“Well, Major, Fleet’s been re-built better, but it’s ‘arder; King’s Bench ‘as the typhus mostly, but they gener’lly treat a man better there.”
Darcy smiled pleasantly at Wickham: “Fleet, it is, then,” said he in a satisfied air. “And now, if you will excuse me, I shall leave you to ponder those options—but I shall be pleased to call again to-morrow. These gentlemen will stay on with you, however; I trust you will find their company agreeable.”
Chapter Eighteen
Darcy and the Corporal went together back to Grosvenor Square; there they discussed certain strategies and contingencies for more than two hours, as Darcy was fully convinced Wickham would try an escape before much time had elapsed. Corporal Sands was sure his men could keep the two secure for the day, but he did return to the inn later in the afternoon; in addition, at the Corporal’s suggestion they had agreed to keep the boy, Tibbs, on as a scout, as he would be able to blend in on the streets in a manner no adult could hope to match.
Darcy also had the pleasure of receiving an entirely satisfactory letter from Colonel Forster, detailing Wickham’s debts; even without the gaming debts, there was more than enough to send Wickham to Fleet Prison for an extremely long stay. He sent a note round to his solicitor, Mr. Colster—a gentleman as ancient and dry as the books that lined his chambers—inviting him to dine that evening; then, when the Corporal left, Darcy, too, went out into town, to secure the services of a young artist of whom he had heard, who specialised in miniatures. Later, Colster came to dinner, and afterwards they spent three-quarters of an hour together in the library writing several documents, to which Colster made several important amendments; then Darcy retired early, as the morrow would be eventful.
As he lay in bed, his thoughts again turned to Elizabeth; but in this case it was with more anxiety than longing; as much as he was doing all this for her sake, he very much feared the outcome if she ever heard of it. Her mortification at the depth of his knowledge into her family’s disgrace would drive a wedge between them far greater even than his interference in her elder sister’s affairs. He would have to find some means of ensuring that neither of the two principals would find it useful or desirable to make his actions known.
The next morning he prepared for the day with some eagerness; he went back to Whitechapel directly he finished breakfast: there he found Wickham and the Corporal once again seated in the taproom, but now Wickham’s head was bound across the forehead with a blood-stained cloth. As Darcy came into the room, the Corporal whistled a few bars of a regimental march. “’Ere ‘e is, the man o’ the hour!” He stood and saluted, gesturing happily to Wickham’s bandaged head. “It was just like you said, Major.” Darcy winked at the Corporal without answering, taking a moment to inspect Wickham’s wounds: they did not appear severe. Taking his seat, he gestured to the Corporal to give him his report.
“Me an’ Larsen was ‘ere in the taproom ‘bout an hour, might be two, past midnight, when we ‘ears this fellow a-tiptoeing down the stairs. So, just like we planned, we pretends to be asleep, and, slick as you please, ‘e’s gone out the door. We ‘adn’t even got to th’ door afore the lads outside ‘ad ‘im down and trussed like a duck.”
“Did he see any of them?” Darcy enquired sharply.
“‘E did not,” gloated the Corporal. “No more than Jenny’s blind mule.”
“Excellent,” said Darcy.
“What is all this, Darcy?” Wickham spoke at last, irritably eyeing both his jailors and his warden.
“Just a demonstration, Wickham,” answered Darcy frankly. “I want you to understand just how serious I am about this, and how far I am willing to go to ensure its success. From this day forward, and for years to come, you will seldom be unobserved, and you will never know when that will be. The men I have engaged have been mustered out of the army, and are entirely at my disposal for as long as I have need; and I assure you, retaining them is far less expensive, and far more gratifying, than paying down your debts every few years. You have seen some, but by no means all of them; take a look at the faces around you. Periodically, as you go about your life, you will see one or the other of them, just as a reminder of the others, unknown to you, who will be following you as well.”
Just then, a young man, thickly bearded and wearing a foreign sort of hat, came through the door, carrying with him an easel and an artist’s wooden box. He bowed crisply to Darcy, checked a miniature painting in his hand, looked at Wickham, and nodded. “And zis bandage?” he asked Darcy in a noticeable German accent.
“No, no need; while it might well have to be renewed from time to time, I am sure Mr. Wickham is too intelligent to require us to make it a permanent feature.”
“And this is?” enquired Wickham with some heat.
“This is Herr Grundig, Wickham; he will be doing your portrait, in miniature, to match the one you sat for to oblige my father. Miniatures are his speciality; I have commissioned him to make quite a number of copies. In fact, he need not have seen you: I have seen his work, and he could easily have made the copies directly from my father’s miniature, but he thought it would be best this way.”
Wickham tried to appear uncaring, but there was that in his eye that spoke of feelings not so wholly sanguine. “I wanted to have them ready to hand,” Darcy explained, “to send to all the ports, should you turn up missing at any time.” Moving along, he said: “And then there is this.” He held up the letter he had received from Colonel Forster, letting Wickham see the signature. “We have here an accounting of your debts both in Brighton and amongst the regiment; I have purchased them, through Colonel Forster, and, as they are now mine, I hereby demand payment in full, before these witnesses. Corporal, how are your ciphers?”
“Good enough,” the Corporal answered. “Better than most.”
“Can you recognise this figure?” asked Darcy, pointing to a number at the bottom of a long list, on another document he had taken from his coat pocket.
“Aye, but it don’t look quite right, Major; one pound, fourteen and five don’t seem to add up, nor it don’t sound like much to put a man in prison for, neither.”
“No, Corporal; not pounds, shillings, pence: try thousands, hundreds, tens, and ones,” said Darcy, pointing.
“You mean to tell me this sharper owes that much?” cried the Corporal, his voice rising at the end; he snatched the document from Darcy’s hand and stared at it as though it were a negotiable security in that amount. Darcy nodded in answer to his question. “To ‘oo?!”
“About half is owing his fellow officers in the militia regiment which has the misfortune of claiming him as their own: gambling debts. The rest is to tradesmen and shopkeepers in Brighton, so far as we have been able collect.”
“You never told me ‘e was in no militia,” said the Corporal reproachfully, giving the paper back to Darcy. “And ‘e took that much off ‘is mess mates, then run off? —now, that’s too bad, even for a militia man.” He gave Wickham a look with very little love in it. “Coo! I sees wot you mean, Major: this bachelor’s son needs watchin’ and no mistake. I wonder you don’t just leave ‘im in a shallow grave, somewhere the crows can get at ‘im; or better yet, ‘am-string ‘im and ‘and ‘im over to ‘is mates.”
“That would seem to be the proper military response,” observed Darcy drily. “Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested much the same thing.”
“I told you the Colonel’s a man ‘oo knows wot’s wot,” said the Corporal, nodding in agreement.
Turning to Wickham, Darcy said, “Well, there is another option for you to consider, Wickham; to oblige you, I should be happy to investigate that as an alternative.”
To this, Wickham did not deign to respond.
“And of course, you may put an end to all of this at any time, simply by calling the watch; in that case, we would naturally bring charges of desertion, abduction, fraud, gambling, and various and sundry other offenses, but I assure you, neither I nor any of these men will stop you, should you be so inclined.
” Darcy here paused to give Wickham a chance to speak, but still he held his silence. “No? Well, any time you decide it is in your best interest. Now, this,” he said, producing another paper from his pocket, “is an acknowledgement, by you, that the debt is true, and that it is now due in full. These men will witness it.” He called to the barman for pen and ink; the man scratched his head a moment, then allowed as there “might be some out back”.
“Tell him not to bother, Darcy: I will not sign any such thing,” said Wickham.
“I rather thought you might feel that way,” Darcy said, “so I shall now be sending this.” He took out and showed a letter to Wickham. “It is to Colonel Forster, informing him of your whereabouts, and assuring him that my men will hold you here until he has leisure to come and fetch you. And, as you decline my offer of protection, I can have nothing to say that would stop these gentlemen from demonstrating on your person how they feel about a soldier who does his own down.” At this, a feral smile split the Corporal’s face, and he let out an eager whistle. The other two men made unsettlingly savage noises of anticipation as well; Wickham looked from one to another, the confidence ebbing from his features entirely. The barman just then arriving with a small ink pot and a rather dispirited-looking quill, Darcy turned an expectant face to Wickham; with an angry sneer sent in Darcy’s direction, he pulled the acknowledgement to him and applied his signature.
Chapter Nineteen
Darcy returned home very much pleased with the day’s accomplishments; no matter how he looked at it, it appeared to him that he had stopt up all the earths his fox could run to. He sat down to write Georgiana about his progress.
Grosvenor Square
Wednesday, August 6th, —
Dear Georgiana,
Well, it has been a busy few days, but I am now able to report that we have made considerable progress, and met with good success thus far. I was able to trace Miss Lydia Bennet successfully to an inn in London, although a part of London I trust you will never have cause to visit. Unfortunately, she has attached herself to the fellow without reserve or condition, and is resolute in her intention of staying with him; I was unable persuade her otherwise. As little esteem as I have for her, I did most sincerely urge her to return to her friends, although I confess her obstinacy prevented me from urging the matter as strenuously as I might.
Her refusal leaves nothing to be done but arrange for their marriage, and I shall put that in motion shortly; I must first communicate with her family: fortunately, in the Gardiners I have a ready entrée, there. My plan, it would seem, is holding up, and I have hopes that all will be finalised before the month is out. I do not imagine I shall be needed here in London all that while, so I trust you will see me again at Pemberley before long.
In all truth, Dearest, I confess I am unsure as to which of the two principals will suffer most from these arrangements; but, as it is owing entirely to their own actions that they find themselves in this position, I cannot condemn myself for forcing its conclusion. Miss Lydia Bennet clearly expected marriage to be the ultimate outcome of this adventure, as she seems to characterise it in her mind, and, given the enormity of the damage the failure to bring about their nuptials would cause the Bennets, it seems only right to me that he satisfy those expectations. He is like a river in flood, destroying whatever is in its path, and prudence demands that that flood be channelled, lest it lay ruin to entire counties; the steps I have taken will, I hope, stem the course of that flood and, if not contain it completely, at least gentle it to the point that its damage is confined only to those attached to him.
The Bennets, I dare say, would never have compounded for such a son-in-law, but there is nothing else that may be done to save them; I pity them for what their future will hold, but, given her character, the girl would never have chosen well or wisely, so on their side I suppose all this is little more than what was inevitable; it is, at least, finished early and, I hope, quietly.
My real pity is reserved for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, as she, I know, thought well of the fellow, and now must recognise and live with the knowledge of his character, and accept him as brother. Her mother, in all likelihood, will find nothing exceptional in the match, and her father seems largely indifferent to his family’s affairs; while not a man without ability, he adopts a very sardonic outlook, and, with three silly daughters and a very silly wife, one perhaps cannot wonder.
Speaking of indifference, it is the indifference of that low person I seek to constrain, to the suffering he causes the innocent and the worthy, that angers me most. Were he to confine his misdeeds to such as his soon-to-be wife, who has not the acuity to realise she suffers, or to the miscreants who populate his world, here in his proper milieu amongst the lower haunts of London, he would be relatively innocuous. But, I shall hope that the manner in which I have him hemmed in will render him that mildly unpleasant nuisance he ought to be, and leave decent people free of his influence. I pray it may be so.
But now, Dearest, I am going to take myself off to my club, and indulge in a little celebratory dinner, and toast to a future where you and I might never need speak of the man again.
Your loving brother,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Post scriptum:
Please tell my aunt that I have taken her advice to heart, and have followed it to good effect.
Thereafter, in rather buoyant spirits, he dressed and went to White’s, to enjoy an afternoon of easy company, a good meal, and a rather special bottle of wine. From time to time through the evening, he thought of Wickham in his taproom, and was at peace.
The next day when Darcy returned once more to the inn, he was surprised to find Wickham more seriously battered about than previously; there were a number of scrapes and bruises here and there on his person, and an ugly, ragged tear down one ear. The corporal and his men stood with belligerent faces, hovering threateningly behind Wickham where he was seated; Darcy looked to the Corporal questioningly.
“This monkey ‘ad more fight in ‘im than we thought,” said the smaller man. “’E went out the window last night just as it were dark, an’ climbed down the drain pipe. But Tibbs was onto ‘im right smart, an’ comes to fetch us. This back door boy,” he said angrily, pointing to Wickham, “wasn’t ‘avin’ any; ‘e takes a knife to Tewkes—gets ‘is shoulder; only missed ‘is throat by inches. I were ‘ard pressed to keep the lads from doin’ for ‘im, Major, but orders is orders.”
“I am obliged to you, Corporal,” Darcy acknowledged gratefully. “It might help your men to realise that their discipline has saved a family from ruin.” Looking at the other two men behind Wickham, he nodded to include them in his thanks. Neither looked pleased, but they nodded back. “Will Tewkes be well?”
“Aye, ‘e’ll make it,” said the Corporal.
“Be sure he sees a surgeon,” Darcy instructed. “Have you funds enough?” The corporal nodded.
At this point, Wickham, who had yet to speak, broke in sneeringly, “Yes, he’ll live; but I swear, Darcy, you may as well kill me now, if you think I am going to live forever in either of the prisons you have planned for me.”
Darcy looked at him in surprise at such audacious language. “Well, Wickham, you astound me, I confess: where did you find any courage?”
“It has nothing to do with courage,” Wickham said angrily. “Death would be far better than a life of poverty—either with Lydia, or in Fleet Prison; there could hardly be any difference; I swear to you, you will never hold me.”
“Death before honour, is that it, Wickham?” Darcy scoffed.
Wickham pronounced a word well-suited to his surroundings. “If you expect me to live your lie, then you had best make the lie a liveable one,” he said angrily. “Do you really expect I would throw away my life on Lydia for a lieutenant’s pay?”
Darcy was unmoved: “You are to be an ensign, actually; and I suppose it would be unnecessary to mention the possibility of advancement, given time and a bit of actual work—but, yes—I should expect
so, indeed, given the alternative, and the fact that you have already imposed on the largesse of my family to the tune of five thousands and more.” A low growl emanated from the Corporal’s throat on hearing this; Wickham glanced uneasily at him, then back to Darcy.
“‘Alternative’!” Wickham spat the word. “And if I do go to prison, what becomes of the Bennets? Do you suppose I have given that no thought?”
“If you are able to see things that clearly, then if you do decide to ruin the Bennets, what do you suppose my instructions to these gentlemen will be? They had little enough love for you before, and now you have tried to kill one of them.”
“I did no such thing,” Wickham said heatedly, “He was about to bounce a dashed great club off my head, and I had to stop him somehow.”
“With a knife,” Darcy observed.
“Yes, with a knife!” Wickham argued. “Do you suppose I would use my bare hands?”
“Does it not occur to you, that by arming yourself, you forced him to use a weapon, and he chose one less lethal than your own?”
“Does it not occur to you that you have no right to hold me a prisoner?” demanded Wickham in mocking accents. “What would your dear father say to all this?”
Darcy's Tale, Volume III_The Way Home Page 15
