Chapter 21 #2
Fitzwilliam went to a shelf and brought out a map of London. There were six Edward Streets. “He must be near enough to you that Georgiana easily walked to Berkeley Square with a box. He would not waste money on a hackney that could be spent on cards or women.”
They looked at the map together. “That rules out Stepney, Limehouse, and Southwark. Bethnal Green is a possibility.”
His cousin frowned. “That is still rather far.”
“Then he is in Mayfair or Marylebone,” Darcy said, pointing at each Edward Street, “which makes sense if Melrose saw him in a fine private brothel.” Wickham would go as far east as he needed to for prostitutes and dice, but he would always prefer to be in a superior neighbourhood even if he could not afford it.
A thought struck him. “Melrose saw him in a new brothel. Do you think he is living there?” That was vile. He kept his sister in cramped rooms while he used the prostitutes down one flight of stairs.
The look of distaste on Fitzwilliam’s face showed he had the same feelings. “Where did Melrose see him?”
“He said near Cavendish Square.” That was in Marylebone. “Edward Street is close, and not a long street,” he said, tapping the map with his finger. “I can talk to the grooms in the nearby mews. Someone will know if there is a man and his wife living in the brothel.”
Fitzwilliam swore. “You cannot walk into a brothel now.”
Darcy looked at the clock. It was early Saturday evening. He had been at his cousin’s for a few hours. “He is likely there now. If we are right, his favourite vices are all down a flight of stairs.”
“I will check,” Fitzwilliam insisted, “and you can confront him in the morning. It will be Sunday, they will be abed, and in the unlikely event anyone sees you there that early, they will not assume you are a customer. You have made such a great deal out of your good name, and entering a brothel on a Saturday evening, even an elegant, disguised one, will not do you any favours if Wickham comes forward.”
He believed he could prevent that from happening, but his cousin was right, and Darcy nodded. Fitzwilliam went for the door, but Darcy stopped him. After a rough swallow he said, hating how vulnerable he sounded, “I cannot go home yet.”
“Of course not,” he said plainly. “You must stay here tonight, and when I confirm the scoundrel is in Edward Street, you can hunt the rat tomorrow when he is in his hole.”
Fitzwilliam left, and Darcy paced the empty parlour, feeling both too anxious to sit and completely exhausted.
He was too angry with Elizabeth to see her now, and angry at himself for being so concerned with his good name that his wife was afraid to confide in him. How did he show Elizabeth he was trustworthy? Could his affection ever be met with reciprocal sincerity and ardour?
He supposed the latter was possible, if the journal entry was provocative enough for Wickham to think his scheme would work. But he wanted more than just desire from Elizabeth, even though trust and esteem seemed out of reach in this moment amidst his feelings of betrayal and anger.
Wickham would be dealt with, and that would be done with a great deal of trouble and mortification.
And possibly some money. He must see his sister too, for she would have a part to play in his retrieving the journal, the diamonds, and in ensuring that Wickham never expected another shilling from him.
It would be a punishment to deal with them both, but it had to be done.
He and his wife would have no peace otherwise.
Wickham’s plan was flawed, and he knew how to act.
But once tomorrow’s ordeal was finished, and he returned home, how would he and Elizabeth move forward?
The church bell tolled the hour as Darcy approached the house.
Sixteen Edward Street looked as respectable as the houses on either side, but Fitzwilliam’s intelligence said otherwise.
It was an elegant brothel, or as elegant as such a place with inexpensive courtesans looking for new protectors and prostitutes fortunate enough to have a bed for their time could be.
A young man and his bride had appealed to the woman who had recently taken over the establishment and kept two meagre rooms at the top of the house.
He knocked and when a footman opened it, Darcy gently pressed him back into the house with the handle of his walking stick against his chest. He was so startled that Darcy was inside and had closed the door behind him before he even stammered.
“I must see your lodger, Mr Wickham.”
“I, I have to see if he is at home.”
Darcy kept the stick just touching the footman’s chest. “He is home. It is Sunday at half eight.”
“Well, I am to inform the landlady before bringing anyone upstairs.”
Landlady surely meant brothel madam. “I am not here for your typical business. Take me to his room now.”
Something about his tone, his look, the slight pressure of the walking stick handle convinced the footman.
He nodded and gestured for him to follow him up the stairs.
Darcy had just put his hand on the rail when he heard a gasp.
He peered over the side and saw Mrs Younge at the end of the entrance hall, scurrying away.
Everything made sense now. Mrs Younge might have known Wickham in his days of vice and dissipation about London, and had worked with him to get Georgiana’s fortune.
But now that she was a disgraced former companion and Wickham was still poor from his own extravagance, she rented a large house in Edward Street, and had since maintained herself by “letting lodgings.”
She might appear to be running a respectable boarding house, but she was now a madam of a private residential brothel.
It was a long way to fall from respectable companion to madam.
As much as he wanted to confront Mrs Younge, condemn her further for helping to sell his sister into misery, he had more important matters to attend to.
There were laws against keeping brothels, but prostitution itself was not made a criminal offence. He smiled darkly to himself as they climbed the stairs. A few well-placed words, and Mrs Younge would be shut down and homeless by the end of the week, if not imprisoned.
Each floor became progressively less well-maintained. Darcy climbed to the third floor, and the footman stopped by a door near the lobby. “Knock and tell him an express has come for him. Then step away and forget I was here.”
The man did as he was bid and then hastened down the stairs. The door opened halfway, and Darcy kicked it back in and stepped through. Wickham had answered it in his shirtsleeves and stumbled back in surprise, cursing. Darcy shut the door and locked it, putting the key into his pocket.
“Good morning.”
“What are you doing here?” Wickham cried, before looking to the door to the adjoining bedchamber. “Did your sister tell you where to find us?”
“No. Sadly, she remains loyal to you.”
The door opened, and Georgiana rushed in. She must have recognised his voice. The parlour was so small that his first thought was of it being only a passage room. Now, with the three of them, it was a crowded space, and a cluttered and unkempt one too.
“Fitzwilliam,” his sister cried, coming up to hug him.
Darcy stepped back and nodded. Her expectant face fell, and it hurt to slight her, but she was a part of this scheme.
He could forgive her for marrying Wickham, but forgiving her for the part she played in Elizabeth’s misery would be much harder.
“What are you doing here?” she asked shyly.
“I am here to retrieve my wife’s things.”
Georgiana’s expression fell at his harsh tone, and she took two steps toward the other room. However, Wickham stepped forward and said to her, “Stay where you are.” Glaring at him, he said, “Those items are valuable to me. And I will take that key from you by force unless you leave now.”
“I will leave when I have the journal and the diamonds.”
Wickham sneered. “Your brother is always letting his mouth start something his fists could never finish.”
“My goal is to never engage in a fight,” he said, taking a step toward Wickham. “But if I am dragged into one,” he said menacingly, “I will win. In this case, however, my good sense will finish this.”
Wickham hesitated, but it might have been as much from Darcy’s grip on the walking stick as it was with his words.
Darcy turned to his sister. “Have you seen your friend since you stole from her?”
She turned crimson, confirming his suspicion that Wickham was the instigator of the scheme. Georgiana was not proud of what she had done. “I never wanted to hurt Lizzy.”
“But you did hurt her. You betrayed her kindness, and now she is wasting away from anxiety,” he cried. “There are dark circles under her eyes, and she does not eat. She does not sleep. I have never seen a woman so dispirited. Your threats are destroying her health.”
“We only wanted a little money,” she whispered.
Darcy scoffed. His sister was a foolish little girl.
“By doing so, you are ruining my marriage and your friend’s spirits.
She is absolutely sick with worry. All you wanted was to be a married woman, and this is how you treat another married woman, your friend and sister?
You connive to shame her and end her marriage? ”
Georgiana sniffled. “But it does not have to end. You won’t really divorce her. She did not actually betray you.”
“What do you think will happen when your husband offers his alleged proof? All the world would expect me to divorce her. How do I live with integrity if my wife had an affair with my brother-in-law?”
She threw up her hands. “But we were never truly going to say that Lizzy was unfaithful! We just thought she would ask you for the money if she thought George would admit to an affair.”
“And what of the money she has already paid you?” he asked.