Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Cressida Lane

  “What is it?” said Elizabeth, coming to stand next to her sister. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve just had a message from Caroline Bingley,” said Jane. “Bingley is not to be found this morning.”

  “Nonsense,” said Elizabeth. “He’s very likely closed up somewhere praying you’re still going to say yes in front of Mr. Collins today.”

  “No, Lizzy,” said Jane. “His valet woke the house at daybreak; apparently Bingley received a message during in the night. He left with the messenger and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”

  “I believe the Earl is in residence at Netherfield,” said Elizabeth. “Perhaps he could be of some assistance.”

  “Perhaps he could,” said Jane. “But Caroline adds here that he is not to be found either.” She handed Elizabeth the note.

  * * *

  My dear Jane—

  * * *

  Do not be alarmed, but my brother is not to be found this morning. His valet tells us he departed sometime in the night, alone, after receiving an urgent message, the contents of which no one seems to know.

  * * *

  Matlock has also gone, whither I know not. We are mounting a search of the area. Do not distress yourself. I’ll send word as soon as I have it.

  * * *

  Yours, etc.

  Caroline B.

  * * *

  “Heaven forbid,” breathed Elizabeth.

  “You perceive, then, what has happened,” said Jane forlornly. “Bingley has enlisted the help of his friend the Earl, and has gone away.”

  “Absolute nonsense,” said Elizabeth. “He loves you, Jane. Something else is afoot here. Darcy would not allow him to behave in such a manner, even should Bingley wish to do so. Which he certainly does not.”

  “Darcy wouldn’t allow it?” said Jane with the barest hint of a smile. “Has he such sway over his friends, then?”

  “I believe he might,” said Elizabeth. “But I think we shall have to wait to find out.” She paused. “I have an idea of where he might be. Or an idea of how we might find him, at least. Be at peace, Jane.” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “I need to talk to Lydia.”

  * * *

  “No!” said Lydia. “I shan’t tell you a thing. Not until you tell me why he came here asking for you. We are to be married. He’s not supposed to be calling on other women.” Elizabeth’s youngest sister folded her arms across her chest. The action made her look like an overgrown child, which to Elizabeth’s mind, it meant she looked her age. What on earth was Mr. Wickham thinking?

  “Lydia, I promise to tell you the whole of it after today, but you must tell me where he is. It’s terribly urgent,” said Elizabeth. She’d go to their parents if she had to, but Elizabeth was trusting that Lydia’s love of Jane would persuade her to cooperate.

  “I heard him talking to that man about Mr. Bingley, you know,” said Lydia. She was barely paying attention as she spoke, preferring to admire her reflection in the mirror.

  “What man?” asked Elizabeth. Her stomach sank.

  “I don’t know who he was,” said Lydia. “He was quite rude to me, and very low, I think. His clothes looked as though they’d never been cleaned at all, not even once.”

  “Please,” said Elizabeth. “Lydia, I think he’s got Mr. Bingley with him, and if we don’t get him to chapel soon, we’ll be late starting the wedding. Think of what that will do to Jane.”

  “Oh,” said Lydia. She bit her lip. “I should so like to see my dear Wickham before the ceremony. Perhaps I’ll talk him into escorting me there this afternoon after all! And he’ll wear his regimentals; I do so love the look of a man in regimentals. Alright, Lizzy, I’ll show you. Come on, then.” Lydia stood and made for the door.

  “I’ll meet you at the door,” said Elizabeth.

  Lydia rolled her eyes but continued down the stairs. Elizabeth dashed into her room, opened the tiny case she kept for jewelry and removed the letter she’d hidden inside. She tucked the folded pages into the sleeve of her dress, then quickly made her way down to the door.

  “Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked her sister.

  “He’s staying with the Mr. and Mrs. Goring,” said Lydia. “Though I’ve told him before I don’t like him to. I think old Mrs. Goring fancies him. Not that I’d worry about Wickham, mind, but she’d too old to be swooning over a man almost half her age.”

  The Gorings were pleasant people. Mrs. Goring was a pretty woman of about forty years of age. Mr. Goring was a great deal older than his wife; in public he was indulgent, but inattentive. Lydia’s instincts regarding Mrs. Goring were likely well founded.

  As Elizabeth’s interests lay in finding Bingley as quickly as possible, she kept these observations to herself.

  “If you’d rather stay behind, I can go myself,” she said instead.

  “No,” said Lydia. “I want to see Wickham. He’s not answered but one of my letters this week, and I’ve been quite put out with him.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly as they walked quickly in the direction of the Gorings’ home. She’d have to find a way to retrieve those letters from Wickham, if she was to see her family safely through this mess.

  Would that the man hie off to bedevil another continent. Van Diemen’s Land might do.

  Presently, they arrived at the Gorings’ home. It was a pretty place just at the edge of town, smaller than Longbourn but quaint.

  “I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Goring have gone out,” said the woman who answered the door.

  “That’s alright, Betsy,” said Lydia. “We’re here to see Mr. Wickham.”

  “Oh, but miss,” said Betsy. “Mr. Wickham has asked not to have his party disturbed.”

  “It’s a matter of some urgency,” Elizabeth said. Lydia cut her off.

  “I’m his fiancée,” said Lydia, pushing past the servant. “He’ll want to see me, surely.”

  Betsy protested, but Lydia was already moving up the stairs. Elizabeth winced as she realized not only had her sister somehow become familiar with the Gorings’ home, she knew the precise location of Mr. Wickham’s rooms.

  “His room is here,” said Lydia proudly as they approached a door at the end of the hall. She knocked loudly. “Wickham? Wickham! I need to speak with you!”

  They heard shuffling footsteps, then the door opened.

  “Lydia,” he hissed. “I told you—”

  The presence of two women at his door registered in his mind.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth, as sternly as she could manage. “Where is Mr. Bingley?”

  “Miss Elizabeth?” The voice coming from deep within the room sounded surprised.

  It was Mr. Bingley.

  Wickham glared at Lydia and stepped back, allowing the women to pass.

  “How on earth did you know to find me here?” asked Bingley. He was standing at the back of the room near a window overlooking a small garden. “I told no one where I was going. Your poor sister,” he said, regret plain on his face. “She must be quite upset. Is she upset?”

  “Jane is well,” said Elizabeth. “But I think she will be in far better spirits if we can get you to church.”

  “I cannot leave yet,” said Bingley, an unfamiliar sneer developing on his handsome face. He gestured to Mr. Wickham. “This person is bent on blackmail and if I leave before my man arrives with his ransom, he will expose Darcy’s scheme to the world.”

  “What scheme?” asked Lydia. Elizabeth met Mr. Bingley’s gaze and knew that Darcy must have confided their pretense to his friend.

  “You,” said Elizabeth, turning to Mr. Wickham. “You come here and speak to me of apology, of making amends. You assured me that you intend no harm and yet, once again, my family is hostage to your dishonor and debts.” Clearly the depths to which this man would sink knew no bounds.

  At least this time she was prepared for battle.

  Chapter 28

  Mr. Wickham’s chin rose. In that moment, he looke
d like exactly what he was: a petulant child. Lydia stood next to him, grasping his arm and looking confused.

  Children, thought Elizabeth. They’re neither of them much more than children. Except George Wickham must be nearly thirty years of age. Lydia at least had the excuse of being only fifteen.

  “You don’t understand,” said Mr. Wickham. “They’re going to kill me!”

  “You said that before,” said Elizabeth. “At least then you had the armed men to give credence to the lie. Are you hurt?” This last, she directed to Mr. Bingley. He shook his head.

  “I have not been harmed,” said Mr. Bingley.

  “Darcy and his friend here have plenty of money,” said Mr. Wickham. “What I’m asking for, it’s so very little to the likes of them. They’d hardly notice it’s gone.”

  “What precisely are you asking for?” said Elizabeth.

  “Just enough to provide a comfortable life,” Mr. Wickham began. Lydia interrupted again.

  “You already make enough for a comfortable life, dearest. You told me so,” she said. “Your living from the military is more than enough to support a family.”

  Mr. Wickham did not immediately respond.

  “Poor child,” came a voice from the hall. Mr. Wickham jolted hard at it. “He hasn’t told you yet.” The door swung open once again. It was the rough-looking man who’d stood guard outside the door where she and Georgiana and Mr. Wickham had been held for ransom in London.

  Against her own will, Elizabeth shrank back.

  “Poor as church mice, that one is,” said the thug, pointing at Mr. Wickham. “Been given the boot by old Colonel Forster for messing with too many of the local daughters. Though I guess it didn’t help that Titan tried to settle your debts by the Colonel.”

  “Is that true, Wickham?” asked Lydia. Elizabeth would later be amused that her sister was not perturbed in the least by the appearance of such a rough man. “You were meeting with other girls?”

  “I’ll not be so poor this time tomorrow, my love,” said Mr. Wickham. “Your sister’s future husband here has seen fit to accommodate my request.”

  “Not so fast,” came a cold voice. Another man came through the door, moving slowly. His clothes were deeply rumpled as though he’d slept in them, but they were finely made. He held a long-barreled pistol in each hand. “Got yourself a pair of pretty birds here, Wick. But then I never once laid eyes on you that you didn’t have at least one nearby. Always pretty, too. Never the common lot, not unless you need them for something.”

  George Wickham appeared to have thrown off his shock, his full bravado restored. “I’ve finally obtained the means to satisfy our agreement. If you’ll just—”

  “We’re not going anywhere, Wick. Not until I’ve got your money in hand at last. You’ve managed to slip away often enough, I’ve had to reorganize my men entirely. Though I suppose I should thank you for that. Business in my little corner of London is getting better, thanks to the improvements we had to make after dealing with you.”

  Mr. Wickham moved to step forward; Titan instantly raised each pistol, turning one on George Wickham. The other he aimed squarely at Elizabeth.

  “No!” cried Mr. Bingley. Lydia began to weep, wrapping herself about Mr. Wickham’s waist.

  “Lydia, don’t!” said Elizabeth. Foolish, foolish girl thought nothing of her present danger.

  “Silence!” commanded Titan. “Wick, I daresay you better see about getting that money before somebody accidentally goes and gets themselves hurt.”

  “It’s not here yet,” said Mr. Wickham. He sounded on the verge of tears himself. “His man is supposed to be back with it any minute.”

  “So the ladies aren’t part of the deal? Seems a waste,” said Titan.

  “Excuse me,” said Elizabeth. The reappearance of her kidnapper had felled her fortitude at first, but she’d recovered it at the sight of the gun’s barrel. It was in her power to bring about a détente of sorts. It was no sacrifice to save people she loved.

  “Yes, madam,” said Titan, raising a brow at her. “Wish to plead on your lover’s behalf? Pretty as you are, I’ve a mind to let you.”

  She ignored the crass implication. “How much does he owe?”

  “Wick?” The villain cocked his head but the pistols did not move. “With the current rate of interest, plus a finder’s fee for my compatriot here, I’d say he’s at about fifteen thousand.”

  At this, Lydia began to wail. George Wickham was now visibly trembling. Elizabeth turned her head to keep them out of her line of sight.

  “It is in my power to offer you twelve thousand,” she said. “Will that satisfy his debt?”

  Mr. Bingley caught her eye, but she shook her head to prevent him from speaking.

  “I have in my hand the information required to access this money,” she continued, for she now held his attention entirely. “All you have to do is present this receipt at the bank where the funds are held.”

  Titan lowered the weapons at last.

  “What’s your name, miss?” he asked, regarding her intently.

  “I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she said. “And you have not answered my question.”

  Titan laughed softly. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said slowly. “I’ll remember that name. Show me your proof.”

  Elizabeth exposed her wrist, withdrawing the papers slowly so as not to startle him. She extended the papers to his filthy cohort, who was standing nearer by. The man grunted and seized them from her, holding them out to his boss.

  “Hands are a bit full just now,” said Titan.

  “I can’t read,” the thug complained.

  Titan huffed. He tucked the pistols behind him, took the pages, and opened them. After a moment, he smiled.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, folding the papers and placing them in an unseen shirt pocket. “We have an agreement. Wick, you really ought to keep close to this one. Seems she’s got mind enough for the both of ye.”

  Whatever reply Mr. Wickham might have made was cut off abruptly by the thundering sound of horses approaching the house.

  “Time I took my leave,” said Titan. He bowed to Elizabeth. “It was a singular pleasure, Miss Bennet.” Without so much as a glance at Mr. Wickham or his employee, Titan fled the room.

  For several long moments, chaos reigned. Mr. Bingley was at her elbow in an instant to ensure she hadn’t been injured. Elizabeth’s one-time captor had run off after his master, screaming for the man to wait. Lydia was wailing louder than ever, and no matter how hard he tried to extricate himself, she would not release grip around Wickham’s waist. As the sound of galloping hooves ebbed the din downstairs grew louder, followed by fast footsteps in the hall.

  Elizabeth had turned to reassure Mr. Bingley when she caught sight of the first man through the door.

  It was Darcy.

  Chapter 29

  “Really, man, what took you so long?” cried Mr. Bingley.

  “Sorry, old friend,” said Darcy. “The magistrate was still abed when I arrived. It took him awhile to come ‘round.”

  “Magistrate?” said Elizabeth. “You knew where Mr. Bingley was?”

  Darcy’s reply was interrupted by the appearance of four armed men.

  “Ah, excuse me, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy. “George Wickham, by order of the magistrate, you are hereby under arrest.”

  Mr. Wickham began to protest as the four armed men approached him; even Lydia was cowed as they approached and released her grip on him to back away. Two flanked him to bind his hands, the other two trained their weapons on him. Lydia shrank back against the wall.

  “The magistrate is expecting you,” said Darcy, holding up a hand in response to Wickham’s sputtering. “He may be more inclined to hear your excuses than I find I am at present.” Darcy waved. The action would have been imperious on another man but Elizabeth was forcibly reminded that he was not simply Darcy. That small action held behind it all the power of his new office – the power of the house of Matlock.<
br />
  “That man, Titan,” said Elizabeth. “He has Weatherby’s bank draft receipt.”

  “So that’s how you managed it,” said Darcy. “I ought to have guessed. But you needn’t fear, your sisters’ dowries are safe. Those funds cannot be accessed except by either yourself or me appearing personally. Even Weatherby couldn’t get to them, should he wish it. We’ll inform the bank manager straight away; I expect the villain will have a surprise to greet him when he arrives.”

  Wickham was escorted down the stairs.

  “It is finally finished,” said Darcy, when the room was empty of guards and villains alike.

  “It most certainly is not finished,” said Mr. Bingley. “What time is it?”

  “The wedding,” said Elizabeth. “We must leave at once!”

  * * *

  “Mama will never forgive you for this, Lizzy,” said Lydia. “Holding up Jane’s wedding as though everyone jumps to suit your fancy. The world doesn’t wait on you, you know.”

  “Hush, Lydia,” said Elizabeth.

  “And it wasn’t Wickham’s fault, you know.” This last she aimed at Darcy.

  “Certainly,” said Darcy. He made no other reply. Lydia knew not how best to interpret that, but she evidently remembered his station and held her tongue against any further comment in his direction. It did not prevent complaints to her sister, however, and until they drew up before the church, Lydia’s garrulous protestations continued.

  Mr. Bingley dismounted and ran for the side door of the church. Lydia descended her horse inelegantly, despite help from the attending servant, all but plopping to the ground in her haste. Her protests continued as she set off after Mr. Bingley.

  Elizabeth dismounted her horse and handed off the reins.

  “Miss Bennet,” said Darcy before she could follow the others. “A moment of your time, if you will.”