Darcy & Elizabeth (60 page)

Near Miss

Upon returning with Bingley to his house in Belgrave Square, Darcy had decided upon his course of action. He knew he must confront Wickham himself. It was a temptation to inform the constabulary and wash his hands of it all, but he had felt some primeval need to confront him with what he knew. Only then would he see if a man dwelled therein, or was Wickham the blackguard he looked to have become. Darcy's single equivocation was whether to tell him of their true connection.

It was not as if he had not studied upon the matter with all due vigour, for there had been many hours in many days when there was little else of which he could think. At one time he believed that were Wickham still alive that it would be his unhappy duty to apprise him of the fact that they were half-brothers. Of late, his thinking had begun to alter. That direction of full disclosure seemed less and less to harbour a worthy end. While initially he had believed that revealing such intelligence was only just, he had begun to be of the opinion that he was being wrong-headed—that his argument for doing so was born of contrition for his father's shortcomings rather than the result of rational thinking.

Because the boy, John Christie, had no living relation and Wickham had been thought dead, Darcy had seen no point in pursuing charges against him. Any lingering doubt he might have had to as Wickham's guilt had vanished. Having learnt that Wickham was still alive proved without a doubt that John Christie's deathbed accusation was true. A murdering scoundrel dead was one thing, one walking the streets was an entirely different matter. The only remaining curiosity was where Wickham had been all this time. Wherever it was, he believed that Marie-Therese Lambert knew the truth of it. Clearly, Wickham had not been devoting himself to some munificent society—unless it was the Ladies of the Night Benevolent Society.

Darcy had never told anyone but Elizabeth of Wickham's crimes, but the unseemliness of meeting a lady of Juliette Clisson's repute upon a public street and escorting her into a house would demand some sort of an explanation. Bingley had waited patiently for him, but an expression of some confusion troubled his countenance. As a man who seldom felt the need to explain himself, upon his re-entry into the coach it took Mr. Darcy a moment to gather his thoughts. He knew it best that Bingley not only understand who Juliette was, but the nature of what intelligence she owned that would bid him behave in so rash a fashion. He chose his words carefully. Undoubtedly, when he learnt that Wickham was not dead it would be a great astonishment to poor Bingley—indeed, it had been a shock to him.

Once he began, his words came in a rush. He told Bingley that Wickham was alive and that he had returned to London. He also told him of Wickham's desertion—and that he had learnt of it from the dying soldier that Wickham murdered to make his escape. It was an excellent tale, one Bingley listened to with rapt, almost incredulous, attention. It went without saying that the lady Darcy had accompanied up the steps to Howgrave's house was the conduit of the intelligence of Wickham's return. Still, Darcy did not explain his past connection with Juliette, only that she was a consort of Howgrave's. Bingley was not so easily put off.

“I say, Darcy, seldom have I seen a more handsome woman. She certainly looked to know you intimately.”

As always, Bingley knew not ask Darcy a question directly, but would make a statement and wait for his friend's response. If the answer was a negative, Darcy would reply thusly, and if yes, he would not remark upon it. He would only refute, never verify. That Darcy said not a word then might have raised Bingley's eyebrows, but he asked nothing more. Noticing that Bingley's expression suggested he had come to a conclusion at variance with the truth, Darcy was moved to do the unthinkable. He elucidated.

“We were once acquaintances,” was all he would say. (Well, it was fairly elucidative for Darcy.)

What Darcy did tell Bingley was of his intention to confront Wickham, withdrawing the paper with the address on it and showing it to him.

“Do you know the location of this house?”

“Indeed I do, Darcy. And it is not a fit place. It is near my warehouses at the docklands, but I do not go there alone—nor should you. It is the home of every vice—thieves, whore masters, even killers. There are women who will approach you and men who would be happy to do you harm. Again, I say that if you must go, do not go alone,” said he.

Indeed, after having heard what he had of Wickham's deeds, Bingley was convinced that Wickham was not merely untrustworthy, he was a danger. “My advice is not to go at all—leave it to the magistrate.”

Darcy was not imprudent, but his personal scruples did not include allowing another to give him leave upon which street in London he walked. He had resolved what he would do and he refused to deviate from his decision. Bingley soon allowed the matter drop. He was most anxious for his own business and, in hope of inducing Darcy to leave Wickham to the law, inveigled him to accompany him to the docks.

“These men have been more than patient,” said he. “I must apprise them immediately that all is well and payment will be forthwith.”

Darcy was of the opinion that Bingley's business could wait until morning. “If what you say of that neighbourhood it is true, you would do better to wait until morning yourself.”

Reluctantly, Bingley agreed, not noticing that he acquiesced to the same argument that Darcy refused. When they arrived at his house, Bingley hurried to tell Jane of their success, leaving Darcy to make ready for his own evening. Although the dinner bell soon sounded, Darcy was neither in the mood for food nor the company of Bingley's self-indulgent kin. If he had to sit across from Caroline Bingley after her behaviour to her brother, he knew it likely he would be uncivil. In that Bingley's situation was largely repaired, he cared little for suffering the praise for bringing it about. He told the servants he was not to be disturbed.

Jane was much in want of thanking Darcy. Indeed, she would have thanked him profusely had he come to dinner. But apprised of his desire for privacy, she most certainly did not want to impose upon him in any way. Still, she had learnt from Bingley that they had not seen Elizabeth and she knew that Darcy would want to be told that his wife was in town. Indeed, it was a mystery to Jane how they had missed her when she went to Howgrave's house. So concerned was she that she slipped a note under his door, surmising that perhaps having missed them there she had returned to Lydia's. Regrettably, Darcy recognised Jane's hand and thought it was simply a note of thanks. He picked it up and tossed it unopened upon the bureau. He had more important matters upon his mind.

He had another reason for seeing Wickham that evening. If he moved quickly, he could confront Wickham this night and make for Rosings at first light, stopping at the magistrate on his way out of town. It sounded to him a perfect solution, for he was much in want of telling Elizabeth of Wickham being alive. Moreover, he had much arrears of affection to pay her for leaving her at his aunt's house. But he solaced himself with the understanding that his Lizzy would want to keep Georgiana company—there was much two mothers could find to discuss. The image of his beloved wife looking after his beloved sister and her newborn was one that gave him great pleasure.

Thinking of Georgiana so happy at last lent him greater resolve in bringing Wickham to justice. That cad had brought misery to every life he touched. Once Wickham was located and held, all would be well with them all.

***

Darcy had not rehearsed a speech in which to accuse Wickham, presuming the words would come to him when he saw that dastard's face. How he would go about siccing the authorities on him remained uncertain, other than reporting all that he knew. He supposed that there would be a trial and he would have to testify as to what he had heard. All would depend upon what defence Wickham offered—whether he had someone to lie for him. Darcy had resigned himself to the possibility that he might be acquitted. Deathbed accusations held a great deal of weight, but his testimony might be cast out as hearsay. Moreover, as his enmity against Wickham was of legend, he might be accused of having made the story up out of whole cloth. Nothing was cast in stone. Wickham might walk away a free man. The single certainty was that Darcy himself would not walk away from his duty to report both the murder and desertion.

He handed the paper containing Wickham's address to his driver. It was not a location with which he was familiar. Indeed, his driver looked at him a bit curiously as to what sort of business he could have there. Darcy chose to ignore that man's questioning aspect. Clearly, the section of London they would be travelling was of dangerous byways and menacing denizens. He was not armed, but he knew his man was. As if reading his mind, the man patted his waistband. Darcy nodded and bade him drive on.

When he had first heard Mrs. Younge's name mentioned by Mademoiselle Lambert, he had not been altogether surprised that after all these years, she was still plotting intrigues with Wickham. He wondered of
their
connection. Other than co-conspirators, he had always thought there was something odd about the duo. He surmised Wickham had simply beguiled her into being his dupe. Wickham could be quite charming when he found reason to be. From the address of her lodging house, she had dropped several notches down society's ladder. But he had no sympathy for her, as she had proven herself to be Wickham's match when it came to scruples.

Impatient, he rapped upon the roof of the carriage and inquired of his driver how much farther they must go. He could see that with every street they passed, the buildings became more dilapidated, the citizens less reputable. The man replied that they were nearing his destination. Darcy saw that was to their fortune, for the streets had also become narrower and soon looked to become impassable.

The driver drew the horses to a stop, hopped down, and opened the door.

“It is just over the street, sir,” he said, pointing.

Mr. Darcy did not inquire of his driver how it happened that he knew such an area so well. The man was loyal and hardworking. He asked nothing more of his servants. If he had risen above his circumstances, Darcy had nothing but admiration for him.

The sign said Gowell St. and it appeared to be the keeper of more offensive businesses than Darcy had ever seen together on one stretch of cobbles.

“There?” Darcy pointed with his stick.

Between a horse boiler and an ale house was a sign that said “To Let,” with a faded yellow arrow pointing up.

“I believe so, yes sir,” the driver said.

It was dusk. The lights inside the establishments were visible but not yet of service. The lodgings were upon the far side of the street and Darcy picked his way along the walk-boards until he was even with it, cautious of ascertaining his surroundings before he made his way there. He found a fair-sized column and stood behind it, observing the doorway across the street. He had been standing under a half minute when a hack coach drew up to the door. There were far more waggons than coaches upon the street and he wondered if its occupant could be Wickham. When the door opened, it was to the other side and he could not see whom was within, but he saw a woman's feet and skirts drop to the ground. She tarried momentarily and Darcy assumed that she was paying her fare. He continued to watch, curious to take measure of who she was, for from what little he could see, her footwear supposed her to be a lady. Oddly, she looked to be wearing a pair of slippers not unlike a pair of Elizabeth's. The sight of them unsettled him, but he reassured himself in the knowledge that his wife was safe in Kent. If the owner of those slippers was a lady, he had no doubt that she was to call upon Wickham. It occurred to him that he was observing a tryst in progress. Wickham was notorious for his affairs with women of all levels of society. He was nothing if not democratic in his assignations.

He was watching intently, hoping for the coach to draw away from the walk so he might identify the lady before she entered the building. Although a small part of him was simply curious as to the identity of Wickham's caller, Darcy saw the lady's arrival as a detriment to his mission. He was contemplating whether to wait for her to leave before knocking upon Wickham's door when he was called by name.

He turned angrily, not wanting his name to be used in so loud a fashion, lest Wickham be warned. When he saw who had called to him, it was he who was alarmed. Nicholls, Bingley's man, had alit his mount next to Darcy's coach and was scurrying up the walk in his direction. He called out again before Darcy could hush him.

“Mr. Darcy! Mrs. Bingley implores you to come immediately!”

“Be quiet, Nicholls, you shall announce to all that I am here!” he whispered harshly.

“Beg pardon, sir!” Nichols said, gasping.

Nicholls was more breathless than his horse, which looked to have run a great distance. At Darcy's insistence, Nicholls bent over, putting his hands upon his knees, and endeavoured to regain his breath. After a half minute, he croaked out his message.

“Mrs. Bingley says that you must come! Mr. Bingley received word that scallywags were intent on burning his cotton if he did not come pay them all he owes! He has gone alone to Ratcliff Highway wharves!”

Darcy's insides heaved at the name, but he remained outwardly calm, asking, “Do you know the way?”

Nicholls nodded. All thought of Wickham had evaporated whilst Darcy determined the best course of action.

“Did he go on horseback?”

Nicholls nodded again.

“Then I shall as well.”

Again Nicholls nodded, uncertain as to what he had agreed to. Whilst watching Darcy obtain his footman's weapon, gain directions, and mount his horse, however, he gathered a fair approximation.

As for Darcy, he knew Wickham would just have to keep.

Two Times Crossed, Once Found

By the time Darcy reached the quay next to Bingley's warehouses, it was fully dark. From what he could see, he feared he was too late. A torch-bearing mob of men were leading a saddled horse up the sloping road and away towards the row of taverns lining the wharves. Some men were in front pulling the reins, others were at the rear—crowing and slapping the beast for encouragement. As the raucous horde headed up the street and disappeared into the fog, Darcy eased up beside a building so dilapidated that it looked as though a strong wind would blow it over. He alit but held tight to the lead, having just been shown clear evidence that a horse's ownership only went so far as who held the reins.

After the mob had disappeared, it was quiet as death save for the lapping of water and creaking of ships that were sitting idle by their mooring. If it had been daylight he would have been arrested by the sight of a forest of masts beyond the decaying warehouses with blind windows. As it was, he saw little, but did hear an occasional voice, revealing the ships were inhabited. He did not have the smallest notion where he might locate Bingley, and in the quiet he became increasingly alarmed as to in what condition he might find him. Therefore his search was both high and low, not knowing whether he was looking for a man or a body.

His initial search was fruitless, and as the fog thickened, he began to chastise himself for leaving his men and Bingley's behind.

“Where are you, Fitzwilliam, when I need you?” he asked himself silently.

He would have given anything to have his reliable friend with him just then. He had thought he was only to intercede upon a negotiation, perhaps to thwart violence. Clearly he was tardy, but to what, he still was uncertain. From the raucousness of the mob, they had to have been requited in some manner other than the theft of a horse. The longer he searched to no avail, the more he believed he might be visiting the magistrate upon Bingley's behalf rather than Wickham's.

He decided that he must give up stealth. He had a weapon; if the mob returned, so be it. He had to find Bingley and was having no success through quiet search.

“Bingley!” he called. “Bingley!”

It was then that he heard a whispering sound. He stopt and listened closely, his heart racing, then called again.

“
Bingley
!”

“Here, damn it! Here!” Bingley whispered. “Keep your voice down or they will return.”

It was too dark and foggy to see anything much farther than a few feet, hence when Bingley popped up right next to him out of a wooden barrel, he nearly leapt out of his skin.

“Bingley, thank God you are all right! You gave me a fright.”

“Gave you a fright?
Gave you a fright
?” his voice grew shrill. “I say, I'll tell you about a fright!”

Darcy only then noticed the nature of Bingley's habitation in the barrel—it appeared to be of the nude variety. Darcy peered into the barrel to be certain. Indeed, it was true. He was naked.

“Bingley, where are your clothes?”

“I left them for the laundress,” Bingley retorted with uncharacteristic sarcasm. “Where do you think they are? They are being paraded about this despicable purlieu upon the persons of the most ill-mannered louts I have ever had the pleasure of meeting!”

Darcy was both amused and relieved. Whilst helping Bingley climb from the barrel, he took leave to observe, “You seem most fortunate to have lost nothing more than your costume and your horse…”

“And twenty thousand pounds!” he veritably shouted.

“Twenty thousand pounds?” he repeated, incredulous. “How could you have been so foolish as to come alone with such a sum?”

“It was
their
money,” Bingley reasoned, “I came to pay them. I did not expect them to rob me of their money! They would not even allow the courtesy of an explanation!”

Bingley was still so affronted by the ordeal and was explaining it with such excitement that he seemingly forgot that he was naked as the day he was born. Darcy kept saying, “Yes, yes,” whilst taking off his frock coat for Bingley to cover himself. Regrettably, as fine as it was, the specific cut of that coat did not lend Bingley's private parts any privacy.

Darcy looked at the situation and suggested, “Here, Bingley, take it off and use the sleeves to wrap about your waist, lest you be arrested for public lewdness before I can get you home.”

Bingley was far too upset to employ the proper manoeuvres for that, hence Darcy tied him as best he could.

“There. Perhaps that will hold until I get you home.”

Further apprising the situation, he looked at his mount, adding, “I suppose we can ride double.”

Bingley finally gave up his ranting, and Darcy, unused as he was to legging anyone onto a horse other than Elizabeth, was having difficulty with Bingley. At last he said, “Here, I'll mount and then pull you up.”

That seemed like the proper solution. Indeed, it appeared to work perfectly, but when almost in place, Bingley spied something in the road.

“Belay this!' he said, leaping down. “Look there! My boot!”

“We have not the time, Bingley.”

“Can you not see?” Bingley whispered loudly over his shoulder. “It is not that it is a boot! It is that it is
the
boot!”

Bingley dropped down and ran towards what he had seen lying on the ground. Darcy could hear his bare feet as they pattered along the cobbles. He endeavoured not to laugh, but Bingley was a hilarious sight.

“Look here!” Bingley stood up triumphantly holding a boot. “Look here what they dropped!”

“I do not see why you are so happy for one boot, it will do you little good,” groused Darcy. “Now if we see the other one—that would be happiness indeed.”

In that moment, however, Darcy understood. Indeed, he saw bundles of notes falling from the boot onto the road. Whilst bidding Bingley hurry, Darcy leapt down to help retrieve the notes, resorting to tucking half of them in his waistcoat whilst Bingley hopped around, giddy with joy.

Darcy could not help but ask, “How did you manage to walk with all this tucked into your boot?”

Bingley did not reply, but scurried back to the horse. Darcy remounted and put his hand out for another tug up.

Bingley was behind him then and Darcy urged the horse forward. From some indistinguishable location the sound of laughter erupted. Both turned and looked, then Darcy gave the laden horse his heel again to hurry him on their way. And upon their way, much became apparent. Chief amongst it was that the mob of men only wanted to be paid. They had taken Bingley's horse and clothes only against his debt. In their revelry of seizing those items and the gentleman's horse, they did not notice that they had dropped a boot. It would have made a great deal of difference to them to have realised that in that boot was Bingley's twenty thousand pounds.

“You can be sure that they will return my property or I will certainly deduct its value from what I owe them,” said Bingley indignantly.

As their horse galloped for Belgrave Square, Bingley repeated, “You can be sure of that.”