Chapter Seventeen

WHEN ELIZABETH GOT back to her bedchamber, it was not empty.

Mr. Wickham was standing inside the doorway.

She drew back, stunned. She searched for words, but nothing came, so she stood there, sputtering, and thinking—wildly—that he would be able to see that she’d been kissed so very thoroughly and feeling ashamed and worried.

“All right,” said Mr. Wickham, raising both of his hands in a gesture she thought he meant to be calming, but which was not. “Let’s leave aside, for the moment, the fact that I sought you out in your bedchamber.”

She found her voice. “Let’s not leave that aside, Mr. Wickham. What are you doing here?”

He drew in a breath. “It’s good that someone was here, for the boy who was seeking you out was about ready to go and look elsewhere for you and then someone else would have found the letter he had for you. As it was, I found your coin purse there and paid him.” He gestured to the reticule, sitting out on her writing desk. “And I took the letter, so no one else saw it, and you can be pleased about that.”

“What are you speaking of?”

“I destroyed it,” he said. “The letter. You can thank me for that, too. If anyone had ever seen it, it would have been calamity for your entire family.”

“Mr. Wickham, you are not making any sense!”

“I gather you sent this boy to London with a letter for your sister, Mary.”

“Oh,” she said, her heart going wildly out of rhythm. “Oh, yes, I suppose…” She swallowed. “No, no, I sent him last night with it. He could never have been to London and back by now, that’s preposterous.”

“No, he never made it there,” said Wickham. “He stopped at a tavern last night and overheard a conversation, a woman’s name, and realized the person to whom he was supposed to deliver the letter was right exactly there.”

“What?” Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? Mary was in a tavern?”

“Oh, yes,” said Wickham. “Unwillingly, it seems, and when the boy attempted to deliver the letter, the man with her… David, I think is what he said.”

She went cold. “David. She’s with David.”

“Yes, that is the name, then.” Wickham nodded. “So, the boy said that when he attempted to deliver the letter, the David person stopped him from speaking to Mary, and he chased the boy off, threatening him with a pistol. Mary managed to get a letter out to the boy, however, from a tavern wench, a letter to be delivered to you. She’s been captured by whoever this David man is. He has done some violence to her. She is frightened of him. She cannot get away.”

“Oh, Lord in heaven,” said Elizabeth, hugging herself tightly. “I knew she shouldn’t have been taking up with that stable hand. I knew it was going to come to ill. I was positive of it.”

“You were right to be worried,” said Mr. Wickham.

“Well, we must tell my father right away,” said Elizabeth. She considered. “And Mr. Darcy. And Colonel Fitzwilliam. Yes, we’ll get everyone together and go after her and get her back.”

“No,” said Wickham. “That’s a terrible idea.”

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. She sputtered again. She was badly unsettled. Perhaps it was because of the kissing or the awful news or… “Why?”

“Elizabeth, your sister is responsible for The Tattle Press , and that information can’t come out.”

“H-how do you know that?”

“The letter,” he said. “It was in the letter.”

“Which you destroyed? Why would you do that? Why would you… I should have at least seen it. It was addressed to me .”

Mr. Wickham grimaced. “Oh, perhaps you’re right. I didn’t think. I was so horrified, and I just…” He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I know where the tavern is, Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy will not travel with me. Neither will the colonel. I think it’s best if you and I do this alone. We can have Mary back here, safe and sound, by morning, with no one the wiser.”

“W-well…” She was struggling to think. “But my father?”

“Your father against some stable hand? How old is this David? Is he strong from doing hard labor? He has a gun, we know that. I am a member of the regiment. I am used to such things. I swear to you, I can handle it. And think how hard this conversation has been. If we waste time trying to explain it to your father, how long will that delay us?”

She was remembering her last conversation with her father, and had to admit that Wickham was right. Her father was going to be no help whatsoever. She rubbed her temples. “You and me? Just the two of us?”

“The tavern isn’t far. I know precisely where it is. The boy told me of it, and I know it.”

“And they’re still there?”

“Oh, yes, they are still there.”

“But… Mr. Wickham, I…” Something about this still didn’t make any sense. She struggled to figure out what that was. “I don’t think it would be proper for me to go off alone with you in the dead of the night—”

“Your sister’s virtue has been shredded. She’s been violently assaulted, and you’re worrying about propriety?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

“We are even now wasting time. Let’s go.”

“B-but…”

“Now, Elizabeth,” said Mr. Wickham, and he reached out and took her hand. He tugged on her. “We need to go now.”

“I just am not quite sure that we should.”

“I am,” he said. “I know you think badly of me, but you’re wrong about me, quite wrong. I want to help you. I want to help your family. Please, let me prove to you that I have nothing but your best interests at heart.”

She wavered.

“Please.”

“But Mr. Wickham—”

“Don’t I deserve a chance, just a chance? Doesn’t everyone deserve that?”

“Well, but, is this really the time to take chances?”

“Yes. We must, for Mary’s sake,” he said.

She furrowed her brow, trying to puzzle that out. That didn’t seem to make sense either.

“Good,” he said, tugging on her hand again. “This way. I have a carriage waiting for us.”

Oh, he had a carriage.

She tried to extricate her hand from his, to stop their movement, but he was stronger than her, and he pulled her out of the room.

She cast a glance back over her shoulder, into her bedroom, and she felt again that something about this didn’t make sense. “Mr. Wickham—”

“Quiet, unless you want someone to hear us,” said Mr. Wickham, pulling firmly on her, practically dragging her down the hallway.

She tried to pull her hand out of his. She was feeling more than confused now. She was feeling a dull spread of panic, but she wasn’t sure why. Was she frightened of Mr. Wickham or of Mary’s fate? What was going on?

But now they were moving quickly and silently through the hallways, and now they were going down a set of steps—the servants’ steps—and they were very narrow, and she didn’t want to trip over her skirts—and now they were practically out of the house and the carriage was there, right there.

She allowed Mr. Wickham to help her inside.

He got in after her, pulling the door shut. He hit the ceiling and the carriage took off.

She had another stab of worry.

But then, she thought that Mr. Wickham knew about The Tattle Post and he knew about David and about Mary, and there was no way he could know all of those things unless this was all true.

Mr. Wickham was a liar, but Mary must really be in danger.

She had to save her sister.

* * *

Thank you for reading!!