Chapter 20 #2
Elizabeth picked up the basket of strawberries with a huff while Colonel Fitzwilliam followed his cousin. Mr Darcy then stopped, turned quickly, and came back to her before she had finished rising.
“There is no reason for you not to know of what we were speaking.”
“Darcy, are you cert—”
He turned his head sharply, but Elizabeth could not see his expression as he looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam. Whatever it showed, his cousin went into the house without a word. Her husband then took her basket and set the strawberries at her feet.
“You will either condemn me as a vindictive man, or you will absolve me. Either way, I must know your thoughts on the matter. I know enough of your disposition to be certain of your honesty.”
His gravity caught her notice, and she nodded. “I will be as frank as you would expect me to be. Who are these sheriffs looking for?”
“The man who seduced Georgiana.”
“For what purpose?” If only seducing a young girl was a punishable crime.
“I have been acquiring Mr Wickham’s legally enforceable debts in Ramsgate, London, and Bath. Tradesmen, merchants, and, more recently, moneylenders and bankers. He borrowed extensively to gamble in private clubs, on horse races, on prizefighting.”
“I see. His debts must be substantial.”
“They are well over two thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth gasped. That was twenty percent of Mr Darcy’s entire fortune. “How did—” It would be rude to ask how he could afford such a sum. “You acquired a writ for this Mr Wickham to appear?”
Mr Darcy set his jaw. “The summons is not enough if the man cannot be found. The writ was obtained shortly before Georgiana died. That is why I went to town then, to the Bow Street group next to the magistrate’s court. I wished to meet with the sheriff’s officers who arrest debtors.”
She was incredibly surprised. “You left your sister’s bedside to hire a bailiff to find Mr Wickham and haul him off to prison?”
He swallowed thickly. “You think me blinded by a vindictive spirit?”
“No. I know you want justice for her, for how this man injured her, but you might have sent Colonel Fitzwilliam to meet the runners. It is clear to me now that he has been your agent in this affair.”
“They do not like that term, I learnt.” She gave him a blank look.
“They do not care to be called runners, but I convinced them to serve my writ.” She gave him another look that he understood instantly.
“I wanted to see the men myself, to impress upon them that they must pursue Mr Wickham, and that I would pay any price.”
He wasted his fortune to buy the debts and hire these runners to search the country for Wickham. “You spent all of this money to put him in the Fleet or King’s Bench? Good heavens, I am surprised you simply did not challenge the man to a duel.”
He gave a small laugh that disrupted his grave manner, as she had hoped. “That is ridiculous, and you know it. Duels are a complicated form of conflict resolution with more risk than reward. I would never be so reckless.”
That was true enough. This carefully executed and legal recourse suited Mr Darcy’s manner better than pistols or swords.
Still, the furious look in his eyes whenever he spoke of Georgiana’s corrupter made her wonder if the idea of his death satisfied something darker in Mr Darcy’s heart.
“You hope to consign him to debtors’ prison, if only he could be found? Is it worth it?”
“He seduced my fifteen-year-old sister in the hopes of injuring me and acquiring her fortune. Mr Wickham would sell his soul for money. And he would be right, come to think on it, for he would be exchanging dung for gold.”
She wondered what Georgiana’s “fortune” could have been. Perhaps it need not have been much for a dissolute gamester, desperate for funds and who hated Mr Darcy, to pursue Georgiana even though she was not an heiress. “You dearly wish to see this man punished,” she said softly.
Until now Mr Darcy had spoken with calm composure and measured words. He now walked backwards and forwards across the garden, fidgeting with Georgiana’s mourning fob.
“Seducing an ill, fifteen-year-old child—for revenge and for money—is not a crime for which I can have Mr Wickham arrested. He deserves a stronger punishment than what I can find for him. He has borrowed to gamble and has not repaid, and fled his creditors. It is as close as I can get to justice for Georgiana.”
“I suspect there is a fair amount of vengeance mixed in with your justice.”
He stopped pacing, and came forward, agitated. “Does that make me wrathful? Hateful?”
“Would it change your mind about consigning him to prison if I thought that it did?”
Mr Darcy deliberated in his own mind for a long moment. “Yes. I respect your judgement, and I desire your good opinion. But I can see in your eyes that, for all of my fears, I have not lost it.”
“Of course not.” She had not thought it possible to hate a man she had never seen, but she loathed this villain.
Mr Darcy must hate him with a rancour she could never fully understand.
“Mr Wickham is a dishonourable gamester and a seducer. He has borrowed and not repaid, and I suspect he borrowed without intending to repay. I think it an incredible expense, but you do nothing immoral by bringing him to account for that. But will that be enough?”
A wry smile broke through his gravity. “I cannot shoot him from ten paces, so it will have to be.”
“I am in earnest. If the runners find him, will that satisfy you? You do have injuries to resent, a wish for justice is natural after what your sister suffered.” Georgiana was going to die from consumption, but having Wickham’s child hastened her death, and losing that child saddened her final months.
And Mr Darcy lived and breathed that truth every day.
Elizabeth watched him toy with his sister’s memorial fob.
“But I fear that loathing this corrupter, as justified as it is, could eventually injure you.”
He shrugged. “My temper I dare not vouch for; I know that I can be resentful, but in this case, it is deserved.”
“I worry that you will never find peace. If I could have one thing for you before, before I shuffle off this mortal coil, it would be to see you free from this distress.”
“You want me to find peace? That is your one wish before your heart fails you?” He looked absolutely incredulous. “I cannot believe that to see me content is all that a woman of one-and-twenty might hope for before she dies.”
She gave a wry smile. “I have had to modify my hopes and wishes since receiving Mr Jones’s letter.”
“Be that as it may, I asked you before if there was anything I might do for you, anything you might like to have, and you refused. I cannot accept that.”
A desire that he kiss and embrace her in the fondest manner burst from her heart.
Thankfully, this preposterous and unrequited sentiment was stopped by her rational brain before it could escape her lips.
Elizabeth laughed and picked up her basket and walked toward the house.
“You are not obligated to me for my friendship and kindness.”
He caught up to her quickly. “I do not offer out of obligation, but out of genuine friendship and attachment. We need not stay here. Is there any place you might like to see?”
She thought of all the places she had never seen and would never see, and how she had once had her heart set on seeing the Lakes.
She sighed. The only place Mr Darcy needed to go was to his home, where he would eventually be happy again.
“You cannot wish to return home now and introduce me to your friends and relations, and to the master of your estate. It is bad enough that you shall soon have to write to them all and say that you arrived in Portsmouth and married me as soon as you disembarked.”
“I do not mind that, not at all. Even if I do not take you to—even if I do not bring you home, you cannot want to remain near Longbourn, and Lydia only has so much of a claim upon you. Your Gracechurch Street relations are in Canada, and you do not wish to burden Jane with a visit before your death. But Mrs Darcy”—he reached for the basket to halt her progress—“is there nothing I might do for you?”
She again thought about the husband who grew dearer to her every day, and her great curiosity about the fine touches of the passion of love.
He needed some manner of answer. He was a generous man, and a man accustomed to—through his own will, influence, or efforts—having what he wanted.
And he seemed determined to show her any kindness or consideration she asked for.
“Let me carefully consider your offer before giving you an answer.”
“No, no, I insist on something modern. Darcy may hear whatever he likes after I leave tomorrow. I have had enough of these old Clementi pieces.” Colonel Fitzwilliam was turning the pages for Mrs Darcy and forcing the fair performer to not play pieces he knew Darcy preferred.
“There is a Beethoven sonata that belonged to Georgiana. I have given it little practice, but if irritating your cousin is your purpose more than being properly entertained, hand the sheet music to me.”
Fitzwilliam smirked at him over Mrs Darcy’s shoulder. Darcy allowed his cousin his fun, partly out of affection for him, but mostly because of the tender looks which Mrs Darcy now and then could not refrain from giving him as he listened.
I hope she chooses something that is in my power to give. He wished to do something to bring her joy before her inevitable end. Mourning Georgiana less every day and releasing some of his guilt in regard to his nephew had allowed him to properly consider his relationship with Mrs Darcy.