Prologue Part 1 C #3
Lucas Wickham had always been a very healthy man, but he began to get ill in October 1803. Mr Harrison, the local physician, could not find the cause, but over the next month Wickham got worse. His son was very diligent in his care, making sure he ate and drank as much as he was able.
On Saturday the fifth day of November, Lucas Wickham breathed his last.
George Wickham was sure that Mr Darcy would take pity on him now that he was an orphan.
Starting early in October, he had ground up bitter almonds and added some to his father’s food.
As he did not want the death to look suspicious, he had added a small amount each time, and it had worked like he had heard it would.
Father had begun to get ill and got worse until his passing.
As he had not helped him; in fact, Father had agreed with the unjust punishments meted out to George, which was the reason why he decided that his sire needed to go.
A month after his father’s death, George was summoned to meet Mr Darcy in the study at Pemberley. He was confident that sympathy would achieve his goals.
He put on his saddest face and made sure his black armband was very prominent.
“Sit, George.” Darcy waited for young Wickham to do so. “What are you to do now? You do understand I need the steward’s cottage vacated so that Mr Chalmers and his wife can move in. I know your father had some money left over, and I am willing to add two hundred pounds to that.”
Rather than getting what he wanted, he was being sent away. That was unacceptable. “But Godf… Mr Darcy, you said I would have a living at the Lambton, Kympton, or Pemberley churches; I must complete my studies…” Wickham stopped speaking when Mr Darcy held up his hand.
“If you use the funds your father left plus what I am giving you to study, become ordained, and take orders, I will consider you for one of the livings,” Darcy responded.
“You will be twenty in a few months; you are no longer a boy. It is time for you to stand on your own feet. We need to end the meeting here, as my solicitor will be here shortly. My will needs to be changed again.”
Wickham knew he was in his former godfather’s will.
He ignored everything except that a change was to be made, and he was sure he would be taken out of the will.
He was confident his bequest left him one of the satellite estates, perhaps even the largest, Rivington, as well as a significant amount of blunt.
Mr Darcy could not be allowed to sign a new will.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Two days later, Wickham asked Mr Darcy to ride out with him to look at a problem he had noticed on the estate. As Wickham was about to leave Pemberley, there was no other time.
Darcy decided to indulge young George. They rode out to near the spot the adder had caused Darcy’s stallion to bolt those years ago.
Wickham dismounted and pretended to be looking for something. He located the sack with the three adders in it. He had left it there that morning. “Mr Darcy, I found it; if you will dismount and come see,” he requested.
When Mr Darcy had one foot out of the stirrup as he prepared to dismount, Wickham cut the bag open and threw it under Mr Darcy’s stallion.
Then he pulled a pistol out and shot into the air.
As he knew it would, the adders under him and pistol shot caused the animal to bolt with Mr Darcy half on and half off his horse.
Like with his father, Wickham needed it to look like he had no hand in what happened.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
It was January before William arrived home. It had taken almost a month for the black-edged letter to reach him as it went from one place to another, starting in Devonshire, until it found him in the Scottish Highlands.
Thanks to the cold of the winter, the funeral had not yet been held by the time William Darcy arrived home at the end of December.
Thankfully, his Aunt and Uncle Fitzwilliam were looking after Gigi and making sure the estate was well managed in his stead.
The first thing Darcy wanted to know was what happened to his late father.
He was told about the riding accident and that there had been a shot heard.
According to Wickham, he had shot into the air to summon help when the horse bolted.
There was no wound from a pistol in either the late Robert Darcy or his stallion, so no one could refute Wickham’s account. He was told not to attend the funeral.
A few days later, the will was read, and there were no surprises.
That afternoon Wickham sauntered into the study to collect his bequests.
When he was told that he was not so much as mentioned in the will, his fury burnt white hot.
Darcy told him to confirm his words with the solicitor and then had Wickham evicted from Pemberley when he was told never to darken the doorstep of any Darcy property again.
What Wickham could not have known was that the only change Mr Darcy wanted to make was to tell his son where the letters were to be found.
Wickham murdered Mr Darcy before the new will was executed, hence, the solicitor burnt all copies.