr. Dickerson. “I shall go speak with Miss Lydia’s uncle, and if he will agree to her request, I shall bring him back to talk with her. He can make decisions on her behalf.”
“Excellent!” beamed Dickerson, pleased at the possibility of at least one of his charges having some hope for something better than to be turned out after her child was born. It was distressing, but his establishment could do no more. There were always more unfortunates than there were beds, after all.
Darcy shook the man’s hand again before he left, said his farewell to Lydia Bennet, and returned to his coach. He informed Mr. Dickerson before he left that he would continue his subscription in support of his establishment, which cemented his place in the man’s estimation.
***
Since Darcy knew Elizabeth’s uncle was in trade, he judged it was still too early in the day to find him at home. Before he returned to Darcy House, however, he took the time to locate the Gardiners’ residence. His driver found Gracechurch Street easily, and it took him only a few inquiries before he located the correct address.
“There it is, sir,” his driver called, leaning down and pointing to a respectable-looking house of four stories in a somewhat dated style. Darcy looked closer and could see the engraved metal plaque alongside the door reading “Gardiner,” and he nodded to himself in satisfaction.
“Well done, Williams. Take me home for now. We shall return later, when I hope to find Mr. Gardiner at home.”
“Very good, sir,” his driver called, and Darcy spent the trip back to his town house deep in thought. Once he arrived, he found a note from his solicitor, informing him of the progress made on the tasks necessary to provide for Wickham’s passage to Italy. It was undeniable that it would take several more days before he could hope for the business to be completed.
When it was five o’clock, Darcy’s coach stopped in front of the Gardiner home, and he descended, straightening his coat.
“Please wait. I cannot tell how long my business here will take.”
“As you say, sir,” the driver called and climbed down off the coach, getting out a water bucket and two bags of feed for the horses. Darcy nodded to himself in satisfaction.
At his knock, the door was opened by a female servant, and Darcy handed her his card.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy to see Mr. Gardiner.”
The servant nodded and motioned him into the entry where she took his hat, gloves, and cane before disappearing upstairs with his card. Within minutes, she returned.
“Mr. Gardiner will see you now, sir,” she said and turned to go back upstairs. Darcy followed, looking about him with interest as they passed through a parlour before the servant paused in front of a door, knocked, and opened it, motioning Darcy to enter.
A gentleman who appeared to be in his early forties stood behind a solid desk made of some kind of heavy, dark wood, possibly teak. He was dressed much as Darcy in dark trousers, waistcoat, coat, and a white shirt and cravat.
Darcy could see he held his card in one hand, looking a bit uncertain, and Darcy knew it was likely because he had written on the back of his card, “Concerning your niece, L. B.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, sir,” he said, introducing himself and giving the older man a bow. “Thank you for seeing me on this most unusual business.”
“Edward Gardiner, Mr. Darcy. Yes, this is most unusual,” he said, waving Darcy’s card in the air. “What can I do for you?”
“I wish to be of service to you, sir,” Darcy said quietly. “I have located your niece Miss Lydia Bennet.”
Mr. Gardiner’s expression mingled both astonishment and agitation at hearing this.
“Your name is not unknown to me. Pray, be seated, sir,” Mr. Gardiner said, and he sat down himself and placed Darcy’s card on the blotter in front of him. Darcy bore the following close inspection with equanimity, knowing the other man had to be considering what he had been told by Elizabeth combined with what he had just heard.
“What you say is very surprising since my brother Bennet and I were unable to find any trace of her after a long search.”
“And you are wondering how a stranger could possibly have knowledge of such a sensitive and private nature, I would wager,” Darcy said with a wry smile. “In fact, I was seeking George Wickham, and I came upon news of your niece by mere coincidence in the course of locating him.”
“You found them both?” exclaimed Mr. Gardiner, sitting bolt upright in his chair. “We never found a trace of either!”
“I have known Wickham since boyhood. He has been a thorn in the side of my family for many years, despite what you may have heard of how badly I once treated him.”
“Well, yes, we did have reason to doubt what he had said once he disappeared with Lydia.”
“I dare say,” Darcy said with a mirthless smile. “I am afraid my news is not good at all. It seems Wickham never planned to marry your niece when he disappeared. He admitted as much to me, and he did not hesitate to lay all the blame for her folly on her shoulders.” Darcy took a deep breath. “He abandoned her, Mr. Gardiner, but not before getting her with child.”
Mr. Gardiner clenched the arms of the chair, and his lips thinned in what could have been either grief or fury. “I see,” he said finally.
“It seems Wickham did at least leave directions to a charitable establishment that cares for unmarried girls who are in the family way. It was there that I found her—The Bedford Charitable Home for the Unfortunate.
Mr. Gardiner closed his eyes briefly before looking at Darcy. “To hear such dismaying news is bad enough—”
“But it is worse because you had to hear it from a veritable stranger who is now privy to affairs of great sensitivity and privacy. I understand completely, and I wish the situation were different, but I had to deal with the facts as I found them, so I believed I had no other choice than to apprise you of the situation. Please believe me when I assure you our conversation will go no further than this room.”
Mr. Gardiner rose to his feet. “Thank you for your assurances, Mr. Darcy. I want to thank you for—”
Darcy forestalled him by holding his hand up, palm outward. “I know this is terribly painful, but you must hear me out. I have a concern in this matter despite the fact that I have no connexion to your family.”
“And that is?”
“If I share some private information with you, sir, will you give me your assurance of secrecy?”
Mr. Gardiner looked at the other man for a moment before answering. “Yes, Mr. Darcy. You have my word that what you tell me will go no further—not even to my wife.”
Darcy nodded, and a look of pain passed over his face. “You see, sir, just over a year ago, Wickham tried and almost succeeded in convincing my own sister to elope. I have shared Georgiana’s guardianship with my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam since my parents died. Wickham was after my sister’s fortune, which is rather substantial—thirty thousand pounds. There is bad blood between us, and he would have gained equal delight out of revenging himself on me and ruining Georgiana. So, when it comes to injuries inflicted by Wickham, I share a history similar to yours—except that I was able to stop Georgiana’s elopement and your family was not.”
“Good God!” Mr. Gardiner said in horror, slumping back in his chair. “I had no idea, Mr. Darcy. None at all.”
“It was the memory of this unfortunate event that caused me, to my shame, to avoid making my dealings with Wickham plain to everyone in Hertfordshire last autumn. Had I done so, he never would have been accepted in respectable homes or been a
ble to lure young ladies away from their families. That is the other reason for my concern in this matter. The fault is partly mine, and I will do what I can to make amends for it.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and then looked directly at Mr. Gardiner. “Georgiana was only fifteen years old when I barely prevented her ruin by this scoundrel.”
Gardiner straightened in his chair. “I am happy your sister was saved from such a sad fate, but you cannot be serious about thinking what happened to Lydia could in any way be attributed to you.”
“I can and I do, sir,” Darcy said firmly. “I was too proud to speak of what had passed between Wickham and me; thus, I let him have his way despite the fact that one of your other nieces, Miss Elizabeth, accused me of depriving him of his due while I was still in Hertfordshire.”
“Yes, I remember her saying she had spoken her mind at a ball at Netherfield. But she has repented of her previous good opinion of Mr. Wickham, though my wife and I did not find out about it until Lydia had disappeared from Brighton.”
“Miss Elizabeth is a most forthright young lady,” Darcy said. “I should have taken heed of what she said last autumn. But I did not, and now Wickham has afflicted your family.”
“Yes, he admittedly has, though I cannot agree you should bear any blame. I am afraid there is not much that can be done to correct what has happened to Lydia.”
“Something must be done for her, both before and after she has her child. When I spoke to her today, she flatly refused to agree to marry Wickham, even if it could be arranged. She also refused to allow her parents to be informed of her whereabouts.” Darcy shook his head morosely. “I suppose I should have asked for your secrecy on that matter too, but I completely forgot.”
“It is not a situation with which either of us has much experience, thank God.”
“Very true. You will be pleased to know, I have already made arrangements to make sure Wickham never afflicts any of us again. I offered him a chance to take passage to the Continent, and he agreed to the plan at once as a way to escape his creditors. I wish I could find something more equitable, but he would simply disappear before he could be apprehended if I went to the authorities.”
“Likely so, but what can be done for Lydia? I imagine the usual answer is to find her a suitable place far from Hertfordshire for herself and the child, but I do not know how to go about making such arrangements.”
“Nor did I, but I consulted my cousin, who is a cavalry officer in the Sixth Dragoons. He has a possible solution that he admits has been used several times. He can arrange to have your niece take the name of one of several men in his regiment who have been killed in recent months. In that way, she can pose as a widow expecting a child. I can arrange to have my solicitor set up a fund to pay her enough to take rooms in one of the small towns along the coast in a community where there are many similar widows, given the length of the present hostilities.”
Mr. Gardiner eyed Darcy with new respect. “Your solution would allow Lydia some status as a widow whose husband was killed in the war, and she might someday be able to return home or find a husband. But I cannot allow you to provide for Lydia’s support. That is obviously my duty as her uncle, and…”
Their disagreement went on for almost an hour, but Mr. Gardiner found Darcy absolutely firm and unyielding. At last, because he could think of no other way to accomplish a suitable solution to the dilemma, Mr. Gardiner was forced to agree to his terms, especially Darcy’s requirement for absolute secrecy. They agreed to meet in the morning when Darcy would take Mr. Gardiner to meet his niece.
“I must say, Mr. Darcy, you are one of the most obstinate young men I have ever encountered. I am glad I do not have to try to bargain with you on a daily basis, for I should soon be destitute!”
“I doubt that, sir.” Darcy smiled and began to get up.
“A moment, if you please, sir. I know we have just met, but I should like to introduce you to my wife if you would permit it.”
“Of course. I should be honoured.”
“And I should be honoured if you would stay to dine with us. Obviously, there are aspects to your character Lizzy never related, and I should appreciate a chance to talk on subjects other than the rather distressing one we have spoken of today.”
“I accept your invitation with pleasure. My house is empty since I left my sister at Pemberley, and I have never liked to dine alone.”
“Excellent! Let us go find Mrs. Gardiner. Is your coach still outside? Perhaps your driver would like to share supper with the stable master?”
“Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. That would do nicely.”
Chapter 7
Nothing is to be preferred before justice.
— Socrates (470 BC–399 BC), ancient Greek philosopher
Wednesday, November 11, 1812
London and environs
It was bitterly cold in the hour before dawn, and Wickham lost little time boarding the coach adorned with the Darcy crest that had just pulled up in front of the house in Edward Street. It was not until he was already aboard that he realised the heavily muffled figure across from him was not Darcy.
“Fitzwilliam!” Wickham exclaimed, surprised but not alarmed to find Darcy’s cousin. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking care of one last distasteful errand because of you. I volunteered to do this for Darcy so the two of us can put all memories of you behind us.”
“And I have always liked you too, Fitzwilliam!” Wickham jeered, pulling several of the heavy blankets from the seat about his legs as protection against the cold. He was not bothered by the patent dislike of the other man, and he settled back for the trip to the docks and his departure from England forever.
Perhaps he paid little attention to the route the coach took because of the cold, but it was only when it stopped at a small, open field on the outskirts of London that Wickham looked around suspiciously.
“Where are we? This is not the way to the docks!” Wickham exclaimed as Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged off his blankets and stepped down from the coach.
“No, it is not—not just yet, at least. Now, please be so good as to step down. We have some business to take care of before a trip to the docks is considered. Do not worry about missing your ship. They will not leave until the tide starts going out around noon.”
“But I thought—”
“Yes, I know what you thought once you got the note from Darcy telling you when he would collect you. You should have looked at it a bit closer, though I do think my skill at duplicating my cousin’s signature was quite credible.”
“But—”
“Get down, Wickham. Now!” Colonel Fitzwilliam barked the order.
Wickham, seeing no alternative, unwillingly threw off his blankets and descended. He looked around in concern, thinking it might be time to take to his heels, but a half-dozen officers in scarlet coats seemed to materialise out of the darkness. They surrounded the coach, sitting their horses easily and blocking any attempt at flight.
Fitzwilliam turned to Wickham and indicated one of the officers who dismounted and stepped forward.
“Wickham, this is Major Forest, who will act as master of the field this morning.”
“Master of the field?” Wickham said weakly.
“Yes,” Fitzwilliam said, and his arm whipped forward so his gauntlet slapped Wickham across the face. “I challenge you and name you knave, thief, liar, and seducer. You have offended the honour of my family in a multitude of offences, and I will tolerate it no further.”
Fitzwilliam turned to Major Forest and said formally, “Master of the field, I leave this matter in your hands.”
“Very good, sir. I must first determine whether this man is possessed of the quality to meet you on the field of honour.” Turning to Wickham, he said, “Are you, sir, a gentleman of honour? Do you accept th
is gentleman’s challenge?”
“What are you talking about?” Wickham said. “Of course, I am a gentleman.”
“Major Forest is trying to find out whether I can legitimately challenge you,” Fitzwilliam said harshly. “If, for example, you are merely the son of a steward, then I could not challenge you since you would not possess the honour to accept my challenge. You see, honour is very important to us,” and he motioned to the officers who ringed the two men. “We base our lives on honour, and we would die rather than allow it to be besmirched. If you want to get back on my cousin’s coach and be taken to the docks, all you have to do is deny you are a gentleman.”
Wickham was sorely tempted to do just that for he was frightened. All these soldiers intimidated him. They were all marked by their years of service, stern faces furrowed with lines of duty and responsibility. More than one showed scars from the battlefield, and one of them was missing his left hand.
To openly admit he was not a gentleman was galling to Wickham for he had lived his whole life masquerading as one. He knew he ought to take the way out Fitzwilliam offered, but he found it more difficult than he would have thought to shed his disguise and be revealed as the son of a steward—an inferior, a servant.
“As the challenged, I have my choice of weapons, do I not?” he asked, trying to put a note of haughtiness in his voice.
“You do,” answered Major Forest gravely.
“Do you have rapiers? Not those bloody huge cavalry sabres but a rapier, a true gentleman’s weapon?”
“We do.”
“And if I emerge victorious, do I have your assurance I shall be taken to my ship even if Colonel Fitzwilliam is dead?”
“Of course,” Major Forest said. “Did you not hear the colonel? We are all men of honour though I am beginning to suspect you are not.”