Authors: Karalynne Mackrory
* * *
“What in the world has you back so soon, Darcy?”
Darcy spun around to face his cousin. The color drained from his cousin’s face when he saw him. Turning away, he caught a glance in the mirror. He barely recognized himself as the drowning man he saw in his reflection.
“Do you still know where Wickham is, Richard?”
“Of course, I have my men near him at all times. Why?”
“We have to find him. He did it. Blast that man! He did it!”
The colonel’s jaw firmed, and he spit into the empty fireplace. “Tell me everything.”
Darcy sank into one of the armchairs, momentarily defeated. “He ruined her . . . ”
“What! That bastard! But how could it be? We have been watching him here. I swear he could not have gone to Hertfordshire.”
Darcy glared at his cousin. “I did not mean Elizabeth. God help me, not her. Thank goodness. He ruined her sister, got her breeding, telling her that they would marry. On the day she fell, she had written in her diary that she was going to insist he announce the engagement because her, ah, condition was beginning to show.” His look told his cousin that he could guess what happened next.
Richard ran both his hands through his hair, growling, “Then we have to get him for sure this time.” They were silent — Richard contemplating plans, Darcy trying to breathe.
Richard looked at his cousin, dressed to meet with Perkins. “What is your plan then?”
“Other than to get my hands on Wickham’s neck and send him to hell?” Anger was good. It kept him from feeling the other painful emotions that threatened to overcome him.
“Yes, besides that.”
“I was going to meet with Perkins; I care nothing for that man either. I was going to reveal that I know his game and insist he take me to Wickham.”
“But we already know where Wickham is.”
“I want him to confess, Richard. I have to hear him say it. I do not know why, but I feel as if having Perkins there will help. The man knows too much, has been watching Wickham for too long not to. And if he is useless, well, I will just arrange for him to travel to the colonies or some such.”
“It is a good plan. What do you want me to do?”
“I need your friends to help me to convince Perkins. We get him to take us immediately to Wickham and then we need to see that we have a place to
talk
with him.”
Richard nodded, standing. “Then we are off?”
“I have already sent a note to the pub owner requesting Perkins’s appearance as soon as possible.”
“Well, let’s get to it!” Richard laughed with malice. Within a few minutes, they quitted the house.
* * *
Georgiana was worried — really quite worried. She had received her brother’s note and had done as he instructed, but she had insisted on paying a farewell call to Elizabeth before leaving the area. She had to know what was going on. Something had obviously upset her brother. She knew he had gone riding that morning, and she knew he never would miss their planned call on Elizabeth later that day. He had told her that he planned to propose to Elizabeth that morning during their visit.
What had her more worried was the fact that, when she called on Longbourn to pay her respects, Georgiana was told that Miss Elizabeth was indisposed. She had come home feeling ill from her walk and was not taking visitors. Georgiana had been hurt at first until the thought hit her that perhaps her brother had encountered Elizabeth on his ride.
He must have proposed and been refused!
But it did not make sense; she knew Elizabeth loved her brother. She was sure of it.
Didn’t she?
Georgiana’s concern then turned to her brother. To have been refused when he was so sure, so happy and so in love — it was unfathomable. She instructed her coachmen to make all due haste to London. Her brother needed her, and she would be there for him. If only she knew what was wrong.
* * *
A determined Darcy, his eager cousin and a visibly shaken Perkins were currently encased in a small hackney on their way to a set of boarding rooms where Perkins claimed Wickham was presently lodging. Darcy looked at his cousin when Perkins gave the driver the direction. His cousin’s nod was almost imperceptible. Perkins at least was telling the truth that time. Darcy had clearly shown the man he was not best pleased to have been misled by him. Perkins was not fool enough to try to deny it, especially when three burly men stood up from their tables throughout the pub and surrounded him. He recognized the men as some of those who had been often at the other places Wickham frequented.
Their conveyance stopped in front of the building. Perkins gulped; he was not yet sure whether Wickham’s men might be worse to face or not. Either way, his employment was surely at an end. Everyone exited the carriage, another one behind them emptying of the men from the pub. The man Perkins knew as ‘Burns’ left him in the custody of his burly associates from the pub as he and the officer went up the steps of the building.
“Keep him down here until we call for him,” Colonel Fitzwilliam instructed the bruisers.
At the top of the stairs in front of the door Perkins had indicated, Richard turned to his cousin. “Darcy, let me go in first. I do not know whether he is armed.”
Darcy protested but finally agreed. He stepped aside, out of view of the door. Richard kicked the door in and called for Wickham. A moment later, Wickham sauntered out of a back room, followed quickly by a servant girl who was readjusting her dress as she slipped out.
“Richard, how pleasant of you to visit!” Wickham pretended not to be concerned at the sudden appearance of Colonel Fitzwilliam at his door, or what was left of it, surreptitiously surveying his options for escape. The window to his right was too high off the ground.
Damn!
He usually preferred ground floor apartments for times likes this.
“Put off, George. I did not come for a social call.”
Darcy could not wait another minute. He charged into the room and planted Wickham a facer that sent him sprawling to the floor, down for the count.
“Well, great, Darcy. Now, how are we going to question him?”
Darcy was rubbing his cut knuckles. “He will come to eventually. Blast, if I have not wanted to do that for so long!”
Richard slowly started to laugh. After a few moments, Darcy did too. Richard shook his head and went to call the others up to the room. When the rest of his men and Perkins entered the room, Darcy noticed how Perkins’s eyes went wide at the sight of an unconscious Wickham on the dirty floor, his nose bleeding. The men sat Perkins down in the corner and ordered him to stay there.
After a few more minutes, Darcy went to the wash jug at the side of the room and poured its contents on Wickham. He sputtered and started to come around, cursing as he reached for his broken nose.
“What the bloody hell?” His voice died in his throat when he saw the fury on the face of Darcy. If he was concerned before at Richard’s appearance, now he was truly alarmed at the rage in Darcy’s eyes.
“Tell me now, Wickham; did you do it?”
“He is talking about Lydia,” Richard clarified as Wickham was yet oblivious.
Wickham looked between the two men and considered his options again. “I do not know what you are talking about. Lydia Bennet? The girl from Hertfordshire?” he said, feigning indifference upon hearing her name.
“Cut line, Wickham.” Darcy roared, “I know you ruined the girl. Furthermore, I know you left her with child, too.”
Wickham gulped and looked again between the men. He sputtered, “What does it matter now? I heard the girl died! It’s not like her father can make me do the pretty to a dead girl. Did she say something before?” He was beginning to panic.
Darcy nearly punched him again for his careless disregard for Lydia’s death, an event that had affected his beloved Elizabeth profoundly.
No, not mine anymore
. His vehemence grew, and he stepped towards Wickham again, his fists clenched.
Richard stepped in his way. “No, Darcy.”
Darcy’s irritated eyes set upon his cousin. “And why not?”
Richard motioned to two of his men to get Wickham into a chair and off the floor. Then he instructed them to guard both Perkins and Wickham while he stepped outside with his cousin.
Darcy was reluctant to go, of course. How many years had he waited to finally deal with Wickham? How many times had he been hurt, cheated and deceived by him?
As soon as they reached the hallway and out of earshot of the room, Richard spoke through clenched teeth. “Get a hold of yourself, Darcy!”
“I am surprised to hear this from you, Richard. You know what that blackguard has done to me.”
“Yes and here’s the rub. Firstly, Wickham cannot talk when he is unconscious on the floor. Second, if you kill the man, you will be hanged.” When Darcy huffed, Richard asked, “What about Elizabeth and Georgiana?”
“There is no Elizabeth!” Darcy spoke so coldly that Richard had to step back.
“What?”
“She would not have me after that man” — Darcy pointed down the hall towards the door — “ruined and killed her sister.”
Richard cursed and ran his hands through his hair. He mumbled to himself, “I cannot believe she holds you accountable.”
“Why would she not when I could have prevented it?”
Richard was still confused; the letter he received from Georgiana while they were in Hertfordshire had related how well they got on. He looked at Darcy then and caught a glimpse of the drowning man again. There was nothing to be done about her today; they had to deal with Wickham first.
“Put that aside now, Darcy. You have to think of Georgiana at least. So you cannot kill Wickham even if you should like to.”
Darcy closed his eyes and groaned.
“Thirdly . . . ”
Darcy opened his eyes and gave a look of exasperation at his cousin. “Thirdly? There is more?”
Richard nodded. “Yes, thirdly, you have to get hold of yourself because this is not you, Darcy. You are not this man: violent, a quick switch. I will allow you that first punch; heaven knows, I’d have liked to spill his claret myself. But you are a gentleman, and you are not this man.”
Darcy quietly looked at his cousin for a minute. He knew he was right. As much as he had enjoyed dimming Wickham’s lights, he was raised to be a better man than that.
She
would have expected better from him too. He was here for her after all; it was the only honorable thing he could do to atone for what was lost. He nodded to his cousin.
“Besides, I have a plan.” The colonel smiled wickedly at his cousin. Wickham had asked what Lydia had said. Allowing him to think she had said something of import before she died might not be such a bad idea.
Darcy followed him back into the room.
If possible, Wickham thought the new controlled, reserved Darcy who entered the room was even more threatening than the anger-filled lion that left. He swallowed and tried to ignore the man’s steady gaze.
Richard leaned casually against a bare wall. “I think you know what Miss Lydia would have said before she died, Wickham.”
Wickham’s eyes went wide for a minute, but he kept silent at first. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Richard,” he finally said, although his voice faltered, stripped of all its bravado.
“I suppose I ought to just hand you over to the magistrate to fit your hemp neckcloth. But I had thought you would want to plead your case — you know, explain yourself. Lord knows the evidence is stacked against you.” They had no real evidence, but Wickham need not know that. “You know, long-time standing with the family and all that.”
Wickham considered his options again. “I do not suppose you would believe then that it was an accident?”
Darcy’s fists clenched again, but he now understood his cousin’s plan and added, “Not when the girl herself had named you.” She had called out his name before she was given the draught.
Wickham cursed aloud.
Perkins spoke up. “I knowd he’d done it, gov’ner.”
All eyes went to the man. He gulped and went on to say how he had been following Wickham since he came to London, first hired by another gentleman for the debts owed to him. He had often been in the presence of Wickham when he had been in his cups and bragging to his friends about a girl named Lydia, and about how he had escaped the parson’s mousetrap by her “conveniently timed demise.”
Wickham cursed again. Darcy and Richard looked at each other. They had gotten him drunk and had not gotten anything out of him. Perkins could be trying to save his own skin now. Wickham saw the suspicion in their eyes.
“The man is lying. Why, anyone can see he is trying to save himself!”
“No, gov’ner. I swear!” Perkins spilled. He told Richard and Darcy all about Wickham’s gambling operation: how the barkeep was in his pay; how he got unsuspecting gentleman drunk while he stripped the table, his own drink being nothing but coffee-darkened water.
Richard looked towards his cousin, and Darcy gave him a wide grin. Wickham cursed again.
“Well, Wickham,” Richard began, “we gave you the chance to tell your side, and you lied to us. I suppose there is nothing left for us but to call the magistrate.” And he meant it.