by Anne Morris
"You will pack and be gone in a day," he said, racing past her and exited the library.
Partridge was not in the main hall, and Darcy ran straight through, into the dining room, out into the gardens to the stables behind, calling up to the grooms in their rooms above. His horse was quickly saddled while a groom fetched outerwear for him, and Darcy rode for the Thames, his groom Jones following behind.
He had read, with only a small amount of interest, about the Frost Fair, assuming it was an attraction for the lower classes, and though he knew exactly where the Thames lay, in no way did he know where to begin to look for Georgiana or Wickham. He had read that the ice had formed near London Bridge and crept west towards Blackfriars Bridge.
Passing by St. Pauls, Darcy could hear, and feel even, the flavor and tension in the air as he passed an increasing number of people, all intent on attending the Fair. A street, Swan, appeared to be an entrance as an even thicker mob of people moved in a single direction, and he dismounted as he watched the crowds of people who poured down it, some already coming back up with smiles, excitement, even drunken staggers.
Darcy left his horse with Jones and joined the throng moving down that street before he reached the edge of the embankment and gazed out over the expanse of frozen river before him; it was as if an entirely new city had sprung up there. A city within a city. This one was made of tents; a large street lay in what was the middle of the ice, tents were made of sail canvas and oars, with delights for people to peer at and seek. Stages were made of boats that had been frozen into place, but which entertainers readily took over with fiddlers, singers, and dancers ready to perform when they simply leapt onto the decks. Merchants were on hand and plentiful; fires burned on the ice! Great pits roasted oxen and mutton. Darcy stared until people behind him pushed, and he began to climb down the boards laid from the embankment to the top edge of the ice, where a shabbily dressed man requested three pence for stepping onto the river.
Darcy had no idea that the Frost Fair was such a huge draw for Londoners, and his eyes swept from London Bridge on his left along the crowds and the myriad affairs before him, and his heart fell into his stomach with the idea of finding his sister among the hundreds, if not thousands, in that crowd. He moved forward with the crowd, looking at an open area where some sort of race was occurring.
"Mr. Darby," said a voice.
"It's Mr. Darcy," said Paulette Gardiner, and he turned to look at the two Gardiner girls with Lydia Bennet.
"Miss Lydia!" he cried as he moved up to the trio. "Georgiana, do you know where she has got to?"
"Elizabeth has gone after Wickham!" she cried out, her lower lip stuck out in a pout .
"What! Tell me," he loomed over her, and she bit that lip as her eyes widened.
"Georgiana told me, but swore me to secrecy," Lydia looked down at the reticule in her hand, "but I needed to tell someone, so I told Elizabeth." The reticule swayed back and forth. "I felt it was not right. There is something disturbing about Mr. Wickham." She glanced back up at him then seeing the anger and worry in his face, she stopped speaking.
"Where has she gone?" he cried.
"Georgiana was supposed to meet Mr. Wickham at the Crown & Anker tent on the south side," and she pointed towards Southwark.
"You must do this for me, Miss Lydia, my groom is up above, near Swan Street," Darcy looked intently into Lydia's blue eyes, "you must find him, and tell him to follow me. He can find someone else to hold the horses, or let them go for all I care, but have him follow me." He stepped even closer, and Lydia leaned her head back to look at him, and could not help bringing a hand to her cheek because of his gaze, but nodded, despite feeling intimidated and scared.
"We were supposed to go and see the donkey races," pouted Anna.
"Hush, this is too important," said Lydia turning to her.
"What is Miss Bennet wearing?" he asked as he moved a step away.
"She has borrowed my green cloak, with a hood," she said clasping the girls' hands to her.
He was relieved that Lydia had been there, and hoped that she could find Jones, and that the groom could be sent to locate his sister. He would follow Wickham to stave off the blackguard and to see to Miss Bennet. However, there was no Elizabeth or Georgiana or Wickham even, at the Crown & Anker once he located it to his frustration, and the light was fading.
Darcy looked for hints of green among the dirty and faded colors sported by most of the Fair attenders. He worked his way beyond the little gathering of tents to the next area, when he saw a touch of green, a hundred yards away, up on a shelf of ice next to a second figure. He hurried then, as swiftly as the terrain would permit. He could not run to her, but could only watch as the pair seemed to make equal progress away from him, as he did towards them. He began to make some headway when Wickham appeared to have stopped to argue with Miss Bennet.
Darcy considered what Colonel Forster had written him about George Wickham. He had left the militia back in September, but that Forster had begun to question the man's mental competence. The colonel thought it due, in part, to the French pox as he had seen men's minds, eyesight, and even their character affected by that disease.
Darcy saw them together up on that shelf, these two figures he was most intent on following, but could not yet overhear their conversation, but he diligently worked to close the final distance between them. The sun set, and though it had provided no warmth, it had provided a reassurance with its light behind the grayness of those clouds above. The discord between Elizabeth and Wickham meant they did not note his approach, and he finally caught the tail end of their conversation.
They were speaking of Mandeville, and as he had supposed, Wickham knew more about the disposition of Henry Mandeville the day of Trafalgar, but he could never have imagined that Wickham had played such a part 'Tim, John, Long Bill, and I were looting bodies that day and he told us off…so we slit his throat.' It shocked him; he stopped moving to stand as a statue while his mind registered Wickham's confession. Then Darcy had looked to see Elizabeth stumbling away and falling, and he began moving towards her while he called a warning to Wickham, who had been in the process of reaching over to haul her back up. Wickham could never touch her again.
"You owe me! The Darcys owe me. I should never have been chased away, your father sent me off to war," Wickham's arm shook in anger as his finger pointed at Darcy as though wielding a weapon, " 'you need to make your way in the world, George,' your father told me—he cut me loose. Thirty thousand pounds, Darcy, you should give me thirty thousand pounds." Wickham cried and raged at him.
"I owe you nothing," Darcy replied indignantly and looked at the ashen face of Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet are you well?"
"No," she croaked. He recalled her honest answer back that day in the Netherfield garden when she had been in tears, and his heart swelled at that memory. He moved forward, his eyes entirely on her. He noted that the heavy mist had turned to a light rain. He slipped twice before reaching her, took her into his arms and held her against him; first looking down at her tear-stained eyes before wrapping his arms around her, and clasping her to his chest when he heard a sob break loose as her grief about the past and her distress about the present broke from her. They stood together for an eternity while she gave over to that grief.
"Mr. Darcy," a voice called away his focus on Miss Bennet.
He let go of his firm hold on Elizabeth, though he kept one hand around her, and turned to spy Jones, his groom, whom he had sent Lydia Bennet to collect.
"Jones!" he cried, feeling a certain relief flutter inside.
"A young lady came to fetch me," replied the groom.
"I need you to find Miss Darcy in this crowd before the light goes entirely," he said quickly.
Jones held up one hand and Darcy stopped speaking. "It is all set to rights, sir," he said. "Partridge has her, I ran into them, and Partridge is escorting her back to her carriage. She took a right fright, on account of the crowds." Darcy felt his knees shake as he
heard the news of his sister's safety though he still retained his grip on Miss Bennet.
Jones had been part of a crowd of people, a dozen or so, all of whom moved past their group intent on fleeing the Fair as the light failed, the cold came, and the rain intensified. Voices carried over one another, back and forth, and then again they heard a rushing sound, then a sharp one as if glass breaking. There were more screams about the ice giving way, and Darcy called to his groomsman that they should leave.
A press of people was there, slipping and falling as they pushed past the trio on that ice which was no longer any other color but gray and black as the light was taken from the sky. Wickham had apparently slipped away, but Darcy was not going to allow that cat to land on his feet again. Darcy was going to speak to the authorities. He picked his way along the ice, his arm around Elizabeth's waist who was silent, as they slipped in the rain; Jones came up beside Miss Bennet and offered her his arm which she accepted, and they made their way towards the exit. Darcy could see the crowd pressed towards that goal, an exit without handholds, and yet still the watermen were there asking for their penny tip to leave, despite the darkness and the rain.
The atmosphere changed as they approached; the crowd of people was seven or eight thick, all wishing to leave and there were only two watermen there to collect money, but the nervousness of the people on the outer edge about the integrity of the ice, and people's natural fears of the dark grew as people began to push and pull at one other. The watermen started to raise their voice,s insisting that the ice was yet safe. But not everybody had the benefit of warm clothes, and memories of the darkness of that week of mist and fog after Christmas were quite close. People began to push in harder to get up to land, and off of the ice—which for five days had been a pleasure garden—but now was starting to harass and oppress them.
Mr. Darcy stood at the outer edge with Elizabeth at his side; she had not said a word. The watermen were still attempting to obtain their fee, when suddenly a surge of people pushed forward, some falling down, while some clutched and crawled on their knees, and climbed up the planks with their hands to steady themselves. The watermen gave up attempting to obtain their tip, and started passing people up with congeniality, as though it was their job all along to help. More sounds came over the patter of the rain, that glass-breaking noise rang out, as the rain started to come down harder, but it seemed to produce a frightening effect on the people still on the ice.
Darcy knew they were quite close to the ultimate edge where it gave way and became water once again, though as he looked out all he could see was blackness. If he looked up at the skyline, he could spy the form of Blackfriars Bridge and see faint traces of the arches of the bridge, but knew not where the edge of the ice lay; then a voice called him again.
"Darcy!" Wickham pulled him roughly away from the crowd, separating him from Elizabeth.
"This is not the time or place for this, Wickham," Darcy cried.
"You owe me; I knew I should have asked for more money at the Pear," said his adversary.
"Wickham, it is no longer safe, we need to leave." Darcy cried, and turned to motion to his groom, "Jones, make sure Miss Bennet gets up to land." He thought he heard an 'aye,' which was lost in the voices of the crowd, and the darkness pressing down, and the rain confounding all his senses, as he stepped away from the exit. Wickham swayed and slipped on his feet following him.
"It is my due, it is my right," the man kept repeating, until he slipped and fell to his knees.
"Wickham, I will talk to the police; I will see you in jail. I will see you hang for this: Mandeville's death!" cried Darcy.
"That was not me; it was Murphy and Marr who did it! Long Bill who held him down. It was not me," he insisted.
"You are just as complicit as they are," said Darcy, and he stepped forward, and for once that charming face was hidden by the weather and the darkness; the ebullient voice roughened by the rain. He was ordinary, cruel, and evil there in the darkness and the rain. Wickham pushed himself up in the face of Darcy's anger. Facts swirled in Darcy's mind as he considered what Wickham had just said. 'Murphy and Marr.'
"Murphy and Marr," said Darcy. "Murphy and Marr," he repeated softly, and he took another step so that he was standing close. The light was dim, and he could smell gin emanating from Wickham. "Those murders a year ago on the Ratcliffe Highway: John Murphy killed the Marr family." Wickham made a strange sound like a cat being strangled.
"Murphy and Bill did that—killed Tim Marr and his family!" cried Wickham, and he wrenched away from Darcy, and moved into the darkness. "I had nothing to do with it. I was not there!" The voice whispered out of the dark. Darcy slipped and followed him, as Wickham tripped, pushed himself up, tripped again, and moved away. "I had nothing to do with it," cried Wickham again from the dark.
"But you know why he did it, and there was someone else that helped Murphy, a man with a limp," pressed Darcy.
"Long Bill, Bill Ablass," said Wickham his voice shaky and raspy. "Marr did well after Trafalgar; he took his prize money and opened that shop. Took on apprentices, got married, and cut his ties with his old shipmates." A sound came as though Wickham was smacking his lips, thirsty despite the rain.
"Is that a reason to kill a man?" asked Darcy, who adjusted his hat but could not stave off the wet.
"Marr knew what we did to Mandeville, and Murphy was afraid he would tell because Marr was respectable now. And Murphy was…changing, his mind was going; he had the garden gout, had it for years."
"Garden gout?" prompted Darcy.
"The French pox," he moved again though Darcy was beginning to think it unwise to move without any sort of light or flame to illuminate their location on the ice. The rain pounded against his hat and shoulders, dampened the sounds of the crowd—they had also thinned as people left the Frost Fair for home, warmth, and hearth. "We were afraid Marr would tell, but we did not know Murphy would go crazy and would kill everyone in the house." Wickham must have fallen as Darcy heard his breath forced out of his lungs. Wickham crawled then on the ice, but the light was entirely gone now and his form was an indistinct shape, a misty black moving against a different, darker shade of black.
"You are evil men; that babe was but three months old! What about that old publican, and his wife and servant?"
"We used to drink at the Kings Arms whenever I came up to town," said that voice in the dark. "Long Bill and I met to question Murphy about why he had killed the whole house, but Murphy never gave us a complete answer. Mrs. Williamson was always nice to him, patted him on the cheek the night he killed them and told him he was a handsome fellow—but Murphy's mind was going." His voice came from up higher; Wickham had apparently risen, but it was only blackness now. Darcy could not see his adversary. "He was staying at the Pear with me and Bill, but Murphy went back and went crazy with his knife—it was just him that time. I think he believed that Williamson overheard us talking, and he took that watch as he knew the papers said the first murders had no motive, no robbery."
"You should have turned him in," cried Darcy.
"I was not supposed to be in London; Colonel Forster would have had my head." The screaming rain and the darkness silenced the voice then. Darcy peered out but saw nothing but the black of night. No figure, no shape standing, or on the ground. He could not distinguish the contours of the ice—all was black. Only when he looked off to the horizon could he still see the lighter black of the bridge sitting atop of the void of the river.
"Long Bill is dead now," said Darcy. Wickham's voice did not answer from the dark, and Darcy wondered if the man was to jump out at him, though he must be equally blinded by the darkness. "I recall reading about a William Ablass, who was connected with the case, and found drowned in the Thames," prompted Darcy. There still was no answer from his adversary. "There is only you left now, of the four who knew about Mandeville; the other three are gone." He paused. "Did you have a hand in Long Bill ending up in the Thames?"
The rain muffled movemen
ts as he took a tentative step, though there were other sounds, the growing sounds of breaking glass and a cracking and booming sound as if thunder. Darcy thought it must be the ice shifting beneath them, and he thought of his own safety. A sound—strangled and horrible—a cry came to him over nature's own cacophony, and he wondered if Wickham had slipped into the frigid waters of the Thames. A sound of thunder came again, and then Darcy was sure he felt movement beneath his feet, and he moved back, quickened his footsteps, retreating, slipping as he did so, falling, but scrambling up in his retreat. Wickham did not follow him.
There was just enough light up on the south bank to discern where it lay in the darkness, and a lantern hung illuminating his destination—that plank bridge to solid ground. He could only hope that cry had not been Wickham falling into the black waters though there was no sign of him. They had learned to swim as children in the lake in front of Pemberley, but that skill did not ensure Wickham's survival in the Thames, with the darkness and the frigid temperatures.
People still streamed up the bridge, and Darcy made his way to the top, to a place of lights, and contemplated the beauty of light in the darkness, and the two figures waiting for him there: Elizabeth and his groom, though he had eyes only for Elizabeth.
"Miss Bennet, let us get you home," he said nodding though he really wished to take her in his arms and never let her leave his embrace.
"Thank you," she replied.
That itself was a task. He had a groom but no horse, no carriage, and it was dark and pouring rain, and they were on the south side of the Thames. He sent his groomsman ahead to retrieve the horses as quickly as possible.
Though the London Bridge gives way to Gracechurch Street and then on to Bishopsgate, they crossed Blackfriars since they were nearer. They walked in silence, but like that stroll in Moor Fields it was a companionable one. There was far too much to talk about, far too many feelings to express, but that needed time and light and air, and for Darcy and Elizabeth to not be at the mercy of Mother Nature. They simply clung to each other after such an afternoon as they walked in the rain towards the Gardiners' house. They stopped in crossing the bridge to look out at the blackness and to listen to the sounds of the ice as it roared in protest and as it split into scales to float in dark patches beneath them. Jones met them on the end of Blackfriars Bridge with two horses.
