Chapter Twenty-Nine

Darcy

T he rectory was shrouded in a gloomy silence as Darcy carefully pushed the door open. The faint glow of candlelight flickered through the cracks in the door, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He moved stealthily, his footsteps soundless on the wooden floor. Inside, he saw Wickham seated at a table with two men, both of whom looked like highwaymen, although he assumed one of them had to be the one who had played tricks on those nearby.

Darcy's heart pounded in his chest as he listened intently. The low murmur of their voices carried through the still air.

"The scheme with that maid didn't work. And that Mrs Dillinger isn't as easily tricked as I thought she'd be. I thought you said she's hapless, George," the man to Wickham's right said in a London accent, his voice filled with frustration. "We need another plan."

Wickham waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. She'll give in sooner or later, don't you worry."

"We can't keep running this same scheme anyway, George. People talk, we'll be found out and you'll be compromised. Where's this big treasure you've been telling us about anyway?"

Wickham shifted in his seat. "I know we can't keep doing this but we won't have to. With Dillinger's money—even if it's a fraction—and the money from these fools we'll have enough. Give me a fortnight. I'll ask for donations for the memorial statue for another two Sundays, you work on Dillinger. Once we've collected enough, we'll split the money and leave. I've got my eye on a cosy little village in Hertfordshire where we could try our luck next."

Was he talking about Meryton? Elizabeth's home? No. It couldn't be. He was already well known there. It had to be another little town. Whatever it was, Darcy's blood boiled with rage. He clenched his fists, barely restraining himself from storming into the room. Instead, he remained hidden, listening to every word.

The third man, lean and shifty-eyed, nodded. "And what about Darcy? He's been sniffing around."

Wickham smirked. "Darcy's a fool. He has no idea what's really going on. Besides, he's an outcast. One trip to the church won't make anyone put any stock in what he says." He chuckled under his breath. "To think the mighty Mr Darcy would end up a laughingstock. It's justice, I say."

Darcy wanted to plant a facer on this man but knew he had to control his temper for once. In a fight of three against one he'd never win. He had to bide his time.

"Whatever you say, George. We have to get out of this area, and you promised us a big payout from your man Darcy, you best deliver," the Londoner said as Darcy listened.

The men continued to discuss their plans, oblivious to Darcy's presence. He watched them intently, committing every detail to memory. After what felt like an eternity, the men stood up and made their way to the door.

Darcy pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath as they passed by. The door creaked open and then shut with a final, ominous thud. Darcy waited a moment longer, ensuring they were gone, before stepping into the room.

His eyes fell on the scattered papers and maps on the table, evidence of Wickham's plotting. He sifted through them quickly, his anger simmering just below the surface. Among the papers, he found letters from parishioners, detailing their donations for the memorial statue—a statue that would never be built.

His jaw tightened with determination. He would not let Wickham get away with this. He sifted through the papers before him and found a map of Hertfordshire, a town named Tring was circled. Could that be his next destination?

? Darcy glanced out of the window and saw the two men leave. Wickham would be back here any moment—and he was ready for him.

? The rectory was eerily quiet as Darcy took Wickham's seat, his mind racing with the conversation he had overheard earlier. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of impending confrontation. Darcy's heart pounded with a mix of anger and determination. He had all the evidence he needed to confront Wickham and put an end to his schemes.

The door creaked open, and Wickham entered, a confident smirk on his face. But as soon as he saw Darcy seated in his place, his expression faltered, a flash of fear crossing his eyes.

"Darcy," Wickham said, his voice strained. "What are you doing here?"

Darcy leaned back in the chair, his gaze cold and unyielding. "I know everything, Wickham. And I'm not the only one." Wickham's eyes darted to the door, but Darcy shook his head. "You won't be getting away this time."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Wickham said. Darcy got up.

"Oh, you don't?" He flicked a paper and then picked up another. "Very diligent of you to keep a list of everyone you so far used and abused. It will make it easier for you to repay them."

"Do not be stupid, Darcy," Wickham replied. "You haven't been right since the fire. And now you're making accusations against a vicar? Who will believe you? Nobody cares about what you have to say, Darcy. Everyone is scared of you."

Darcy's expression didn't waver. "Not anymore. I've met with the people of the parish. They know everything about your deceit."

Wickham's bravado faltered, his eyes narrowing.

"I am only doing what I need to, in order to get what is due to me," he replied.

"I would gladly give you what is due you," Darcy fired back. "How long were you planning to get away with this? Let me guess. Your bags are packed already, isn't that so? You told your friends a fortnight, but I reckon you're going to run as soon as you can scrape together a little more money for your non-existent statue. You're going to leave your partners in a lurch, aren't you?"

"I do not know what you mean," Wickham said but Darcy was certain. He knew Wickham better than most. He would not have split his funds with these bandits. He'd have taken it all and run. And he still would, if given the chance.

Wickham's sneer returned. "You think you're so high and mighty. The great Fitzwilliam Darcy who is better than everyone else. Born into wealth, used to splendour—you never cared about others, only yourself."

Darcy felt the anger bubbling up inside of him, but he pushed it away. He needed to stay calm or everything would go wrong. "You will not bait me, not anymore. I should never have given you this position in the first place. I was a fool, but I am putting a stop to this. I shall give you one chance. Return all the funds you stole so I may give them back to those they belong to, and I shall say you resigned as vicar and left. I will even let you keep your wages."

Wickham's eyes gleamed with malice as he continued, "You will not undo my plans, not this time. Curse that Elizabeth Bennet. If it weren't for her, you would still be wallowing in self-pity."

"Yes, she made me realise I was living a half life and it is a blessing for me and all those you have deceived that she did. I will not let you continue this. To think that you attempted to use Georgiana again for your purposes, even in death!" Darcy's fists clenched at his sides, his anger boiling over. "You despicable wretch. You used my sister's memory for your gain."

Wickham shrugged, appearing entirely indifferent to Darcy's accusations. "I should have received a much larger share when your father died. I know it was you who talked him out of it. I know it! I only want what I am owed."

"You were owed nothing. You ought to be grateful you got what you. If my father had known what sort of man you'd turn into, he would not have given you anything!" Darcy took a step forward, his voice low. "You deserve nothing but contempt. Now, what will it be?"

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the unspoken violence simmering between them.

? Before Wickham could respond, the door burst open and two men appeared, dragging a struggling Elizabeth with them. Darcy's heart sank at the sight.

? "Let me go!" she shouted but the man who'd been dragging her in shoved her to the ground.

? "Elizabeth!" he shouted and charged forward but then he saw the glimmer of a knife in the man's belt and paused. His eyes met Elizabeth and she looked at him with sheer panic. Why was she here with them?

? "What is this?" Wickham demanded.

The man with a London accent sneered, "Found her in a cart with that Dillinger woman heading towards Pemberley. We overheard them talking. Seems like our scheme has been revealed." Darcy noted with some concern that the man did not appear worried, given his source of income had just been cut off.

Wickham's eyes blazed with fury. "Why on earth did you bring her here?"

The Londoner grinned wickedly. "We couldn't hear everything but from what we did hear, sounds like she and Darcy have apparently undone our plans, so we thought we'd try and get the money we need another way—directly from Darcy. This is his wife-to-be, isn't it?"

Elizabeth looked up at Darcy with desperate eyes. "Mr Darcy, run out through the back door!" she cried.

But Darcy was frozen, his mind whirling with fear and rage. Run out the back door? Did she think him a coward? Or… did she fear what Wickham might do to them? No. Not Wickham. His compatriots.

Wickham chuckled darkly and grabbed Elizabeth by the arm, pulling her to her feet. "How much is she worth to you, Darcy?" he taunted.

Darcy's voice was a dangerous growl. "Let Elizabeth go."

Wickham ignored him and turned to the men. "Relieve Darcy of his pocket watch and cufflinks. Take whatever else he has on him. I know he always carries plenty of shillings. In the meanwhile, I shall negotiate."

The men advanced on Darcy, who stood still, seething with helpless fury. They roughly removed his signet ring and cufflinks, then rifled through his pockets, taking his money and watch.

Wickham looked at Elizabeth and smiled sardonically. "Apologies, my dear," he said mockingly, "but desperate times call for desperate measures."

Elizabeth's eyes flashed with defiance. "You won't get away with this, Mr Wickham. The entire parish knows the truth."

Wickham's smile turned into a snarl. "So what if they do? I am not desperate for their approval, only their funds. Or rather your future husband's."

Darcy's heart ached at the sight of Elizabeth's distress. "Wickham, this is madness. Release her, and I will ensure you are treated fairly."

Wickham laughed bitterly. "Fairly? You still don't get it, do you? It is you who ought to beg me for mercy. I'll take what I can and leave."

"No!" Elizabeth shouted and shoved Wickham, who'd held on to her with one hand. "I will not let you do this!"

"What?" Wickham stammered as he tumbled a few steps backwards and then lost his footing. He careened into the Londoner who'd just advanced towards Darcy, sending him onto the ground. The third man shouted in surprise, but then—

"Fire!" He called out and dashed for the door. Darcy blinked. What? Fire? Then, he saw it. Either Wickham or the Londoner had knocked down the candle holder by the door, sending it spilling over. In many churches, candles used oil which had spilled onto the ground upon being knocked down, too miserly to buy his own candles, Wickham had clearly taken one of the church's, to use in the rectory. His lips parted and his head buzzed with terror as he saw the fire spread rapidly along the path of the spilt oil.

Wickham scrambled to his feet while his companions dashed for the door without fully rising.

"Wickham!" he shouted, and his eyes widened in fear as the flames spread rapidly. The man looked at Darcy and turned, dashing for the door. Finally able to snap out of his frozen state, Darcy rushed forwards just as Wickham's companion slammed the door shut.

"What are you doing?" He heard Wickham as the sound of flames licking against the walls grew louder.

"He knows what we did. He'll have the constables on us if he gets out. Let them both burn, it'll give us a chance to get away."

"No!" Elizabeth screamed and ran to the door, banging against it with sheer desperation. "Let us out!"

Wickham peered through the small window, just enough so they could see his right eye. Darcy was at Elizabeth's side at once.

"You will not get away with this!" He shouted but Wickham only looked away.

"I didn't want this to happen," he said. "Believe me. I am sorry but you have nobody to blame but yourself." With that, he turned, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone in the spreading inferno.