Chapter 20

G eorge Wickham was beyond surprised when he saw who the rich man whinging about Darcy was. No other than the prig's supposed friend, Charles Bingley. It had been more than eight years since he had seen the tradesman's son.

"Well well well, fancy seeing you at this lowly inn," Wickham taunted.

"Wickham! What on earth are you doing here? After I paid you for putting me in contact with the two men, who are traitors by the by, at Cambridge, did we not agree never to acknowledge one another in public?" Bingley insisted.

Ignoring what Bingley asserted, Wickham just shook his head. "After all of your plans to keep Darcy in your debt, here you are grousing about being ejected from Darcy House," Wickham smirked. "What happened? Did our mutual friend discover your perfidy?"

As soon as Bingley turned away scowling, it confirmed Wickham had hit on the truth. Bingley turned back with an accusatory look on his face. "Knowing what a snake in the grass you are…" He stopped speaking when Wickham gave him a look of warning.

"Neither of us want certain things discussed in public. Take rooms for both of us and we will talk over supper and ale," Wickham stated in a way which Bingley knew was not a suggestion. Bingley gave a tight nod.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

With Bingley gone from his house and from his life, that is if his former friend—no he was never that—knew what was good for him, Darcy sat at his desk, elbows resting on the lacquered mahogany desktop. He rested his head in his hands as he thought how thoroughly fooled he had been by Charles Bingley. He had always thought himself intelligent and discerning, but now he had to question everything, not the least of which were his own attitudes and improper pride.

He decided the last thing he wanted to do was make assumptions without the relevant facts, as he had done in the past—especially in Hertfordshire as it related to the Bennets. On the morrow he would call at Hurst's house on Curzon Street and try to discern the truth about what Bingley had and had not told his youngest sister.

Not having seen through Bingley's lies, Darcy already felt like a capital simpleton. Why had he been so blind to Bingley when the rest of his family seemed to see what was lacking in the dishonourable man?

He remembered how many times Richard had begun to question the facts not long after the incident near the Ball and Chain Inn. Darcy had put one or two of Richard's questions to Bingley at the time and the latter had deflected by saying he suspected Fitzwilliam was unhappy his cousin had been rescued by one tied to trade. Only now with clear hindsight could Darcy see it for what it was: pure manipulation and obfuscation.

Darcy had not thought of it at the time—or Bingley had successfully distracted him—but Richard had always been one who judged on character, not social standing. He hung his head in shame as he saw out of his close family only he alone judged a person on their place in society, all the while ignoring Bingley's true position. Even Aunt Catherine who used to go on about preserving the distinction of rank had ceased her diatribes on the subject after she had spoken to Mother days before his honoured mother had been taken home to God.

That led him back to the question of why he was the way he was. Yes, he hated being hunted by the huntresses of the Ton for nothing more than his wealth and connections. Darcy was aware he had developed a fearsome mask to try discouraging those who saw him as a prime haunch of beef in the marriage mart. None of that explained his arrogance regarding those he thought below him.

As he was now being honest with himself, Darcy had to admit no one in Meryton—other than Bingley—least of all one named Bennet, had seemed to be interested in him for his wealth and connections. Acknowledging that fact led him to questions about why he had refused to apologise to them, and specifically to Miss Elizabeth, for his unwarranted slight of her. The answer was as plain as the nose on his face—pride and arrogance.

It would have wounded his pride to apologise to one he had considered so far below him in society. He was finally able to own his pride of place had no basis when directed at the Bennets. As had been painfully pointed out to Darcy more than once, like Mr. Bennet he was a gentleman farmer, so regardless of how much Pemberley earned on an annual basis, they were equal. The more he took Aunt and Uncle's suggestion and looked at himself in the mirror, the less Darcy liked what he saw.

He felt his eyes begin to close as the exhaustion from the day's physical and mental exertion began to catch up to him. Darcy jerked himself awake and after extinguishing the candles in his study, made his way up to his chambers.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

After paying for two rooms for one night only, Bingley ordered supper for two to be delivered to his private sitting room. "Make sure no one sees you enter my chamber," Bingley hissed at the man he had hoped never to see again.

Wickham nodded his agreement. He waited a few minutes before making his way up the stairs to the room corresponding to the number written on the wood square attached to the key Bingley had handed him. It was a pity the man was of a slighter build and shorter by two to three inches than himself otherwise he would have had Bingley give him some clothing to replenish his own non-existent supply.

He let himself into the chamber and looked around. It certainly was not the best room at the inn, but it was far better than sleeping in the stable's hayloft as he had planned to do in order to preserve his dwindling coins. He had hoped the landlord only collected his money from guests when they departed, but Wickham had watched when he had first arrived and noted without fail those wanting a chamber had to pay upfront. Hearing the man, he now knew was one with whom he was familiar, mention Darcy's name had been a gift from God.

He fell back onto his bed and then Wickham pulled the fob watch from his pocket to see how much longer he needed to wait before he knocked on Bingley's door. The watch was the only thing he had left from his late father. Although he was not a sentimental man, Wickham felt an attachment to the time piece knowing that it had belonged to at least three generations of Wickham men before him.

When the big hand reached the twelve, Wickham rolled to the side of his bed and stood. He pulled his chamber door closed behind him and crossed the hall to Bingley's room and knocked on it once.

Bingley opened the door himself and looked both ways in the hallway before beckoning for Wickham to follow him inside. Had he not been so keen to leave the area, Wickham would have complained Bingley's room was twice as big as his, and that was before one counted the attached private sitting room.

"You know Bingley," Wickham drawled, "all of your insistence on secrecy is a waste of my time and your effort. The chances of meeting anyone here who knows either of us, never mind both of us, is nought." Wickham's nose detected the food in the sitting room. His stomach began to rumble as it had been many hours since he had last eaten. "Food first, and then we can speak."

Without waiting for Bingley to respond, Wickham marched through the door where there was a crock of stew, crusty slices of bread, and a jug of ale on the table.

The two men ate in silence other than the sounds of their eating and drinking. By the time he was sated—after two bowls of stew, three slices of bread, and two tankards of ale, Wickham felt much better, as there were no more hunger pangs gnawing at his belly.

Thanks to Darcy turfing him from Darcy House before he had eaten, Bingley too was rather famished. He did not eat as much as Wickham, but soon enough he was sated. By mutual agreement, the two men moved to sit in two wingback chairs. They were rather well-worn, but nevertheless comfortable. Bingley poured himself a snifter of brandy from the bottle on the sideboard. Wickham did not comment on the fact Bingley did not offer him a drink, but stood and poured one for himself.

"How did you know Darcy discovered what I had done at Cambridge?" Bingley enquired.

"I overheard you whinging to your valet," Wickham drawled. "How did that self-righteous prig discover the truth?"

"Bloody Harris and Peters, who you assured me would be discreet, wrote to Darcy and told him all," Bingley complained. "They had written to me to demand more money to keep their silence, but I never received the letters until it was too late."

"Darcy has not spoken to them, has he?" Wickham asked worriedly as he sat bolt upright in his chair. If they told Darcy at his behest they had assisted in ending Robert Darcy's life, Wickham would be hunted down and that would not do.

"Not as far as I know, they only wrote to him," Bingley spat out. "It may still have gone well for me, but the bastards retained a note from me that I instructed them to destroy which they provided to my so-called former friend."

"Did they demand money from Darcy for the information they revealed?" Wickham queried.

"No, they just wrote to him with the information. Because I did not pay them, it was done to spite me. If only I had seen their letters of demand beforehand."

Wickham held his peace. He knew had Bingley paid, the two men would have done what he would do, never stop demanding payments. The two had never contacted him since they had assisted him in killing old Mr. Darcy so he was confident his secret was safe.

"What do you intend to do now?" Wickham enquired.

"I leave for Scarborough on the morrow, thanks to Darcy I am no longer welcome in London. What horrendous timing this was, I intended to compromise Miss Darcy for her dowry and social position," Bingley admitted.

"You would have received nothing, and knowing her guardians, they would have called you out. I was close to getting her to run away with me and before he threw me out Darcy explained the restrictions on the release of his sister's dowry. Without both guardians' permission, the dowry is forfeit."

Bingley remembered how Darcy always claimed he would never give in to a compromise. He had not realised how serious his former friend was. Never had he suspected the upshot of his making an attempt to entrap Georgiana Darcy could have ended in his death. He felt a cold shiver travel from his neck to the base of his spine.

"Mayhap we can use your almost elopement as a way to get back at Darcy," Bingley postulated. "I should never have invited him and his cousin to come to the estate I leased near Meryton. "

"He and Fitzwilliam were your guests?" Wickham asked. Bingley nodded. "Did you know the Bennet sisters?"

"Not as well as I wanted to. The Bennets wanted nothing to do with me," Bingley averred sourly.

Wickham could tell Bingley would have no useful information about the woman on whom he vowed to avenge himself, so he dropped the subject. "In the morning, you will purchase me some clothing and I will accompany you to Scarborough." With the Spaniard's businesses all being in the environs of London, Wickham was confident he would be beyond the man's reach in Yorkshire.

"And why would I do that?" Bingley demanded.

"Darcy's pride will ensure the reason for the break between you two will not be spread about in London as he will be loath to embroil the Darcy name in scandal. I have no such compunction, so if you do not do what I ask, I will make sure it will be known far and wide. Wickham knew he was bluffing as he had no proof, but the man opposite him was weak, so he was sure the threat would be enough.

With a huff, Bingley capitulated.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

"I ‘ave a idea, ‘Arris," Peters stated when the two men met in the morning.

"Wat be that?" Harris enquired sceptically. Peters had been sure Bingley would have paid for their silence, but they had not received a penny from him.

"We done ta work fir ta Wickham fellow, did we not?" Peters reminded his cohort.

"Wat of it?" Harris enquired.

"We ‘ave a note from ‘im as well," Peters pointed out. "The toff be rich; ‘e will pay fir the infirmation."

Harris considered what his partner in crime suggested. After a few minutes of cogitating he stated, "It could work, but ‘ ow will we get paid and not be caught?"

"We use urchins to go back n forf. When ‘e agrees to pay, we give ‘im a location, one we watch, ta leave our blunt," Peters proposed.

The two men went over their plan until they felt it was fool proof. Once they were happy, Harris, being the one of the two who could read and write, composed the note. As soon as it was ready, an urchin was on the way to deliver the missive to the toff's house, with instructions to await an answer.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Darcy was about to leave his house to visit the Hursts and Miss Bingley when the butler brought him a grimy note in the same handwriting as he had noted when he read the words which had exposed Bingley's perfidy. Killion told him a boy was in the kitchens waiting for a reply.

He sat down again and opened the note; this one was not even sealed.

Toff Darcy

We posess infirmation an proof relating to te murder o yir father.

It cost yer ?3,000 ta hear wat we know. If yer wan ta know, send a note back wif the urchin. If yes, we will make contac soon.

Darcy sat staring at the sheet of dirty paper as if the words would change the longer he stared at it. There was no question but that he would write back in the affirmative, but rather than call on the Hursts, he would be walking across to Matlock House to see his aunt and uncle.

He rang for Killion and handed him the note he had written. "Do you want the lad followed?" Killion asked.

"No, thank you, it is not needed, at least not yet," Darcy averred. "As soon as you send him away, I will be making my way to my uncle's house. The butler bowed and turned on his heel to carry out his master's orders .

A few minutes later, Darcy was striding across the green in the centre of Grosvenor Square, his great coat billowing behind him.

Within an hour a Matlock courier was on his way to Netherfield Park and a footman was dispatched to Hilldale House on Portman Square. It was time to use Richard's contacts in the army to assist them.