by Jennifer Joy
Elizabeth pressed her hand against her chest, relieved her instinct regarding Mrs. Holton had been correct. Looking up and down the alley, Elizabeth said, “Mrs. Holton, please forgive my presumption, but there is a good deal we must discuss with you. It is of the utmost urgency.”
The housekeeper looked behind her, the grimace on her face suggesting the conditions within her home were less than satisfactory.
Elizabeth added with a smile, “That is, if you do not mind the smell of my attire.”
Mrs. Holton reached out to touch the sleeve of Elizabeth’s dress, examining the stitches. “Smell can be washed away. It is the quality of a garment you must judge. This one is well-made. The stitches are small and even.”
“You can have it!” Elizabeth blurted, desirous of recovering her sense of smell and fretting that William would never embrace her until she rid herself of the odorous garments.
William surprised both of them when he said, “I would like to see your grandson with your permission.”
That was a request Mrs. Holton could not refuse. Opening the door wide, she allowed them to pass, squeezing by them in the narrow hallway and leading them to a warm room. The air was so thick and heavy, Elizabeth struggled to breathe.
William looked at the closed windows above the couch where a small figure lay wrapped under a mound of blankets.
The housekeeper twisted her apron in her hands. “It is not good for him here. The doctor has suggested pure, country air, but we have not yet saved enough to make the move nor to secure the medicine he needs,” she said.
William knelt beside the sleeping boy. The child could not have been a day older than five years. Thick, black eyelashes spread out over freckled cheeks. He was pale where his skin was not pink with fever.
Gently, William pushed the boy’s damp hair off of his forehead. “Mrs. Holton,” he said, “I must ask you some questions you will not wish to answer, but I beg you tell me the truth. Did Mr. Wickham use this child against you to secure your cooperation?”
Mrs. Holton’s chin trembled and she looked down at her feet. “You have every right to have me arrested. I thought that was why you came here.” With a sigh and a caress of her grandson’s cheek, she crossed the room. “I will get my shawl. The neighbor will watch him until my daughter returns home.”
Elizabeth reached for Mrs. Holton’s hand. “That is not why we are here. Please, Mrs. Holton, answer Mr. Darcy’s question.”
The housekeeper sat down when William nodded for her to continue.
Mrs. Holton laced her fingers together and began. “Mr. Wickham found out that my daughter and her child depended on me to provide for their needs. You see, my daughter is handsome — as handsome as Miss Bennet. She was presumed upon by her master. As a result, she cannot secure honorable employment. She washes — an endless pile of dirty laundry waits for her before sunrise, and despite her backbreaking labor, she hardly makes a dent in it before sunset. Her hands crack and bleed from the harshness of the lye. She often works when she is ill and should rest. I have always sent her what I could. But I had not realized how bad off she was, and how ill my grandson had become until Mr. Wickham delivered a letter from her to me.”
An alarm blared in Elizabeth’s head. “How did he come to be entrusted with a letter from your daughter?”
“She is known to Colonel Forster’s family. She is trustworthy and does good work. I can only suppose Mr. Wickham made the connection between her and me, sensed the opportunity her situation presented to him, and took advantage of my need to return speedily to my grandson’s side.”
William asked, “Why did you not confide in Mr. Bingley? He is a kind gentleman, and he would not have turned you away.”
Mrs. Holton’s eyebrows furled. “I wish more than anything I had done so, Mr. Darcy. However, his sisters had a way of undermining his orders behind his back when Mr. Bingley was unaware of it. Had I confided in him, they would have found out and ensured I was replaced without a reference.”
Elizabeth would have loved to contradict Mrs. Holton, but she believed Mr. Bingley’s sisters capable of such treachery.
Mrs. Holton continued, “What was more, Mr. Wickham threatened to reveal my daughter’s disgrace to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. At the time, I did not see I had much of a choice but to go along with his plan. In hindsight, I see my error more clearly.”
William pressed, “What else did Wickham say?”
Mrs. Holton took a deep breath. “He wanted my help to secure the time of your departure. He wanted to know when to expect you at the section of the road he had selected. As Mr. Bingley’s housekeeper, he knew I could ensure the carriage left on time and that he would not have to wait in the cold for longer than necessary. He assured me nobody would be hurt. He was supposed to relieve you of your valuables, nothing more.”
Mrs. Holton implored Elizabeth with her eyes, “When I found out your sister was to join us, I communicated with Mr. Wickham. He assured me he would do nothing with a lady in the coach. I still have the note.”
William sat up in his chair. “May I see it?”
Mrs. Holton opened the work box beside the couch where she no doubt spent a good deal of her time sitting beside her grandson. Pulling out a folded page, she handed it to William, saying, “You may have it if you can use it to bring him to justice. He lied to me.”
The way her tone hardened led Elizabeth to believe there was more to the story than Wickham going back on his word. “What else has Mr. Wickham done against you?” she asked.
Mrs. Holton answered, “He left you without protection even though anyone could see you would not last long out of doors with the snowstorm coming. I am so relieved to see you all survived.” The housekeeper’s eyes grew wide. “You did all survive, did you not?”
William answered, “Mr. Bingley is very ill, but both he and Miss Bennet are alive.”
Elizabeth felt nauseous at the thought of them in prison. It was a kindness William did not mention that detail to Mrs. Holton.
The housekeeper splayed her fingers over her heart and sighed. “I am sorry he is ill, but I am relieved they did not come to further harm. Mr. Wickham is an evil man. First, he robbed your coach even though there were ladies present. He struck you after binding your hands together. He murdered your coachman, denying him a proper burial, throwing his body into the first swollen stream we came across.”
William clenched his fists.
Mrs. Holton continued, “He took your carriage and left you and your party to die in the cold. We rode in it until we reached London. He had made arrangements to sell it and the coach horses to a man with fewer scruples than he. Mr. Wickham was to share the spoils with me and the other man who helped him. He arranged for us to meet with him at a tea house after two days had passed from our last parting. I went to the teahouse expecting to see the other man, but only Wickham was there.”
“What about the footman?” Elizabeth asked.
“He was scared out of his wits. When we stopped to dispose of the coach, he ran away.”
“And the man who helped Wickham overtake us? Did he eventually appear? Can he be found?” Elizabeth pressed.
Mrs. Holton clenched her hands. “To Mr. Wickham’s convenience, the young man had been in debt to some unsavory people here in town. They found him, and when he had no money to pay off his debt, they killed him. I can still see the smirk of satisfaction on Mr. Wickham’s face as he told me about it. It was then I knew who had been responsible for the young man’s early end. And it was then I knew I would not receive a penny from him to help my grandson. I could not have accepted my share anyway. Too much blood had been shed, and too many people had been harmed. I left the teahouse, and I have not seen Mr. Wickham since.”
“Why have you not gone to the authorities?” Elizabeth asked.
Mrs. Holton’s chin quivered. “He threatened to come after my family.”
Her grandson stirred, and she rushed to his side to settle him down. He moaned as if he were in a gre
at deal of pain.
William watched her attend to her grandson, his dark look softening into something Elizabeth could only describe as compassionate.
He said, “I want you to send for the doctor. You will take this coin, and you will purchase the medicine your grandson needs. When that is done, you must pack your household and prepare to leave this place. As soon as my home is safe, you, your daughter, and your grandson will stay at Darcy House until the boy is able to travel. If Mr. Bingley does not ask you to return to Netherfield Park, I will make a place for you at Pemberley. You cannot stay here.”
Mrs. Holton objected. “I could not possibly accept your kindness, Mr. Darcy. I do not deserve it. Not after what I have done to you.”
William was firm. “You will accept it for the sake of your grandchild. He has done nothing to deserve the consequences brought upon him by others' poor choices.”
He pulled out his leather pouch and handed over several coins. “I only have one favor to ask of you in return,” he said.
Mrs. Holton took the coins, speaking through a sob, “Anything. I will do anything you ask of me.”
“Wickham has been seen at a tavern called The Black Boar. Unless I send word otherwise, I want you to meet us there this evening at eight o’clock. Wickham’s crimes are many, and he must answer for them. After you parted ways with him, he murdered a man with whom I had argued in public before joining Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park. He put my pocket watch, the one he had stolen from me, beside the dead body, thus implicating me in his crime. The gentleman was a close friend of the Prince Regent, and I have been labeled a traitor in most of the newspapers. My friends are in danger because of this false accusation, and I am on the run. To prove my innocence, I need your help to accuse Wickham.”
Still taking in William's words, Mrs. Holton said breathlessly, “If you catch him, he will not be able to harm my family. Mr. Darcy, you have my word. I will not be late.” She pulled out a timepiece she carried in her pocket to prove her point.
Elizabeth exchanged her fragrant layers for a thinner, simpler dress and wrap, and she and William departed, leaving Mrs. Holton to send for the doctor.
The distance to Mrs. Fuller’s lodging house was not great, and Elizabeth’s head buzzed with the information Mrs. Holton had given them. So much had happened, so much had gone wrong, Elizabeth was hesitant to hope the tide had finally turned to favor them.
William slowed down. “The streets are busier than normal.”
He was right. People gathered in clusters, talking excitedly.
She and William picked their way down the street cautiously. Several individuals pointed in the same direction in which they walked — toward Mrs. Fuller’s lodging house.
Something was dreadfully wrong. Panic spread through Elizabeth’s limbs.
William sensed it too. He pulled her into the doorway of a shop where a group of people gathered nearby. The air smelled of ink.
The source of their disturbance was soon made clear when a boy pointed at William and shouted, “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the traitor.”
Chapter 35
Darcy’s pulse thundered in his ears so loudly, he strained to hear the boy's next words.
“Read all about the sensational scandal for only sixpence. Read the latest news and amaze your chums with the shocking story of Fitzwilliam Darcy, the traitor,” shouted the lad.
Darcy looked at the plaque above the doorway. It was a bookshop.
Heaving an exhale, Darcy relaxed … somewhat. The boy was only luring customers inside the shop in exchange for a few coins from the shopkeeper.
It was unlikely the lad knew how to read, but it was just as certain he would be more likely than anyone else to recognize Darcy’s likeness drawn in the paper.
Elizabeth stepped in front of Darcy, motioning with her hand for him to continue walking.
He wasted no time stepping around her to the pavement where Darcy strolled in the opposite direction they had previously been walking. He heard Elizabeth’s voice snapping over the murmuring crowds.
“Do we look like we have sixpence to spend?” she scolded.
Darcy’s inclination was to be offended until he remembered how they were dressed. At that moment, he was not the gentleman Darcy, but a servant without a name. And it had saved him. Darcy hoped he never forgot how humility had offered him protection where pride had only made his fall more spectacular and entertaining to his peers.
He strolled slowly as much to avoid drawing attention to himself as to avoid distancing himself too much from Elizabeth. Her quick thinking had helped them avoid another disaster.
They could not return to the lodging house.
Elizabeth caught up with Darcy before he had reached the cross street.
“We have no option but to hide somewhere else until the appointed time to meet Mrs. Holton at the tavern,” he said as she fell into stride beside him, her arm so close to his it brushed against his sleeve.
Elizabeth was as unwilling to allow worry to overwhelm her as he was. After days of running, looking over their shoulders at the sounds of whispers and footsteps and distrusting everyone who crossed their path, Darcy was tired.
She chuckled. “That boy will make his way in the world. He took full advantage of being in the right place at the right time to earn his keep. You will never believe what he told me after you left.”
Darcy returned her good humor. “You feel confident enough in your knowledge of me to claim to know what I will or will not believe? Very well, I challenge you to tell me something I will not believe.”
Her smile widened. “I asked him why everyone was pointing toward Mrs. Fuller’s lodging house, and he told me that one of the servants had gone to one of the local constables to inform him that Mr. Darcy was staying at her employer’s house.”
“No mention was made of a young lady?” Darcy held his breath.
“I took care not to ask too many questions or risk arousing the boy's curiosity.”
Shaking off his concern, Darcy said lightly, “Until now, you have not told me anything I do not believe.”
“I have not yet reached that part. After satisfying a small portion of my curiosity, the boy was willing to answer another question — in exchange for a few small coins, of course.”
“Of course. That boy will make his way in the world,” Darcy acknowledged.
“I did not have any coins to give him, but he seemed to take pity on me and asked what I wished to know.”
“What did you ask?”
“I asked if the constables had captured Mr. Darcy. Mind you, I was trying to throw him off our trail in case he recognized your drawing in the papers.”
“Well done,” said William. “And what was the boy’s reply?”
“He said that if we returned on the morrow, we could read all about it in the papers for only sixpence,” Elizabeth chuckled. “Did I or did I not say the boy would do well for himself?”
William stifled his laughter. “I hope the owner of the bookshop realizes how fortunate he is to have such a young man standing in front of his shop. If he is a wise man, he will soon employ him. Just imagine the work the lad would do with a full stomach.”
Elizabeth smiled up at him. “That is what you would do. Your kindness surprises me. You secured Mrs. Holton’s cooperation with your attention to her grandson. I do not doubt she will arrive on time and help us capture Wickham.”
“Put like that, it sounds self-serving.”
“I did not mean it that way. I am convinced you would have helped the child whether Mrs. Holton could have been of use to us or not.”
It warmed Darcy’s heart to hear the conviction with which Elizabeth spoke of his character. Since their first meeting, she had been prone to think ill of him. But now … now, the respect and praise she directed at him made Darcy determined to deserve her good opinion.
He rubbed his hands together, warming them before resting his fingers on top of Elizabeth’s hand. Darcy could only imagine how cold sh
e must be. The female wardrobe was not designed for warmth.
They slowed their pace as they drew nearer to the tavern. They had been captured there once before, and they could not afford for it to happen again.
The narrow streets and tall houses cast shadows and dimmed the daylight, offering them a multitude of dark hiding places.
Elizabeth tugged on his arm and nodded down a street that ran perpendicular to the one on which they trod. Darcy followed her line of vision to a large cavity in a dilapidated building with a lock holding the outside doors closed. The tavern would be visible through the alcove opening to the street. It was perfect.
They settled against the far wall, giving them the clearest view of the The Black Boar. If a new arrival held the tavern door open long enough, Darcy could see inside.
He wished he had his wool greatcoat instead of the thinner coat of a house servant. However, all regrets were forgotten when Darcy spread it out and Elizabeth cuddled into him, pulling the fabric over her and wrapping them together in it.
Darcy could sit thus forever — with the smell of her hair at his shoulder and her warm body against his.
He knew it was the height of impropriety, but sitting with his arms pressed against his side was both awkward and uncomfortable. Muttering an apology, Darcy wrapped his arm around Elizabeth’s waist.
She replied by leaning against his chest with her hand splayed out over his stomach, her finger looped through the button hole holding his coat over them.
The intimacy made his heart race, and when Elizabeth tilted her chin up and Darcy saw her parted lips and the twinkle in her eye, Darcy knew she taunted him on purpose. He could not marry Elizabeth soon enough. No matter how much time they had left together, it would always be insufficient. Darcy’s heart would flutter for her when they were old and gray.
He lifted his head away from the intoxicating scent of her hair before his distraction endangered them. Should anyone enter the street where they hid, they would have to draw deeper into the shadows to avoid being seen.
