CHAPTER FIFTY
It took no more than a sovereign to learn from the innkeeper in which room the couple were stationed. Up the stairs two flights and down the hall to the end. Darcy again took the initiative to knock and knock he did. Inside the room, a scurrying could be heard, accompanied by laughter and “shushing.” After a moment, all went quiet. Darcy knocked again, even more firmly than the first time; the response was continued silence. Finally, he called loudly, in a sternness and timbre which Bingley had never hitherto heard from his friend, “Wickham, open this door at once!” Seconds later, the wood-plank door came ajar, a cowering Mr. Wickham behind it.
“I must admit I am astonished to see you at my door, Mr. Darcy, but I am not entirely ungrateful,” he said quietly. His chest could be seen heaving under his shirt; his forehead was damp with sweat. “You must help, please—”
“May we come in, Mr. Wickham?” Darcy barked.
“Certainly,” the man replied, stepping aside, and bowing as the band of four entered.
“Mr. Darcy?” Lydia called in bewilderment from the table by near the window. “Mr. Bingley ? What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
“Miss Bennet,” they replied in unison, bowing toward her.
“Are you in good health?” Bingley asked.
“Of course!” she laughed. “How could one be in ill health when they are so in love ?”
“I am glad to hear it,” he answered, casting a spiteful glance in Wickham’s direction. He took a view around the room to see it in complete dishevelment. The sheets were rolled up and dangled limply off the bed; sullied dishes and mugs covered the table by which the young lady sat, and scraps of paper and clothing were strewn about the floor.
“Mr. Wilshere,” Darcy started, “would you and Maitland be so kind as to escort Miss Bennet downstairs for a glass or two of wine, that we might have Mr. Wickham’s full attention?”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” the steward replied.
Lydia followed them out with giggles and squeals and a promise to “be back soon, my love.”
“Sit, Mr. Wickham,” Darcy commanded once the door was closed behind them.
Wickham obeyed with no protestation other than to say, “This is not entirely what it seems, Mr. Darcy.”
“I do not pretend to fathom how indeed to characterize this circumstance,” Darcy replied. “It would appear to me that you have at the very least , ruined a respectable young lady, along with all her four sisters. At the worst you have signed her death warrant. Even as repugnant as it might be to attempt to sketch your motivations, I can perceive from what I know of your character, why you would abscond with a naive young girl, but I cannot—”
“Mr. Darcy, I am certainly guilty of a multitude of sins and follies, but I would not have you believe me capable—”
“No, Mr. Wickham, you will listen,” Darcy demanded. “I, at one time, believed you to be a man of loathsome character, but little did I believe you to be suited to outright depravity. Under what manner of demonic influence have you been possessed which could induce you to such a vile undertaking? Has your upbringing failed you so wholly and catastrophically?”
Mr. Wickham stared up at him in mute astonishment. Darcy looked over at Bingley and inhaled deeply; Bingley nodded back at him.
“Are you aware of the violent ends of Sir Eoin Walters of Northumberland, and Sir Andrew Fraser of Grantley Park?” Darcy asked. The seated man gestured that he had. “And of the ‘murder’ of Thomas Abbott, Member of Parliament?”
“Why yes, of course,” Wickham answered.
“And the public killing of Lord Bertram St. John in Naples?” Wickham again nodded. Darcy stared austerely down at him. “And I would not dare reveal to you the following fact, but for the knowledge that you will not have the opportunity to share it with another soul: the man responsible for those deaths is present with you in this very room.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Wickham muttered in panicked perplexity.
“Mr. Bingley, or his knife rather, has been the chief means of dispatching such men in the name of all things decent and holy, and you will soon join them in eternal torment—”
“Mr. Darcy!” Wickham cried, rising to his feet. “I am appalled at these vulgar threats—they are far beneath your dignity.”
“And your entire existence is beneath the distinction of the courts of law and order, of the crown under whose honour you serve, and even of human decency itself.”
The room fell silent as Wickham slouched back into his chair. “I confess, I am at a loss to comprehend you. I readily admit and beg forgiveness for those past sins committed against you and your family, your honour. I even beg forgiveness for those more recent sins of gambling, sloth, and lustfulness, but for all my heart, sir, I cannot begin to apprehend the grave and vicious threats levelled against my very personhood. Enlighten me, sir, what have I done to deserve such an end? What connection links my behaviour to the gruesome fates of such stately men as have been hitherto mentioned?”
“You have abducted an impressionable young lady from her proper relations with the intent to—”
“ But they would have killed her! ” Wickham proclaimed.
“What did you say?” Bingley implored.
“I understand clearly how this calamitous imbroglio must appear, but I simply did not know what other course of action to take,” Wickham blurted.
“Explain yourself,” demanded Darcy.
“She would have been killed in the most heinous fashion had I not prevailed upon her to elope with me. The only means by which I could achieve this end was to persuade her of my love, and therefore of my desire to enter the marriage state. I left word that we would travel to Gretna Green, but only as a ruse to allow some time to arrange for travel to Boston, however, and most unfortunately, I found that I had neither the means nor the credit to arrange for such a journey.”
“Have you any notion of the kind of irreparable damage you have caused?” Darcy challenged.
Wickham’s head heaved and slinked down onto his chest. “Of course, but such considerations were of secondary regard and occurred to me only after we had departed from Brighton in such haste.”
“A young lady ruined, and all of her sisters tainted by association—sisters who, in spite of their charms, have enough obstacles already with which to contend.”
“Tell me, then—what was I to do?”
“You could have gone to Colonel Forster!” snapped Darcy. “That would certainly been a more sensible act than being the cause of her ruin!” The room was once again silent for a moment. “And you have been hiding here ever since?” Darcy finally asked.
“Yes,” Wickham responded. “I first went to Mrs. Younge’s home in hopes that she might have a vacancy, but soon understood that she was a part of the very same scheme that would have seen Miss Bennet murdered.”
“Mrs. Younge? —A part of the plot?” Bingley queried. “So, you know about the murders?”
“I only recently discovered it,” he retorted. “You see, for the last several months now—oh, where do I even begin?”
“Let me start by asking, have you been delivering unsuspecting young maidens to slaughter all around the country for some time now?”
“I grant that you have no sensible reason to trust me, given my history, but I beseech you now to believe me when I say that I had no knowledge whatsoever of the kind of fate that befell those poor, innocent souls.”
Darcy stood with his arm resting on the mantle while shaking his head in disbelief as much as disgust. Bingley rubbed his eyes with the base of his palms, then pulled a chair across from Wickham, and sat down opposite him.
“I may regret asking, but what purpose did you believe yourself to be serving?”
“I am not naive,” stated Wickham soberly. “You must understand, my debts were crippling , and still are. My habitual gambling had cost me dearly, to the point of absolute ruin, if not worse, when I was offered the opportunity to use my youth and charm—I flatter myself—to procure attractive young ladies on behalf of wealthy bachelors. It was my understanding, until recently, that these young ladies caught the eye of men who were either too wealthy or too proud to be seen in such impoverished localities. My task, as it was explained to me, was to act as an agent on behalf of the gentleman, to entice the lady to consent to a marriage which would not only elevate her own status, but which would also ensure her family’s wellbeing and comfort. At the appointed time, I would deliver them in great secrecy to whatever place had been specified in my instructions—”
“Like Mrs. Younge’s house?” Darcy asked, looking in Wickham’s direction for the first time in five minutes.
“When in London, yes—always. I was to send word to her in advance when all the arrangements were made that she might reserve a room. But in other parts of the country, it was always an inn or a cottage somewhere.”
“And once you left them there?” prodded Bingley.
“I collected my fee and departed.”
“And what was your fee, Mr. Wickham?” Darcy demanded.
“Ten pounds,” replied Wickham.
“Ten pounds!” cried Darcy, turning from the mantle, and pacing toward the door before coming back around. “For ten pounds you signed their writ of execution?”
Tears streamed down Wickham’s face which contorted in all forms of resistance. “Please, believe me—I beg you—I did not know.”
“Is it to be expected that you are so cork-brained as to not have suspected any kind of foul intentions?” Darcy barked.
“You must understand the magnitude of my desperation regarding my pecuniary state,” he answered while wiping his cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt. “I am positive that a single act of sacrifice could not repay all of the evils I have unwittingly wrought—”
“An act of sacrifice, you would call it—bringing infamy down on a family whose daughter you had no intention of marrying—”
“Is a dead sister more desirable than an untwisted one? And under what pretension do you thus speak that I have no intention of marrying her?”
“You cannot be serious,” entreated Bingley, eyebrows raised in stupefaction. “Not only have you suppressed any kind of curiosity with respect to your occupation, but you have convinced yourself now to be in love with Miss Lydia Bennet.”
“I do not declare myself to be in love,” Wickham answered. “But yes, I intend to marry her, as soon as I am able.”
Bingley stood and began to pace the room himself. “I feel as if I must have been dipping rather deep—the room is spinning under all this fiddle-faddle. I cannot even begin to comprehend the reasoning behind this assertion.”
“Miss Lydia Bennet may not possess the elegance nor the wit of her eldest sisters, but she is not wholly without charm. I feel that, if by marriage I may save her life and some degree of respectability for her siblings, I am duty bound; and though I may not find myself in love with her at present, it is possible that I may, with time and tenderness, grow to love her.”
Bingley and Darcy exchanged bewildered glances.
“If you are willing, then Mr. Wickham,” started Bingley, “all that it left is to arrange the wedding.”
“I am willing, Mr. Bingley, but I am unable,” Wickham replied with a hint of shame.
“Unable?”
“My debts, sir, will not allow it, I am afraid.”
“I knew it,” Darcy said, turning his back suddenly on Wickham. Bingley cast the back of his friend’s head a look as if to urge patience.
“What is the sum of your arrears?” Bingley asked with kindness. While he understood fully that he and Darcy were about to be on the hook for whatever the man had run up in terms of the deficit he had managed to accrue, Bingley was thankful that at the very least, Wickham had declared his willingness to accept Lydia’s hand, and that her reputation along with that of her sisters might yet be salvaged, after all. He also briefly reflected on Wickham’s professed innocence regarding the evil business afoot, and his readiness to do what was required to make some sort of amends. For, while he was surely reckless and, perhaps, intentionally naive to the consequences of his behaviour, he was not in the category of men that Bingley had all but convicted him of being.
“I am ashamed to say it,” Wickham answered, putting his head in his hands. “It is upwards of two thousand pounds.”
“Two thou—” Bingley’s exclamation was cut off by a sudden rush of nausea which forced him to sit back at the table.
Darcy spun from the door and glared directly at Wickham: “If your debt were satisfied, and I promised you a sum that you could subsist on, you would marry Miss Lydia Bennet?”
“At once,” pronounced Wickham with confident dignity.
“Then consider it settled—”
Bingley sprung from his chair and approached Darcy. “We should discuss—”
“The matter is fixed, Charles. This burden shall be born solely on my shoulders,” Darcy declared.
“ Thank you , Mr. Darcy,” Wickham earnestly answered. “I am well aware of the torment you have suffered on my account and am also fully cognizant of the tremendous encumbrance which you now endeavour to lift from my shoulders. I should not in one hundred lifetimes be able to thank you enough, though I swear that I shall endeavour to exhibit my gratitude by the improvement of my character.”
Darcy bowed ever so slightly. “It is settled then, and there shall not be cause to broach the subject in future.” As much as he loathed the thought of his friend’s noble avowal, from the tone of his voice, Bingley was sure that Darcy would brook no reply to the contrary. He nodded his assent and sat back down with a thud. “Now all that is left is to alert Mr. Gardiner and make the arrangements,” continued Darcy. “You shall be married from St. Clement Danes as soon as all is agreed accordingly with Miss Bennet’s uncle. You and Mrs. Wickham will visit Longbourn that day, from which point you will return immediately to your regiment in Brighton.”
“Return to the regiment ? —No, I certainly cannot,” Wickham nervously announced.
“On what grounds?” Darcy asked. “You must have a profession, and—”
“Because not only would Miss Bennet be dead in a matter of moments after our arrival there, but I would be as well.” The churning of the two gentlemen’s minds was manifest to see in the quizzical glares they returned in his direction. “Is it not plain? —I received my direction from Captain Carter.” The motion of their thoughts gave way to illumination. “Captain Carter recruited me for the scheme—it was he that I overheard plotting the death of Miss Bennet.”
“And who was he speaking with?” Bingley demanded.
“That, I am sorry to say, I do not know. It was through a closed door, but he very thoroughly laid out a plan to—and I shall not repeat it in such revolting details—use Miss Bennet most diabolically, and then have her disposed of completely. It seems that whoever the monster be that employs him is peculiarly engrossed with her. At that moment precisely I made my way to find her and, using the knowledge that she harboured something of an infatuation with me, it was not difficult to persuade her to take flight with me immediately.”
“That must be why Captain Carter was at Mrs. Younge’s home,” stated Bingley.
“Captain Carter at Mrs. Younge’s? When?”
“Just this evening, perhaps an hour before we found you,” Darcy answered him.
“Then thank God you happened upon us first! Yet still, we are unsafe here,” Wickham declared, rising from his chair.
“I agree; I shall have Wilshere hire a coach immediately.”
“Yes, and you should remain at my home until all is arranged,” Darcy declared.
“I would caution against that, Darcy. Miss Bennet must not be aware of the plot against her—she should remain blissful in her ignorance. It would be better if we put them up in an inn closer to the church in Danes in Covent Garden.”
“Then it shall be done.”
With that, Bingley quit the room and found Wilshere with Maitland and Miss Bennet in the tavern. A coach was ordered to whisk the young couple away in secrecy, and the innkeeper was bribed to deny the couple’s presence at the inn at any time, should Captain Carter inquire there. Upstairs, Darcy remained at the mantle while he tried to reconcile all that he had just seen and heard with all that he once seemingly understood. It was apparent that his friend had much less trouble processing the entirety of the situation, while he, in his relative nascence to such abominable men as were capable of these machinations, struggled to anymore see the world as he had always regarded it to be. And on top of it, Mr. Wickham who, for reasons aplenty he had despised and reviled, appeared to be far less the fiend than he had known him to be.
Once Wickham had collected what belongings they had and packed them away in their trunks, he sat back down at the table, and offered Darcy a drink of cheap liquor.
After a moment’s hesitation he answered, “Why, yes, I thank you.”
Wickham poured two glasses, while Darcy sat facing him. They raised their drinks and sipped. Darcy coughed upon swallowing the drink; Wickham smiled amiably with the knowledge that the gentleman had never before tasted a spirit so inferior.
“Please forgive my redundancy, but I must from my heart, most cordially thank you again, Mr. Darcy,” started Wickham after they drank.
“And I must express my gratitude to you as well, Mr. Wickham.”
“Gratitude toward me?”
“Naturally, you are not alone in possessing imperfections, but in spite of your flaws, you have recently acted with valour and magnanimity that do you great credit,” Darcy spoke. “You have not only saved a life, but have preserved the possibility of happiness for so many…”
Thinking of Elizabeth, his voice trailed off. Though he prevented himself from the hope that her opinion of him might ever be altered, he took solace in the thought that once this difficult business was resolved, she might indeed encounter true happiness—and even love. He drank again, this time swilling the liquor with no difficulty.
“I remember how we were as children with great fondness,” Wickham said with quiet melancholy.
“As do I,” replied Darcy with a tender smile.