Fitzwilliam Darcy, Traitor

by Jennifer Joy

  Leaving William at the park, Elizabeth departed for Matlock House promptly. It was plain to see that William did not wish for her to go alone, but as she had said to him repeatedly, it could not be helped. She walked quickly and with intent until she saw a coach stop in front of the house.

  Servants filed outside to receive their master, who assisted his wife and a young lady out of the carriage (to the frustration of the footman whose duty was to perform that very service.)

  The gentleman, who could be none other than Lord Matlock, held his arms out for both ladies and proudly escorted them inside the house. Elizabeth immediately liked the gentleman. He had the same sandy-colored hair as Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  She hurried past the men carrying the trunks indoors, seeking to take advantage of the opportunity the servants being outside presented to her. Elizabeth approached the woman all the others looked to for direction. She grasped the household keys firmly in her hands, identifying her station in the residence. If the colonel left a message with the cook, the housekeeper would know about it.

  Elizabeth said, “Pray excuse me, but I am sent by Colonel Fitzwilliam to the cook for strawberry tarts.”

  The housekeeper dropped the keys into her apron and examined Elizabeth from head to toe. Then, giving a few final orders, she instructed Elizabeth to follow her.

  They went around to the back of the house and in through the kitchen door where an elderly woman presided over the bustling kitchen. Her strong voice was like that of a military officer, clear and commanding. The Matlocks and Miss Darcy had recently arrived after a long journey, and it was her duty to send trays to their rooms before they realized they wanted a repast.

  Elizabeth admired the audacity of young William and his cousin to cross such a stern woman.

  The housekeeper whispered into the cook’s ear, after which she scurried out of the kitchen.

  Cook poured milk into a cup and motioned for Elizabeth to sit at the table. She placed three tarts in front of her.

  “Strawberry tarts?” Elizabeth asked, stunned the cook had the treats in her kitchen at such short notice.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam told me to have them ready should someone request them. I understand your coming here to mean that Mr. Darcy is well?” Cook replied.

  Elizabeth looked longingly at the tea tarts. Crystals of sugar glistened on top of the golden crust, making her mouth water and her stomach rumble. She answered, “Mr. Darcy is well. He is nearby, and I really must not delay. May I, perhaps, take these with me? I must not dawdle, or he will worry.”

  Cook smiled and instructed one of the young women scampering about the kitchen to wrap a dozen tarts for Elizabeth to take with her. To Elizabeth, she said, “I suggest you gobble those up then.”

  Elizabeth needed no further encouragement. She was hungry.

  After one bite, Elizabeth understood why Cook’s strawberry tarts had become such an important part of William's childhood. The centers were still warm, and the preserves were spiced with cinnamon.

  Cook watched her. She splayed her thick fingers over the top of the table and said, “There is no finer man than Mr. Darcy — besides, of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Every one of us in this household is prepared to testify for Mr. Darcy’s character at his trial. We know him to be innocent of what the papers accuse him, and we will speak up when it is time.”

  Elizabeth’s heart swelled in her chest, making it difficult to swallow. She could only imagine what William’s household was up to if his uncle’s servants were willing to contradict popular belief at the risk of being seen to support a traitor. “I will make certain he knows he still has friends,” she choked out.

  Cook patted Elizabeth’s hand and rose when the same couple and young lady Elizabeth had seen earlier entered the room.

  Lord Matlock clicked his heels together and bowed to Elizabeth, introducing himself, his wife, and his niece, after which he said, “Pray excuse me for addressing you before we are properly introduced, young lady, but there is nothing proper about what is happening to my nephew. Your presence here leads me to believe you are a friend who might have news of Darcy.”

  Elizabeth rose from the table and curtsied. “I am a friend. My name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I was with Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and my sister Jane when…” she would not say the man’s name aloud if it caused Miss Darcy pain, “… two highwaymen attacked us. They left us stranded in the middle of a snowstorm. We sought shelter in an abandoned cottage. We later learned that the marquess had been murdered the same evening of the day we were robbed, and Mr. Darcy’s pocket watch was discovered beside the body.”

  Storm clouds darkened Lord Matlock’s semblance. “Wickham,” he pronounced.

  Lady Helen wrapped her arm around Miss Darcy, whose pale blue eyes sparkled with tears.

  Elizabeth wished she could voice how sorry she was for the young lady, how much it distressed her to give bad news about a man Miss Darcy had once cared for greatly. But there was no time. Elizabeth needed to leave. She said, “There is more, and I must beg for you to ask Colonel Fitzwilliam to tell you the details. He knows everything and, as you know, has arranged for this means of communication. Mr. Darcy is waiting for me to return. I cannot stay.”

  She readied to make her departure.

  Miss Darcy stepped forward, taking Elizabeth’s hands. The girl trembled like a leaf. “I am so sorry, Miss Bennet. If only I had not angered Wickham…” Her tears spilled over then, streaming down her fair skin and streaking her cheeks.

  She looked like a delicate porcelain doll, and Elizabeth wanted to wrap Miss Darcy in her arms and console her until she could stand on her own.

  Tightening her grip on the young woman’s hand, Elizabeth waited until Miss Darcy lifted her chin to look at her before she spoke. Elizabeth wanted her full attention. Slowly and clearly, Elizabeth said, “Do not blame yourself for the faults of others. I do not blame you, and I know your brother does not either.”

  Miss Darcy’s eyes brimmed with hope.

  Lord Matlock said, “I will send several of my men out to search for the blackguard. We will find him, and he will answer for his sins. You have my word. Now, go. Do what you must to avoid discovery until Wickham is captured.”

  Elizabeth turned to the cook. “Do you have a message for me?”

  Cook’s gaze cut over to her master, and she reached into her apron and pulled out a folded note. “The colonel’s batman left this only an hour ago. He appeared to have been up all night, and his manners were urgent.”

  Her words filled Elizabeth with dread. That could only mean bad news. She was desperate to read the message but determined to wait until she had returned to William’s side.

  Lady Helen reassured the cook. “If Richard has arranged a means of communication independent from us, we must trust it is for our own good. He will call later,” she added, her tone firm with an expectation Elizabeth prayed the colonel would not deny his mother.

  The colonel’s family continued conversing quietly among themselves as Elizabeth stepped over the threshold and walked to the front of the house.

  The message burned against her palm, and it was all Elizabeth could do not to run back to William.

  Chapter 28

  Darcy watched until Elizabeth disappeared behind his uncle's house.

  He longed to cross the street and hold his sister in his arms, to kiss the top of her head and tell her everything would be well. But Georgiana would resent him for treating her like a child. Embraces were for the nursery.

  Darcy turned away from the edge of the park and sat on a bench under a barren tree, pulling up his collar for the little warmth it gave as much as for disguise.

  His knees bounced up and down, and though he could not see the house from where he sat, he looked in its direction hoping to see Elizabeth’s figure reemerge.

  When his nerves grew too great to remain sitting, he strolled from one edge of the park to the other. The cold weather was to his advantage. Nobody ventured through the park i
n the frigid weather … if they were at home. Most of his uncle’s neighbors spent the winter at their country estates.

  Darcy had only just convinced himself to sit back down when Elizabeth darted toward him.

  Popping up from the bench, he met her at the edge of the park.

  “I saw your relatives. I met your sister,” she said in one burst of breath.

  Darcy brimmed over with questions, but Elizabeth continued before he could voice them.

  “Your sister takes the burden of guilt upon herself. She believes that her history with Mr. Wickham has brought on your current troubles. She cried.”

  Elizabeth looked like she might cry, too.

  Darcy feared tears. What was he supposed to do to get rid of them? Shoving his hand through his hair, he asked, “Why does she think she is to blame? How could she possibly?”

  “Have you discussed how she feels about what happened?”

  It was the same question Elizabeth had asked him at the cottage, and William had to give her the same answer. He paced a few steps away, then turned back, saying “I took care of everything. I made sure Wickham was far away from her, even purchasing him a commission in the militia to keep him occupied and silent. I warned him of the consequences should he attempt to see her again.” His hands dropped to his side. “All of this I did only for him to follow me to Meryton. Wickham’s resentment is against me, not Georgiana.”

  Darcy could not think of one detail he had forgotten. And yet, Georgiana still cried. Nothing he had done had eased her broken heart.

  Elizabeth sighed. “It is clear you did your best to remedy the problem, but that would not take away the sting of disappointment from your sister. How would you know how she felt unless she confided in you? How do you know for what she grieves? The guilt she expressed leads me to believe there is more than just Mr. Wickham.”

  Darcy crossed his arms and shook his head. “I should have noticed. Why did I not notice?”

  When Elizabeth did not immediately respond, he looked down at her.

  She examined him with her discerning eyes, her lips pursed in contemplation. Darcy sensed she could tell him exactly why he had not known how his sister felt before now when Georgiana had revealed it to Elizabeth — a lady unknown to her.

  Elizabeth held up the message in her palm. “We must not allow ourselves to be distracted, William. Colonel Fitzwilliam sent a message.”

  He took the paper and opened it, reading the scribbled lines in one glance and reaching back to sit when its contents knocked the strength out of him. Darcy could not speak. He could hardly breathe.

  How could he tell Elizabeth that her greatest fear had come to pass? That her bravery was to be recompensed with the cruelest outcome?

  Swallowing hard, Darcy motioned for Elizabeth to join him on the bench. Before he lost his resolve, he said, “Bingley and Miss Bennet are on their way to Newgate under heavy guard. They are to be charged as traitors to the Crown because of their association with me.”

  Elizabeth’s chest heaved. The paper package she had held dropped to the ground. Darcy set the package on the bench and reached out to her, not knowing what to do with his hands once his fingers reached her cheek but knowing he needed to touch her.

  She jolted upright, leaving his hand hovering midair. Hurling herself around the bench, Elizabeth stumbled over to a tree and retched.

  Darcy walked over to her. A long curl of her hair fell forward perilously close to her mouth, and he reached around her to hold it back. His stomach heaved at the acrid stench, but he could not leave her side. Holding his breath, Darcy maintained his ground.

  Elizabeth tried to stand upright, but she trembled like a leaf. Her skin was as white as the snow on the rooftops. Her chest heaved violently, and Darcy knew that unless she calmed, Elizabeth make herself ill again.

  Grabbing her by the shoulders, Darcy leaned toward her until his forehead touched against hers. She was damp to the touch. Reaching into his pocket, Darcy grabbed a handkerchief. Dabbing Elizabeth’s face, he said slowly, “Breathe with me, Lizzy.”

  Inhaling though his nose until his lungs were full, Darcy breathed out through his mouth, nodding encouragement when Elizabeth imitated him.

  After a few slow, deep breaths, she visibly relaxed. Lifting his head so he could see her, Darcy wiped her tears with his fingertips. He promised her, “I will not surrender until the real villain has taken your sister’s place, and she is free to marry Bingley. You have my word.”

  She whispered, “I do not doubt you.”

  Elizabeth’s faith in him filled Darcy with strength. It gave him the greatest pleasure to please her, to know she approved of him.

  The realization grounded him firmly. His attachment to Elizabeth went beyond the boundaries of friendship. Darcy loved her.

  His chest rose and fell rapidly, terror and euphoria tying his stomach into knots. Darcy breathed just as he had done with Elizabeth — in through the nose, out through the mouth.

  A movement out of the corner of his eye slammed him back to their reality. They had been far too long in the park.

  A servant walked down the sidewalk along the length of the park. She had not noticed them, but her presence was an important reminder. He and Elizabeth were on the run.

  They needed to go. They needed to find Wickham.

  Steely calm settled over Elizabeth, bolstering Darcy’s determination to right the wrongs done to them and the people they cared for the most.

  Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin defiantly, Elizabeth returned to the bench and opened the paper parcel. Handing him a strawberry tart, she said, “Wickham will not win this battle. We will not let him.”

  Falling in beside her, Darcy enjoyed the taste of his childhood while they resumed walking. “I know Wickham and his habits. If he has any money at all, he will try to increase it by gambling. No matter how badly off he might be, he will always stay close to where there are drink and women.”

  Elizabeth said, “I see why you and the colonel risked the wrath of the cook for these. I have tasted nothing finer. Lord Matlock said he will send men all over town to look for Wickham.”

  His uncle would prove true to his word. It was comforting to have allies.

  She asked, “Do you believe Wickham is still in London? It seems too easy.”

  “All his debts lead to London. It is the only place I know of where he can continue in his vices while staying out of the reach of his creditors. Besides, if his true intention is to avenge himself against me, would he not want to be near to witness it?”

  “True. Not only could he witness his handiwork, but he could also ensure fingers continue to point at you. Where would he be? A gentlemen’s club?”

  “No. They know he cannot pay. He would have to stick to the taverns and smaller gambling haunts.” Darcy did not want to bring Elizabeth with him as he traversed the seediest parts of London in their search for Wickham. He could not in good conscience do so. But neither did he wish to entrust her protection to another.

  She walked faster. “Then let us not delay. We do not have the luxury of time.”

  Darcy stopped. “I can arrange for you to stay here. My family will hide you until it is safe,” he offered. It was the right thing to do.

  “Never,” she said without so much as an eye blink.

  Darcy had to run a few steps to keep up with her. Elizabeth was fearless, and as she charged into the unknown without hesitation, Darcy knew she would not back down before anything or anyone. There had been a time he had thought her unprepared for society (such was his ignorance.) He would love to observe her in conversation his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  They walked the mucky streets of London, asking for Wickham directly where they could and searching for him discreetly where they could not.

  Tirelessly, they inspected street after street and tavern after tavern.

  Darkness fell and with it the worst riffraff crawled out of their hovels. Darcy would have continued on, but he would n
ot expose Elizabeth to the immediate harms the obscureness brought on a beautiful young lady in the wrong part of town. It was time to seek lodging.

  Elizabeth pulled on his sleeve. “One more. For Jane and Mr. Bingley,” she insisted.

  Reluctantly, Darcy relented. He found it increasingly difficult to refuse Elizabeth.

  The tavern had a large window facing the street, and they peered through it.

  Darcy rubbed his eyes. Elizabeth rubbed her sleeve over the glass.

  Could it be?

  At a table against the back wall sat Wickham with a handful of cards on one side and his arm around a barmaid on the other. He laughed heartily as he threw his cards onto the table and gathered his winnings greedily.

  Elizabeth charged toward the door, and Darcy had to stretch his arm to stop her.

  She whirled around to face him, her eyes doubling in size and her mouth opening just as he felt something sharp poke him in the neck.

  A strange voice hissed in his ear, “I have a pistol in the other hand, Mr. Darcy. If you move, I will shoot the lady.”

  Chapter 29

  The lights from inside the tavern illuminated enough for Elizabeth to see the pistol pointed at her. But that was not what concerned her the most. The burly man pressed the tip of his knife against William's neck. The slightest pressure and William’s skin would break.

  Elizabeth held her hands up. If she shouted, the thief-catcher could kill William with a flick of his wrist. She could not risk it.

  Another man walked up to them. He held two ropes. Grabbing Elizabeth’s hands, he pulled them behind her. The rope scratched her wrists, and he pulled it tighter every time she tensed and struggled.

  He tied William's hands in front of him, shoving and jostling him as he did so while his companion kept the pistol aimed at Elizabeth and his knife at William’s neck.

  The whole affair could not have taken longer than a minute, but it stretched out mercilessly in the knowledge there was nothing Elizabeth could do to prevent it nor to improve their circumstances.