A Fortunate Compromise (Sweet Standalone Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)

Chapter 25

After sending Mr Bingley off on his romantic errand, Darcy did not remain in Netherfield House for long. It was essential to tie up any last ends that needed his attention before he departed for Pemberley. He was at once eager and reluctant to go. The first thing weighing on his mind before he exited the Meryton scene was to ensure Wickham answered for his crimes. He must not be allowed to slip away from responsibility as he had so easily done in years past. And so, on that dreary winter day, he made his way to the county prison.

Motivated equally by the inclement weather and his own weariness, Darcy took the coach. He had not slept well the night before, and he suspected it would be some time before he did again. Elizabeth did not want him. He had known it was a possibility that he might not win her heart by the time they proved their innocence. And yet he had begun to hope…

When that hope had been crushed the evening before, he had known he could not simply sit about feeling sorry for himself. If he was to recover his spirits, he would have to keep himself busy at all costs. He would return to Pemberley and seek the solace of his sister’s unchanging affection for her big brother. He would try to forget.

But how could he forget the woman who had become a part of his heart and soul?

“Can I help you, sir?” a constable asked as he entered the brick-and-mortar building. Iron bars covered the glass-paned windows, of which there were few. No doubt to keep those incarcerated from getting any ideas of escape. The overall effect was impressive, even foreboding — exactly right for a man who had showed himself to be as unremittently depraved as Wickham.

Darcy pulled himself out of his private musings and back to the present. “Yes, I hope so,” he replied. “I am here to speak with Constable Rathers. It concerns a case involving a Mr George Wickham.”

The constable raised a brow. “Chap they brought in late last night?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, wondering if something had happened to make them release the louse already. “Is he still here?”

“To be sure, sir. Not about to let that one out of our sights. I heard a little of what happened with the — gentleman, I suppose I shall call him — last night. Constable Rathers is here as we speak,” the man said. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Darcy only had to wait for a few minutes before he was shown to a dim, colourless room, its only furnishings a table and two wooden chairs. Constable Rathers bowed and offered him a seat across the table. “I am surprised to see you here this early, Mr Darcy. Is all well at Netherfield?”

“To the best of my knowledge. I came to ensure that Wickham does not escape justice this time. As I am sure you can guess, he has had a wild past, and answered for none of it.”

“Well, there is one thing you can do to help us ensure he answers for his actions. You can file a charge against him,” Constable Rathers said.

“What would the charge be? I should like to keep Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s name out of the scandal as much as possible.”

Constable Rathers thought for a moment. “I suppose assault might do. He did attack you after all, if not in any particularly deadly fashion. It is a charge we could pursue without having to bring Miss Elizabeth into it —”

A knock sounded, and Constable Rather looked up at the door, looking rather peeved at the interruption. “Come!” he called brusquely.

The constable that had greeted Darcy in the foyer pulled Rathers aside and spoke low, though not low enough to escape Darcy’s hearing. “There is someone who says they urgently need to speak with you in confidence. It is about the Wickham case.”

It took all Darcy’s self-control to avoid demanding an explanation without delay. He listened intently.

“It cannot wait?” Constable Rathers asked. “I am speaking with Mr Darcy about that same case now.”

“I do not think you will want to put this person off, sir. He says it is urgent.”

“Please go, Constable Rathers,” Darcy said quickly. “I have no objection to waiting, not when the delay may bring forth valuable information.”

Constable Rathers nodded. “We can only hope. In that case, please excuse me, Mr Darcy. I will do my best to make it short. Please wait here.”

Though he could have no regrets in sending Constable Rathers off for an interview that might be of material importance, Darcy was not ecstatic about being left alone with his thoughts. He had already spent much too much time pining over Elizabeth. It was foolish, idle, for nothing could change the painful truth that she did not want him. He had tried, and he had failed. Her relief at the chance to dissolve their engagement made it all too clear. She did not love him, and that was the end of it.

Yet his thoughts still wandered to her. Darcy could not help but wonder what she was about at that moment. It was late morning. Perhaps she was in her parlour, sewing something, or reading to her sisters. She had a very expressive way of reading that pulled her listeners in. Darcy had often daydreamed of what it might be like for them to spend the evenings together in the informal drawing room at Pemberley, listening spellbound as Elizabeth read aloud. Georgiana would have gained a wealth of knowledge and insight from her would-be sister-in-law. Now, they would never know what joys could have awaited them. Georgiana would continue to pine in loneliness and silence for the wrongs Wickham had done her.

Darcy took a deep breath, strengthening his resolve. He must not allow himself to forget why his interview with Constable Rathers was so important. Though Elizabeth was safe, he must ensure that Wickham could not hurt any other unsuspecting young ladies.

The door opened again after a quarter of an hour, and Constable Rathers poked his head around the frame. “Mr Darcy? I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Will you come with me?”

“Has something happened?” he asked, his wariness growing at the look on the constable’s face. Darcy rose from the chair, going around the desk to the door. “Has Wickham escaped?”

“No, there is no way he could have escaped, I assure you of that, Mr Darcy.” Constable Rathers said. “I have just had a very interesting conversation. If I am not mistaken, you will wish to learn what my visitor has come to impart. Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” Darcy said. He followed Constable Rathers to another room, which looked more like a study than the cheerless room in which he had waited. “Mr Darcy, may I present Colonel Forster? I believe you may have been introduced in Meryton. He is the commander of Mr Wickham’s regiment.”

Darcy did recognise the man. While he was about ten years his senior, and his hair showed the first touches of grey, he was a powerfully built man with the upright spine of a long military career. They had been at the Meryton assembly, and had greeted each other at the Netherfield ball, among other events.

All other concerned faded before the fire in the Colonel’s eyes. Darcy drew in a quick breath, wondering what he was about to learn, for good or ill. “Colonel Forster. A pleasure to see you again,” he said cautiously.

“I am afraid I do not bring pleasant news, Mr Darcy,” Colonel Forster replied.

“Please, let us all sit down, and we can discuss the matter,” Constable Rathers suggested. When they were all settled, he went on. “The Colonel has come from the barracks to bring us some news that I think you should hear.” Rathers nodded to the Colonel. “Tell him what you just told me.”

Colonel Forster sighed heavily, shifting his weight in the chair and causing it to creak loudly. “First, please allow me to apologise for the crime committed against you. And against Miss Elizabeth Bennet, naturally. I had no idea a member of my regiment would stoop so low as to —” He halted, shaking his head. “Well, it has come as a shock to us all. However, I thank you for unmasking him. He was certainly a charming fellow, and would have climbed the ranks quickly, I imagine.”

“Would have?” Darcy asked. “I assume you plan to court-martial him after the events of last night were revealed?”

“More than, sir. Indeed, the court-martial has already begun, and I am positive he will be found guilty.”

Darcy swallowed hard. It was essential to keep Elizabeth’s name from coming out in any inquiry, or worse, landing in the papers. “I should like to ensure that the matter involving Miss Elizabeth Bennet and myself is kept as quiet as possible, for both our sakes. While events have proved that we have nothing to be ashamed of, neither should I like to be the subject of public speculation and idle gossip. I am sure Constable Rathers already informed you that our engagement has been broken, since we now know it was Mr Wickham who orchestrated the entire ordeal?”

“Yes, I have been informed,” Colonel Forster replied. “I do not think the matter of the compromise will come into play whatsoever. You see, Wickham is guilty of much more than causing a local scandal.” Colonel Forster leaned forward. “After his arrest last evening, we searched his tent and found military plans, private letters stolen from my office, and other tidbits of information that he should not know, nor have in his possession.”

Darcy raised a brow. It was not altogether unsurprising that Wickham would have stolen information, if he thought it might confer some advantage. But for what purpose? “Continue,” he said with a nod.

“The signs were all too clear. It cannot be doubted that he was in contact with the French. He had been planning to sell the information after he deserted.” Colonel Forster leaned back and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief as if it was all too much for him. “This news may come as a shock even after Mr Wickham’s recent actions, given that, as I understand, you have known him for many years. He is to be hanged as a spy.”

Colonel Forster was right that it was a shock. Darcy slumped back in his chair and allowed the news to sink in. “Hanged?” His father would have been heartbroken. When Wickham was a young boy, he had loved him like another son. Even as he grew to manhood, and Darcy found the signs of his selfishness and callous disregard for others growing all too clear, his father had refused to see Wickham as anything but the charming lad he had once been.

Had the late Mr Darcy known that lad would be executed in disgrace one day, he would have wept.

“I am sorry,” Colonel Forster said.

Darcy shook his head. “I am not saddened for myself, as you may suppose. Of course, I would not wish the noose on anyone. But I cannot claim that he deserves mercy. He has done wrong too gravely, and too often. It was not for lack of opportunities to return to the right path in life that he has come to this.” Darcy stood and began to pace. He could have seen Wickham locked up where he could hurt no one else without regret. But he had not wished him dead, save for in the first moments of untamed fury after he had insulted Elizabeth’s honour. He had hoped to put the whole ordeal behind them after they were married. Wickham would not have been able to hurt them then. But to have the death sentence?

“I must confess, I am saddened for the boy he used to be, for the friend I used to know. Before the world so cruelly changed him.” Darcy sighed heavily. It was a shame Wickham had allowed his choices to lead him down a dark path.

Colonel Forster stood, as did Rathers. “I am sorry it’s come to this. He could have been a fine soldier, but he always seemed discontented with his lot.”

“He wanted your position, I suppose?” Darcy asked.

Colonel Forster cocked his head to the side in thought. “Perhaps for a little while he had his sights on my position. But no, I think the person he envied most, the person he wanted to be, was you.” He extended his hand, and they shook. “I think he would have done well to mimic you, Mr Darcy. Brief as our acquaintance has been, I have learned much of your character from what Constable Rathers has told me of this affair. Wickham would have done well to learn from you, rather than merely envy you.”

Darcy blinked. Wickham had always fought against the goad, but he had never imagined it was jealousy of himself. His position as the son of a wealthy father, perhaps, but nothing more than that. Wickham had cared little for honour.

No matter the reasons for Wickham’s downfall, he would no longer be a threat to any of them. And that was a relief. “Thank you for coming to tell me in person, Colonel. And do keep me apprised of the situation.”

“I will, thank you, Mr Darcy.”

Darcy left the prison, climbed into his carriage, and started the journey back to Netherfield. He would have to go on to Longbourn and tell Elizabeth the news —

But no, he could not — must not. He must remember that there was nothing between them now. She had been so relieved the night before to see it ended. He leaned back in the seat, watching the frigid landscape pass by. Frost covered everything in a thin sheen of white. His breath came out in wisps of mist, but he did not reach for the furs. He was too downhearted to worry about his own comfort.

He would have to send a note to Mr Bennet, alerting him to the turn of events in Wickham’s case. Once again, he thought of the monumental consequences Wickham would now endure. Wickham had always been fixated on gaining his own fortune, had even gone so far as to try to dislodge Darcy from his father’s affections.

Those had been sad days, both for the discomfort of enduring Wickham’s stratagems, and for the transparent fact of their failure. The elder Mr Darcy had loved Wickham, of course, but his affection for his son and heir had never wavered. Many, many times, Darcy had wished his father might address the flaws in Wickham, but he had never needed to fear for his own place. Wickham’s own father had played a role in planting that misconception in his son, Darcy presumed. The elder Mr Wickham, as he remembered him, had been a hard, unforgiving man toward his son. Wickham had never been able to please his father. No doubt that early grief had played a role in turning him into the grasping, lecherous man he had become.

Darcy shook his head and looked out the window again. It was time to put the past behind him. Wickham, miserable soul that he was, had brought this upon himself, and there seemed little Darcy could do to save him, even if he had wanted to. Guilt momentarily washed over him. Would his father have wished him to do more? When they were young, he had charged him to protect Wickham, to treat him like a member of their own family. Yet surely, his father would not have held him to that silent promise of protection if he had known what a scoundrel he had turned out to be. No, it was not for him to interfere in the military’s way of executing justice. Still, the thought of Wickham hanging for his crimes made his stomach turn.

Sorrow filled him, seeping into his bones. After he wrote to Mr Bennet to tell him of what happened, there would be nothing left to stay for. Bingley was due to propose to Miss Jane Bennet, Wickham would never be able to hurt anyone again, and even if the Bennet sisters were forced to leave Longbourn, Bingley would see to their comfort. The girls would find worthy husbands, would have the luxury of selecting their future partners in life based on mutual esteem, rather than necessity. It made his heart ache to think of Elizabeth falling in love with someone else. But she would have a chance at happiness this way, at least. That would have to be enough comfort for him.

When Darcy arrived at Netherfield, he went straight up to his set of rooms, bypassing the parlour. For once, he had no wish to speak with Bingley, dear friend though he was. He was eager to dispose of the obligation to inform Mr Bennet of Wickham’s fate. The sooner that task was done, the sooner he would be free to leave Meryton.

It was not only out of missing Georgiana that he wished to leave as quickly as possible. He longed to see his sister, it was true, but it was almost an equal object to avoid any painful and humiliating interviews with Elizabeth. It was clear she did not want him now. Indeed, she had said she was relieved that they would not be forced to marry. He went to the writing desk and stared at the blank page for a long while. Usually, he was quite efficient at writing letters. Then again, this was not a letter of business, written to issue instructions. It was only the second time he had written to tell of someone’s imminent death — and the first had been his father’s death, a more natural if equally tragic end. To write of an impending execution was something else entirely. It made the hair on his neck and arms stand on end, as though he were the one holding the hangman’s noose at the ready.

Shaking his head, he wrote a hurried note, trying not to take too much time to go over the details. He was confident that Mr Bennet would relay the information as gently as possible. It hurt that he could not write directly to Elizabeth or go to see her, as he would have preferred. But it would be better this way. He would not have to see the sparkle in her dark eyes and be reminded of the painful aching in his heart. He could almost wish that Bingley were not going to marry her older sister, if he had not come to be utterly convinced of the suitability of the match. To have his best friend married to Elizabeth’s beloved sister would be difficult. He would have to see her. One day, he would surely have to see her love another, choose another. And he would have to bear it — somehow.

Bingley was due to propose to Miss Bennet within the next few days, Darcy thought dully. Perhaps he had even already done so. They had discussed the matter at length over a glass of port, and he was certain that Bingley was eager to speak for the young lady.

He would have to stay away from Bingley and his new wife for a time, once they had wed. Elizabeth would surely visit them, and it would be far too painful to see her.

Too painful to know she did not love him, when he would never love another as he loved her.