The ride back to Pemberley might have taken a quarter hour or much longer; Darcy could not say. All that he remembered was mounting Seneca at the block outside the inn, and now here he was being jarred into awareness of his surroundings by the clatter of his horse’s hooves upon the cobblestones of his own stable yard. When he took out his pocket watch as a stable lad led his mount away, his eyes opened wide at the story the hands told. An hour! He looked after his horse, his tail swishing slowly as he was led to the grooming post. Truly, Darcy had only Seneca to thank for his eventual arrival home, for the time and scenery that had passed between those two events were completely lost to him. An hour. With any luck the others would still be working their way through Caroline Bingley’s alfresco and leave him to continue uninterrupted the wrestling within his chest that had begun at the first sight of Elizabeth’s stricken face.
What should he do? The question had consumed him during the entire course of his return. What he could do, he had quickly determined. His resources, his connections, his personal knowledge of Wickham’s tastes and habits urged upon him the conviction that it was he who was best placed to find the missing couple or direct others in the recovery of Lydia Bennet. But what he could do was not the decisive factor in what he should do. Here was the sticking point, for to this juncture his success at choosing shoulds had been worse than lamentable. Indeed, his missteps in this area were the origins of the crisis at hand. With a shudder, the guilt of it struck him anew.
More to the point, in a family matter as delicate as this, the hand of a virtual stranger would be most unwelcome. Well did he know the lengths to which a family might go to protect itself. It had to be the object of Elizabeth’s family to involve as few as possible before the final disposition of their daughter was accomplished, whether in honorable marriage, distant seclusion, or eternal disgrace. Further, the Bennet family certainly had no sort of claim upon him that might prompt them to enlist his aid or justify his offering of it. Presumptuous…interfering…unwelcome! Darcy stripped off his gloves and slapped them against his thigh in high irritation with the frustrating but accurate descriptions of any assistance he might offer or action he might take. It seemed that the only acceptable action was complying with Elizabeth’s plea that he say nothing.
Entering his study, he quickly closed the door and threw himself into his chair. A deep frown sharply slanted his brows as he mentally reviewed the situation. Say nothing! Of course, he would comply with her plea when it came to society in general; but his entire being strained against the inaction that propriety demanded. It was all so absurd! He knew how to begin, where to go, whom to enlist. He had the resources to buy any information he might need in pursuit of an acceptable conclusion to this disaster, and he was, without doubt, sufficiently motivated to accomplish it all as well! The memory of Elizabeth’s inconsolable weeping swept through him once more with painful clarity. Oh, he would never forget the encounter! Even now, her helplessness and misery grieved him so acutely that his entire fortune seemed a small price to relieve her suffering.
“Wickham!” Darcy ground out as he pounded his fist on the desk and bounded from his seat. Running a hand through his hair, he strode about the room. What would be the outcome if he did not involve himself ? Ghastly! It was highly unlikely that a man of Mr. Bennet’s limited resources and country temper would alone succeed in finding his daughter in the stews of London. The pursuit could bankrupt him and take months or longer. Even were he successful, the girl’s reputation and, therefore, her family’s would be torn to shreds. Certainly, no one in Hertfordshire would ever forget the scandal, and the disgrace would cling to the remaining sisters, following them anywhere in England they might go. Scandal! He shook his head. The power and fear that word could evoke! Yet its effects fell so very unevenly across Society. What caused gasps and titters when committed by one — Lady Caroline Lamb’s highly public indiscretions flashed through his mind — was the ruination of whole families in others.
Darcy checked his stride and paused at a window to look out on the neat, orderly gardens of Pemberley. The horror of scandal had kept him silent before. Oh, he had saved Georgiana and jealously guarded the Darcy name, but with that he had been content. He knew Wickham, had known what sort of man he had become, known that if he could so use Georgiana, he could have no compunction about seducing others. Who knew what other young women Wickham had deceived, debauched? But Darcy had been satisfied with fencing his own pasture and had spared no thought for the defense of his neighbor’s. Here was the result! Elizabeth’s family was only the most recent to suffer, but that it was the family of the woman he loved and to whom he owed so much cast his neglect into even darker hues. Darcy took a deep breath. It was certain that the only possible path to resolving the matter for the Bennets was a marriage. A less satisfactory solution would be a respectable but distant retirement for the girl and prison or a foreign military post for Wickham. Either solution would require financial and social resources far beyond those available to Elizabeth’s father or uncle.
And then, Darcy’s breath caught, there was Elizabeth! His mind, his heart flooded with waves of longing that threatened to drown his every rational faculty. The chances for Elizabeth to contract an advantageous marriage had always been slim. Now her prospects were all but nonexistent. The thought of her as another man’s wife had never been anything other than difficult for him to contemplate, but now the prospect of any sort of happiness attending her future was deeply in question. Darcy closed his eyes against the yearnings of the past that would enfold her into his protective care. He must think clearly!
Both she and her sisters — he pulled himself back to the question at hand — both Elizabeth and her sisters would be forced to marry below their station if they married at all, and if respectable men could be found who would overlook the taint upon the family. Unbidden, a picture arose of Elizabeth as the wife of some poor farmer or clerk, toiling daily through a mean existence that drained every ounce of her vivacity. Darcy’s teeth clenched as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. Groaning, he tried to push the vision away, but it would not quit the center stage of his imagination as he saw her, a shadow of the woman she could have been. It nearly drove him mad! It also decided him. He turned back to the room, his gaze taking it in as if it were all of Pemberley laid before him. No, he would not stand aside from her need! If his fortune could purchase an acceptable solution and give her a chance for happiness, perhaps his prestige carefully applied to the right man — Elizabeth’s uncle came immediately to mind — could override objection to his involvement.
With new energy, Darcy returned to his desk and pulled open his calendar. Running a finger down his schedule, he noted his appointments and then pulled out paper and ink. His steward would be scratching his head at what he would read, but that could not be helped. Sherrill was a good man and would rise to the challenge of the responsibilities Darcy was about to give him. What mattered now was speed. He must be in London as soon as possible, even if it meant little rest or traveling on Sunday. In a hand that reflected his haste, Darcy put his signature to a second letter, this one to be sent ahead of him to the city, and blew lightly upon the wet ink while his mind raced to all that he must accomplish before he could leave. Then, folding it, he made for the door and handed both letters to the first footman he encountered with instructions for their direction. The sound of voices in the main hall alerted him to the return of his guests from their breakfast picnic. He could ill afford the time for engaging in social niceties or foiling Caroline Bingley’s little plots and stratagems. Turning to the stairs, he took them two at a time and, when he had reached his chambers, pulled insistently upon the bell.
“Fletcher!” Darcy was upon his valet before the man had a chance to catch his breath from his unexpected summons up two steep flights. “We are leaving for London tomorrow. You must pack only what is necessary, for I will not be entertaining or going about Town in the usual manner.”
“London, sir?” Fletcher wheezed in surprise. “Tomorrow? Good Heavens, sir!”
“Pray that it is so, and that Heaven will be good.” Darcy paused, the look of bewilderment on Fletcher’s face setting him to wonder whether taking his valet into his confidence might be the wiser course. “We go to the rescue of a young woman, Fletcher,” he finally added, a ghost of a smile creasing his face, “an activity with which you and your finacée have some experience, if I recall.”
“Y-yes, sir,” his valet agreed uncertainly. “When do you wish to depart?”
“Six, absolutely no later. That will be all — No, wait!” Darcy caught the man before he could bow. “Tell no one until later tonight; then you may let it be known among the servants. I will inform Mr. Reynolds, but my guests are not to know until I tell them.”
“Yes, sir.” Fletcher bowed.
“And send a servant to find Miss Georgiana. I wish to speak with her at once.”
“Immediately, Mr. Darcy!” Fletcher quickly bowed again and disappeared behind the servants’ door. For a moment, Darcy stared at the closed door, his valet’s steps receding into silence. A deep sense of wholeness spread through his soul, accentuating as it did so the sweet freedom of a clear conscience granted by having come to a decision that he could act upon.
“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana appeared in the doorway in response to his call of “Enter!” Darcy looked up from his portmanteau just in time to catch the smile upon her face fade into puzzlement. “What are you doing? Packing?” She looked at him in astonishment.
“Yes, dearest, I leave tomorrow at first light.” He dropped what was in his hands and went to her.
“But, our guests…” She looked up at him as he took her hands in his. “And Miss Elizabeth?”
Darcy looked down into her eyes and marveled at the calm self-possession he found there. The quality of mercy…Yes, that was what he saw there, the effects of mercy and the wisdom its bestowal had brought to her. The urge to tell her his plans was strong. Georgiana, of all people, would understand what he was about to do.
“It is on behalf of Miss Elizabeth that I must leave you here to entertain our guests, sweetling, and travel to London for I know not how long.”
“London! For Miss Elizabeth?” He could see her curiosity warring with an awakened concern and a proper reserve.
“Yes. Elizabeth…Miss Elizabeth received some distressing news by post just moments before I was introduced. She was so distraught that she confided its contents to me in a most unguarded fashion.” He paused. “It is a matter, oddly enough, that touches on our family and for which I hold my own actions to be a highly significant factor.” He looked deeply into his sister’s eyes. “I promised Elizabeth my silence, but it involves Wickham, my dear.” Georgiana gasped, and for a moment, the old look of pain and shame crossed her delicate features, but these emotions were rapidly replaced by intensity.
“Wickham and Miss Elizabeth? You must tell me, Fitzwilliam!” she demanded, her grip on his hands tightening, her regard of him steady.
“Wickham has…has compromised Miss Elizabeth’s youngest sister —”
“No!” Georgiana breathed it out in a strangled whisper.
“I fear it is so.” He looked at her apprehensively, but she nodded and motioned that he continue. “He has taken her to London and effectively disappeared. The post pled for Miss Elizabeth to return home to Hertfordshire and for her uncle to assist her father in his search. I expect they are already gone. Georgiana.” He sighed. “I cannot think but that if I had exposed Wickham for the danger he was, this could not have happened. Perhaps I am wrong, but at the moment I can only accuse myself of behaving with no thought for the protection of anyone beyond our own family.”
“And so you go to London to assist in the search?” Georgiana finished for him. “They will not want it.”
“No, they will not; therefore, I will make them no offer but will employ my own means in secret. Which brings me to this next.” He caught her eye. “You must tell no one and carry on here yourself. Can you do that?” He cocked his head at her. He was asking much of his young sister, but as he put his hands on her slim shoulders, he felt them straighten to the task.
“Yes, I can; it is the least I can do.” She looked him full in the face. “It was for me that you kept silent, Fitzwilliam. We must put that right; we must help Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy smiled at her “we” and put a palm to her cheek. “You have become such a lady that I dare not call you ‘my girl’ any longer. Lord Brougham warned me it was so and, as in so much, he was right.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, I must finish my packing. I will announce my departure at dinner tonight, not before; and you must plan your own strategy, Miss Darcy!”
The profound consternation of his guests when informed that Darcy was leaving them to their own devices might have gratified the conceit of a lesser man, but after briefly acknowledging their disappointment, he refused to entertain long faces or petulant looks. Instead, he plunged into the next matter, that of insisting that his guests treat Pemberley as their own while he was gone from them, ending with the small caveat that any large entertainments should be discussed first with his sister.
“Dash it all!” Bingley exclaimed at the news of the unnamed emergency. “What deuced bad luck! And everything has been so agreeable…more than agreeable,” he murmured. “When will you return, Darcy?”
“I cannot say. It is completely in the hands of Providence.” Darcy’s mouth assumed grim lines. “But I believe it will be a matter of weeks rather than days.”
“Then p’rhaps we should think of pushing on to Scarborough.” A new chorus of disappointment from his sisters greeted Bingley’s words, but he pointedly ignored them. “Unless” — he peered into Darcy’s face — “unless there is any way in which I might help you.” Bingley’s earnest offer was gratifying to behold, for not long ago he would not have dared even to think he could stand as his friend’s support.
“No, I thank you.” Darcy steadily returned his regard. “If the matter were such that you could help, I would pounce upon your offer; but as it is…” He let the sentence dangle.
Bingley nodded. “Well then, we shall keep Miss Darcy company.” He winked at his friend. “And plunder your trout stream in the meantime. I know of nothing else so likely to hasten your business in Town.”
“Indeed.” Darcy smiled back. “But having observed your skill with rod and reel, I have not the least concern for the health and safety of my trout.”
Upon bidding his guests adieu and retiring to the sanctuary of his bedchamber, Darcy found his valet awaiting him in his dressing room with all at the ready. A single trunk, closed but as yet unbound, stood discreetly to one side awaiting his inspection while a solemn-eyed Fletcher, caught in the midst of evening preparations that would end only after Darcy ordered him to bed, bowed.
“Good evening, Fletcher.” He looked down at the trunk. “Packed to satisfaction?”
“Yes, sir. I believe so, sir.” His man moved toward the article in question. “Do you wish to —”
“No, I have every confidence that it is complete for our purposes. Send it down with my bag, if you please.” Fletcher bowed, reached for the bell rope, gave it a stout pull, and then bent to the task of strapping and locking the trunk.
When he finished, he turned back to his master, the solemnity of his manner unchanged. “If I may, sir?” Darcy nodded his assent to the curiosity he knew Fletcher had manfully controlled throughout the evening before turning him his back to begin disrobing. “May I know more about our mission?” He eased the coat from Darcy’s shoulders and placed it on a chair. “A lady in distress, I am to understand?”
“Yes, but wait!” A knock had sounded at the servants’ door, causing both men to tense. “Enter!” Darcy called out. “There.” He motioned the entering footman toward the trunk. “Take it below for tomorrow morning, if you please; and remind Morley that the coach is to be ready by first light. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” The footman hoisted the trunk to his shoulder and headed back down the servants’ stairs. Darcy waited until the sound of his footsteps had receded to silence before turning back to his valet.
“Yes.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat. “That is correct — or almost correct.” Fletcher’s eyebrow went up. “The lady may not yet realize that she is in distress, but she most certainly is. Of that there is no question!” Darcy leaned toward his man as he handed him his waistcoat. “Your discretion is of the utmost importance in this matter, you must realize, the utmost importance!”
“Yes, sir!” Fletcher’s eyes lit up even as Darcy fixed upon him an intense look.
“It involves the Bennet family.”
Fletcher’s excitement turned to horror. “No, sir…not Miss Eliz ——”
“No! Rest easy on that score.” Darcy began untying his cravat. “But it is one of her sisters, the youngest. She has run off in what she expects to be an elopement but what I am most certain is not. I know the character of the man,” he explained grimly. “It is George Wickham.”
“Wickham? One of Colonel Forster’s lieutenants?” Fletcher questioned. “ ‘A Plumper and too ripe by half’ was the word among the servants in Hertfordshire, sir. But I understood that the Colonel’s regiment was in Brighton.”
“You understand correctly, but the Colonel’s wife must have Miss Lydia Bennet as companion. So off she went to Brighton as well, without her parents or other relative as chaperone.”
“A bad business, sir.” The valet shook his head.
“As is now seen,” Darcy agreed, handing him the cravat. “I came upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet only moments after she received this news from home. She was understandably distraught and confided to me more than she might have otherwise, I am sure. You know what this means, Fletcher.”
“Yes, sir. ‘Disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,’ censure for all concerned unless the young people can be found and made to marry.” The valet’s features sank into lines as grim as those of his master, reminding Darcy that the widening effect of Wickham’s perfidy encompassed Fletcher’s nuptial hopes as well. Until Elizabeth was wed, Fletcher’s Annie would not entertain thoughts of leaving her mistress for her own matrimonial desires.
“There you have it.” Darcy nodded and passed his shirt to the valet. “It must be accomplished, or the parties must be bought off and sent into a sort of semiexile. I can conceive of no other acceptable solution that will provide the family — the young ladies — protection from the ‘outcast state’ of your sonnet. As it is, even should we succeed, the seemliness of the affair will be as thin as a veil.” He paused before his mirror, ready to avail himself of the hot water from the washstand in front of it. “So thin, so very thin, Elizabeth!” he whispered before bringing the water to his face. He then turned back to Fletcher. “But perhaps that is all that will be needed. Society has certainly entertained greater scandals with less concern. Let us hope that this may be one of them.”
“I devoutly pray it be so, sir.” Fletcher’s chin hardened as he held up Darcy’s dressing gown and pushed it over his shoulders. “And how shall I assist you, sir? I am even more at your command.”
“I have no conception as yet, save for the conviction that I shall stand in need of your powers of observation and your uncanny ability to come upon information when needed, which you displayed so well at Norwycke Castle last winter.” A slight smile creased Fletcher’s face. “Not to mention that I expect to be keeping very irregular hours, which must not be allowed to alarm the rest of the staff. It will be a dicey bit of work, Fletcher.”
“Yes, sir.” The valet gathered up Darcy’s discarded clothes. “But allow me to observe that the lieutenant, as despicable as he is, is in nowise the same class of fiend as was Lady Sayre or her daughter. I would not lay any odds in favor of him eluding you, sir.”
“Let us hope that will prove true. Now, get some rest.” Darcy waved him off. “We leave at six; I shall expect you at five-thirty.”
Fletcher bowed at the servants’ door. “I have no doubt of your success, sir,” he replied as he rose and, for a rare moment, looked Darcy full in the face. “No doubt at all. Good night, sir.” Inclining his head once more, he closed the door.
Two evenings later found Darcy encamped at Erewile House with only a skeleton staff to do the small amount of cooking and cleaning that were required in the extraordinary circumstance in which he had chosen to put himself. As an added precaution, he had directed that whoever answered the door admit only those on a select list, claiming that the family was not home to any others. Mr. Witcher’s bushy white eyebrows went up for a moment at such instructions, but trust and affection for his young master carried all questions before them, and the old butler merely nodded his head at the strange orders.
The first thing was to locate Wickham in the interminable warrens of London. When Darcy had given his final instructions to the staff and sent Fletcher on an errand, he sat back wearily at his desk, stretching his limbs and rubbing at his eyes. There were any number of mean districts in Town that might harbor a couple bent upon anonymity, and he was familiar with none of them. Even if he should go and make a search, he would immediately be noted as an outsider and mouths would close. A bribe would, undoubtedly, serve as an adequate wedge, but word of his presence would have gotten out, and the birds would have flown before he located the nest.
There were only two avenues into the underworld of London, he had determined, that held any promise — Dy’s contact at St. Dunstan’s church and the network developed by the Society for Returning Young Women to Their Friends in the Country, to which Georgiana had introduced him. First, a note to the head of the Society must be sent off at once. Then, since he had had no word from Dy since the day of the assassination, he would need to meet personally with the sexton at St. Dunstan’s and, if at all possible, tonight. Pulling a sheet toward him, Darcy flipped open the inkwell and drew out a pen.
“Dear Sir,” he wrote. “I have come upon an instance of the deception of a young woman from a respectable family and ask for the Society’s assistance.”
An hour later the common cab Darcy had hired to carry him and Fletcher pulled to a stop at the back of a darkened church. St. Dunstan’s was not a large building, but it was the most solid-appearing structure in a neighborhood that looked to be held together only by the grime and misery long resident there. The heat of summer had accentuated the smells that wound through the fetid streets and alleys, which even as late as it was, still undulated with the wary comings and goings of their wretched inhabitants.
Climbing down, Darcy flipped the driver a coin, which the man snatched handily out of the air and immediately bit. “Remember.” Darcy put a hand on the reins. “Back in a half hour and safely to my lodgings and twice that shall be yours.”
“Aye, gov; me an’ ol’ Bill be right ’ere, awaitin’.” The cabbie nodded. Darcy released the reins as the cabbie flicked them. “Gee-up now, Bill.” The cab moved on into the night. Watching it pull away, Darcy took a firmer grip on his walking stick, the heaviest he owned. Unfortunately, it was also the most ornate and contrasted mightily with the plainest of attire in which Fletcher could be convinced to dress him.
“I see a light, sir.” The valet pointed up to a small corner window on the second floor. “It must be the sexton’s quarters.”
“Good — now to find the door.” Both men stepped forward, only to be immediately accosted out of the darkness by a beggar pleading for enough coin for a bit to eat. Before her plea was finished, two others joined them, little more than children. She turned on them, kicking them away. In moments the street was thick with urchins and derelicts, some interested only in the brawl while others were attentive to the strangers who were its cause. “On your life, show no fear,” Darcy hissed to Fletcher, “and follow my lead.” Slowly he backed up to and along the church’s wall, being careful to display the fact of the walking stick as he did so.
“I’ve found the door, sir,” Fletcher gasped. “It is locked!”
“Knock, man!” Darcy brandished the solid brass knob at the crowd that was now hooting and calling out insults as well as demands. It was most likely the noise of the crowd rather than Fletcher’s knocking that attracted the sexton’s attention, for the door opened suddenly behind them, and heavy hands on both their shoulders drew them in and behind a man of stunning proportions. Cries of disappointment rose from the mob.
“Do no behef so,” the giant called out in heavily accented English. “Trit straungers lack dis? No! Go home; pray Fadder forgif. Go!” With that advice or command, Darcy knew not which, the man closed the door, turned to them, and held his candle to their faces. “Who?” was all that composed his simple question.
“Darcy. I am a friend of Lord Brougham.”
“Lordt Brougham?” The giant was clearly at a loss.
“Lord Dyfed Brougham,” Darcy tried again.
“Oh, Mr. Dyfedt!” Relief shone on the man’s face. “Yes, I know Mr. Dyfedt, but I not know Lordt Brougham. Brudder, maybe?”
Darcy smiled. “Perhaps.” Of course Dy would not be known by his real name here! What was he thinking? “Mr. Dyfed told me to find you if I needed his help. Can you contact him for me?”
The sexton drew back. “Name again, please.”
“Darcy…and this is my man, Fletcher. Mr. Dyfed knows us both,” he said and pulled out the slip of paper Dy had given him. “Here is his pledge.”
The sexton took the paper and held it up to the candle. Nodding, he returned it to Darcy. “Yes, Mr. Dyfed.”
“Can you get a note to him?”
The giant shook his head. “Ach, no. Ist business?”
Darcy shook his head wearily. “No, a young woman in danger. He knows people here who might be able to help me find her and restore her to her family.”
“Yong voman? Hmm.” The man’s brow furrowed. “Not business?”
“No, not business; a personal matter in which I know he would wish to lend assistance.” Darcy sighed.
“Then perhaps I can help you,” came the reply in perfect English. Both Darcy and Fletcher stared at the smiling giant. “But first let me offer you gentlemen some refreshment. You have had a hard night of it, I think.”
Drawing back, Darcy stared up into the amused eyes of their rescuer and tightened his grip once more upon the brass-crowned walking stick he had brandished at the unruly lot outside the door. The giant’s rumbling laughter in response filled, then echoed off the circular stone walls of the stairwell. “Please, sir, come up. If Mr. Dyfed sent you to me, you can have nothing to fear at my hands. Please…” He indicated the steps. Still uncertain as to the wisdom of accepting, Darcy cast a glance at Fletcher, but his manservant was otherwise engaged.
“Tyke? Tyke Tanner?” Fletcher stepped toward the giant, whose regard now swung to him in surprise.
“Who…?” he began, then stopped, his eyes nearly starting out of his head. “Lem? Lemuel Fletcher? I’ll be!” Reaching out a great paw of a hand, he clapped Darcy’s valet a hearty slap upon his back. “Ten years, has it been? Unbelievable!” That observation summed up Darcy’s sentiment as well. How in the world did his valet know this man? “And your parents! How are Mr. Farley and Mistress Margaret? Still atread the boards, I’ll be bound!” Treading the boards? Darcy turned to his man, his brow cocked, awaiting Fletcher’s answer with more than a little interest.
“Ah, no.” Fletcher glanced at his employer nervously. “They have retired to Nottingham.” He cleared his throat. “But how did you come to be here and sexton of a church? Not your sort of role, Tyke.”
Tanner’s gaze flicked back to Darcy, and he hesitated. “Perhaps your gentleman would welcome that refreshment and a seat to enjoy it in, Lem. Sir.” He tugged at his forelock in Darcy’s direction. “I am completely at your service.”
Darcy nodded, not at all satisfied with his understanding of what had just passed, but his cause for being in this unlikely situation was too pressing to puzzle it out now. “Lead on.” Tanner ducked his head in polite response and started climbing the winding stone stairway. A partially open door lay at the second landing, and at this he stopped and waited for them to precede him into the room. Darcy looked back at Fletcher, one brow quirked in question. The valet’s assuring smile was not entirely gainsaid by the wariness in his eyes, but it was a consideration. There was nothing for it but to trust to Dy’s instructions and the contacts those instructions offered to him. Really, given what he now knew about his friend, the odd nature of his contacts should not have been surprising. He looked up into their guide’s eyes again and wished to Heaven that this one were not so odd and so blasted large at the same time!
Gathering his resolve, Darcy stepped past the giant and into the room, Fletcher treading behind him, and then their host. Tanner paused to close the door and took the further precaution to lock it and hang the key on a hook to the side. Turning, he smiled at them and hurried over to the fire to swing a kettle above the embers, then began a search for the apparently rare clean cup. In an instant the man’s large frame became comic rather than threatening as he hurried awkwardly about his hosting duties in the confines of the low-pitched room that served as kitchen, sitting room, and bedchamber, all the while apologizing for its cluttered, unkempt appearance.
“Please, sir, have a seat.” He dusted off an ancient chair. “The water’ll be hot in no time. Lem, can you lend me a hand?” Fletcher looked down at Darcy. He nodded, and Fletcher followed Tanner to a table that served all its owner’s needs for a flat horizontal surface. Evidently, they had interrupted their host’s meal, for a plate with an enormous haunch of meat lay at one end while a mound of papers, pens, and an inkwell graced the other. True to Tanner’s word, a cup of hot tea appeared at Darcy’s elbow in record time. After handing Fletcher another, the great man stepped before Darcy and tugged again at his forelock. “Sir? How can I help you?”
“Tanner.” Darcy looked up into the curious eyes of Dy’s contact. “Mr. Dyfed gave me to know that any time I needed to find him, I was to come here, but he is not to be found, you say.”
“No, sir, and I cannot say when he will be found. More I cannot say, sir.” Tanner’s jaw flexed firm. There would be no more information in that quarter. “But perhaps I myself or some others of Mr. Dyfed’s friends may be of service?” Tanner’s eyes did not flinch from Darcy’s studied scrutiny, nor did he seem uncomfortable in his humble stance before him. Darcy considered his options. They seemed to come down to the fact that Dy trusted this man. Could he claim any more delicate a need for secrecy than Dy?
“It is a personal matter requiring the utmost confidentiality and discretion,” Darcy began slowly. “A young woman’s reputation, rather her entire family’s reputation, is dependent on her swift location and rescue from a man of base character. All my information indicates that she and the man came to London a week ago and have disappeared into the meaner parts of the city.”
“A kidnapping, sir?” Tanner’s beefy face hardened.
“No.” Darcy shook his head. “The young lady went willingly, and it may yet be that she remains enamored and desires no rescue. But she must be found and brought to her senses and out of the power of this man.” Darcy took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on their host. “I desire only help in locating her. I will endeavor to do the rest. Can you help me?”
Tanner’s eyes flicked to Fletcher’s for the briefest moment and then returned to Darcy. “Yes, sir, I can help you; and I will.” An angry whistle escaped him. “A common enough story; though it still makes my blood boil, begging your pardon, sir.”
Darcy negated the apology with an upraised hand. “The man’s name is Wickham, George Wickham, and the lady’s is Lydia. I will not say her family’s name. Lydia should suffice. She is a small, young woman, only sixteen years old, of good but not noble family. Wickham holds the rank of lieutenant and is absent without leave from the —— th Militia stationed at Brighton. He has little money and few friends. He is about my height, dark hair, thin. He has a weakness for gambling.” Darcy pulled a small package from his coat pocket. “You will find a tolerable likeness of him in this.” He handed it to Tanner.
“Oh, this will be of great help!” the giant exclaimed as he unwrapped the parcel and held the miniature up to a candle. “How shall I contact you, sir? You must know, you should not come here again.”
Darcy nodded. “Leave messages with my groomsman, Harry, at the mews for Erewile House, Grosvenor Square. Harry has no notion of this affair but will faithfully deliver whatever is given him.”
“It shall be done, sir. Whether there is news or no, I will send to you morning, afternoon, and evening of what has been done and discovered.”
“Excellent!” Darcy stood up. “I could ask no more!” He looked around the room again, curious about this man who probably knew more about the real Dy Brougham than he did. His gaze came to rest on the piles of papers on the table, unusual to be sure. “That is a prodigious amount of paperwork. I had no idea a sexton…” He paused, his curiosity overcoming his caution. “If that is what you truly are.”
Tanner’s smile was guarded. “Oh, I am the sexton, sir, when there is time. But people don’t bother the sexton in a place like this, especially one who speaks little English.”
“How did you come to be here, Tyke?” Fletcher joined them. “My father wrote when you left eight years ago, and he had not heard from you since.”
Tanner sighed. “Lem, it was the worst decision I ever made, and yet the best, given the way it ended. I left your father’s company and followed this troupe down here to London, believing the leader’s big talk of fame and fortune. We never got into even one respectable theater. Soon it was steal or starve; and when I said I would rather starve, they let me. Then, it was sick with the pneumonia. No place to go; sick as a dog and weak as a kitten.” Tanner’s eyes misted. “The minister here found me on the street and took me in. Nursed us with his own hands, he did, and was rewarded with a fatal case of it himself.” Tanner wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Pardon me, sir,” he said to Darcy, “Peter Annesley…” At the name, Fletcher started; but at Darcy’s look, he remained silent. “Peter Annesley was a prince among men. He introduced me to Mr. Dyfed, and between them…Well, a lot has changed for me. Mr. Darcy…” Tanner turned back to him. “Will you stay here while I find you a cab? The street is likely clear, as much as any street in this part of London is clear; but you saw how quickly a man of your appearance can attract attention.”
“I required the cab we arrived in to return for us. It should be along soon,” Darcy stated with more conviction than he felt.
Tanner looked at him dubiously. “Well, that may be, sir; but I’ll have a step round and make sure before you venture out. If you please, sir,” he added as a sop to what they both knew was Darcy’s privilege to do as he desired.
Darcy nodded. “If you will, but we shall accompany you as far as the door. Fletcher,” he called over his shoulder.
“Here, sir.” Fletcher put down his cup of tea directly, smoothed out the creases in his coat, and presented himself to his master. Tanner unlocked the heavy portal, swinging it wide on well-oiled hinges, and they walked down to the entrance door in silence.
“If you would wait here a moment, sir.” Tanner’s request rumbled down more like a command. He was out and closing the street door behind him before Darcy could make any reply. Snorting at the giant’s high-handedness, he turned to Fletcher, whose eyes shifted away immediately he caught them. Ah, yes…Fletcher. Darcy warmed to this new mystery and turned his full attention upon his manservant.
“Fletcher, you will oblige me by explaining exactly how you know this man.” He crossed his arms and settled back on one heel, his brows raised. “I am all anticipation, I assure you.”
“Ah…well, sir,” the valet began but then stopped. “You see, Mr. Darcy…”
“No, I do not; that is why you are going to tell me…in plain, truthful English! I received the distinct impression that Tanner was part of an acting troupe both before and after he left your family.” Darcy fixed his valet with a piercing regard.
With a great sigh, Fletcher nodded his head even as his shoulders slumped. “Yes, sir. It’s the truth, sir. My parents are — rather, they were — actors.”
“Shakespearean actors, I assume.” Darcy waited for the assent he knew would be forthcoming. How much this explained! No wonder Fletcher quoted the Bard like a son; he had been raised on him!
“Yes, Mr. Darcy, although they were never what one might call ‘famous.’ The troupe played only small to middle-sized towns, never London, nor even York or Birmingham. But they did know Shakespeare, sir, all the comedies and a number of the histories. They are retired now.” Fletcher put an emphasis on the “now.” “They were respectable in their own way, sir. Never cheated a customer nor stole.” He drew himself up painfully stiff. “But I quite understand if my services are no longer required.”
“Do not speak such rubbish, Fletcher.” Darcy snorted. “I am sure your background can have no influence upon your present position. It might explain your flamboyant attitude with respect to neckcloths and your ability to quote the Bard so handily, but it is no reason for me to discharge you. And,” he ended, “I have no doubt that your parents are exceptional people.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” Fletcher’s shoulders relaxed.
The doorknob turned, and Tanner slipped his impressive frame around the door and back in. “Your cab is waiting, sir. You need to leave straightway, before it attracts attention.”
“Thank you, Tanner.” Darcy offered his hand to the surprised giant, who took it wonderingly into his. “You have my confidence in this. Any expenses you incur shall, of course, be covered; so do not fear to spend what is needed to acquire what I want.”
“Yes, sir, and you are welcome. Now, you must go! You will hear from me soon.” Tanner drew open the door and bustled them out into the night and up into the cab. “Grosvenor Square, and look sharp, Jory,” he rumbled at the cabbie. “He be Mr. Dyfed’s friend. No tricks!”
Monday morning saw Darcy in Lord ——— ’s study, where he laid out the matter of Lydia Bennet to the president of the Society for Returning Young Women to Their Friends in the Country. His Lordship listened carefully, taking notes as Darcy labored to give him all the particulars he could without putting the identity of Elizabeth’s sister in jeopardy.
“A difficult case, indeed.” His Lordship sighed as he put down his pen. “Unfortunately, it is not a unique one. On the contrary, it is quite common. Young country miss meets dashing officer smacking of the world and excitement, and there is no stopping the mischief that results. You realize” — he looked at Darcy earnestly — “that she may not yet wish to leave her officer. Depending on how flush he is, it may be quite some time before disillusionment sets in or until he tires of her.”
“Yes, My Lord, I realize that.”
“I fear that if the young lady is as heedless as you indicate, Darcy, there are only two realities that may move her. The better is that the officer has or will shortly run out of money. The other, far less desirable” — he dropped his eyes momentarily before fixing them upon Darcy again — “is that he has been cruel to her.”
Darcy nodded grimly. “I am prepared for both eventualities, but thank you for your warning.”
“Then I shall advance this information to our people.” His Lordship rose and extended his hand. “You will hear from me directly any news arrives. They needs be buried very deep in London to escape the Society’s notice, sir, very deep. They shall be found.”
Pushing away the remainder of a light repast, Darcy rose from his desk, scattering the scraps of notes from Tanner that lay among the dishes and the first draft of a note he’d sent off to his cousin Richard. Wearily, he pulled his pocket watch from its resting place and held it up to the study’s clock. Three-twenty. His morning interview with the head of the Society seemed an age ago, but the times of clock and pocket watch marched together perfectly, each click of the hands marking off another moment of his lack of progress in relieving the disgrace Elizabeth endured. The scene at the inn at Lambton, her shame and desperation, and the tears that had traced down her cheeks were ever before him, spurring him on. Yet time perversely dragged its feet even as his feelings of urgency mounted.
A knock sounded at the door. “Enter!” Darcy called out. Another note from Tanner lay on the servier Witcher placed upon his desk.
“From Harry the Groomsman, sir.” The butler sighed. “Yet again. What could be so important that he must be sending notes all morning…” His query faded away at his master’s expectant face.
“Thank you.” Darcy snatched up the scrap of foolscap. What he read caused him to call after his retreating butler. “Witcher, hold there.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I will be going out and have no notion of when I may return. Please tell your good wife to lay by something in the larder for later tonight. I shall find it when I return.”
“I shall tell her, sir.” Witcher’s bushy white eyebrows twitched ominously. “But she will not like it, sir, especially with the way you have been keeping to yourself and holding odd hours.”
Darcy laughed for the first time in days. “Tell her she may spoil me with her cooking soon!” He waved the note at his butler. “This may lead to what I have come to London to discover.” He tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. “Send a boy for a hack, Witcher. I must leave at once.”
A half hour later, the hackney driver opened the door of his cab with a flourish at the sight of Darcy’s somber elegance. “Where will it be, sir?”
“Edward Street,” he called over his shoulder as he mounted the carriage’s step. “Yes,” he affirmed when the driver’s widened eyes darted up at him, “Edward Street and as quickly as can be.”
Tyke Tanner’s note had been brevity itself. “Mrs. Younge. 815 Edward Street.” Darcy stretched out his legs as much as the hackney carriage would allow. He had supplied Tanner with the name of Georgiana’s former companion even though he could not guess whether the lady and Wickham had remained on good terms since their connivance against him at Ramsgate. For her complicity, she had been turned off without a character reference. She might well hold a grudge against him for the loss of a highly remunerative situation. But if thieves were thick, as the saying went, perhaps she would have rumor of Wickham or even have seen him.
Darcy settled back into the cushions of the hired carriage and noted their progress through Mayfair, then the government districts, and into the east side of London. He gripped his brass-knobbed walking stick. Edward Street was unknown to him, but he guessed it would not be in the best part of Town. Therefore, when the hack came to a stop in an upper-working-class neighborhood, he was somewhat relieved that the walking stick he carried would find no more employment than as the article of distinction for which it was intended.
“Edward Street, sir,” the cabbie called down. “Any particular address?”
“No, let me out here,” he directed. “I wish to walk.” The cabbie clambered down and opened his door. Darcy gave him the fare and two shillings more. “Walk your horses around the block until I am ready, and your time will not be wasted.”
“Your obedient.” The cabbie tugged at his forelock. “Me and my lady ’ere will jus’ take the air, so to speak, sir.”
Darcy nodded and, tucking his walking stick under his arm, began a saunter up the street. It looked a respectable neighborhood. If Wickham and Lydia Bennet had taken refuge here, he would at least give Wickham credit for seeing her protected from the rougher elements of Town. Not every building retained its number, but 815 Edward Street was easily discerned, its number artfully painted on the door below the sunset window at the top. Steeling himself for the confrontation, Darcy mounted the stairs of what appeared to be a rooming house and rapped his stick upon the door. It opened at the hand of a young maidservant.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there ain’t any rooms. Try the inn down the street an’ over one.” She motioned after his retreating cab. “Jus’ follow the cab there, sir, an’ you’ll see it.”
“Thank you,” Darcy responded to her bid at helpfulness, “but I have come to see Mrs. Younge. I was given to understand that she lives here.”
“The mistress?” She looked at him, taking in the quality of his coat and his complacent air. “No one told me that the mistress was expectin’ a gentleman.” She warily looked down at the calling card he extended. He gently placed a shilling atop it. Quicker than a Covent Garden pickpocket, she snatched the shilling, secreting it down the neckline of her dress, and took his card. “If you would follow me, sir?” She turned from her guard of the door and let him in.
Instead of asking him to wait while she went up to inform Mrs. Younge of her guest, the girl continued down the hall to a room at the back and knocked on the door. “Mr. Darcy to see you, ma’am.” She ducked her head to the room’s occupant and quickly stepped back to admit him just as a faint, strangled cry issued from the interior.
“No — Oh! You stupid girl! Close the door!” Darcy stepped into the open doorway as his former employee rose from her desk in agitation. With a countenance the color of blancmange, she stared at him as if at a ghost. “M-Mr. Darcy!”
“Mrs. Younge.” He offered her a small, ironic bow as she sank into a curtsy.
“I hope…you are well, sir.” She examined him covertly, visibly struggling to regain some composure.
“I am well, Mrs. Younge, as is my sister. Miss Darcy is very well, indeed.” He looked at her steadily, willing her to meet his eyes. “But I did not interrupt your afternoon to exchange civilities.”
“I cannot imagine…”
“Can you not, ma’am? Think on it, I beg you.” She turned quickly from him, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. “What possible connection might still exist between us that would bring me to your establishment today?”
Slowly, she turned back to him, a look of caution mixed with cunning on her face. “Wickham.” She almost smiled but caught herself. “Miss Darcy —?”
“Is very well, as I said, and in nowise connected to my business here with you.”
“I see.” The lady sank into her chair behind the desk. “And just what is your business with Wickham, Mr. Darcy?”
“Then you have seen him?” Darcy jumped upon her words.
A tick at the corner of Mrs. Younge’s eye revealed her annoyance at her misstep. “Perhaps.” She rearranged the papers lying on the desk before her, then looked up at him. “What do you want with him, sir? Do you seek him as friend or foe?”
“That will depend entirely on Wickham, ma’am. If he can quickly be made to see where his best interest lies, he may in the end be glad to have been found.”
“Indeed?” Speculation had now clearly joined with cunning. “How glad?”
“That is a matter between Wickham and me.” He leaned over her, fixing her with inflexible purpose. “Tell me, madam,” he demanded, “do you know where Wickham is? Is he here?”
Her lips pursed as she boldly returned his stare. “I cannot help you.”
“Cannot or will not?” he replied quietly, then looked about her small office. “I imagine that, as a woman of business, you expend yourself in only those endeavors that will result in some form of profit.”
A half smile appeared as she inclined her head in admission. “When I was dismissed from your employ, I lost a very good situation. I was fortunate to keep body and soul together. I learned an age ago that I must look after my own interests in whatever form they may come to me.”
His mind leapt to her dealings with Georgiana. The carelessness of her words awakened a surge of anger, but now was not the time. They must both measure every word. “That was made quite clear last summer in Ramsgate, madam!” he returned in the same quiet tone. “No one’s future may be permitted to stand in the way of your interests.”
Mrs. Younge dared to shrug her shoulders at him. “It is the way of the world, Mr. Darcy, certainly of your world no less than mine.”
“No, not all the world, Mrs. Younge.” He straightened and stepped back. “I will make it worth the while of anyone who can give me Wickham’s direction.” He made to leave but turned back at the door. “You must know, madam, you are not my only resource. Others, who have no personal interest save in the doing of good, are also looking for him. I would not wait long, were I you, to decide to place your trust with me. They may find him first, and that, I believe, would not be in your interest. You know where to send word.” He bowed. “Good day, madam.”
Walking briskly down the hall, he nodded to the maidservant and let himself out. The hackney was just making the turn to come up the street again when he stepped to the curb and lifted his walking stick in salute. The driver pulled his horse to a halt before him. With one foot on the step, Darcy noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye, and looking over his shoulder, he spied a boy of no more than eight fade slowly into the alley between 815 Edward Street and its neighbor.
“Wait a moment,” he commanded the cabbie and strode over to the dark passageway.
“Don’t ya be worryin’, govn’r,” a young voice greeted him from the depths of the alley. Darcy stopped and squinted into the duskiness, barely able to see the face of his quarry as the boy peeped at him from around some barrels and boxes. “Jus’ you go home,” the voice continued. “I’ll be awatchin’ the old mort ’n’ send word ta yer groom if she bolts.” The boy’s head bobbed. “Mr. Tanner’s compliments, sir.”
“And mine to him,” Darcy replied and turned back to the waiting hack.
“Fitz! What the Devil is this about?” Richard strode into Darcy’s study before Witcher had a chance to announce him. “No knocker on the door, warnings to keep mum that you are in Town, and a dashed imperious command to make my appearance!”
“Was it imperious? I beg your pardon, Cousin.” Richard’s brow hitched up in wonder at Darcy’s apology, but he said nothing. “Lay it down to the urgency of the matter in which I need your help,” Darcy went on.
“My help?” Wonder changed to astonishment as Richard fell into a chair. “Say on!”
“I need your help, or rather the help of your connections, in finding Wickham.”
“Wickham! By God, it’s not Georgiana…!” He started back up out of the chair.
“No…no, something else entirely but about which I may not speak. He is absent without leave from his regiment, and I have every reason to believe him to be here in London. Where might such a man go to hide from the military authorities? Are there places, people, to whom he might go?”
“Possibly…probably! I know where to begin inquiries at any rate.” The Colonel looked at his cousin in curious concern. “You cannot tell me anything? Since it is Wickham, I have no doubt as to its perfidy, the poxy little weasel. You could hardly shock me.”
Darcy grimaced in agreement but shook his head. “No, I am sorry, but I can say no more. It involves others who may not be named.” He sat down in the chair opposite his cousin. “I do not want you to do more than find out where he is; I shall do the rest. Do you understand?”
“Yes…and no.” Richard drew out the words slowly. “But I shall do as you ask.” He paused, looking at his cousin from under peaked brows. “Do you realize how fagged you look? When did you arrive in Town?”
“Yesterday evening.”
“Late?”
“Late…and before you ask, I left Pemberley that morning.”
“Good God, Fitz! This must be of the utmost importance then.”
“It is.” Darcy sighed, absently rubbing his fingers back and forth over the arms of his chair. “I must find him as soon as is possible.” He looked into Richard’s frowning countenance. He wished nothing less than his cousin’s immediate attention to his task, but common civility and the lateness of the hour demanded a nod to the requirements of hospitality. “But I find that I am quite at leisure for the rest of the evening. Have you eaten?”
“Not if Mrs. Witcher’s is the hand!” Richard grinned.
“Billiards after?”
“A rack. I must oversee a new set of blockheaded young officers tonight. Officers? Children!” He snorted. “But I shall begin my inquiries immediately tomorrow and send round should I discover anything.”
“Thank you, Richard.” Darcy rose and took his cousin’s hand in a tight grip.
“You are welcome, I am sure.” Richard grinned at him. “But I would rather Mrs. Witcher’s plum duff than your thanks. Will supper be ready soon?”
With a certain grim sense of satisfaction, Darcy looked down at the card which had arrived that morning in the middle of his breakfast. It was from Mrs. Younge, of course. The name of her boardinghouse imprinted on the front, it was graced with a simple, straightforward note upon the back: “11 o’clock. £300.” Yes, he frowned as he tucked the card into his waistcoat pocket, the woman knew her own interests, and they had not included being unduly coy about the betrayal of a former conspirator. It had taken three days to arrive at the extravagant figure of three hundred pounds, but one had to begin somewhere, and time was precious to both of them. The longer Elizabeth’s sister was without the countenance of a relative during her sojourn in London, the harder it would be to retrieve her character, if indeed, that could still be done.
It took only minutes to conclude the business before Darcy was once again in a hired hack, a second card in his hand with the direction of an entirely different part of Town written on its back. As Darcy read it to him, the driver’s face expressed more than a little surprise, but with a shrug, the jarvey shut the carriage door, climbed up into his perch, and slapped the reins. Settling back into the greasy cushions as the hack jerked into motion, Darcy contemplated the task before him. As he had planned during the hours between Pemberley and London, he would apply to Elizabeth’s sister at the outset. Her response would decide his course. If Lydia Bennet proved to be intractable, as Lord ——— of the Society had suggested, then the success of his mission would rest entirely upon his dealings with Wickham. Darcy knew that the latter was the more likely scenario. Wickham would have to be bought, and bought well, in order to agree to the sorts of conditions that would serve to retrieve the characters of the many he had brought into disrepute. But it was not the amount of coin which would be required that was Darcy’s concern. No — his jaw clenched tightly — it was that it was Wickham.
The hack slowly wound its way through meaner and meaner streets until the driver stopped and, knocking on the door, announced that he could take him no farther. Gripping his brass-knobbed walking stick with a firm hand, Darcy descended from the conveyance, purchased the driver’s time and promise to await his return, and set off in the man’s vaguely offered direction to his destination. Within moments of entering a veritable warren of streets lined with dank, wretched buildings, he was thoroughly confounded and forced to ask for directions. Yes, the fine gentleman was in the right neighborhood, just one street over from his desired address, as it were, and yes — a hand reached out — a few shillings would be appreciated. Darcy dug into his pocket and dropped the coins into the girl’s dirty palm. Good God, he thought, as he continued on, in what sort of place has Wickham taken refuge? The prospect of Elizabeth’s sister in such surroundings made his skin crawl. Elizabeth would be horrified! He could only hope that Lydia Bennet shared at least that much of her sister’s good sense. She might then be quite eager for rescue.
The rooming inn that answered to the address on his card stood a cut above its neighbors, but that was not saying a great deal. Darcy’s gaze encompassed the unsuccessful attempt at the whitewashing of the walls and the yard within. Both spoke of better days gone long before the hostelry had fallen into the bad company of the encroaching neighborhood. He looked down at the card again. This was surely the place. Darcy breathed deeply, his chest filling with the rancid air of this sad place. The time had inevitably come. His chest grew tight. No, no…he must rule those old emotions! He forced himself to let the pent-up tension release. The degree of happiness to which Elizabeth was entitled, that which he passionately wished for her, depended upon how he conducted this interview.
Taking a step into the yard, he looked into the small, cramped windows of the upper floor that surrounded it. A flash of movement at one caught his eye, and he looked into the smoky glass to see a delicate-shaped face peering down at him. His heart stopped. It was Lydia Bennet, but her resemblance to Elizabeth was just enough to give him a start. Lydia’s face disappeared. He must act quickly. Darcy leapt for the hostelry’s door. Ducking his head as he entered, he quickly crossed the tavern floor and ran up the narrow steps to the rooming hall.
“Wickham.” He called the name down the hall in a voice that held every expectation of an answer. Silence reigned for several moments; then, suddenly, a door opened with a flourish and Wickham stood there, his neckcloth loose and soiled but his head high. “Darcy,” he acknowledged him, a smirk upon his lips as he shrugged his waistcoat closed.
Darcy advanced upon him. “I have come about Miss Lydia Bennet.” Stopping directly in front of Wickham, he looked him squarely in the eye. “I know she is within.”
A hint of wariness flitted across Wickham’s face and as quickly disappeared. “She is why you are here?” His tone was disbelieving. Straightening, he threw back his shoulders in an attempt to block Darcy’s view of the room behind him. “What can you possibly want with her?”
“At present, my business is with you, but I also desire to speak with her and her alone. I trust you have no objection.” Darcy regarded him evenly, conveying as little as possible in his face or voice.
“Of course, I have no objection…if it is business,” Wickham replied. He stepped aside and called over his shoulder, “Lydia! You have a visitor,” then turned back to Darcy with a speculative gleam.
A pair of wide eyes in a flushed countenance appeared next to Wickham’s shoulder. “Mr. Darcy…to see me?” The girl looked up at him doubtfully.
Darcy bowed to her. “Miss Lydia Bennet, may I speak with you in a few moments?” he asked, then added with a glance at her companion, “privately.” At her mute nod, he bowed and turned to Wickham. “Shall we go below?”
Wickham shrugged his shoulders as he buttoned his waistcoat. “If you wish.” With a fleeting salute upon Lydia’s cheek, he turned and without a backward glance sauntered down the hall, leaving Darcy to follow.
Ducking his head to enter the taproom, Wickham then straightened, flung his hand toward a shadowed table next to the far wall, and looked back at Darcy with a raised brow. Nodding curtly, Darcy strode to the table while Wickham informed the innkeeper that they required the house’s best.
“An’ who’s to pay fer it is what I wants to know,” the man growled. “Haven’t seen a bit o’ the brass —”
“My companion will pay, never fear.” Wickham interrupted his speech. “Two of your best, now, and keep the glasses full.” He turned back to Darcy with a brief smirk. “Keeping Lydia is not cheap, and I know you will not mind the expense.” He sat at the table and lapsed into silence while the innkeeper brought their brimming glasses and set them down with an indecorous slam.
“I’ll see the brass first,” he demanded. Meeting the man’s pugnacious look with equanimity, Darcy fished inside his waistcoat pocket and laid some coins out on the table. “All right, then.” The innkeeper’s big hand swept up the coins. Hefting them in his palm, he peered at them for a moment before nodding his satisfaction and leaving the two men to themselves.
Darcy turned back to Wickham in time to catch him warily studying him. Immediately, Wickham looked down to the drink before him and grasped the glass for a long first draw. Darcy did likewise but kept his quarry squarely in his sight. Both glasses were put down on the table, almost in unison. “George,” Darcy addressed him with the name of his boyhood.
Wickham’s gaze flew up to his at the sound. He then wiped at his mouth and sat back. “Darcy,” he responded, a note of tightness in his voice, “perhaps you will now be so good as to tell me why you are here. You must have gone to some lengths to find me. Is it Colonel Forster that you represent? I should think he would believe himself well rid of as unhandy an officer as I.”
“You truly cannot guess my reason?” Darcy regarded him with a mixture of astonishment and disgust that he labored to disguise. “It is, of course, the young woman above! What can you have been thinking to play so carelessly with such a young girl and a gentleman’s daughter as well?”
“I am not to blame!” Wickham bristled indignantly. “Not entirely, at any rate. She would come with me, the silly chit!”
“Why did you leave your regiment, then, if not for the purpose of taking advantage of her?”
“You know very well why!” Wickham grimaced darkly. “I found myself to be quite impossibly in debt. My honor was vigorously called into question by some sniveling brats with quarterly allowances that would set me up for a year. It followed soon after that satisfaction was demanded forthwith. Naturally, I was obliged to leave!”
Darcy’s lips pressed together, stifling a heavy sigh. It was ever thus with George Wickham. “And now what, George? What are your plans?”
“I have not the slightest idea, as yet!” Wickham paused to swallow the last of his glass, then pounded the flat of his hand upon the table to catch the attention of the slatternly woman behind the bar. “Another round, there’s a dear.” But instead of the mistress, a scrawny boy appeared with the pitcher from behind the smoke-darkened bar and carefully filled the glasses with the frothy brew.
“All right an’ tight, govn’r?” he asked with a slow wink only Darcy could see.
“Yes, that will do.” Darcy recognized the urchin Tyke Tanner had designated to shadow him. Good, he thought, Wickham will not be able simply to disappear. The boy pulled on his forelock and retreated to the other side of the taproom.
“I shall resign, of course, but where I shall go or what I shall live on, I cannot say.” Wickham pulled a weary face and sipped at the new foam atop his glass.
“And the young person upstairs?” Darcy persisted. “Why have you not yet married her? Although her father may not be imagined rich, he would be able to do something for you!”
“Marry Lydia? Good God!” Wickham looked at him in mock horror.
“You must have some feelings for her, to have engaged her affections so far as to convince her to fly with you.”
“No convincing was necessary, let me assure you.” He took a gulp of his ale. “She was quite happy to go adventuring.”
“Adventuring! Wickham, she is a gentleman’s daughter! She can no more return to her life after this without marriage than —”
“I promised nothing but some fun and a chance to spite those who did not appreciate her lively spirits.” Wickham leaned over the table, his hand tightly gripping his ale. “Any ill consequences may be squarely laid to her folly alone.” At Darcy’s silence, he sat back and took another gulp. “It was never my design to marry the chit!” he growled. “Her family is scarcely wealthy enough to suit my requirements. Believe me, Darcy.” He raised his glass to him. “I have finally come to see my limitations. My only recourse is to marry very, very well, and that will not likely happen in this part of the country with my debts shadowing me like a hangman. No, I shall have to go elsewhere. Scotland, perhaps, or I understand that there are some exceedingly rich Americans who think an English son-in-law is just the thing to add to the respectability of their names.”
“You realize we are at war with them.”
Wickham shrugged his shoulders. “South America, then, or a rich planter’s daughter in the Indies. It is all the same.”
“I see.” Darcy eyed him steadily and prepared to set out his bait. “What if there were a more immediate source of relief for your present situation? Not as great as a planter’s heiress, by any means, but a comfortable solution.”
The familiar gleam of avarice sprang into Wickham’s eyes. “I might be persuaded, if the solution is suitably ‘comfortable,’ as you say.” He paused, regarding Darcy shrewdly, then asked, “But come now, Darcy, what is your interest in this? How is it that you have become involved?”
There it was, the question he knew would come. Darcy slowly leaned forward, his eyes holding Wickham’s. “Interest? My interest is simply this: that you cease to be a menace to innocent young women. I kept silent concerning your seduction of Georgiana and in so doing have allowed you to prey upon others. If I had spoken, the girl upstairs — and possibly others — would have been kept safe from your careless use of them. But I did not speak, and your indifference to the consequences of your appetites has brought the respectability of an entire family of my personal acquaintance into disrepute. What my silence has effected, I will all do that is in my power to put right.”
“What do you propose?” Wickham had not flinched at the recital of his behavior but shifted forward to the edge of his chair in anticipation. Darcy sat back and held his peace, allowing Wickham to shoulder the weight of beginning the negotiating. “I suppose that a wedding would be expected,” Wickham advanced cautiously.
Darcy rose. He had Wickham’s attention, and that was all he wished to secure at this juncture. Let him flail about in uncertainty for the present. “I wish to speak to Miss Lydia now, if you please.”
“May I come in?” Darcy inquired gently as Lydia Bennet pulled her eyes away from Wickham’s retreating figure and turned them up to him in confusion. She was so very young. How had this been allowed to happen? Neglect, his conscience answered, a neglect not so very different from yours. “I assure you most solemnly,” he continued, “I mean you no harm, but I should not wish any neighbors you may have to overhear our conversation.”
“If you must,” she replied and motioned for him to enter the tiny room. Inside was only the meanest of bedsteads, a rickety table and lamp, and an equally unstable chair. Clothes, bottles, and dishes lay about the place, all in a state of profound disarray. As he turned his regard back down to her, her tense attitude recalled to him Georgiana’s protest that his presence was intimidating even to those who loved him. In such cramped surroundings, his height could not help but seem threatening to a very young woman in her circumstances. He carefully lowered his weight onto the chair, composed his face in what he hoped were beneficent lines, and examined his charge.
It was quite obvious that Wickham had done little to see to her comfort. The gown she wore was rumpled and stained, her hair was a tangle. It appeared that she had come with little more than could be packed in a valise. They were, very likely, all but destitute. His hopes for the interview rose. “Miss Lydia, please be at ease. I have not come to offer you an insult,” he assured her. “I come as…as a disinterested acquaintance to ask you to consider the position into which you have been led and to provide a way to return to the anxious bosom of your family with as much honor as may be.”
If it were possible, Lydia’s eyes opened even wider. “What?” she replied, every evidence of astonishment upon her face. “Are you joking?”
“I assure you, I am not,” he answered, surprised by her response but maintaining his composure.
“I am to be married,” she informed him smugly. “I shall be Mrs. George Wickham and quite honorably so, if you please.”
“Has a date been set, then?” he asked, his regard steady.
“N-no,” Lydia admitted, turning away from him. “We must wait until some horrible people who are jealous of George can be repaid some trifling sums.” Her words were merely a recital of an excuse she’d had from Wickham. Poor girl, she believed the wretch. “Really, it is most unfair!” She rounded on him suddenly. “Why must people be so cruel to my poor Wickham?” She looked at him, her eyes accusing. “And you are among them. George has told me!”
“My relationship with Wickham is a long and difficult one, Miss Lydia.’ ” He shifted his position, the chair threatening to take him to the floor. “My presence here has nothing to do with that, nor any tale of hardship with which Wickham has entertained you.” At his words, Lydia’s chin tilted up in a manner so like Elizabeth’s that his heart nearly seized. He persisted. “Please, hear me. Your family are beside themselves with worry for your safety. Since Wickham cannot, as you admit, offer you marriage at this time, why not return to your family until he can come to claim you with all honor?”
“It will not be so very long” — she bristled — “and I do not wish to leave.” Her pose as a soon-to-be-married woman dissolved into girlish intransigence under his piercing regard. “Oh,” she cried, stamping her foot, “why should you be here and say these things to me?” An unhappy thought must then have occurred to her, for she stiffened, her face turning cautious. “Is my father waiting below?”
Darcy allowed a few moments of silence to separate her outburst from his answer. She must understand clearly what little he could tell her. “No, your father is not here. I am here by no one’s urging or plea.”
“Oh.” She breathed out again and shook herself slightly. “Well, then.” In a moment, she clapped her hand to her mouth, then giggled and hugged herself. “I’ve done it, haven’t I! Oh, they shall all be green with envy of me, every one! And how I shall laugh!”
“Laugh at the distress of your family and all those who wish them well? For that is what it is, Miss Lydia. They suffer no envy, but fear for you and reproach for themselves.” He searched her face, hoping for some twinge of conscience, but his words had not, evidently, found a home with her.
“It all will not matter a jot when I go home a married woman,” she informed him airily and turned away to the window.
“You think not? It would be very strange if that were so, and I assure you that your sisters Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth do not regard the matter in such a light.” His statement appeared to give her pause, for she turned back to him. “You would not wish to live under the disapprobation of two of your closest relations whose chances for an advantageous future would be considerably lessened by such actions on your part.”
Lydia’s lips formed into a pout as her eyes slid away from him. “My sisters! My sisters will do very well, or would if they…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes shifted back to him, now bright with suspicious curiosity. “How do you know of my sisters’ regard or, for that matter, about any of this? Lizzy doesn’t even like you; no one does that I ever heard, except for Mr. Bingley.”
The dart, so inelegantly flung, still possessed a sting. Darcy rose from his seat in irritation with both himself and his antagonist and strode to her. The child was entirely self-absorbed, dangerously careless, and hopelessly naïve. How was he to make her see the truth of her position? He looked out the small, grime-laced window for a moment and then turned back to her. “You must know that your sister was to travel with your Aunt and Uncle Gardiner during the summer.”
“Yes, a boring trip north.” She sniffed in disdain. “No parties or balls or picnics. Only Aunt and Uncle Gardiner prosing on and on.”
“On their travels,” he continued, “they stopped to view my estate in Derbyshire. It was there that your sister received word that you had entrusted your future to Wickham. In great distress at this news, your sister confided in me. She and her party left immediately for Longbourn, your uncle to join your father in searching for you.” He paused. Here was the difficult part. “My long association with Wickham put me in a better position to find you both; therefore, I resolved to do so and without their knowledge should I raise their hopes but meet with no success.”
“I still cannot imagine why you should care to trouble yourself,” she replied tartly. “We will be married — in time. My friends will be happy for me. There is nothing so terrible about that, that you should come here and say I should leave George.”
“Can you not imagine the precarious position in which this puts the respectability of your family? They will, if they have not already, become a byword in the neighborhood.”
“Oh, the neighbors!” Lydia stamped her foot. “Old, catty busybodies with no use for fun! Who cares about them? I do not!”
“But your sisters —”
“I shall see to getting them husbands, shan’t I? For I shall be married and before them all!”
Darcy held his silence when she had finished. Lydia Bennet was not to be reasoned with or shamed into leaving her illicit lover. She seemed to have no understanding of the consequences of her actions for herself or her family, nor had she any concern to discover what her behavior would cost them. He looked down at the hat and gloves in his hands in order to conceal the unsettling nature of his thoughts. Unlike Lydia Bennet, his sister had known what she was doing and repented of it, if only at the last. This child — he glanced up at the bedraggled and defiant girl before him — flesh and blood of the woman he loved, had no such advantage. How was he to convince her to give up her dangerous toy? He had only one resource left and, fortunately, permission to use it. Still, he would employ it discreetly.
“Miss Lydia, would it influence you in any way if you knew you were not the first young woman George Wickham has convinced to fly with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I have personal knowledge of another who was deceived by Wickham’s blandishments and promises into consenting to elope with him. It was clear that his reasons for courting her without the knowledge or consent of her relations were dictated not by passion but by economics. She was an heiress, and Wickham was in need of money.”
Lydia’s eyes flew open. “What has Miss King to do with anything? George never…Oh!” She stamped her foot at him yet again and took a hasty step toward him. “I may not be an heiress, but I know George loves me!”
“Miss Lydia.” Darcy leaned forward earnestly. “Wickham is ever in need of money. He has no profession. He has tried to live by his wits and by chance, and has failed at them both. He must marry for money; he has no choice.” Compassion welled up in him as he looked down into her set, young face. “You are right; you are not an heiress,” he agreed gently, “and whether he truly loves you or not, for that reason, you must believe me, he will not marry you.”
A flicker of doubt crossed her countenance. Brightness welled at the corners of her eyes. Was it enough? Too quickly, the doubt faded. She hastily wiped at her eyes, and her chin took on an immovable cast that bore an alarming resemblance to her mother’s. “George will marry me, and that is the end of it! Now, I think you should leave!”
Heaving a sigh, Darcy bowed his acquiescence and turned to go. “Miss Lydia.” He looked back at her from the doorway. “May I leave you my card should you change your mind?” She shrugged her shoulders, which he took for permission, and laying it on the table, he bowed again and walked from the room. It had been as he had feared. The girl would not be dissuaded. He must deal with Wickham.