by Beau North
Darcy found a good spot to wait and keep an eye on the place. The building, kitty-cornered to the boarding house with stout columns, was tall enough to obscure him from view should anyone across the street look out their window. The throng of people largely ignored him; his height and icy expression were enough to keep any interested looks his way brief. Even if something did happen to him, he had sent word to the girl’s uncle about where she might be found.
Sweat dripped freely down his back, making his undershirt cling to his skin. He found the mugginess of the city oppressive, and it was difficult to breathe. Stepping off the plane had been like putting a wet wool blanket over his head, one that reeked of river mud, jasmine, and rot. Despite this, Darcy found that he rather liked New Orleans.
He was already imagining bringing Elizabeth there. He wanted to see her face the first time she took in the festive Quarter, the street musicians, and voodoo fortune-tellers that promised danger at every turn. He wanted to watch her eating beignets with chicory coffee in the sweltering heat. He even wanted to see how she would react to some of the more risqué amusements the city offered. He smiled to himself, trying to imagine whether she’d enjoy the prizefights as much as the burlesque.
He was so caught up in daydreaming that he almost missed seeing Wickham slip out of the building, alone. Darcy made sure he was well hidden as he watched Wickham amble down the street in no particular hurry. When he looked back up at the boarding house, he saw a face in one of the upper windows. His heart squeezed painfully; he’d forgotten how similar Elizabeth and Lydia were in looks. The same dark spill of curls fell down her back and her profile showing him the same heart-shaped face and small, slightly upturned nose. She wore a thin garment that might have been a slip, leaving her arms bare. He waited until she moved away from the window before making his way across the street.
He rang the bell. The woman who answered the door had a thin, rodent-like face and wore a flower-print dress that hung loosely on her scrawny frame.
“We’re full!”
“Are you Mrs. Young?”
Her eyes flicked down his well-tailored clothes to his Ferragamo shoes. Even clinging to him with sweat, his attire was clearly expensive and well made. Her attitude shifted accordingly. She smoothed her dishwater hair.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I saw a girl in the window upstairs. Young—curly brown hair. She’d be staying here with a man about my age. Good looking guy, according to some.”
“We’re not that kind of establishment,” Mrs. Young said a little too quickly. He shook his head.
“I’m not a customer, and I’m not a cop. I just want to speak to her.”
“I can’t help you,” she said, crossing her arms over her meager bosom. “My guests pay for their privacy.”
Understanding the language she spoke, he took his money clip from his front pocket. It was considerably lighter than what he usually carried, but he knew enough about New Orleans to know not to carry a wad of cash with him. Her eyes lit up hungrily at the sight of it. He counted out fifty and handed it to her.
“I just want to talk.” He didn’t think she believed it for a second, but she plucked the money from his hand and made it disappear into the pocket of her dress.
“Just up the stairs, second door on the left.” She nodded towards the old, curved staircase.
“Stick around,” he said to her as he made his way up the stairs. “There’s more where that came from.”
He reached the door of Lydia and Wickham’s room. A burst of inspiration hit him, and he rapped on the door with his knuckles, three short knocks. He remembered that Wickham always knocked just so.
The door swung open as Lydia said, “Did you change your mind?”
She stopped short when she saw that it was he and not Wickham. They looked at each other mistrustfully for a second before she burst into peals of girlish laughter.
“Mercy, of all the people! What on earth are you doing here, Mr. Darcy?”
“May I come in, Lydia?”
She shrugged and walked away, leaving the door open. Darcy stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
He glanced around the room. It wasn’t as bad as he expected. It seemed clean if a little shabby. He avoided looking at the rumpled bed, trying not to notice that the room smelled of old food, sweat, and sex.
“You just missed George,” Lydia said as she turned to sit down at the little table by the window. The light coming in through the window hit her in such a way that he could see through the filmy nylon slip she wore, right down to her swollen belly.
He did some quick math in his head, wondering whether Wickham first seduced the girl before or after their tussle outside the bar the night before Bingley’s birthday party. He was willing to bet it was after.
There’s no getting out of it for you now girl, he thought sadly.
He sat down carefully in the rickety little chair opposite her. A smile still played on her face, but there was a stubbornness in her blue eyes that he recognized all too well.
“Are you being well treated?” he asked. “Well cared for here? Are you getting enough to eat?”
She shrugged. He put two twenties on the table in front of her.
“Don’t give that to Wickham. Get yourself something to eat and squirrel the rest away. I have a feeling you need it more than he does.”
She took the bills and started folding them absently. “Who sent you? Mr. Bingley?”
Darcy shook his head. “No one knows I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now.” He leaned forward on his elbows.
“Lydia, would you like for me to take you home?”
She sat something in front of him. It was one of the twenties he gave her. She had folded it into a little paper bird; its wings poised in flight.
***
Wickham slumped when he caught sight of Will Darcy standing in the doorway, peering into the dim room. He turned around and looked back up at the woman who moved across the stage to the frenetic sounds of the new jazz. Her silky robe slid off one shoulder, revealing a filmy translucent gown underneath.
Ricki Corvette was locally famous, billed as “The World’s Tallest Dancer.” Wickham could believe it. At six foot eight, she even towered over Darcy, whom Wickham had always thought of as a fumbling jackass whose height never allowed him an ounce of grace.
“Getcha another drink, mister?”
The cocktail girl in the corseted getup and too-tall heels eyed him up and down. Wickham didn’t flatter himself as he knew she was looking for the telltale bulge of his wallet. Sho’Bar was notorious for rolling its customers, either drugging or knocking them out in order to rob them.
“Thanks honey, but I’m just leaving,” he said as Will Darcy put an arm around his neck, dragging him off of his stool.
The brick wall was hot on his back as Darcy slammed him against the side of the building.
“Darce!” Wickham choked the words out. “You work fast, don’t you?”
“I could say the same thing about you, you son of a bitch.” Darcy seethed. “Were you planning on ditching Lydia Bennet the same way you ditched my sister?”
“Darce, wait a second. It’s not what you—oof!”
Darcy’s fist met Wickham’s gut with a satisfyingly meaty thud. He waited for the other man to stand up straight again.
Wickham finally managed to say, “You’ve got it all wrong, Darce. I…I need your help. I want to get married.”
Darcy shook his head as if to clear it. And then shook it again.
“Did I hear you right, George? You actually want to do the right thing? And…you want my help. Is this a joke? Some kind of trick?”
“It’s…” Wickham’s face turned bright red. He looked in turns mortified and besotted. “It’s the damned kid! I never thought I’d be a father, but now…I haven’t got two nickels to rub together, and I’m just shy of a dishonorable discharge as it is. I need…damn it, Darce, I need your help.”
&n
bsp; Darcy had no doubts that Wickham was telling the truth. It was obvious what this confession had cost his pride.
“Your first step towards being a good father might be to stop hanging out in dives like this. Are you trying to get your throat cut?”
Wickham gave Darcy a sly grin. “I saw you looming outside our hotel. I knew you’d follow eventually. I didn’t want to have this conversation—”
“In front of Lydia.” For a moment, he was tempted to ask Wickham what he saw in her but decided he didn’t really want to know. “Damn it, George! Why didn’t you just come to me?”
“Lydia wanted to see New Orleans. Also, I seem to recall a judge ordering me not to come within fifty feet of your home or your sister.”
“With good reason.” This was not at all turning out the way he had expected. Sighing, Darcy said, “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you just go right to hell and I keep all my money?”
Wickham’s brow lifted in surprise. “What about the baby?”
“Oh, the baby can be well cared for. I can see to it that the baby and the mother want for nothing.”
“But I’m the father!” Wickham protested.
Darcy sneered. “The father.”
“She wants to marry me,” Wickham said. “She’ll fight you otherwise.”
“She just turned seventeen years old.” Darcy paused before continuing. “You’re right though. She won’t budge without you.”
“Oh, and I’m sure you tried.”
“I did. I offered her fifty thousand dollars and a cottage on my estate up front. She told me to stuff it. Congratulations, George, I think it’s love.”
Wickham’s mouth fell open.
“So here’s my offer,” Darcy said, smiling smugly. “You can marry Lydia Bennet, and I will provide a monthly stipend to supplement what the army pays you.”
“How much of a stipend?”
“One hundred dollars a month at first, then when you’re more settled and established, I’ll throw in another fifty per month. In addition, I will put aside an amount for the baby in trust. Until he or she is of age, the trustees will be Lydia’s father and me. Neither you or your wife will have access to it,” Darcy said sternly. “I’m not sure that girl could ever say no to you. If you asked her to rob her own children blind, I think she’d do just that. But the first word I get that she or the child is being mistreated in any way, I’ll be on you like white on rice. I’ve had Richard make some calls. He’s gotten you a transfer, which comes with a promotion.”
“Why would you help me?” Wickham asked, leaning his head against the hot brick wall behind him. “What’s in it for you?”
Darcy bit back the vicious smile that threatened to give him away. He was not ready to tell Wickham his promotion was really an exile to Fort Leavenworth. Life in Kansas under a notoriously strict C.O. was exactly what Wickham needed, though he deserved much worse.
“I want you gone, George—away from me, away from my sister—just away. If Lydia changes her mind, my offer still stands. I have a feeling she might, being married to you.”
“Going to a lot of trouble on behalf of a fella you hate and a girl you barely even know.”
“I’m invested.”
“Ah yes, the enchanting Elizabeth, who loved to ride Cousin Fitzwilliam’s…motorcycle?”
Darcy’s fist tightened on his shirt. “Fancy spending your honeymoon in traction?” Wickham grinned.
“Isn’t it remarkable how much your Lizzie looks like my dear Lydia? I wonder if our baby would have some of Elizabeth’s features too…almost like a product of me and your lady fair.”
Darcy shook his head and let go, handing Wickham a business card.
“You really don’t know when to shut your trap, do you, George? Meet me at this office tomorrow. We’ll finalize all the arrangements there. And don’t think about running off again. I’ve got eyes on you.”
Wickham took the card, the St. Charles address embossed on heavy, expensive stock. Darcy watched him carefully, shocked once again to see the unmistakable gratitude in Wickham’s eyes.
“I’ll be there.”
***
Meryton, South Carolina
“Mama, you’ve got to eat something,” Jane pleaded. She knelt on the side of her parents’ bed, where their mother lay curled up weeping. Jane looked up at Elizabeth, who sat next to Mrs. Bennet, gently stroking her soft brown hair.
“Mama, please,” Elizabeth said. “Jane’s made a chicken bog—your favorite. We need you to try it to make sure she didn’t use too much red pepper.”
Jane looked up at her sister and gave the tiniest shake of her head. This wasn’t the first time Fanny’s nervous condition had confined her to her room, but none of those other occasions had been as bad as this.
“Come on, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s let her rest.” She bent over and kissed her mother’s cheek before climbing off the bed.
Jane sighed. “All right,” she said reluctantly. She looked into her mother’s teary eyes. “But you will eat something tonight if I have to hold you down and force-feed you.”
“What was that about?” Elizabeth hissed as they shut the door behind them. “Are you trying to make it worse?”
“Lizzie, you’ve been home for three days,” Jane said irritably. “I’ve been dealing with this for over a week now.”
Elizabeth’s face fell, and she pulled Jane into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much.” Jane returned her sister’s embrace, both needing to give comfort and be comforted.
“I’m sorry your tour got cut short,” Jane said as they linked their arms together and walked into the kitchen. “How was Lambton?”
Elizabeth shifted her eyes. “It was…very nice.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Lizzie?”
Elizabeth recounted her days in Lambton for Jane: from meeting Mr. Darcy’s sister to her visit to Pemberley. She even told Jane about the passionate exchange between herself and Will Darcy later that same evening.
“The man is a beast,” she said, her face a deep scarlet. “And it seems I am not much better.”
“I knew it,” Jane said with satisfaction. “I knew he was in love with you.”
“Maybe he was, but who knows now with this trouble that Lydia’s gotten herself into.”
Jane scoffed. “Good heavens, Lizzie. We’re not Victorian as all that. Charles certainly hasn’t broken off our engagement because of Lydia.”
“Charles isn’t Will Darcy and doesn’t have a teenage sister to worry about setting an example for.”
Jane rubbed her sister’s arm. “Bless your heart. You really think he could walk away, don’t you?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue when the shrill ring of the telephone sounded in the room. They looked at it for a moment as if seeing it for the first time before Elizabeth snatched up the receiver.
“Bennet residence. Papa! Is that you?”
Jane’s pulse quickened. “Is it him?” Elizabeth nodded. Jane ran into the family room and picked up the extension just as her father was saying “—so that’s taken care of, at least.”
Jane cut in. “Have you found them?”
“Yes, sneaksby,” Mr. Bennet said on the other end. “They’ve been found, though how I don’t know. Your uncle refuses to tell me.”
“Never mind that,” Elizabeth said. “How is Lydia? Is she all right?”
“She’s having the time of her life,” Mr. Bennet grumbled, clearly unhappy. “She is en route to Longbourn as we speak with your aunt and uncle and Wickham.”
“With Wickham?” Elizabeth exclaimed from the next room.
“Oh no,” Jane said, understanding. “Are they—?”
“Yes,” Mr. Bennet said miserably. “It couldn’t be avoided—not at this point.”
“What is going on?” Elizabeth asked. “What am I missing?”
“Your sister is a married woman, Lizzie.” Mr. Bennet couldn’t keep the bitterness out his voice. “You girls are going to be aunts. C
ongratulations.”
A loud crack made Jane pull the receiver away from her ear. In the kitchen, Elizabeth had dropped the phone.
***
The sound of the lock sliding home made Charlotte wonder whether she’d hear that sound in her nightmares for years to come.
Pastor DuBose had just left the room. He’d been minister to the Lucas family since Maria was born. He officiated her own wedding four months ago. Charlotte had felt a small satisfaction on his first visit when he flinched at the sight of her battered face. However, whatever shock or guilt he felt hadn’t prevented him from sermonizing to her for hours on end. Charlotte had borne it all in listless silence.
The coin was warm in her palm. Charlotte uncurled her fingers and looked at it. Anne had slipped it into her hand as they’d been separated during that last awful, tearful encounter. She touched the coin lovingly, knowing the significance behind it. She grasped it so tightly, the word “Liberty” was pressed into her flesh.
The muffled voices on the other side of the door made her tiptoe closer, putting her ear against the door.
“…at this point you may need to consult a doctor about her mental state. I’ve seen this…affliction before. There are new therapies that have been proven very effective.”
Horrified, Charlotte gasped and backed away from the door. She looked wildly around her room. She could climb out the window and risk the fall, but it was a long drop, and she could break her neck just as easily as her arm or leg.
Her mother had insisted the lock be installed on the outside of her door after Charlotte’s initial attempts to sneak out.
“This is for your own good, Charlotte,” her mother said.
“It’s for your own good.” Charlotte sneered. “The mayor can’t afford the scandal of having a dyke for a daughter.”
She felt a painful heat across her bruised face and realized her mother had slapped her. After that, Charlotte’s “tantrums” had led her mother to remove all the sharp objects from her room, right down to the tiny pair of scissors Charlotte used to cut thread.
She asked to see Elizabeth, but her mother told her that Elizabeth was “off gallivanting about” with a group of musicians, while Lydia had run off with an army man. The smug light in her eyes told Charlotte that her mother was glad to see the Bennets knocked down a peg. Their sudden good fortune with the sale of their cotton farm and Jane’s engagement to the handsome, wealthy Bingley had been eating away at Mrs. Lucas like rust corroding metal.
