Mr. Darcy's Promise (40 page)

Wickham ran towards the house as fast as he could. He looked to the right and saw a servant running with a pitchfork, and he knew Richard was behind him and closing fast. He took the stairs to the house two at a time and was just about to open the door when he felt a hand close around his coat and sharply jerk him away from the entrance. He landed on his back and slid head first down the few stairs at the entryway. He looked up to see a pitchfork inches from his face. He should have known it would Richard who reached him first. “Well, hello Richard!
Fancy meeting you here.”

“Do not call me Richard. It is Colonel Fitzwilliam to you,
Lieutenant
Wickham.”

Wickham grinned. “Are you pulling rank on me, Colonel?”

“I will pull anything I need to, including this trigger. If I were you I would not move an inch.”

Wickham realized for the first time that Colonel Fitzwilliam held a pistol in his hand.  He had only noticed the pitchfork up to that point. He looked from Richard to the servant before realizing he knew the servant.
“Sparks! How good of you to welcome me home. I see you fancy yourself a hero. Tell me, how is that son of yours?” The pitchfork moved down towards his chest, pressing into his ribs.

“Do not be talking about my son. He may not have gone to Cambridge, but he is more gentleman than you will ever be.”

Wickham reached up to push away the prongs of the pitchfork. “Do you mind letting me breathe without receiving puncture wounds?” Sparks held his ground and pushed harder into his chest. Wickham flinched. “I guess not.” He turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam next. “Are you going to invite me in or what? And where is Darcy, anyway? Did he run off when he was needed most? Too high and mighty to handle his own business ventures? Too proud to rescue his only sister from the likes of me?”

Richard had had enough of Wickham’s mouth. He took out his handkerchief and stuffed it in Wickham’s mouth, making sure to get it all in. “Just so you know that was a dirty handkerchief and I do not want it back. I would suggest keeping your mouth closed for the time being. Sparks, keep that pitchfork right where you have it. I am going to search him.” Richard began by checking Wickham’s belt. He found the army-issued pistol and sword and removed them, placing them out of reach on the stairs by the column. He searched his back belt loop, chest pockets, and legs all the way down to his boots without finding anything there. “Got anything else on you, Wickham?” When Wickham rolled his eyes, Richard looked up at Sparks. “Go ahead, Sparks. I would say he is being combative and aggressive do you not think so?” Wickham started making muffled sounds and frantically shaking his head no.

“That is more like it, Wickham. I expect my prisoners of war to be cooperative. Now up on your feet, slowly. And I might add, do not try to run again or you will just die breathless and tired.” Wickham huffed and rolled his eyes. Richard knelt down, pressing his hand against Wickham’s shoulder.

“What? You do not like my death jokes? Then here is a quote for you. Herodotus, the Egyptian historian, said, ‘Death is a delightful hiding place for weary men.’ From the looks of your uniform, you have not been sleeping in a bed the last few nights. Are you a little weary? Well, do not expect me to offer you a bed. In fact, nothing is going to be offered to you, not water, not tea, and certainly not money.” Richard put away his pistol so he could have two hands again. He pulled Wickham up by his shoulder and grasped Wickham’s hands behind his back. He gave him a shove that was less then gentle and Wickham started reluctantly walking back up the steps. Richard still held his hands firmly and said to Sparks, “Go ahead and open the door.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned to Wickham, “Do not try anything stupid, Wickham, I use a pitchfork three hours out of the day, every day!” He felt bold and lifted his chin high. He opened the door and kept his pitchfork aimed at Wickham’s chest as he walked by.

Mr. Reynolds recognized Wickham immediately, but saw the two men were handling him roughly but efficiently.
“Colonel? What do you need?”

“I need some rope and I need you to send someone for the magistrate. Keep Georgiana out of Darcy’s study for the time being, would you? She does not need to know Wickham is even in the house. Darcy should be here soon. Make sure he knows where to find us.”

*****

Elizabeth’s hand was beginning to ache. Darcy was holding it very tightly.
“William, dear? I know you are worried, but you are hurting my hand.” She saw him look at her, startled, before he immediately released her hand.

“I am so sorry. We have made good time, it looks like we will get there quicker than usual.” He pulled out his
pocketwatch. “We made the five hour journey in four and a half hours. It looks like we will get there just after noon. Elizabeth,” he said, his voice changing slightly. “I have something to confess. I am especially worried about Georgiana because of a prayer I once said.” She looked at him quizzically, but he continued without pausing. “When you passed out after you hit your head, you were so very still, and I said a prayer that was something like ‘anyone but her.’ I am worried that God might take that prayer differently than I meant it. I cannot lose Georgiana or Richard either. I feel like I am being selfish and renegotiating what I promised to God in that prayer. He saved you, just like I meant for him to, but I cannot help worry that something will happen to Georgiana or Richard.” He looked out the window. He had made this journey so many times since his youth, and knew he was precisely three miles away from knowing if Wickham had been found and if any of his family had been harmed. The last ten minutes had been harder and slower than the first four hours.

“I do not know what kind of God you believe in, but the God I know does not work like that. He knows the intent of our hearts, even if we do not fully say them aloud for Him to hear.” She took his hand back and kissed it gently. “And besides having a little faith in God, you should have a little faith in Richard. If that weasel is found at Pemberley, Richard is a trained soldier who has actual combat experience. Wickham does not.”

“I know,” Darcy said, and let out a breath. “But Wickham is probably unstable and unpredictable because of how desperate he is. That makes him a foe we should not underestimate.” She gave his hand a gentle comforting squeeze and he looked back at her. Her eyes were damp as she gazed longingly at him. He turned around to face her and cupped her face and kissed her. She responded and kissed him back several times. The rest of the journey was spent looking out the window.

When they finally pulled up to the front entrance, no one was there to greet them. “Odd, where are the servants? They should have been expecting us.” He stepped out of the carriage and handed Elizabeth out as well. As they stepped up the stairs he paused and put his arm out to stop Elizabeth from walking. On the stairs by the column rested a pistol and a sword. He quickly scanned the landscape. He didn’t see anyone, not even a groundskeeper or
gardener. “Elizabeth, I think he is here, inside the house,” he whispered.

She held his arm tighter. “What should we do?” He dropped her arm and she watched as he picked up the pistol and checked that it was loaded. He gently pushed her behind him.

“Stay close.” They took a step forward, but at that exact moment they heard a gun go off in the house. He took the last few steps two at a time and ran into the house. Reynolds and two groomsmen were running down the hall. He quickly turned and followed them. “Where is he, Reynolds?”

“In your study,” Reynolds reported.

Darcy’s heart was racing, and he suddenly remembered Elizabeth was right behind him. “Stay in the drawing room and do not come out!” he instructed her. He then whipped around and continued down the hall. The door of his study was already open, revealing at least five men standing around in a circle. He caught a glimpse of Richard kneeling down and heard someone ask if they should get a doctor. He couldn’t see who they were all gathered around, but it looked like someone was hurt. A great deal of blood had pooled on the floor.

              Richard cleared his throat. “Yes, I suppose we should fetch the doctor. Although he does not deserve it. From the looks of the bleeding he will not make it anyway.”

Darcy heard a gasp from behind him. He turned around and saw Elizabeth. “Elizabeth! This is not a time or place to be stubborn and not do as you are told! Go to the drawing room!”

Everyone in the room turned towards the door at the sound of Mr. Darcy’s voice, and saw that Darcy and Elizabeth had arrived. Reynolds started pulling on Elizabeth’s arm, “Come, Mrs. Darcy, this is no place for a lady.”

Elizabeth numbly allowed herself to be escorted away from the commotion. Her mind was in a daze. Wickham was shot?
By who? How? Her mouth was dry and she gasped a little, struggling to breathe. She needed fresh air and to leave the house. She shook her arm loose from Reynolds’ gentle grip before she picked up her skirts and ran out the front door, all the way to the barn. Once there, she collapsed on a hay pile and wept until she could cry no more. Soon after her sobs died, she heard a carriage up at the house and stood to see who had arrived. Was it the doctor? The undertaker? She had never seen or experienced someone dying before. She didn’t even know for certain that the figure in the study had been Wickham. But she had seen enough. Richard’s hands were bloody, and there was too much blood around him. That was all she knew.

A man she did not recognize exited the carriage. She watched as Darcy came out to greet him. They talked for several minutes at the front door. So it wasn’t the doctor. If it was, Darcy would not hold him up like that. She sniffled and used her handkerchief to dry her eyes. A rooster crowed loudly, and she followed the sound outside to the pen.
She watched the chickens walk around looking for food. She absently went back into the barn and took out a scoop of corn. Her feet took her back outside and she threw a handful of corn out, too much in shock to call to the first. The hens and roosters immediately gathered to where the corn had landed, and she watched, staring mindlessly until the corn was gone. She threw another handful out and the process began again. When that corn was gone she threw out more.

Soon her eyes were completely dry and her chest no longer felt so tight. At least she knew that Darcy and Richard were safe. She threw out the last of the corn before she rested her arms on the gate, watching them peck and scratch at the last of their treat. After a moment, she realized she hadn’t seen the mother hen who had sat on the eggs all that time. She walked past the pen to the barn in search of her. There the mother hen was, and next to her were all her seven chicks
who were all busy running around her. She recognized Lizzy right away but she didn’t know which brown chick was Fitz. She watched as one of the brown ones flapped its wings and then reached its beak to scratch at its new feathers. In doing so, it lost its balance and fell over. She smiled. Now she knew which one was Fitz. She started to occupy her time with finding names for the other five. After a while she heard her name being called out. She recognized the deep baritone voice and she went out of the pen in search of it.

“There you are, Elizabeth! How are you coping? I am so sorry you had to see that.” Mr. Darcy said.

Elizabeth ran all the way to him and threw her arms around his chest, hugging him tightly. He put one hand on her head and one around her waist and kissed the top of her head. Fresh tears formed all too quickly, but they were not tears of fear and shock this time, they were tears of joy. She didn’t know how she could have lived without him and just remembering him with a pistol in his hand made her shudder. “What happened? Is Wickham dead?”

“I do not know how much to tell you.” He pulled her away from him and looked at her wet eyes. “Yes, he is dead.”

She had to know what happened, she had to know! “Please William, tell me what happened.”

He looked into her fine brown eyes and took a deep breath. “The weapons at the front door were Wickham’s. Richard had checked him and disarmed him at the door. Richard brought Wickham into my study and had called the magistrate. He was proceeding to tie his hands in front of him when Wickham somehow hit Richard in the head, probably with his own head, and then Wickham pulled out a knife from his boot. Wickham lunged, but Richard was faster in pulling the pistol out of his belt, and Richard shot him in the chest. That is the shot we heard. I was right when I said he was volatile and desperate. There were five grown men in the room when Wickham attacked! There is no way he would have made it out alive! After you left he sputtered out a few last words— mostly blaspheming and cursing us all— and then he died. He did not last more than five minutes. The magistrate came and we gave him Georgiana’s letters and explained what happened. There were plenty of witnesses who all agree on how Wickham attacked Richard. The magistrate was easily convinced, and we have loaded the body onto our wagon. He is being taken to the undertaker as we speak. It is all over, Elizabeth. We no longer have to worry any more about him and his threats.”

Elizabeth let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Truly? It is all over? Do you have to testify or anything? Is Richard distressed knowing he killed a man?”

Darcy took her face in his hands. “Yes, it is over. And Richard, I admit, is more pleased with himself for ending this in a way that was more to his liking than seeing that scoundrel put in jail. Richard is strong and is already trying to tell the story to everyone. I would not put it past him to find some punch line to go along with the story for the future.” He hugged her again. He felt her relax into the hug and she wrapped her arms around him in return. “So have you been out here the whole time? How are the chicks?”