Chapter Thirty
It took two days of going back, but Darcy finally secured an address from Mrs. Younge to pass along to his man.
A farmhouse of some sort, in the corner of Sussex.
Unfortunately, when the men who were sent arrived, they found the place recently occupied, but now empty.
From what they could tell, three bedrooms had been used.
The descriptions of the occupants fit Miss Bingley, Mrs. Clegg, and Mr. Wickham.
Aside from that, there was nothing more to learn.
Despite that setback, Darcy sat beside Elizabeth in Meryton’s little church the Sunday before they were to wed, waiting for the banns to be read a final time and eminently happy.
Two days more. By this time on Tuesday, he and Elizabeth would be united.
Darcy would spend only two more nights alone in his giant four poster bed, merely dreaming of when Elizabeth would be beside him.
By the time everyone arrived the following evening, Netherfield Park, where the Bingleys had very kindly offered to host yet another wedding breakfast, would be packed fit to burst, for which Darcy greatly owed Bingley.
Bingley, to his credit, brushed aside Darcy’s thanks and let everyone who would listen know that he enjoyed being host to a crowd.
Mrs. Bingley serenely agreed. Darcy had no idea if her agreement was because it would please her or her husband.
Many of the guests, including Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley, had already assembled and joined them in church that morning.
Gavin’s brothers and father were there. And by tomorrow, even Lady Catherine and the Earl would be in attendance, though Thomas had pleaded business in another corner of the country.
Richard would arrive with the Earl, and Anne with her mother.
At the end of the service, the priest began the final banns for Gavin and Miss Mary first, and Elizabeth, smiling, craned her neck to look back at her sister, in the row behind them.
Her head snapped back around, all color gone from her cheeks.
The hand that rested in Darcy’s, between them on the hard pew, spasmed.
“…and Mary Ellen May Bennet of this Parish…” the priest droned.
Darcy leaned closer to Elizabeth and whispered, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
A tremble went through her. From the corner of her mouth, she said, “It’s Mrs. Clegg. She’s here, at the back of the church.”
Shock ricocheted through Darcy. The priest finished Gavin’s and Miss Mary’s banns. Darcy swiveled, looking back, and spotted Mrs. Clegg, frowning, a valise clutched close, standing at the back of the church near the door.
“And now, I publish the banns of marriage between Fitzwilliam George Darcy of the Parish of…” the priest was saying, but Darcy couldn’t concentrate on his words. Seated against the outer wall in the second to last pew, George Wickham caught Darcy’s gaze and smirked.
“If any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is for the third time of asking,” the priest finished.
A form beside Wickham surged to her feet, casting back her hood. “I know a reason,” Miss Bingley called in a loud, clear voice.
Gasps sounded. Everyone in the church turned to look. A babble of voices began to hum just below ease of understanding as whispers traveled the room.
The priest blinked rapidly. “You do, Miss… Miss Bingley?”
“I do,” she reiterated firmly. Lifting an arm, she pointed at Darcy. “Mr. Darcy is already engaged to me.”
The whispers threatened to bubble over, but the priest glared the assemblage into silence before turning to Darcy. “Is this true, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy gave Elizabeth’s hand a quick squeeze of reassurance, then stood as well. “Absolutely not.”
Down the row to Darcy’s right, Bingley surged to his feet. “What is the meaning of this, Caroline? Where have you been?”
Chin angled in the air, Miss Bingley eyed Darcy and Elizabeth with smug spite.
“I’ve been in hiding, because I knew Mr. Darcy would do anything to keep me from coming here.
If you don’t believe me, ask him if he’s had men out searching for me.
” She cast a slow look about the nave. “Mr. Darcy and I have been secretly engaged for years. How else do you explain someone of my wealth and accomplishments remaining unoffered for?”
To Darcy’s horror, he saw some heads nod, as if her argument made sense. He snapped, “We have never even been alone in the same room, let alone secretly betrothed.”
“I’m afraid, Miss Bingley, if it is simply your word against Mr. Darcy’s, with no proof—” the priest began.
“But it’s not,” Wickham called as he stood as well.
Miss Lydia jumped to her feet, crying, “George.”
Elizabeth stood to take Darcy’s hand. Mr. Bennet and his wife stood, both speaking rapidly to Lydia.
The Phillips came to their feet. From her seat on the other side of Elizabeth, Georgiana stared up with wide, horrified eyes.
The priest shouted, ordering people to sit down, but soon nearly everyone in the church stood, raised voices bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.
“Silence.” Loud and firm, the command rang out over the din.
Darcy turned to see Mr. Greyson, the curate to whom he’d offered the living in Kympton, Charlotte Lucas beside him.
“Everyone please be seated. Anyone with relevant information will be given the opportunity to speak, beginning with Mr. Wickham.”
Some grumbling sounded, but the congregation sat back down, except Miss Bingley, Wickham, Darcy and Elizabeth.
Farther back among the pews, Miss Lydia issued muffled sobs, but the community appeared prepared to ignore her.
Miss Lucas sat along with the others but gazed up at Mr. Greyson with quiet pride.
Mr. Greyson turned to the local curate. “That is, if you do not mind me officiating this inquiry?”
The little priest shook his head, clearly relieved. “By all means, Mr. Greyson, you ask the questions.”
“Mr. Wickham, what have you to add to this accusation?” Mr. Greyson asked.
“Everyone knows Darcy and I grew up together and were once good friends,” Mr. Wickham said, very grave. “What you do not know is the nature of our falling out.”
Darcy watched Wickham with disgust, wondering what tale they were about to endure.
“Our falling out came when Darcy told me of his secret courtship of Miss Bingley,” Wickham continued. “I told him it was wrong to court a woman in secret. Even if you cannot be with her, you should first declare your intentions before spending time away. That is the honorable thing to do.”
A murmur of sympathy moved through the church as everyone looked to the sobbing Miss Lydia. She wiped her eyes, blinked rapidly at Wickham, and gave a small, trembling smile.
Darcy ground his teeth. “There isn’t a grain of truth to those words.”
“Oh?” Wickham turned an innocent expression on him.
“Do you have some other explanation into which you would care to delve? Some reason you wish to share as to why such hatred exists between us, who were once such fast friends? Some harm I’ve done to you or your family that would handily excuse your animosity? ”
Where she sat with Mrs. Annesley on the other side of Elizabeth, Georgiana let out a little gasp.
Glaring across the church at Wickham, Darcy understood the threat.
If he pressed the issue, Wickham would reveal that Georgiana had spent considerable time alone with him and agreed to elope.
Georgiana would be ruined. Willing his sister to remain silent, Darcy didn’t dare even look at her.
“No?” Wickham smirked. “Nothing to say, Darcy?”
Darcy stared at him, helpless. His future, or Georgiana’s? Should he challenge Wickham, to disprove his claims on his body? With a church full of witnesses, there seemed little chance a duel wouldn’t attract the attention of the magistrate.
“I have something to say,” Gavin said, standing.
He looked to Mr. Greyson, who nodded, then continued with, “Mr. Wickham has a history of lying about Mr. Darcy. It is widely known here that Mr. Wickham claimed that Mr. Darcy didn’t give him a valuable living he should have inherited.
It was also widely known in Lambton that Mr. Darcy paid Mr. Wickham the money he requested instead of the living. I don’t know how much it was.”
“Three thousand pounds,” Darcy supplied. “And Mr. Wickham signed a receipt.”
“In addition, Mr. Darcy paid Mr. Wickham’s debts in Lambton, including one to my cousin who is a cobbler and sold Mr. Wickham boots,” Gavin continued.
“Mr. Wickham is well known in Lambton for his dishonesty, a dishonesty that is consistent with his treatment of Miss Lydia Bennet. If he said it was raining, I would look out the window to check.”
That got a murmur from the church. Mr. Greyson permitted a moment of talk, then addressed the other Murphys. “Are any of you willing to back that claim?”
Gavin’s father stood up and supported Gavin’s statement, followed by both of his brothers.
“You work for Darcy,” Wickham said. He waved a hand at Mr. Greyson. “And he’s giving you my living. He told you all what to say. This is prearranged.”
The youngest Murphy brother, still standing, asked over the murmur of the crowd, “How would he know you would be here?” He looked about the church.
“If you don’t believe us, send someone to Lambton.
I bet you’ll find a dozen people there who know about Mr. Wickham’s dishonesty and not a soul who will support him. ”
Relieved to have the Murphys on his side, their reputation in the Meryton region already firmly established, Darcy hoped Wickham would back down from his implied threat to tell everyone about Georgiana’s near elopement.
Not only did the truth make Wickham look bad, with the Murphys on Darcy’s side, Wickham wouldn’t be believed.
Darcy would have to thank Gavin and the others later.
Wickham looked from Darcy to Georgiana, indecision on his face.
Miss Bingley touched his sleeve, whispering with rapid vehemence.
Again, the murmuring grew as people used hushed tones to share their opinions with their neighbors.
Darcy hated to think anyone would actually take Miss Bingley and Wickham’s side.
“Does anyone have anything more to add?” Mr. Greyson asked, eyeing the loudest talkers into silence.
“I do,” Elizabeth said firmly.
All gazes alighted on her, including Darcy’s.
“Proceed, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Greyson said with a nod.
To Darcy’s surprise, Elizabeth released his hand to turn to Bingley. “Mr. Bingley, how would you have felt about Mr. Darcy courting your sister?”
“Enthusiastic,” Bingley said. “I would have welcomed him as a brother.”
“And what would you have thought about him courting her in secret?”
“I would have been baffled. Why in the world would he conceal a union of which I would so highly approve?”
“We had our reasons,” Miss Bingley cried.
“But none of that matters,” Elizabeth’s uncle, Mr. Phillips said, standing with a nod to Mr. Greyson.
“Mr. Darcy is free to marry anyone he chooses, even if he is secretly engaged to Miss Bingley.” Turning to her, he continued, “You would then have the option of suing him for breach of promise, but I doubt the existence of a secret engagement would be deemed credible enough for you to win, even with Mr. Wickham to testify to it.”
Miss Bingley turned to Mr. Wickham and angrily said, “You said they would believe you.”
He shrugged. “People usually do.”
At that, a man Darcy didn’t know stood, claiming Wickham hadn’t paid his debt at the local general store. Another jumped up, saying the same about the haberdashery. More and more people were on their feet, hurtling accusations at Wickham.
Darcy narrowed his gaze. Why didn’t Wickham appear concerned?
“Wickham,” Miss Bingley snapped, shrewish voice audible above the clamor.
“I said quiet,” Mr. Greyson boomed. “And be seated,” he added into the stunned silence. He turned to Wickham. “Have you anything to say to these allegations?”
Wickham’s gesture encompassed the pews. “As you can see, I have returned at my own peril. Would I do that, except to uphold a lady’s honor?”
“You know Miss Bingley and I were never engaged, secret or otherwise,” Darcy said, wondering what game Wickham really played.
Wickham cast a quick glance at the back of the church. He drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders and said, “Darcy, this can only be settled with a duel.”
A gasp went through the crowd. Elizabeth whirled to look at Darcy, eyes full of concern. He caught her hand with a reassuring squeeze and added a slight shake of his head. Having already considered and discarded the idea, he’d no intention of dueling Wickham.
Even if besting him would be very satisfying.
“I have something to say,” a tentative voice said at the back of the church. Mrs. Clegg cleared her throat and stepped away from the wall. “That is, if I may, sir.”
Elizabeth squeezed Darcy’s hand tighter.
“You?” Miss Bingley scowled, casting a quick look between Wickham and Mrs. Clegg. “What are you even doing here?” She addressed the assemblage. “This woman should be apprehended. She attacked Miss Elizabeth.”
That got a murmur of support, but Mr. Greyson held up his hand. “First we will hear what she wishes to say.” He nodded to Mrs. Clegg. “I presume you are Mrs. Clegg?”
She shrank back but nodded. “How did you know?”
“There had been considerable talk of your attack on Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Mrs. Clegg, valise clutched to her chest, looked down at the stone floor. “That was…it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Mrs. Bennet cried. “I hardly see how that can be the case, when you called her by name.”
Mr. Bennet worked to hush her while Miss Bingley said, “You see? You cannot believe a word that comes from Mrs. Clegg.”
“And yet we will hear her,” Mr. Greyson said in a loud, firm voice, once again quieting the crowd.
“She attacked my daughter,” Mrs. Bennet could be heard hissing at her husband.
“She attacked mine as well, but I still wish to hear what she would say,” he replied in a calm tone.
“Mrs. Clegg,” Mr. Greyson called across the church. “What have you to say on the subject of Miss Bingley’s claim of a secret understanding with Mr. Darcy?”
Mrs. Clegg drew in a deep breath. Eyes wide and nervous, she said, “It’s a lie. The lot of it. Everything she and Mr. Wickham are saying. They made it all up.”