by Wells, Linda
The couple shared a pleasant meal. Darcy was delighted to see her consume more than a mouthful of food and drink an entire cup of tea. His appetite had been somewhat muted in her company, and he tore into his meal with enthusiasm. He was meeting Richard and they were going together on an appointment that morning, and she announced that she would visit her aunt. They agreed to meet again at one o’clock and prepare for the few guests she had invited to share his birthday dinner. Darcy departed first, feeling joy at the glow that seemed to shine from Elizabeth’s eyes and convinced that this would be a birthday he would forever remember.
“DAMN YOU!” Wickham watched from his position leaning against the park gate as the second Darcy carriage departed. “All the money in the world; and you flaunt it. Well today I will even that out, today I take my share.” He spat on the ground and waited, watching. Slowly the routines that he had observed over the past few months played out. Exactly on time the water man arrived, and delivered his casks down the steps to the side door that led to the kitchen. Soon after his departure the milk peddler appeared with his daily supply. With the family in residence there was greater activity, and greater risk, but he had no choice, they brought with them the things he sought. The time to strike was finally at hand.
Wickham looked carefully and dodging the traffic in the street crossed at a point a few doors up from Darcy House. Dressed in his best, he blended in with the foot traffic of the neighbourhood, looking for all the world like a gentleman out for a leisurely stroll. When he came to his target, he stood briefly, seemingly admiring the facade, and when there was a lull in passersby he quickly ducked down the stairs. Even if he had not been watching the house so carefully he would know this path. He had explored this house many times when spending school holidays with the Darcys. Drawing an unsteady breath, he turned the handle of the solid door, knowing that every other entrance would be firmly locked, but this one, used constantly by servants and tradesmen, was vulnerable.
He slipped inside and moved immediately to the left and into the empty servants’ dining room. He watched as the housekeeper ordered maids about and the cook sent her charges flying. “There must be a dinner tonight.” Wickham observed, examining the great variety of meat lying on the table. “Flaunting your wealth again, Darcy?” He snorted. “With your mistress bride? Mistress, that was a rumour I knew was false from the start. Prig.” Waiting for his moment, he saw the occupants of the room all congregate in a far corner, apparently to receive instructions from the housekeeper. With all backs turned he slipped out and into the kitchen then started up the steps to the ground floor. He paused near the top, peeking through the balustrade, then seeing no feet, slipped up and sidled down the hallway, his head in constant motion and eyes alert for discovery. The sound of maids coming up the kitchen stairs made him move like a shot into a room, and he waited behind the half-closed door. When the maids passed and he heard their footsteps on the main stairs he peeked out again. His heart was racing; he could see the open doorway to Darcy’s study.
Stealthily he moved along, pausing in each doorway, slipping into the shadows, watching, listening, and finally he arrived to slide inside and close the door. When it clicked shut he heard a woman’s gasp.
“Mr. Wickham!” Elizabeth cried.
Wickham was across the room almost before she could rise to her feet. “What are you doing here? I thought you left.” He growled.
“You were told to never return!” She began to push past him to summon help by pulling the bell cord. Wickham grabbed her arm and twisted it, making her yelp with pain. “Let me go!” She opened her mouth to scream and Wickham’s hand instantly clapped over it. Attempting to bite, she writhed in his grasp, and he responded by forcibly bending her arm backwards.
“Do you want me to break it, Mrs. Darcy? I will, do not doubt me!” Elizabeth’s eyes welled with tears of pain and she shook her head. He relaxed the hold enough to give her relief, and swore again as his eyes darted around the room. Spotting the bookshelf where he knew the strongbox was hidden he looked back at his captive. “What should I do with you?”
Elizabeth tried to control her shaking as Wickham raked her with his gaze. She watched with growing horror as he looked to the door then back at her and licked his lips. “My first payment.” He whispered, then removing his hand from her mouth grabbed her hair and jerking her head back kissed her roughly, forcing his tongue into her mouth while increasing his grip on her oddly twisted arm. Elizabeth tried to escape but no matter how she moved, the pain in her arm increased. His hand travelled from her hair to her hip, forcing her tight against his body. Backing her up to the bookshelves, he pushed her against the uneven surface, and knocked several volumes to the floor in the process. His mouth and tongue never stopped moving, and now with her effectively trapped, his hand moved up to fondle her breasts and then down to begin pulling up the fabric of her gown. Twisting and trying to kick, her free hand balled into a fist and beat on him, but her weakened state had left her in no condition to fight and her strength rapidly flagged. Remembering the books, she grabbed blindly, seeking a weapon, but only managed to knock more down to thud nearly silently on the thick carpet. She tried to pull his hair, but her fingers could not grab onto the slick pomade, so she scratched at his face, seeking his eyes. With that, Wickham dropped her skirt and grabbed her hand to hold in a vise-like grip above her head. Elizabeth sobbed, and his mouth continued to plunder hers. She was exhausted and he knew it. Wickham’s eyes stared into Elizabeth’s terrified gaze, his look and his aroused weapon pressed against her communicated clearly what was to come.
And then she fainted.
Elizabeth’s eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped heavily onto his chest. Wickham startled, nearly dropping her as she began to sink to the floor. He watched her slide down into a crumpled heap and stood warily above her, watching to see if this was some attempt at escape. It did not take long for him to realize that she was truly unconscious. “Do you think this will put me off?” He demanded.
Nervously licking his lips, his eyes darted around the room and he rubbed his face, thinking hard. He had been with plenty of women, but he had certainly never raped one. The thought of taking Darcy’s wife excited him nearly beyond reason; wild ideas flew through his mind. “If I had a carriage … Damn it, if that bastard had given me more … if I could get you to my rooms …” Wickham knelt by her side and ran his hands over her breasts and slipped one beneath her chemise to touch skin and feel her nipple harden under his fingertips. He looked at her with feral lust. “Oh yes I’d be on you every hour until he paid dearly to get you back. Thirty thousand pounds would do. I know he has it.” Elizabeth moaned and began to move. “Why not? I deserve this.” He considered her, talking himself into it. “Yes, yes, I can do this.” Wickham started to lift her gown with one shaking hand and fumbled with the buttons on his breeches with the other, cursing when he could not get them open. He dropped her skirts and began twisting the buttons on the fall, then froze with the sound of servants in the hallway. Suddenly reminded of his dangerous position, he cursed again, and standing awkwardly, returned to his intent. “What am I doing? I should have been gone from here by now! Fool!” Stepping over her, he began tugging and pulling around the bookshelves, at last murmuring in triumph when they swung out and he rushed inside the recess to find the heavy, shackled strongbox. Grunting, he managed to lift it out and dropped it onto the desk.
Wickham shot a look at Elizabeth and then began pulling out drawers, scattering papers everywhere in search of the key. It was nowhere to be found, and he had no memory of where Mr. Darcy hid it. He thought of waking her to demand its location, but realized she probably had no idea, and would instead call for help. Spotting the silver letter opener he jabbed it into the lock, and tried to manipulate the mechanism. “Rat Bastard!” He muttered as he beat on the box. He lifted it, but realized it was far too awkward and heavy to carry quickly through the house; and impossible to carry out of a window alone and unnoticed. Spotting that Elizabeth w
as waking, he knew that time was running out. Again he grabbed the knife to open the lock, then sticking it into his waistcoat, seized a heavy marble bust and began to beat at the latch, heedless of the noise he was making, now only intent on his prize. He detected neither Elizabeth’s eyes opening and closing, nor her careful movement backwards. He did not hear the raised voices in the hallway asking what was happening in the study. He did not hear the crash of the door flying open, but he certainly felt the hand that grabbed his neck cloth and the fist that struck his jaw. The last thing he saw as he crumpled to the floor was Darcy’s furious face, and the glint of steel behind him.
“Lizzy!” Darcy ran to her side while Fitzwilliam slipped his sword back into its sheath.
“Will?” She moaned softly and cautiously blinked open her eyes to see him nose to nose with her. “Oh Will.”
“Dearest!” He gathered her up and rocked her trembling body. “Are you well? Did he hurt you?”
“He … he frightened me more than anything.” She whispered. “I was just trying to get to the door so I could run for help.”
Darcy drew away to caress her dislodged hair and saw the evidence of the assault on her mouth. “My brave love. What else did he do?” He traced his fingertips over her lips. “Please tell me.”
“He twisted my arm and forced me to kiss.” She closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest. “He intimated more but I … I suppose that I fainted before he could act.” Darcy looked over her dishevelled clothes and wondered what had happened when she was unaware, and clutched her, kissing her hair.
Fitzwilliam knelt beside them and he laid his hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Her fainting made him remember his purpose I would imagine. He was here to rob you, not assault Elizabeth. I think that his fate is sealed by that alone, there is no need to expose her story.”
Darcy continued to hold her possessively and nodded. “Could you ask Foster to send for the magistrate? I will be upstairs with Elizabeth.” He lifted her into his arms and stood, then glanced at Wickham who was beginning to revive. “Make sure that the magistrate knows that the silver knife in his waistcoat is mine, that he has attempted to steal it before; and it is worth …”
“More than the five shillings required to guarantee him the hangman’s noose. I think the burglary is enough of a crime on its own.” Fitzwilliam nodded and looked down at the man. “Of course it may mean transportation instead of death.”
“As long as he is gone, I do not care.” Darcy kissed Elizabeth’s brow. “Come my love, we are going upstairs.”
She burrowed against his neck. “Why are you here? I thought that you would be gone for hours.”
“And I thought that you were going to your aunt.” He blinked hard and hugged her tightly to him. “Dearest Elizabeth.” He whispered.
“Sir, what has happened?” Foster arrived from the basement and stared in horror at his mistress’s appearance and his master’s distress.
Darcy’s demeanour instantly sharpened and fixing his steely glare on his senior servant, spoke in a cold angry voice. “Wickham apparently easily entered this house. He attacked Mrs. Darcy and attempted to rob me. I want every door and window checked. I want to know how he was able to violate this home, I want to know why no member of the staff heard what was happening in my study, and I want to know who is responsible for disobeying my orders that the house be guarded at all times. This man is exactly the one I wished to keep out. It is by His grace that nothing tragic transpired.”
“Yes sir.” Foster said diffidently and bowed as Darcy swept by and began rapidly taking the steps. Mrs. Mercer followed closely behind.
“Is there anything that I may do for you or Mrs. Darcy, sir? Does she require a physician?”
Darcy stopped and looked at Elizabeth, his expression was that of the master, and he clearly would not brook opposition from anyone, even his wife. “Yes, please send for Mr. Gates.” Mrs. Mercer hurried away and Darcy continued to look at her. “It is high time that someone determine what is wrong, Elizabeth. I will not bear this torture any longer. You are wasting away before my eyes.”
“Fitzwilliam, I am well, truly. I felt better this morning.”
“Shh, you would not have missed seeing your aunt if you felt well after breakfast. We never should have indulged our desires.” His mask slipped and he pressed her head to his chest. Attempting to contain his emotion, he continued to their bedchamber. Gently he laid her on the bed, then sat down by her side. A maid appeared and relit the fire, another came in bearing a tea tray. Millie entered and offered to help Elizabeth change into a night dress and robe. All the while Darcy did not move; and after she was changed, he sat with her hands tightly in his grasp. When the commotion died he leaned forward and gently kissed her bruised mouth. “What did he do to you?”
“Fitzwilliam …”
“No Lizzy, I will not have you bury the memory of this incident. I want it completely exposed to the light of day, now, when it is vividly etched in your mind. If you talk about it now, it will not haunt your dreams or influence your behaviour. Tell me everything.”
Elizabeth was struck by how calm and serious he was, and his manner gave her the strength to be the same. She felt his steady grip and staring straight into the blue of his eyes told him moment by moment the details of the assault. When she finished, his jaw was clenched and she could see it working, it was the only visible expression of his tightly controlled fury.
“May I see your arm, dear? Is it painful?”
“It is sore, but nothing more.” He helped her to open the robe, then drew it down her left shoulder. It was red, and there was evidence of bruises forming, but it was not too ugly. Darcy closed his eyes in relief, then leaned forward and kissed over the marks and looking up to her bent head, gently kissed her mouth.
“So much better.” She sighed and slipped her arms around his neck as he slipped his around her waist. Her jaw was tender, but she would never deny either of them this much needed assurance that all would be well. Darcy slowly kissed her then remembering that they would soon be interrupted, withdrew to hold her cheek in his palm and caress her lips with his thumb. “I love you.” She whispered.
“Dear Elizabeth, I cannot express the depth of my love for you.” He heard a knock at the door and Mrs. Mercer opened it. Instantly his master’s voice returned. “Is the physician here?”
“Yes sir, shall I show him in?”
“No, I wish to speak to him first.” He turned back to Elizabeth, smiled slightly and kissed her. “I will not be long.”
Darcy stood and strode from the room, and left her alone. “This has changed you, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth said softly. “I have a feeling that the master of Pemberley has fully assumed his role.”
“TELL ME, WICKHAM, what drove you to attempt something so foolish?” Fitzwilliam sat comfortably in a chair, his sword pointed in the vicinity of Wickham’s heart, and sipped casually on a glass of port.
“Darcy owed me.”
“He did nothing of the sort. You accepted his terms fair and square. If you are a poor negotiator, it is hardly his fault.”
“His father said quite clearly what I was to receive.”
“Indeed he did, and Darcy held up his end. Come on there is more to it than the living. Is this revenge for Darcy exposing your origins to Singleton? I did it at the club, why not rob me?” He chuckled. “Not brave enough to storm a barracks, are you? What drove you to lie to that Bingley woman? Of all the stories you could have told her to get that dowry, you had to claim a connection to Darcy? You should have known that one way or another that would get back to him and he would correct it. If I were you I would have moved on to another pigeon once I heard of the connection.”
Shrugging, Wickham eyed the sword. “It was a risk, and it very nearly was successful. Women with that kind of dowry are rarely so unprotected; besides, he was so caught up with his mistress …”
“Watch it Wickham.” The sword lifted and pushed in his waistcoat. “You do not ever i
nsult Mrs. Darcy. Call him or me for that matter any name you wish, but that woman will not be maligned, not in my presence, let alone her husband’s.”
“I have tasted better.” Wickham sneered then cried out when Fitzwilliam flicked the tip of the blade expertly along his throat, drawing blood. He clapped his hand to the wound. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I once thought that you were clever, but that statement proves me wrong. Consider your next words carefully. If we had caught you assaulting Mrs. Darcy, you would be dead now by my, if not Darcy’s, hand. If you are fortunate, you may only be travelling to Australia.”
“Why?” Wickham’s eyes grew wide, and he watched the blade move and tap the silver knife on the desk. “I … I did not take it!”
“Yes you did, and look around you; the room is hardly in pristine condition. Robbery is a hanging offence, I believe.” He smiled. “I wager that you could not find the key.”
“Key?” Wickham swallowed hard.
“Key, Wickham.” Darcy entered the room and removed a key from his pocket. “This one, as a matter of fact.” He walked over to the strongbox and looking straight at Wickham, released the lock and lifted the lid. He glanced at the contents for a moment and then turned it towards his prisoner. “Which of Father’s journals did you wish to read?”
“Journals?” He cried in dismay.
“Were you expecting gold or jewels?” Darcy laughed derisively and held up a worn book. “You gave up your life for this.”
“But … that was full of jewels! I know it! I saw them!”
“Yes, I know.” Darcy snarled. “My uncle told me. And when Richard noticed you hanging around the house one day, I sent him word to move that strongbox, and put this one in its place.” He looked down at the books and back at Wickham. “My father gave you so much, and you have wasted it all.” Leaning down he examined the blood trickling down his neck, and the bruises forming on his face. “You touched my wife.” He said in a low voice. Wickham cringed. Never before had he seen Darcy so furious, but it was the control he exerted that terrified him. Suddenly Darcy grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. “How does it feel?” Wickham cried out in pain. Darcy ignored his begging, wrenching it further.
