Wickham’s hand shot out and he grabbed her arm. He pulled her into the drawing room and he shut the door. He was still smiling. “What was it that Fitzie said to you about me, my dear?”
“Take your hand off me,” said Elizabeth. Her heart was rising in her chest, going far too fast. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from George Wickham, but the fact that he was so handsome and smiling made it all worse, somehow.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Please,” she said. “I’ll scream.”
He laughed. “Scream, and I shall strike you.”
She flinched. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it.
Wickham let go of her. “There, now, we’re past the point in which I can play it all off, aren’t we? It doesn’t matter what he said. I doubt I shall convince you that I am not dangerous.”
She licked her lips, her hand going back behind her to the doorknob.
He stopped her. “Now, now, Mrs. Darcy. We are in the middle of a conversation. Don’t be rude and try to run off. I can’t have that. I’ll have to stop that.”
“You sent me the letter,” she said.
“Oh, you’re catching onto that, are you?” He clapped a little, politely, as if she had played something very nice on the piano-forte. “Yes, I did arrange this. I did not know about you when I put out the word that I was in the north and he should come and find me. I thought simply to get into the house without Mr. Darcy about and to see what I could arrange on my own. But then I found out he had married, and I had to meet you. I must say, you’re too smart to have been trapped in a marriage with our Fitzie.”
“Stop calling him that.” So, the business to the north, that had been Mr. Darcy looking for Mr. Wickham?
Wickham laughed again. “Oh, my, you actually like him. I always thought he was frightfully dull, and most of the girls we met preferred me. That’s one of the reasons he never cared for me. Here I was, better at him at everything, and yet he was the one who’d inherit. Can you believe that? It’s ridiculous.”
“That’s not true,” she said.
“Well, it will all be set right soon enough,” said Wickham.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re here, which is good, because I’ve already sent him a letter telling him that I have you and the things that we’ve done together, and—”
“You blackguard!” She shook her head. “Did you actually hurt Georgiana, or did you just pretend?”
“Oh, simply because you and I haven’t done these things yet, doesn’t mean we won’t.” He winked at her. “If you’re a bit… reluctant, you needn’t worry. I actually find that rather exciting.”
She shook her head. He couldn’t do this. The servants wouldn’t obey him. They would obey her. Wouldn’t they?
“You might try to convince me you’re enjoying yourself, though,” said Wickham, eyeing her. “If you please me, Mrs. Darcy, perhaps I’ll keep you.” He looked her over in such a way that she felt as if his very gaze had somehow violated her.
She wanted to cry. She didn’t dare. “I won’t.”
“We’ll get to all that,” he said. “For now, you’ll only need to invite me to dinner when Mrs. Peters comes back in.”
“I would never do such a thing,” she said.
“You will, or I will strike you,” he said conversationally.
“No,” she said, setting her teeth.
He hit her.
She’d never been struck before, and she was unprepared for what it might feel like. He hit her with the flat of his palm, straight across her face, and a crack echoed through the room, and the pain stung and bloomed into her jaw and her teeth and then tears spilled out of her eyes unbidden.
She clutched her hurt face, horrified.
“I can hit you again,” he said, studying his fingernails. “But I won’t if you invite me to dinner.”
“If you hit me in front of Mrs. Peters—”
“I can hit Mrs. Peters too. I can tie her up if I have to. She is certainly not going to stand in my way, but if I do hit her, you’ll have the knowledge that it’s your stubbornness that has brought that pain upon her.”
Elizabeth was shaking all over.
The door opened and Mrs. Peters was there, along with one of the maids, and they had brought tea and honeycakes and bread and butter.
Elizabeth drew herself up. “Mr. Wickham, won’t you stay for dinner?”
He smiled like a preening cat. “Why, I would be delighted, Mrs. Darcy. How good of you to ask.”
* * *
Elizabeth sat in the drawing room stiffly, holding tea that she wasn’t drinking, while Wickham spoke to her about things he and Mr. Darcy had done when they were boys.
“We used to run all over this room,” he said, gesturing about casually. “And then, once, we knocked over a vase. It used to sit right here.” He pointed. “It shattered into a million pieces and Mrs. Darcy—that’s not you, of course, my dear—was quite put out and banned us from coming into the room at all.”
Elizabeth let him prattle on until he’d drunk up all his tea. Then she stood up. “You’ll want to dress for dinner. I think one of the footman can assist you if you do not have your own valet.”
Wickham laughed. “Me? A valet? Well, valets require money, don’t they, Mrs. Darcy, and I have been deprived—”
“Yes, well, that is why I shall offer you a servant,” she said. “I must get ready as well.” She bobbed an almost curtsy to him. “I shall see you soon, Mr. Wickham.”
He let her leave the drawing room, and she went to one of the footman and told him to help Wickham dress for dinner, saying that he could use Mr. Darcy’s clothes if necessary.
Elizabeth waited until Mr. Wickham and the footman disappeared into one of the guest rooms and then Elizabeth hurried down the servants steps into the kitchen.
Mrs. Peters was at the foot of the steps. “Mrs. Darcy! What are you doing down here?”
“There’s not a moment to lose, Mrs. Peters,” said Elizabeth. “We must gather up all the servants so that I can speak to you all.” She turned. “Miss Jennings, can you go and fetch anyone who is not here?”
“Yes, mum.” Miss Jennings hurried up the steps.
“Is this about Georgie?” said Mrs. Peters, looking a bit worried.
Elizabeth didn’t answer her. She wasn’t sure what to do about Mrs. Peters. Perhaps Mr. Darcy had been right to be angry with her about the dog. Perhaps she’d kept the thing out of some perverse affection for Mr. Wickham. It remained to be seen how deeply she’d hold onto that affection.
Within several moments, the downstairs was full of servants. The footman stood on the steps, peering down, and everyone else gathered around.
Elizabeth called for the cook and the kitchen maids to come out.
“If I come out there, things may burn!” called the cook.
“It’s all right,” said Elizabeth. “Dinner is truly the least of our worries.”
The cook came out, giving Elizabeth a formidable look.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I assume that Mr. Darcy never spoke to you all about Mr. Wickham?”
No one answered for several moments, as if they were afraid to speak.
One of the footmen finally did. “Mr. Darcy has made it plain that we are never to speak about Mr. Wickham.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “This I know. But certainly, there has been some discussion of what happened. I know that rumors fly within a household and that there are rumors abroad about the two of them. Why, I had it that Mr. Darcy had murdered Mr. Wickham, but we can all see that he is very much alive. Have you heard nothing, then?”
More silence.
“Well, you must have thought that Mr. Darcy had a reason,” said Elizabeth. She was trying to ascertain what sort of resistance there was going to be to her proclamation of Mr. Wickham as a rank villain. Many of these people had known him as a boy. They might not be quick to turn against him, and she could see that Wickham had his charms.<
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“Of course,” said Miss Jennings. “We’ve had conversations amongst ourselves. We know that Mr. Wickham had been turned away here when he came inquiring for more money. He complained rather loudly to anyone that would hear him that Mr. Darcy had swindled him out of his position in the parsonage.”
“That’s a lie,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy gave Mr. Wickham the value of that living and Wickham used it all up.”
“Truly no one knows what happened,” spoke up Mr. Marshall. “If you do know, mum, please share with us.”
“That is what I have called you here for,” said Elizabeth. “No matter what love you may bear for Mr. Wickham, I ask you to put it aside for a moment and consider that he has tricked you. When he and I were alone in the drawing room just this afternoon, he struck me and forced me under threat of more violence to invite him to dinner. It was he who wrote me a letter, pretending to be Mrs. Peters, in order to get me back here. He plans to use me against Mr. Darcy, and we cannot let him.”
“What?” said Mrs. Peters. “Now, this is preposterous. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know exactly,” said Elizabeth, “but I suspect it’s got something to do with money. He was so desperate for money that he maneuvered Miss Darcy into eloping with him, after all. And then he ravished her and beat her, and when Mr. Darcy attempted to save her sister, Wickham took Miss Darcy and ran, and then the accident happened.”
“No!” said Mrs. Peters. “Georgie would never hurt Georgiana! And she was like a sister to him. He wouldn’t…” She put her fingers to her lips. Her hands were shaking. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”
“Here’s what we must do,” said Elizabeth. “If you believe me, we must overpower Mr. Wickham when he is not expecting it. All of the footmen must help, I believe, and any other able man. We must restrain him and keep him someplace where he cannot escape until Mr. Darcy arrives and we see what can be done with him.” She looked around at all of them. “Will you do as I say? Do you believe me?”
None of the servants said anything.
Elizabeth drew in a shaking breath. “I hesitate to… well, it is not something I would like to reveal, but…” She swallowed. Her voice trembled. “Mr. Wickham has threatened me as well. Threatened to… to ravish me also, I believe because he knows it would pain Mr. Darcy, and—”
“That’s it,” called a voice.
Everyone turned to see Mr. Nelson, who was seated in one of the corners. His broken leg was bound in a brace and he had a crutch. He pushed himself up on it. “If none of you will do it, then I shall do it on my own. We won’t let anything happen to Mrs. Darcy, will we?”
“No,” said Mr. Marshall. “We won’t.” He turned to look at the footmen. “Come, men, we must restrain this villain at once.”
Elizabeth looked at Mrs. Peters, waiting for the woman to object.
But Mrs. Peters’ eyes were very wide, and she had both of her hands pressed against her lips. She looked scandalized.
Mr. Marshall nodded at Mr. Nelson. “Don’t injure yourself further, if you please.”
“I wouldn’t mind if I had to,” said Mr. Nelson, but he sat back down.
Mr. Marshall turned to Elizabeth. “Where shall we put him?”
“Is there an appropriate cellar?”
“No, the root cellar is not securable,” said the cook. “And down here, it is all servants’ quarters.”
Elizabeth twisted her hands together. “The, um, the east wing, then. We’ll put him there.”
“Very good, mum,” said Mr. Marshall, and he beckoned the other men, who all trooped up the steps.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Wickham threw out punches, and a few of them collided with the servants, but there were far too many men, and he was rather easily contained.
They tied him and placed him in the east wing.
Once he was contained, he grew piteous. “This is no way to treat a guest, Mrs. Darcy. I see your husband has poisoned you against me, and for no reason. He has always been harsh with me out of jealousy.” He turned to the footmen who were still there. “Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Mr. Marshall shook his head at him. “George, it’s no good. I, for one, remember the way your eyes followed little Miss Darcy, and I said to myself then that you were above your station. I have told you time and again that it does no good to reach for what you cannot have.”
Wickham sniffed.
“She was just a little girl,” said Mr. Marshall. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Wickham fell into a sullen silence for a while, until they all made to leave, and then he began to cry out that he couldn’t be left up here in the cold with nothing to eat. “Why, I’d be better treated in a dungeon,” he protested.
So, a fire was built and a chamber pot brought and some bread and cheese as well.
A guard was left to make sure he didn’t escape.
The servants tried to convince her she should take some sustenance then, but she didn’t think she could eat. She was more concerned with making certain that Mr. Darcy was on his way home. She believed that Wickham had sent his dreadful letter, and that should draw Mr. Darcy home soon, but she sent someone after him anyway, to tell him the truth of the matter and to urge him hence, if indeed he needed urging.
She barely slept that night.
The following day, the doctor arrived to check on the progress of Mr. Nelson’s leg, and he inquired after her as well.
Elizabeth found herself spilling the entire story to him, asking for his advice on what to do. “What Mr. Wickham did to Miss Darcy is certainly a crime, is it not? If I were to call for the magistrate, they would take him to a prison, and he would receive a harsh sentence.”
“One would think,” said the doctor sadly.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“Well, I have heard that sometimes a woman can have a man punished for his ravishment of her, but in this case, Miss Darcy had consented to marry him.”
“Yes, but that was under false pretenses, and she was so young, she could not have known what she was consenting to.”
“Yes, well, a man has a right to his wife, that is what Mr. Wickham’s lawyer will say. And furthermore, Miss Darcy is no longer with us to accuse him, so it is not even her word against his, but no word at all.”
“Mr. Darcy may yet have the letter in which Wickham admits it all.”
“Even so, Mrs. Darcy, I think it would be a rather difficult thing to prove, and it would drag the Darcy name into the muck. No, if you want my advice, I’d call in the law and tell him that he was thieving your horses. They’d string him up for that straightaway.”
Elizabeth let out a little noise. “Is a horse worth more than a woman, sir?”
“It’s a sad world, my dear,” said the doctor.
* * *
It was the middle of the night when Mr. Darcy arrived.
She awoke to a burst of light coming in from the hallway, and she sat up in bed. He was there, looking disheveled. His coat was wet and his hair was plastered against his forehead, and he was limping.
“I told you she is all right, sir,” came the voice of Mrs. Peters from the hallway. “Did Mr. Tolson not find you then, sir? Are you come on the word of Mr. Wickham only?”
Elizabeth got out of bed and came across the room to wrap her arms around him.
He was senseless, standing there, unmoving as she embraced him.
Elizabeth looked over his shoulder at Mrs. Peters, who was in her nightgown. “It’s all right, Mrs. Peters. You may go. Would you mind lighting a candle for us, however, before you do?”
“Certainly, mum,” said Mrs. Peters, who did so.
Elizabeth pulled back to look at Mr. Darcy.
He looked her over. “I’ve gotten you wet.”
“It is raining, sir?”
“It was, I think. I know not. I’ve been riding straight for two days.” He shook his head. “Why are you here? If he did not… capture you
, why…?”
“Well, I live here, husband.” She put her hand on his cheek.
“There is a babe?”
“No,” she said. “There is not.”
“You came back?” He gave her a wondering look.
“I did,” she said.
“But why did you come back?” He looked at her as if it was incomprehensible.
“Fitzwilliam, I told you that I loved you, did I not?”
He swallowed, looking down at the ground. “You would not lie to me about it, would you?”
“About loving you? Why would I—
“About him.” His voice was harsh.
She flinched a little at how harsh.
“Did he kidnap you and… and touch you and you are you hiding it from me because you think I couldn’t bear to know it?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Why would I do such a thing? I know you are strong, sir. Did I not tell you that upon only a short acquaintance?”
He turned toward the door. “I need to see him.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. You know where Wickham is, do you not?” He sagged onto his cane.
“You said you have been riding for days in the rain. Certainly, you should rest. We have the servants guarding him, and he is not going anywhere—”
“Where is he?”
“Please, Fitzwilliam, you are in no condition to—”
“I’m not such a poor excuse for a man that I can’t face him. Mrs. Peters says he is tied up. You think I can’t look upon a man who is bound hand and foot? I wonder at your declaration of love. You obviously think nothing of me.”
“Oh,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “That is the second time you have thrown my love for you in my face. Do not do it again. I will not stand for it. You have your own troubles with your low opinion of yourself, sir. I refuse to share them. Hate yourself if you must, but don’t try to make me hate you, because I have tried, and I can’t.”
He gave her an odd look.
She folded her arms over her chest. “If you must go to him, give me a moment to dress. I will come with you.”
He shoved the hair on his forehead up and it stuck there because it was wet and stiff with the grime of the road. “You… you are dazzling, Mrs. Darcy. Has anyone ever told you this before?”
Mr. Darcy, the Beast Page 16