Chapter XIV

" A

re you out of your senses, man?"

The retort was louder than Wickham liked, and he glanced nervously about, hoping no one had overheard. Seeing no one coming to investigate the table he and Denny occupied at the inn in Meryton, he turned his attention back to his former colleague.

"We were not precisely well acquainted before, Wickham," said Denny, his voice softer, but abraded with emotion, accompanied by rough hand gestures emphasizing his point. "But I had not thought you were witless. What do you suppose Colonel Forster would say if several of his officers were involved in the assault of a local estate, all so that you may make off with a woman with whom you wish to elope?"

"That is not what I was suggesting, Denny," said Wickham, unable to keep the defensive note out of his voice.

"Then I should very much like to know what exactly you were suggesting." Denny was nearly frothing at the mouth in his displeasure, informing Wickham he had miscalculated badly. "For by my recollection, you proposed to scale the walls of the estate and murder everyone in residence."

"You are exaggerating—"

"I bloody well know I am exaggerating!" growled Denny. "That does not change the fact that your plan is ill-conceived and is bound to redound on those foolish enough to partake in it, while you make your escape to the north with the prize. I will not be a party to such depravity, and no one else will accept your assurances either."

Wickham could not quite summon a response. Denny had always been a congenial, boyish sort, one with whom a man could laugh and jest, but not one who engaged in deep thought. In short, he was the sort that Wickham had always had great success in doing as he wished, inducing them to believe anything he told them and casting them aside when he finished with them. Wickham did not believe the militia had made Denny into this man, for the officers in the regiment were as a group about as soft as pudding.

"If you recall," said Wickham, feigning injured feelings, "I merely asked for your backing to retrieve a woman from an estate where she is being unjustly held. Miss de Bourgh loves me—she has given her assurance. These people are in league with Darcy , for he wishes for nothing more than to claim her wealth. No doubt he means to pay them off."

"You truly are something, Wickham," said Denny, shaking his head. "I am not completely ignorant of society. My father maintains a presence in town, so even I heard the rumors of Mr. Darcy's engagement with Miss de Bourgh. He might have had her at any time of his choosing. This business of your grievances against him is suspect, for there are laws to ensure the execution of wills as written."

"You suppose I can fight against a wealthy man?" demanded Wickham. "Darcy not only has his untold wealth, but the backing of his titled uncle. They would crush me if I presumed to challenge them in court."

"All of this presupposes that Mr. Darcy is a scoundrel," said Denny. "The man never had so much as a cross word to say to me, despite your attempts to blacken his name. I am ashamed that I treated him with as much disrespect as I did, for I now wonder who was to blame in this business between you.

"No, Wickham," snarled Denny when Wickham made to speak again. "Let me make the situation clear so you do not dig your own grave. Most of the men know nothing of Mr. Darcy and only a little more about Mr. Bennet. They do know the Bennet sisters. Those girls are popular among the men, for they are pretty, kind, lively, and engaging.

" You , on the other hand, had a poor reputation among the men before you left, and it has only grown worse since you departed. Not only do you owe markers to several who would love nothing more than to get their hands on you, but rumors of your exploits with the ladies and certain debts you left with the merchants are whispered in town. You are fortunate Miss King distracted you from making things worse for yourself, or they might even now be plucking feathers and boiling tar."

Little though Wickham wished to acknowledge it, Denny was telling the truth. The only reason he could meet with the other man in the tavern at all was that he had rarely frequented it. He had needed to keep his wits about him during his stay in Meryton, and excessive drink served only to dull his instincts. Since coming to Meryton, even when he had searched for Miss de Bourgh, he had taken care to avoid drawing the attention of his fellows to the extent possible.

"It seems you finally understand your predicament," said Denny, fixing him with a pitiless stare. "Good. You may yet keep your head. If I were you, Wickham, I would run away from here as fast as my feet could carry me. There is little chance of having your way with Miss de Bourgh now, and I suspect her family is on your trail as it is. No one will help you and one word from me will see half the men hunting you down like a dog.

"I shall say nothing in deference to our former friendship. If you say anything again about this mad design of yours or remain in town tomorrow, I will not guarantee your continued freedom. Leave Meryton at once."

With those last ominous words, Denny rose from his chair, cast a few coins at the proprietor, and departed from the inn without a backward glance. Wickham, noting the innkeeper watching him with an unfriendly eye, rose and left the building at once—he had not even had the money for a drink, and Denny had not offered him one. He was destitute, with not even a farthing to his name.

Still trying to remain as inconspicuous as he could, Wickham sauntered down the street, knowing the best way to avoid attention was to act like he belonged there. The tavern was on the northern edge of town, and as Wickham was not quite ready to concede defeat, he made his way south. Soon he reached an alley up the street from where the driver of his hired carriage had stopped when he still had Anne de Bourgh in his custody and ducked inside. Wickham had a score to settle with the driver too, who had abandoned him, spouting some nonsense about how he did not wish to be involved with Wickham's intrigues. Had he known it was the exact location where Elizabeth Bennet had watched him while escaping with Miss de Bourgh, it is doubtful he would have appreciated the irony.

It had all been within his grasp! Everything he had ever wanted, the wealth to live his life as he wished, the funds to gamble all day and night and never exhaust them, the means to spit in Darcy's eye and laugh at his impotent rage had all been there for the taking. To be cheated by Miss Elizabeth Bennet's cheap morality was more than Wickham could endure.

To Anne de Bourgh he was perfectly indifferent, for the woman was colorless, sickly and cross, and possessed of a body that resembled a washboard. Bedding her would give him no pleasure, though he would have done it to set the marriage in stone and perhaps get an heir from her. She was of such a disposition that he could keep five mistresses to satisfy his needs and she would likely not care so long as he left her alone.

No, Wickham was more inclined toward buxom beauties with ample assets, ladies that shared their favors and enjoyed the games he liked to play. Even Jane Bennet, the acknowledged beauty of the district, had stirred little in him, for while she had the assets to intrigue him, her innocence and purity provoked nothing but ennui. Of the Bennet ladies, Lydia had been the most intriguing, though she was the youngest, for he had thought her easily corrupted. Had Miss King not presented herself, Wickham might have explored what antics to which he could persuade her.

Miss Elizabeth, however, was both too small of stature and too slender to induce much interest in Wickham. Now, however, for the insult alone, he would bed her, willing or not, for the pleasure of avenging himself on her. Perhaps he should stay in the neighborhood for a few days and see if he could come upon her while she was engaged in one of her infamous walks. The notion pleased him immensely....

Yet his desperate situation denied any such notion. Wickham had not liked what Denny had said to him, but he was not foolish enough to discount it. Time was running out. If Wickham could not spirit Anne de Bourgh away from this place in short order, the failure of his plans was a certainty. Should Darcy or Fitzwilliam find him, he would most likely end up on a ship bound for Hades, if not at the end of a hangman's noose.

Wickham could remember a time when all was not so desperate. Only five years earlier, he had left Pemberley for the last time, four thousand pounds weighing down his pocket, the world seemingly at his fingertips. How it had all gone astray, he could not quite understand, though he had learned in the process that four thousand pounds was a pittance in the world in which he yearned to live. To truly live as he coveted, he needed a ready income, a sum greater than that he had depleted in only two years. Anne de Bourgh and her inheritance of Rosings Park, an estate with an income of eight thousand a year if it was a farthing, solved his distress.

It had all turned to dross. The only way Wickham could conceive to regain his lost fortune was to sneak into Longbourn after dark, to abduct the chit somehow, steal a horse, and make for Gretna as quickly as the beast could carry them. How he could do it, Wickham could not say, for he knew the master of the estate would remain watchful, and the men who had defended her that day were more than capable.

Not for the first time, Wickham cursed her lack of funds. She had brought with her only the funds necessary to hire the carriage and see to their needs in a few rough inns on their way north rather than the money her mother kept, likely with little sense of what it would mean to a man in Wickham's situation. Then it would have been a simple matter to visit any parish in London and present it to the parson to perform the ceremony, though Wickham knew he would have had to keep them hidden until he could procure the license. There would be nothing Darcy, Fitzwilliam, or the earl himself could have done once he was legally married to her.

If he could lay his hands on some funds... Perhaps if he should invade Longbourn, might he relieve Mr. Bennet of enough money to do as he wished? Wickham pursued the thought idly. It was no less foolhardy than trying to abduct her from an estate wary of anything he might attempt. Should he get the money, he might purchase the license and pay a priest to marry them even if Miss de Bourgh was now unwilling. It was something to consider.

As Wickham was considering his options, trying to refine his desperate plans, he happened to look out on the street, to which he had paid little attention, and noted the approach of a chaise and four. The blood turned cold in his veins, and he shrank back into the protective interior of the alley. That was a Darcy carriage!

Meryton was much as Darcy remembered, the dusty collection of buildings not even approaching the muted grandeur of the town they had left behind less than two hours before. It was strange, however, that the place was so familiar to him, for he had paid little attention to the town, visiting only when occasion demanded it, or Bingley insisted.

"It is good to be back, is it not?"

Darcy turned to his friend, noting the shining eagerness in his eyes. "Yes, Bingley," replied Darcy, reflecting how strange it truly was, "I am quite happy to be returned."

"I cannot imagine why," said Lady Catherine with a superior sniff. "This little collection of hovels cannot even compare to Hunsford, let alone Westerham or Lambton."

There was nothing Darcy wished to do less than inform Lady Catherine that his pleasure was solely for the young lady who called this place her home. Bingley, however, did not misunderstand, and Fitzwilliam's grin informed Darcy that he comprehended the connection as well.

"We should find my man here," said Darcy, changing the subject. "He will have awaited our arrival rather than continuing to Luton."

"It appears Howard has already seen him," observed Fitzwilliam.

Darcy looked out the window, noting that his footman had ridden on ahead, and was now greeting another man in Darcy livery, Barnes by the look of him. As the driver was already making for them, Darcy waited as the coach slowed, until it stopped near the side of the road. Howard had dismounted and was speaking urgently with Barnes, who nodded his greeting when Darcy stepped down from the carriage. This time, even Lady Catherine appeared to be relieved to leave the conveyance behind if only for a short time.

"Mr. Darcy," greeted Barnes. "Miss de Bourgh is in the neighborhood."

"In the neighborhood, but not in Meryton?" asked Darcy, catching the man's inference at once.

"It is a strange story, sir," replied the footman. "Mr. Wickham and Miss de Bourgh stopped here some hours ago it seems. Thereafter, there was a bit of excitement."

"Well, what happened?" barked Lady Catherine. "Out with it, man! I must retrieve my daughter!"

To his credit, Barnes did not allow so much as a twitch of his lips in response to Lady Catherine's demand. Darcy nodded, prompting him to continue.

"The details are a little sparse, but it seems Wickham left the carriage to meet with some locals, and when he returned, she was gone."

Fitzwilliam interjected: "Is it confirmed that it was Wickham?"

"It is," said Barnes. "A few of the townsfolk recognized him. What happened after is difficult to piece together, but there are rumors of a young lady matching Miss de Bourgh's description leaving town on foot thereafter. It is common knowledge that Wickham followed in his hired carriage, and then returned without her half an hour later."

"Where did they go?" asked Darcy urgently.

Barnes turned and pointed north. "That road, sir."

"The road leading to Longbourn," said Bingley with no little wonder staining his voice.

"That is what the locals tell me," agreed Barnes.

"Where is Wickham now?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"Unknown, sir. He had a falling out with the carriage driver, who left thereafter, heading south at speed. Mr. Wickham disappeared soon after; there were some murmurs that he had gone to the tavern, but I investigated, and he is not there."

"Then he may still be skulking about," mused Fitzwilliam.

"Be that as it may," interrupted Lady Catherine, "the most important consideration is the need to secure my daughter's return. You may hunt for Mr. Wickham when Anne is in my care."

Darcy turned a look on Fitzwilliam, noting his cousin caught it and agreed. Though the need chafed at him, it was still not the time to wrest control of her five-and-twenty-year-old daughter from her talons. That conversation was becoming more urgent, though Darcy was aware it would need to involve his uncle. For the moment, he pushed the matter to the side.

"Very well," said Darcy. "Thank you, Barnes, for you have done well. Now, ride to Luton and gather the men searching there. Once you round them, send someone to Stevenage to retrieve those men, as there is no need to go further north. Then return to Meryton, for we will likely need to mount a search for Wickham."

"Aye, Mr. Darcy, I will leave at once. The men have orders to wait for further instruction should they find no trace of Miss de Bourgh's passage, so it should be no trouble to find them."

"Good man," said Darcy, with a nod. "Howard, you stay with me and follow us to Longbourn."

"Yes, sir," replied Howard.

Given their orders, both men mounted, Barnes already cantering out of the town toward Luton, while Howard waited behind the carriage on his steed. The four travelers returned to the carriage and settled themselves in for the last short leg of their journey to find Anne.

"I say, Darcy," said Bingley, the moment they were back in the coach, "who would have thought we might find your cousin at Longbourn? I am highly gratified, for it will return me to my friends more quickly than I imagined."

"Happy for you though the reunion must be," sniffed Lady Catherine with disdain, "I suspect this Longbourn is nothing but a hovel, and I shall not endure Anne staying in such circumstances for one instant longer than I must."

"If you recall, Aunt," said Fitzwilliam, a note of censure in his voice, "Longbourn is the estate that Miss Elizabeth Bennet calls home. I seriously doubt that a woman such as she lives in squalor."

"Furthermore," said Darcy, "It shows a remarkable lack of tact to speak in such a fashion."

"It appears," added Bingley, "that we must offer our sincere thanks to the Bennet family. While events are unknown to us, it seems they had a hand in protecting your daughter from Wickham. Is that not a reason to offer them some measure of gratitude?"

"Perhaps you do not recall," said Lady Catherine, ignoring Bingley as if he did not exist, "but the Bennet family also claims my jackanapes of a parson as one of their members. I allow Anne to visit the parsonage in her phaeton when she wishes, but they are not the sort of people with whom I wish to allow her to consort."

"I believe I have had just about enough of your attitude, Aunt," growled Fitzwilliam. "Kindly recall that these people are gentlefolk. If they do not possess the wealth of the Darcy, Fitzwilliam, or de Bourgh families, they are still excellent people, and as Bingley has said, a family to whom we should offer our gratitude given the succor they gave Anne."

"Do not make them into more than they are," said Lady Catherine with a contemptuous wave of her hand.

"I do not." Fitzwilliam's reply was clipped, containing enough displeasure to capture even Aunt Catherine's attention. "I only state the truth about them. Heed me well, Aunt—if you cannot behave yourself, I shall make you wait in the carriage while we retrieve your daughter."

"You would not dare," gasped Lady Catherine.

"Believe me, I would," replied Fitzwilliam, giving not an inch of ground.

"And I will support him," added Darcy. "Remember, Aunt, that I claim some acquaintance with these people.

"As do I," said Bingley, his displeasure clear in his glare.

Darcy nodded to his friend. "Whatever their position in society, their descent, or the exact state of their finances, I insist on civility. You will say nothing anyone can construe critical or judgmental, or I will turn the carriage around this instant and leave you at the inn. You may wait for us there if you find it impossible to control your temper."

While Lady Catherine glared at them all, put out with their demands, she appeared to sense they would do as they suggested and bar her from Longbourn. She huffed her annoyance, but it was an admission of defeat. Darcy had little faith in her ability to refrain from wedging her foot in her mouth, but perhaps if she did, it would give her less opportunity to spew her vitriol.

With that, silence descended in the carriage as they passed the last half mile between Meryton and Longbourn. Darcy had never seen the estate, not having visited it while he was in residence, and as a result, had some interest. The lands had been guided by a hand that knew its business, for it was well maintained, the fields orderly the green shoots that would become the autumn harvest already rows of grain waving in the breeze. The lands to the right of the carriage, which belonged to Lucas Lodge, also appeared to be neat and prosperous, more so than Darcy would have given the proprietor credit when he had been in Meryton the previous year.

Soon the rolling hills, fields, and groves of trees gave way to a small community clustered before the entrance to an estate in the distance. It, too, was tidy, with a few small houses, a blacksmith, and perhaps one or two merchants serving the estate beyond. Then, the carriage passed through a gate onto a gravel drive, smooth and free of weeds as it should be to an estate house beyond, its walls whitewashed with ivy growing in several places. It appeared they had come at last to Longbourn.

As the carriage drew away, Wickham watched it go, rage swelling within his breast. He was not too proud to confess to himself that his anger mixed with a healthy measure of fear. Darcy had come, and with him Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, and Colonel Fitzwilliam. That last name filled Wickham with even more disquiet than he had felt upon seeing the evidence of Darcy's presence. Fitzwilliam hated Wickham beyond measure and would think nothing of running his cavalry saber through Wickham's chest should even a trace of an opportunity present itself.

The arrival appeared to put all consideration of any attempt to retrieve Anne de Bourgh from the estate and the custody of those at Longbourn, for she would not long remain there. Wickham did not think he could go up against both Fitzwilliam and Darcy and emerge with his skin intact, not if he had ten men at his back.

Wickham shrank further back into the alley and considered his options. Making for Bristol at once and claiming a cabin on the next ship bound for the Americas was appealing, for now that Fitzwilliam had his scent, Wickham knew he would not rest until Wickham was hanging from a gibbet. That he had no money to purchase passage on a ship Wickham considered a minor inconvenience—he was no stranger to a bit of petty larceny, all that would be required to procure the funds necessary. The question of whether he could claim Rosings was now answered, for he did not think they would allow him to take control of the place, even if it meant murdering him and dumping his body into an unmarked grave.

Was there still a chance to salvage something from this business? Perhaps there was, for Wickham could think of several options that would provide him with consolation for the utter ruin of his machinations.

Yet Wickham could not but own that the best course of action would be to flee at once as Denny had suggested and leave England forever as the chit Anne de Bourgh had mocked. It galled Wickham to think that such people's words could prove prophetic. There was nothing he wished for more than to take it out on them, to show them and the world that one did not trifle with George Wickham and escape intact.

Such actions, however, were fraught with danger, and Wickham suspected he had already used all his luck. The greater consideration was his continued freedom. If he remained free, he could try his hand in alternative places where he was unknown. The New World was a land that was ripe with opportunity for an enterprising man. Wickham had always been resourceful—perhaps he could take the ashes of his current plans and create a more prosperous future for himself.

Regardless, he could not stay here, for he had no friends, and the number of his enemies was swelling by the minute. It was time to do something, for it was clear there was nothing further to be gained in waiting for a miracle.