by J Dawn King
“I allowed both Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley to keep their hopes inflamed by not clearly correcting their beliefs. They understood I would agree to their desires to be attached to the Master of Pemberley. No more. Because of this, Georgie, association with Miss Bingley has been severed. When Aunt arrives, which I have no doubt should be soon, I will make sure there is no question in her mind that I am master of my destiny, not she. Should she belligerently insist on keeping her course, she will be cut as well.”
“You truly believe she will come?” He saw a spark of fear in his sister’s eyes.
“The news of my engagement to someone other than Anne will spur her to leave Rosings soon, I would imagine. I expect her to come charging into London, possibly with Anne and her companion in tow, to attempt to force me to bend to her will.”
“That will not happen.” His sister’s confidence surprised him. At his raised brow, she clarified. “I have never known popular opinion to sway you, Brother. Aunt Catherine’s viewpoints were never popular with Father, and I cannot believe you would be any different. Besides, your support of me this past ten days has been against what is commonly done to daughters and sisters who were in my situation. Therefore, I will never believe you would willingly give in to pressure if it is not in the best interests of those you love and of our home.”
“Thank you, Sister.” He was overwhelmed and wished Elizabeth was there so he could clasp her hand in his own, knowing she would share the depth of his emotions and calm him.
“I do wonder, though, when will your final plan take place?” Georgiana was finally relaxed enough to begin to consume her meal. She paused with her tea cup halfway to her lips to await his answer.
Opening the paper resting next to his plate, he turned the front page so she could see.
“EXTORTIONIST LOOSE IN LONDON”. The words were in bold black letters, flowing from one side of the page to the other in an eye-catching font. Yet, it was the picture below that captured and held her attention. Darcy was pleased the artist had been able to make a good likeness from the miniature his father had commissioned of Wickham ten years prior. Adding thin lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth as well as thinning the hair at his temples, Darcy looked at the man George Wickham was today.
“Oh, William. This is brilliant.” Georgiana pulled the paper to her and read the caption under the picture aloud. “A reward of £500 is offered for information leading to the capture and arrest of George Albert Wickham.”
Darcy knew every word of the article below as he had considered every word carefully before submitting it to be published. The paragraphs gave many of the specific details of Wickham’s crimes as well as the direction to provide information of his whereabouts to the magistrate or Colonel Forster. Darcy expected there to be many false sightings, but they only needed one to be true.
Once his sister was satisfied with the knowledge, she tucked into her food with gusto. Darcy did the same, finally thinking she was well along on the road to recovery.
He had risen early and had spent hours in his study before breakfast. A stack of letters was waiting to be posted or delivered by his staff. Two had already found their way to their intended readers. The first was to Lord and Lady Matlock.
Dear Uncle Hugh and Aunt Helen,
Georgiana and I would appreciate your presence at a tea we are hosting to officially welcome Elizabeth to Darcy House tomorrow afternoon. She will be accompanied by her sister Miss Jane Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner. Undoubtedly Bingley will tag along as he appears to be inseparable from his betrothed. Richard and Miss Knowlton will also be in attendance.
Speaking of Bingley, his sister Miss Caroline Bingley, a social climber of the worst sort, attempted to force herself on Georgie yesterday by insisting on a visit while I was away from home. I have been perfectly clear with her that she is not to presume on my friendship with her brother. Her treatment of Elizabeth in the past guarantees our immediate withdrawal from any social events should I find Miss Bingley to be in attendance. Needless to say, an invitation to tea has not been nor ever will be extended to her or her sister, Mrs. Hurst, who tends to support Miss Bingley’s poor behaviour.
Georgie and I look forward to hosting you, although my dearest sister expressed a fluttering of nerves at having such a large group for her first time acting as lady of the house.
Darcy
He had no pity for Caroline Bingley, and he had even less for George Wickham. His second letter was to the jeweler.
Mr. Weston,
I was pleased to receive your message yesterday that the missing jewellery pieces had been found. Although I have no interest in my future wife wearing items which had been in the temporary possession of Mr. Wickham, I am perfectly willing to purchase a different set where a portion of your profits could be used to cover the cost of repurchasing the diamonds and amethysts from the moneylender.
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy
The loss to the jeweler would have been substantial had the jewels not been located. Most likely, due to longtime loyalty and good service, Darcy would have covered the cost to keep Mr. Weston from bankruptcy. He was grateful he did not have to take on that expense.
Several of the best pieces in the Darcy collection had been commissioned from the Westons. Never had the jeweler reproduced these unique pieces for purchase by others. The current owner, the great-grandson of the founder, was a small, timid man with a discerning eye for quality gemstones and an artistic flare far superior to any other jeweler in London. He would fashion a brooch for Elizabeth that would surely bring a light to her eyes. A rose formed from rubies with an emerald stem should do. She was a woman worthy of roses.
A private conversation with her the past evening had indicated her concern with his involvement in the apprehension, arrest, and punishment of his childhood companion.
“As I have come to know you better, William, I am distressed when I consider the potential for harm to both you and Georgiana when the former Lt. Wickham is arrested.” Elizabeth had moved close so her words would not be overheard. “Your nature is to amass blame and tie it about yourself like a scarf you could never remove. You shoulder the weight of the actions of others and, in this case in particular, this simply will not do.”
He wanted to pull her to him so he could hold her in his arms. That her thoughts of him led her to understand a fundamental part of his character pleased him much more than her words caused him concern. He would do whatever it took to please her, and he would do so for the rest of his days.
CHAPTER 28
Darcy also had the newspaper print large handbills which he paid as many young lads as the publisher had at hand to deliver to every business from Mayfair to the docks. Reports of sightings started pouring into the magistrate’s office almost immediately.
Curiosity seekers flocked to Darcy House where Georgiana remained safely tucked away above stairs. He was grateful when Mr. Gardiner and Elizabeth were announced. Help had arrived.
“I cannot believe this is the same quiet drawing room we visited a few days past. Are we, by chance, in the wrong home?” Elizabeth teased. The buzzing noise of the gossiping men and women had stopped when his butler had announced his beloved, only to resume immediately at his shockingly kissing her hand in their view.
He tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow and escorted her to stand with him in front of the fire. Mr. Gardiner took a seat at the back of the room. Darcy watched the man’s eyes sweeping over the gentry and aristocrats in the room. Elizabeth’s uncle had offered the supposition that Wickham had an accomplice who was housing him in the neighbourhood, guiding him in his acts of vengeance against the Darcys. Darcy doubted this was the case, but would do nothing to discourage Mr. Gardiner from pursuing his own investigation. Richard already had deep respect for the man, and Darcy appreciated Elizabeth’s uncle more each time he was in his company. How could the sharp businessman be related to Elizabeth’s mother? He buried the thought. He had more pressing matters to consider.
&n
bsp; Clearing his throat, he began the short speech he had prepared and had already delivered three times since visiting hours began.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am appreciative that you discerned the seriousness of the crimes committed against our peers by the notorious George Wickham and are concerned for your own safety.” At the mention of the name, breaths were indrawn and mouths dropped open like it was the first time they had heard the criminal’s name. “To best protect ourselves, we need to band together to restrain him from the wild talk he is guilty of—things so reprehensible I could not, in good conscience, mention them in the article.”
Again, a hush fell over the room. All eyes were focused on him.
One bold matron demanded clarification. The corner of Darcy’s mouth lifted slightly as if in a temporary spasm. “Are you certain, madam? His actions are too atrocious for the tender ears of the ladies.”
“Bah!” the elderly woman insisted. “I have not had tender ears since birth, not with the language my father used at home.” She was the daughter of a duke who had to be old enough to have grown grandchildren. Rumor has it that her speech was as notorious as her father’s had been. The others in the room nodded their support, women included.
Darcy paused until every single eye, including Mr. Gardiner’s, was turned towards him. He was on a theatrical stage, giving the performance of a lifetime. There were eighteen people in his drawing room, most from the first circles. He felt like he was a new exhibit at the Royal Menagerie. They gaped and gawked. They wanted every little detail so they could carry the tale to the next stop where it would be discussed ad nauseum until George Wickham became the worst criminal known to mankind—England’s version of Napoleon, or possibly Satan.
“Be prepared to be shocked.” As one, his guests leaned closer to not miss a word. Elizabeth squeezed his arm. “In October of this year, Wickham joined the militia in Hertfordshire as an officer. He abused this position of trust by leaving behind a mountain of unpaid debts and several young, innocent ladies damaged beyond repair, their families now in ruin because of his selfish actions.” He paused for effect. “He deserted.”
The room was filled with a chorus of “Good God!” and other assorted shocked expressions.
“But this is not the worst he has done, my friends. Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have solid proof George Wickham is guilty of fraud, extortion, attempted blackmail, adultery, fornication, drunkenness, cheating, and lies in abundance. If he does not get others to pay his debts, if he does not get what he charmingly demands, he slanders his victim’s good name, carelessly ruining reputations as he attempts to take what does not belong to him.” Darcy swept his arm around the room. “None of you are immune. He plays the gentleman well. He uses his easy manners to infiltrate good families and then attempts to destroy them for selfish gain. This unfortunate fact gives urgency to the need to apprehend him as quickly as possible.” The guests looked at one another and nodded. When they had settled, he delivered the coup de grâce. “The man is so evil, he has threatened to soil the name of my own dear sister who, as you are all aware, is not yet out in society. He has known her since her birth to be one of the sweetest, most good-natured girls in all of Derbyshire. Yet, he cares only for what he can force by attempting vile extortion from my household by attempting to blacken her reputation. Would that he keeps away from all of your daughters, sisters, and wives.” At that, he bowed his head, shaking it slowly back and forth. “Beware, neighbours,” he spoke softly into the hushed room.
Pandemonium ensued. Within seconds, an explosion of sound was heard. The ladies gasped and the men slapped their hands on their knees as they bragged about what they would do to the miscreant if he ever crossed their thresholds.
Elizabeth looked up at Darcy, her face close enough to feel his breath since his was still bent.
“Are you well, William?” she whispered her concern, her lovely eyes brimming with worry.
He winked. Only Elizabeth could see. Her lips pinched together and her nostrils flared. She was trying to keep from smiling, determined to win the struggle. He loved her more every time he saw her, and his confidence grew that they would have a fiery marriage, exactly what he longed for since he spoke to his mother all those years ago about the kind of husband he determined he would be.
As he refused to lift his head and make eye contact with anyone other than Elizabeth, the room quickly cleared, his guests in a race to see who had not yet heard this sordid tale. As the last guests were shown into their carriage by Darcy’s capable staff, Mr. Gardiner clapped, the sound echoing in the almost empty room.
“Good show, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth’s uncle stood and walked towards them. “All of it the God’s honest truth, each and every word. You painted a picture of a vile man leaving behind a trail of victims while not really telling them anything. The last touch, mentioning your sister, was brilliant. If any rumors are ever started about her circumstances, they will be charged to a deceiver rather than to her.” He held out his hand, which Darcy immediately took. Giving it a brisk shake, Mr. Gardiner continued, “You are a clever man, sir. I believe you to have proven yourself equal to my niece.”
Pride filled Darcy’s chest as he desired to wrap his arms around Elizabeth and pull her into a tight embrace so she could feel his pleasure at her uncle’s words.
Mr. Gardiner chuckled as he watched Darcy’s struggle to control his urge. “Soon enough, young man. Do not get too comfortable in your solutions, Mr. Darcy. We received word from Bennet that he is bringing his youngest daughters to London on the morrow. It appears Lydia has again got her way. She demanded to come to London, so to London she must come.”
Darcy rubbed his hand over his face as Elizabeth groaned.
“Lord, can we not have one day of relief?” he muttered.
***
Once visiting hours were concluded, Darcy was unable to keep Elizabeth at Darcy House. Her uncle had to return to work. They had crossed town to offer him support and now needed to be back at Gracechurch Street, so his betrothed could help constrain her mother’s demands for everyone to drop their tasks and see to her desire to visit every millinery and modiste in town for Jane’s trousseau.
He did not envy his beloved. Shaking off his melancholy, he left Darcy House, heading towards the magistrate’s office. Hopefully someone had actually spotted Wickham, and they could end this mess.
He arrived to find both Richard and Colonel Forster involved in a heated argument. Richard claimed right-of-command since he had known Wickham the whole of his life. Colonel Forster claimed the same since Wickham had most recently been under his authority. Darcy’s head was pounding from the stress of entertaining people he had little respect for and the pressure of balancing each word to make sure he revealed enough without revealing too much.
“Quiet!” As far as he was concerned, Darcy outranked both men. He was the general in this war. “We will use our intellect and our energies to find Wickham and bring him to justice. If either of you cannot see the wisdom in this, then leave—now.”
Ignoring them, he enquired of the magistrate as to his success.
“Mr. Darcy, the reports have been all the way from ridiculous to possible. Runners are following up every viable clue.” He held up a stack of papers with long columns on each page. “Men like Wickham have the tendency to act in familiar patterns. Although they try to adjust their ways, they forget the ordinary. We look for these same patterns. With an abundance of people making claims, we can sort through them easily enough until we get a clear picture of what Wickham would most likely do.”
“Would you clarify, sir?” Darcy asked as the other two men quieted to listen.
“Yes, sir.” The magistrate placed the papers on his desk and indicated Darcy and the other men take the chairs in front of him. “What we look for are mundane tasks people who break the law do not consider. For example, a person trying to hide his identity often forgets to change his gait as he walks or the side of the street he generally strolls. They positi
on their hats the same way they always do with the brim pulled down over their eyes or up on their brows. Like a skilled gambler watches their prey for nervous clues, we do the same. What we have learnt about George Wickham is his preference for coffee over tea before he breaks his fast.”
“How do you know this?” Richard demanded as he shook his head in confusion. Even Darcy knew George always requested a cup of strong, black coffee in the morning.
“Simply put, we asked.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Mrs. Younge staunchly refused to give us information until we made the questions ridiculously simple. She, like most others do, assumed we were stalling for time by enquiring of Mr. Wickham’s daily habits, when we were gathering helpful details we could use.”
Colonel Forster asked, “How can these simple facts be important?”
The magistrate patiently replied, “When a report comes in that George Wickham was breaking his fast at a club, we ask about his beverage of choice. If they reply tea, we know the information is most likely false. However, because we have a series of questions about his early morning habits, we can narrow the possibility of whether or not the information is correct while the informer is still here.”
