Chapter 25 #2
“Wickham is not known to have any associates in London, nor does he have any living family. But he and Weekes are both great gamers. Indeed, Wickham can best be traced by the line of debts he has in every inn and gaming house in England. If he and Weekes developed some sort of camaraderie, a sense of kinship or friendship, even, we might find Wickham by stalking Weekes.”
“That is an excellent supposition, Colonel. He has taken accommodations in a rooming house on an alley near Blackfriars, across from the tavern where he has set up his table. It is not in a fine part of town; I am happy to seek him out myself and report to you immediately.”
But Darcy shook his head. “No. This is a disaster of my own doing. Had I been less proud, I might have warned all of Meryton about him and prevented this. I am not afraid of the stews. But I beg you, allow me some time to change into more… suitable clothing.”
He glanced down at himself. His shirt collar was pure white, his waistcoat a luxurious silk, the better to remain cool on a hot summer’s day, and his coat was of the most fine and light cashmere.
Even after his wild ride across England and their hurried return to London, Darcy was impeccably—and expensively—dressed.
Richard agreed that a change of clothing into something rougher would be for the best.
“Then I shall await you here in two hours. Will that do?”
“Very well indeed.” Darcy shook the man’s hand and the two cousins departed.
Richard followed Darcy back to his townhouse, where the two borrowed clothing from the gardener and one of the footmen.
Darcy looked quite ill-at-ease in the rough threads, and he carried himself too proudly to ever be mistaken as anything other than a toff slumming for a day.
Richard, despite being far higher in the social ranks than his cousin, felt quite at home in the yellowed shirt and rough tweed cap he now wore.
He had spent enough time digging ditches and dossing down with rank-and-file soldiers; he knew his fine clothes and comfortable accommodations were a privilege and not a right, and he bore the scraped knuckles and hole-ridden clothing with a certain amount of pride.
Now, he knew, as long as he disguised his accent as well, he could pass adequately as a working-class labourer or the like.
Lyons seemed pleased enough with what he saw.
For his part, he had darkened his red hair to some sort of unremarkable brown.
As to the rest of his appearance, he was blandly handsome, with nothing particular to call attention to him.
He would pass quite unnoticed wherever he might go, an asset for one in his line of business.
He bustled them to the square at the end of his lane and into a hack.
He gave an address on Blackfriars Road, near to the alleyway in question, and the three walked the remaining short distance to their destination.
“Go inside and order drinks,” he suggested. “Let me make the initial inquiries.”
Richard and Darcy shuffled inside the dark tavern.
It was foul, even by Richard’s unexacting standards.
The air held the faint stench of urine and vomit, and whilst he might brave the ale, nothing short of utter starvation could tempt him to try the food.
Darcy looked as if he was about to be ill, but he swallowed hard and kept a stoic face.
“Two beers, sweetheart,” Richard called to the barmaid, effecting the best Southwark accent he could manage.
He led his cousin to a bench at a table in the far corner, where he sat facing the door.
The table was sticky; he had not dared to feel the surface of the bench itself before he sat.
These clothes, no matter how rough they were, would be subject to a thorough scrubbing before they were returned to their owner.
The barmaid sashayed over to the table with a pewter flagon in each hand. “I haven’t seen you here before,” she drawled as she placed one before each of them. Richard prayed the flagons had been washed since last someone drank from them.
“Just passin’ through,” he replied to the barmaid.
“Thanks for the drinks, luv. Here’s your coin.
” He handed over the piece of metal, which she tucked into her bosom.
“We’re here for a day or two, depending on business.
” He strove to keep his tone light and his accent true.
“The nights get long—no, no, not that. I’m fond of the missus!
—but I like a good game of cards every now and then. Know of anything nearby?”
A flicker of disappointment at the loss of more coin passed across the barmaid’s face, but she regained her seductive grin quickly enough.
“Yessir! If you’ve the blunt to lose, there’s a new game started right here, in the back room, every night.
High class it is too, not that you’d know it from the neighbourhood!
Keeps the stakes high.” She named a minimum bet that was an inconsequential amount to Richard, but that would be a fortune to someone from this part of town.
“That’s a pretty penny! What sort of man runs this table? Been here for a long time?”
The barmaid laughed. “Not at all! Just started up the other night, but it’s good for business. Keeps me flat off my feet.” She laughed suggestively and sauntered off to serve another group who had just entered.
The door opened again, and Lyons slunk in.
His eyes floated across the room, but he affected to know no one, and he sat by himself at a small table near enough to Richard and Darcy that they might hear what he said, but not close enough to pretend to any prior acquaintance with them.
As the barmaid approached him, he put on the most remarkable show that Richard had ever seen.
He greeted her in an accent that sounded perfect to Richard’s ears, locating his origins in Seven Dials rather than in some village near Glasgow.
He flirted and cajoled, and all but seduced her as she stood there, promising more later.
“An ale for now, darlin’,” he winked at her, “and perhaps another when my friend arrives. Haven’t seen this chap in a while.
We used to do everything together.” He ran a hand down her hip. “Everything.”
“Is your friend free with his coin? For a generous enough gentleman, I can also do everything.” She sat herself on Lyons’ knee.
“We shall see, darlin’. Has he been by already? Girls consider him a handsome chap, couple of years older than me. Sounds like a bit of a toff. Last I heard he had a piece on the side with him. Real lady, that one, but barely out of her drawing strings.”
Richard could not see the barmaid’s face, but she paused a moment before replying.
“Can’t right say I have. Only new face I’ve seen is Mr Potter—that’s the one runs the games at night.
But I’ll watch for him. If there’s enough coin in it for me!
” She pressed a slurping kiss to Lyons’ cheek and swayed off to fetch his beer.
“I’ll come by later to check!”
Nothing more was learned at the tavern, but when first Lyons left, and when a short while later Richard and Darcy followed him, the investigator wore a quiet smile.
“You learned something?” Darcy asked as they found a hack on the main street to take them back to a more respectable part of the city.
“Yes and no.” The brogue was back. “We now know that Wickham has not been parading Miss Lydia around Blackfriars. That gives us some hope for her recovery and the preservation of her reputation.” He gave a sly grin.
“We also know that Weekes is now going by the name Potter. He has changed it yet again, since setting up in this dismal neighbourhood. Tonight, we shall return to the tavern, Mr Darcy, if you so please. There we may find news of Miss Lydia.”
“Why Darcy?” Richard was not pleased at being so put off.
“Two reasons, Colonel. I do not know Wickham by sight. I could easily find a man and a woman together, but in a place like that, single men are as common as mouse droppings. I need somebody who knows him and who can show him to me. But you, forgive me, are a liability, for just as surely as you know Wickham’s face, Weekes knows yours.
My man will point that blackguard out to me, and Mr Darcy can point out Wickham. ”
“But will Wickham not recognise me?” Darcy’s question was valid.
Lyons pursed his lips and bobbed his head, sending a mop of mud-brown hair over his eyes. “Aye, that he might. But we shall dress you up—or down—and put a heavy cap over your head. And if he sees you, we will just move on him the more quickly. The result will be the same.”
This Richard deemed to be sensible, no matter how much it rankled.
“One more matter,” Lyons said as the hack rattled over the city streets. “What is the name of the relations in London? Once we retrieve the lass, we must send her somewhere.”
“Gardiner.” Darcy supplied at once. “They live on Gracechurch Street, near Cheapside.”
“We must locate them at once and prepare them for Miss Lydia’s imminent arrival. Back at my rooms at nine o’clock? Excellent! I shall see you then, Mr Darcy.”
Spending the evening at Darcy’s house, sitting in his cousin’s comfortable chair, reading his excellent books, sipping his fine brandy, ought to have been a coveted luxury. Instead, it was torture.
Richard hated being useless, and to be idle whilst his cousin was out in the thick of the action sat like a burr under his saddle.
Still, there was nothing for it. He understood and agreed with Lyons’ rationale and would have ordered himself to do the same.
It would do no good for Weekes to recognise him; it would instead be quite counterproductive.
Nor was there anywhere else to be. His parents were at the country estate, and he was loath to explain his presence in London to his associates at the club, and consequently, he reconciled himself to spending the evening alone, depleting his cousin’s casks.
It was very late when Darcy and Lyons returned to the house, well into the small hours of the morning. Darcy’s expression suggested he had just been dragged through cat’s vomit, but Lyons wore a small smug smile.
“We have found them!” he announced.
“That ale was rancid!” Darcy added.
Richard held back a chortle. “Tell all!”
At Darcy’s invitation, Lyons settled himself into a comfortable chair and spoke.
“It was nothing too dramatic, and while I know you ached to be there, Colonel, you missed little. We sat at that foul tavern for a time, and I met my man there. He showed me Weekes when he arrived, and we watched the doorway to the gaming room. It was a while before Wickham arrived, but arrive he did. We waited longer until the night’s gaming was over and the men left.
Wickham did not look as if he had enjoyed much success at the table, but that is his worry and not mine. ”
“But it might be mine,” Darcy grumbled.
“More is the pity.” Richard commiserated with his cousin. If Darcy were buying up Wickham’s debts, this would be one more draw upon his purse.
Lyons continued. “When Wickham finally left, we followed him. He is staying in an unsavoury rooming house just across the street from the tavern, next to the building where Weekes has his rooms. I pretended to be drunk and entered the rooms as if I had mistaken them as my own. Wickham sent me out with a flea in my ear, but I did ascertain the presence of a very young lady in that room, no more than sixteen years of age if I am correct. She did not speak, but it must be Miss Lydia.”
“We will return tomorrow and retrieve her then,” Darcy spoke with finality.
“Just so. They had unpacked sufficient items that I do not believe them to be planning any sudden departure. They will be there on the morrow.”
Richard blew hair back from his forehead. “Then it is done.”
His cousin levelled his gaze at him. “It is done.” He turned to Lyons.
“I shall welcome your company and assistance, but please allow me to be the one to retrieve the girl and deposit her at her relations. They know me; it will be less alarming. It will also allow me to render the one service I can to… to a certain person I know, to whom I wish to be of use.”
With a small amount of further talk, plans were made for the following day, and business was concluded. Then Lyons departed, leaving the cousins at last to retire to their beds.
Lyons’ plan worked perfectly. As Darcy related the events the following afternoon, Miss Lydia was indeed found in Wickham’s rooms, and with all the expected fuss and protests, was removed and taken to her aunt and uncle Gardiner, where she was expected to remain for the next while.
Wickham screamed louder and stronger than did Lydia, and it took a great deal of exertion to convince him to marry the girl.
“It was only when presented with the alternative of a life in prison or transportation that he agreed,” Darcy sighed.
To prevent him from absconding, Lyons had set a constant watch on him, to the extent of dwelling in the same rooms. The marriage might not be of equal delight to both parties, for Miss Lydia still seemed besotted with her betrothed, but it would occur.
Darcy’s duty to his beloved Miss Elizabeth Bennet was done.
Once more, his cousin’s success sent Richard’s own situation in sharp relief.
Darcy might never receive the reward of Miss Elizabeth’s affections for his efforts, but he could act upon his feelings and render aid.
Indeed, from what Darcy had told him, he had no intentions of ever confessing his role in Miss Lydia’s rescue to his beloved.
It was to be related that Mr Gardiner himself, the girls’ uncle, was the one who had found Lydia and convinced Wickham to marry her.
Such selfless devotion was the other aspect to his cousin’s reticent personality, and if Miss Elizabeth ever chose to forge some sort of friendship with Darcy, it would be greatly to the lady’s benefit. Darcy was both loyal and devoted.
But Richard could do no such thing for Emily.
There was no service he could do her, nor could he act on his love for her without betraying that forbidden emotion.
He had to stand by her as the friend he had promised to be, all the while hiding what he now knew he felt.
This was worth the sacrifice, he considered, if it was the price to preserve their friendship, but he longed nonetheless to be able to somehow demonstrate his love.