Darcy's Tale, Volume III_The Way Home

by Stanley Michael Hurd

  When they arrived at Grosvenor Square, Darcy had the driver wait and sent Sands below stairs for some beefsteak to put on two or three beautiful bruises that were rising on his face, and to get some food in him. When he came back up some little while later, he looked well-fed and well-pleased, but rather more tattered and begrimed even than when he went down; he had applied what appeared to be a mixture of soot and grease here and there to his face and clothes. Darcy looked at him quizzically. “I can’t go back there all ‘igh in the instep, now, can I, Major?” he grinned. “People might come arter me with knives.” Still grinning, he gave a whistle, pointing at Darcy, and swaggered off down the steps to the waiting cab. As he climbed in, he called, “You’ll see me in the morning!” As the cab started to roll, Sands gave out three short, piercing whistles, and the rest of his men appeared swiftly from various positions about the house: from behind the steps, lounging by the side wall, and several came up from the space below street level that gave onto the kitchen; with four inside, one by the driver, and the rest perched on top, the hackney set off for Whitechapel.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning, Darcy was up early, having slept but lightly; to-day was to be a day of extraordinary importance to him; it was just short of one year ago that he had found Wickham with Georgiana at Ramsgate, and five since he had quitted Lambton, leaving another stew for Darcy to settle, not to mention the innumerable lesser failures of his younger years, when he had attempted to impeach Wickham before Pemberley’s master; now he was finally about to pull this thorn in his side, bringing Wickham to justice; it had been long—very long—in coming. He could almost be grateful to Miss Lydia Bennet for having brought the thing to such a point, and giving him the impetus to set it to rights at last.

  Just as Darcy finished breakfast, Corporal Sands came to Grosvenor Square and the two of them went directly back to George Street. On their way thither, the Corporal explained the situation to Darcy: “Me and the lads were in and out last night accordin’ to plan; I made sure each of ‘em got a look at yer boy. He doesn’t know we’re onto ‘im, and there’s two of us there now; I made sure of ‘im afore I come to get you.”

  “When we get there, I shall want you to go in first,” Darcy told him. “He will likely bolt at the first sign of me; if you would be so kind as to prevent him from succeeding, I should be obliged.

  “That’ll be my pleasure, Major,” said Sands, giving a happy little whistle.

  That made Darcy advise him: “I am afraid he will offer little by way of physical resistance, Corporal; less even than Mrs. Younge, I suspect.”

  The corporal frowned, his forthright countenance showing deep disapprobation. “Now, that’s not right,” he judged. “No man should give in that easy. ‘Ere I was thinkin’ I’d be ‘is jailor, and now you’re tellin’ me I’m to be ‘is nanny! No, Captain, t’isn’t proper.”

  So Darcy had once more been demoted; but, he reflected, so long as he held an officer’s rank, he supposed he ought to be grateful. In general, though, the Corporal’s attitude was encouraging; he was right: if Wickham was that easily cowed, and he was, this would not be a very difficult morning at all.

  On their arrival in Whitechapel, the Corporal again preceded Darcy down the narrow streets, but Darcy was almost beginning to feel familiar with the neighbourhood. He let Sands have a minute or two to position himself and his men, then walked in openly through the door. The low ceiling and beams of the room were darkly stained with smoke, and the few small windows were tinged brown; most of the ground floor was taken up by a taproom, and it was there that his quarry waited. Wickham was seated at a table to Darcy’s left as he entered, and Sands was lounging by the door on that side, one hand in his coat pocket, the other holding a pipe. Squinting through the smoke, he glanced Darcy’s way, then looked away indifferently; Wickham, however, looked towards the door and, starting at the sight of Darcy, gave a loud cry of alarm. Darcy thought that was going a bit far, but soon discovered it was not entirely for his benefit: from across the room, a largish man, heavy-set and very bleary-eyed, lifted his head from where it lay on his arms; with a roar he rose to his feet and charged Darcy. Many things happened all at once; Darcy took a firm grip on his stick and braced to meet the bellowing drunkard; Wickham was up and moving, making a dash for the rear as the other two of Sands’ men closed in on him; as the large man charged heavily at Darcy, by his side Sands gave a contented grunt and stepped forward with a perfectly timed right hand that caught the man in the midriff, stopping his charge in mid-step and folding him over completely. As every thing slowed back down, Darcy heard the Corporal’s cheery, satisfied whistle once more, and saw Wickham flanked by the other two men, looking very dispirited and rather mussed about.

  “Now, that was nice an’ tidy, as per plan,” opined Sands. “I knew I could trust you, Major; bein’ around a man such as yerself just ‘as to lead t’ trouble. Lads, bring that rabbit over ‘ere.” After that, Darcy decided not to attempt to keep up with his advancements and demotions any longer; at any rate, he needed to focus now on Wickham.

  He sat down at a nearby table; as Wickham was placed in a chair opposite him, Darcy reflected on how different this all was: this time, he held all the trumps; this time he need not convince any one of Wickham’s misdeeds; this time Wickham was solely answerable to him: he was accuser, judge, and jury. Having devised what he hoped would be a cage strong enough to hold Wickham for years to come, he once more reviewed the scheme; he saw no flaws, and, so far, every thing was going according to his expectations. He was curiously dispassionate at that moment; he had rather thought he would be fraught with all manner of emotions when this time came, but what he felt most was caution: appreciating the need for care, lest his quarry slip free.

  As he stared across the stained table top, he reminded himself that Wickham, once caught in a lie, would only offer another; therefore, rather than bother listening to him, he decided his first concern ought to be Miss Lydia Bennet.

  “Corporal, do we know if the young lady accompanying him is here now?” he asked.

  “Tewkes, is the piece still ‘ere?” the Corporal asked one of the men behind Wickham.

  “Aye, Corporal: she ain’t come down at all yet.”

  Darcy winced at the designation: “Corporal Sands, whilst I cannot argue you are unjustly offensive in referring to her so, out of respect for the family…“ at this Wickham, who had yet to speak, gave a short, barking laugh, “…out of respect for the family,” Darcy continued, ignoring Wickham’s interruption, “I should be obliged to you if you would refer to the lady as Mrs. Wickham.“ He amended her name just at the last, realising that to call her by her right name in an establishment such as this would be to ruin her as surely as ever Wickham would have. Wickham shifted in his seat, but offered no objection.

  “Before we begin, Wickham,” Darcy said by way of opening, “I confess myself curious: how are your present circumstances at all superior to marriage into the young lady’s family? I realise her father is not quite as wealthy as you might wish, but certainly it would have to be better than this,” he gestured to the sordid room, where two men, evidently deep in their cups, still snored at a corner table, oblivious to every thing that had just happened.

  “Marriage? To Lydia? You must be joking, Darcy,” Wickham said in casual accents. “Were her father twice—no, thrice—as well-off as he is, it would not be enough to tempt me.”

  “If that is how you feel, I wonder that you brought her with you; she could only have made travel more difficult, and more likely that some one would come after you. In fact, I certainly would not have troubled, were it not out of concern for her family.”

  “Always the honourable one, eh Fitzwilliam?” Wickham said in a sneering manner.

  Wickham’s insolence triggered the hot anger which had been curiously absent until that point, but he forced it down; with a hard stare, he replied, “Wickham, these men are here primarily to make sure you do not wander off. Let that to
ngue of yours loose again, however, and I am sure they would happily hold my hat and coat whilst I remind you of your manners.” One of the men behind Wickham muttered an appreciative “Aye!” and Wickham hunched down deeper in his chair as though to ward off a blow from that quarter. When he did not speak, Darcy prodded him with: “Why did you bring her, then?”

  “I never did,” Wickham said scornfully, as though the idea were absurd. “She came on her own; when I told her I was off, she was wild to come on the ‘adventure’; the silly minx thinks we are on excursion.”

  Darcy made no comment on his ill-mannered way of speaking of Lydia, as he had a question that he very much wanted an answer to: he asked off-handedly, “Then why did you leave Brighton, if not for her sake?”

  Wickham shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then, with the air of a man resigning himself to the inevitable, he said, “I was in rather deep to some of the officers; I was all done up: a string of the worst luck imaginable; when they started talking seriously of taking a pound of flesh, I thought it best to retire to a more hospitable setting.”

  This, of course, was just what Darcy hoped to hear, although nothing less than he expected; but, not having heard from Colonel Forster as yet, he was quite relieved to have confirmation for his suppositions. He could not forebear to ask, however: “But what was your plan?”

  “I had none, really,” Wickham said indifferently. “I thought perhaps an acquaintance here in Town might have something for me, or…I just had to get away—that’s the whole of it. I shall, of course, resign my commission; then at least Forster will have no reason to chase after me, but as for the rest…I have no idea; something will come up.”

  “But her father undoubtedly could have been of some assistance, surely, had you married,” Darcy pointed out.

  Wickham shook his head dismissively. “Once I got loose, I knew I could do much better: an heiress in Bath, or perhaps Ireland—even the Americas.”

  “So you went to Mrs. Younge,” said Darcy.

  Wickham looked at him momentarily, understanding crossing his features. “She sold me to you,” he stated bitterly.

  “Well, I did apply to her interests, yes,” replied Darcy, not untruthfully.

  “I might have known,” Wickham grumbled.

  “Yes, you might,” agreed Darcy easily, sensing things were well in hand, now he had confirmation of Wickham’s debts. “But at present, the only one of your companions I have any interest in is the one staying in this…well, call it an inn, by courtesy. If you would let the lady know I shall be attending her shortly, I should be obliged. Corporal, would be so good as to make sure they do not misplace themselves before I come up?” Sands made a small salute and gestured to the men to let Wickham go. They trooped upstairs together; Darcy, left on his own, inspected his surroundings; the barman, who had been watching with a wary eye this whole time, decided things were not going to end in damage to his establishment, and went back about his business, ducking his eyes away from Darcy’s gaze. The large drunkard felled by the Corporal got slowly to his feet, having been down this whole time, and staggered out into the street, holding his arms around his belly and groaning ominously, leaning against the walls to support his progress. After his inspection was complete, Darcy wisely abstained from ordering refreshment.

  It was not long before one of the men came to fetch him; Darcy caught the barman’s eye, and left a gold sovereign on the table. The man’s eyes went round, and he made an unschooled bow, but with all the respect he could manage; Darcy was thereby assured that there would be no difficulties from that quarter, no matter what the Corporal and his men got up to.

  Wickham and Lydia were lodged on the top floor just under the eaves; Sands and his men stood outside the door with Wickham. Darcy said, “Please tell Mrs. Wickham I will see her now.” Wickham went in briefly, and, re-opening the door, he bid Darcy to enter. Darcy told him, “I will see her alone.”

  “Certainly not,” Wickham objected, but not very forcibly. The Corporal turned slowly to face him…but Wickham’s eyes failed to meet his, and the men escorted Wickham back down the stairs, the Corporal making a low, disgusted whistle as they left. Darcy entered the room, finding himself in a small, cluttered room in which the bed was the main article of furniture. Indeed, it drew the attention most notably because it was still occupied: the youngest Miss Bennet had disdained to bother with her toilette before greeting her guest, and was holding a sheet to her shoulders with no apparent concern for the proprieties. Darcy made a slow examination of the room before turning his attention to her; clothing cluttered the floor, and empty bottles and dirty wine glasses lined the bedside tables. At length he turned to Lydia, who had something of a smile on her lips. “What amuses you, Miss Bennet?” he enquired.

  The smile turned to a pout; “Now you’ve spoilt it!” she cried. “You were the first to call me Mrs. Wickham, and now you’ve gone and ruined it!”

  Darcy, rather taken aback that—under the circumstances—this should be a concern, looked at her in consternation. “Miss Bennet…” he began, but she interrupted him, insisting: “No! You must call me Mrs. Wickham!”

  “That, I never shall, unless you actually be married,” he informed her firmly. At this she put on a face like that of a child pouting to get its way, and Darcy was reminded of the qualities of the person he addressed. He continued, “Without any wish to dwell on your present circumstances, I have come to offer you any assistance you might require in order to be reunited with your friends. Your family, I know, is extremely worried about you, and I cannot but imagine that, by now, you have tired of this style of living, and are anxious to return to them.”

  “And that I never shall,” she contradicted him. “I‘ve never been happier in my life; we are having such fun! Dear Wickham is all I could wish for, and all I want. La! Go home? Do you expect that I should ever leave Wickham?”

  Darcy, looking about the room in a pointed manner, asked: “Is this life truly preferable to residing respectably amongst your family?” He could scarcely credit such.

  “We have ever so much more fun here than ever I had in Meryton,” she asserted with some heat, “and I need no help of yours—nor my family’s. Wickham and me are doing very well, thank you, and I certainly shall not leave him. As for respectable, we shall marry soon enough, and if I don’t care, it surely can be none of your concern, so you may keep your assistance!” Darcy, quite convinced by now that respectability could not be an object with her, considered only briefly before capitulating: “Very well, Miss Bennet; please do not hesitate to call on me should you change your mind.” He then turned and left her.

  Wickham was back in the taproom with the Corporal and his men. “I congratulate you, Wickham,” said Darcy. “I imagine few men could inspire such loyalty in a woman they do not care a fig about.” Wickham shrugged indifferently; he seemed perfectly at ease, and Darcy felt he needed to give him cause for concern, if not alarm, were the negotiation ahead of them to go forward favourably. Looked at from Wickham’s side, Lydia’s disinclination to accept Darcy’s assistance put him in a much stronger position; as Darcy had said, were it not for the need to return her to her friends, there could be no reason for pursuit. Looking at him, Darcy determined on his approach.

  “Do you know, Wickham,” he said reflectively, “there is one thing at which you have ever excelled, far surpassing almost any one else in the whole of my acquaintance.”

  Wickham looked at Darcy with polite expectation. “Lies,” Darcy said distinctly. The man named Tewkes sniggered, but the other two remained impassive. Wickham, disinclined to argue the point under the circumstances, merely looked away disdainfully. “Quite honestly,” continued Darcy, “you are very nearly the most accomplished liar I have ever met; a lady here in Town can best you, I own, and by a good long chalk, but you are an absolutely uncontested second.” At this, the ghost of a smile appeared on Corporal Sands’ face. “Well, I mean to help you to attain perfection in the art to which you have devoted yourse
lf: from this day forward, you are going to live the lie of being a respectable husband; and, by month’s end, that of being an upstanding officer in His Majesty’s Army.”

  “Really?” Wickham smirked. “And why should I attempt such an odd thing?”

  “For the same reason you do most things,” Darcy said. “Money.”

  “Come, now, that’s sounding better,” Wickham brightened and sat straighter in his chair. Behind him the Corporal frowned, but Darcy’s assured smile set his mind at ease. Wickham said, “Well, now…you couldn’t expect me to take that on for less than…well, fifteen thousands has a nice feel to it.” He looked at Darcy expectantly.

  In wonder, Darcy observed, “How easily that came out! How is it you do not see, Wickham, that you are lucky not to be in prison, or dead? What makes you think it is no more than ask and have, with neither responsibility nor penalty for the damage you have done?”

  “That is how it is, Darcy,” said Wickham imperturbably. “Money comes to me: it always has done. I knew something would turn up, and it has; not what I expected, of course, but still…”

  His assertion amazed Darcy: it was true—somehow, Wickham always managed to get by, no matter how deep a hole he put himself in; Darcy was not to forget this point in the ensuing years; at the moment, however, it elicited this response: “I beg your pardon,” said he, “but you mistake me: I meant that I am now collecting and paying off all your debts, including those to the officers in Brighton; of course, so long as you do what is fitting and right, and cause the Bennets no more harm to than you already have, I shall have no reason to bother myself further in the matter. If, however, you should take it into your head to pick up where you left off with your previous life, I should be obliged to have these gentlemen collect you and deliver you to Fleet Prison…or perhaps King’s Bench. What say you, Corporal: Fleet, or King’s Bench?”