Chapter 8 #2
“That just might be it,” she said. “Do you have any idea where Colonel Denny is? Or…is it Captain, or Lieutenant?”
Wickham approached her and said, “It is Lieutenant Denny, and I have no idea where he might be. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lieutenant Morris.”
She said, “Oh, it is so very nice to meet you, Lieutenant Morris. My name is Miss Clarke.”
He bowed over her hand. As she rose from her curtsey, she became a bit alarmed that he kissed her hand and held onto it a few extra seconds. She was so deep into playacting, however, she managed to giggle as if the attentions he paid her were pleasing.
“Well, I suppose, if you have no idea where Lieutenant Denny is, I will have to wander around looking for the officer.” Still pretending to be Lydia, Elizabeth fluttered her eyelashes as she let loose an enormous sigh.
“Perhaps I could help you search for the Lieutenant,” Wickham suggested.
He offered his arm, and Elizabeth took it. Actually, she clutched at his arm, hoping that he would not attempt to importune her, but also not wishing him to run off easily.
She reviewed in her mind the various defensive moves her uncle had taught her, even as she rattled on, Lydia-like, about how glorious the soldiers had appeared, how handsome they looked in their red coats, on and on.
She kept track of where Wickham, presumably a stranger in town, was walking, and when he tried to turn into an alley, Elizabeth planted her feet and stopped him in his tracks.
“Oh, dear, sir, I know that you are new to town, but this alley is well known as being dangerous. We must keep to the main streets.”
Wickham puffed up his chest and said, “You need not fear when I am with you, Miss Clarke. I thought I saw a dark-haired soldier—just a flash—in the alley just now, and if we follow, I believe we may find the lieutenant.”
“Nevertheless, we will not go this way. Come, I will show you where the alley ends, and then we may find the man. I do so appreciate your help, Lieutenant Morris, and I admire your courage, but three men have been killed in the alley this year alone….”
Tugging on his arm, Elizabeth got Wickham to walk down the main street again, and she kept up her praises of his courage, his obvious strength, his gentlemanly manners.
He asked where she lived, and she said—truthfully—that she was the daughter of a gentleman whose estate lay nearby, but—she entered into the territory of outright lies—she also said that her father did not wish to encourage callers, while she was so young, and so he had insisted that she not tell people the name of their estate.
“But he allows me to go to the assemblies in Meryton. If you come, too, we can dance together.”
Wickham seemed quite interested in her, now, and Elizabeth saw that his clever questions might seem innocuous to unsuspecting maidens, but to her they seemed to angle towards discovering how wealthy the family was, and how large it was.
She talked and talked in the way that she thought the bold and unguarded Lydia might speak, if the Bennets were rich: she hinted that their father was quite wealthy and that she was an only child and the heiress.
Finally, however, Wickham stopped walking and said, “I must give up in defeat. I have not spotted Lieutenant Denny, and I assume he is indoors, doing exactly as I ought, and therefore I must go to the King’s residence.
I apologise for my inability to help you, after all, but I am certain that I shall see you soon, Miss Clarke.
In fact, I very much look forward to it. ”
He seemed as if he was about to use his superior strength to disentangle his arm, but Elizabeth heard horses approaching.
She hoped that Fitzwilliam and Orion might be among them, but she also felt that an unencumbered Wickham might escape, so she said, “Please, sir, may I ask one further favour? Might you give me my first kiss?”
Wickham started with surprise, wavered, and was smoothly launching into one of his honeyed speeches.
Because he lowered his head to speak to her, Elizabeth felt that she had enough cover to pretend as if he was being horribly improper to her, and she kneed him in the groin as hard as she could and then let out a ladylike screech of “How dare you?”
Wickham went down like a sack of potatoes, howling in outrage and, she presumed, pain.
She assumed he could not easily walk, let alone run, yet she kept hold of his arm as she finally turned her head and saw that her guess was correct.
Fitzwilliam was nearly upon them, Mr Bingley and Mr Hurst were farther back, and Mary, still on Ajax, was farthest away.
Fitzwilliam said, “I cannot believe that you are correct! It is indeed Wickham!” He slid off Orion’s back—apparently her intended had not taken the time to saddle his horse—and she gladly let go of Wickham’s arm as he pulled the blackguard up and pinned both of his arms behind his back.
Mr Hurst had his saddle and a saddlebag, and when he arrived he fished in the latter for some rope. Soon Fitzwilliam had Wickham trussed up and lying in the street.
Elizabeth wondered where her other sisters were, and she was planning to ask Mary—but then she saw Jane, Lydia, and Kitty exiting the bookshop, alongside John Lucas.
Mary apparently asked for John’s help to dismount, and she must have thanked him, but Elizabeth was surprised to see him riding towards home as quickly as Ajax could move.
Elizabeth hurried towards her four sisters even as they hurried towards her.
“What is going on?” Jane asked.
“Oh, Lizzy, we saw what you did! Was that man attempting to take your virtue?” Kitty asked in her breathy way.
Mary said, “I sent John Lucas to fetch his father, Lizzy.” Sir William was the local magistrate, and Elizabeth was impressed that Mary had taken such a sensible step. She wondered, though, if a soldier’s misdeeds would require the colonel in charge.
She did not have to ask Fitzwilliam, because as they approached the group of men, she heard her intended request that Mr Bingley find the colonel in charge of the regiment.
“Start with the inn,” he suggested. “The colonel will likely be staying in a private home, but there should be many soldiers drinking ale and happy to tell you where to find their leader.”
Elizabeth said, “You should know that Mary has sent for the magistrate, Sir William, and also that the name the so-called lieutenant has been going by is Morris.”
Fitzwilliam embraced her briefly and then gathered her to his side as he said, “I have an arrangement by which I get regular reports about Wickham’s condition.
I am shocked that I have not been informed of his escape.
Also, I am incredibly impressed that you recognised him after so brief an encounter, so long ago. ”
Jane asked, “Where did you meet this man, Lizzy?”
“In Ramsgate. You and I were at a milliner’s shop, looking at the bonnets in the window, and this Wickham fellow came up to us and started asking questions and making suggestions. That’s when we met Mr Darcy.”
“Oh!” Jane studied Wickham’s face and admitted, “I do not remember what the man looked like, and I do not recognise him.”
After a bit more discussion, complete with eager questions from Kitty, and slightly inappropriate questions from Lydia, Jane decided that she should take the three youngest Bennets home.
Elizabeth wanted to stay with Wickham to explain her actions; Fitzwilliam assured them that he would see her home eventually.
Wickham had decided to stop howling in pain and start cursing. Mr Hurst suggested that they find a way to gag the man, and when Wickham moved from cursing to insults, Fitzwilliam laughed, saying, “I do not mind what my former friend says about me.”
At that point, however, Wickham switched to making lewd suggestions about Elizabeth, as if he was begging to be gagged—and so Fitzwilliam whisked into a nearby store, purchased a cravat, and used it to gag Wickham.
Soon after that, Colonel Forster appeared and introduced himself, and then Sir William arrived.
Fitzwilliam swiftly apprised the men of the facts: Lieutenant Morris was actually George Wickham, who had been imprisoned at the Debtors’ Prison in Dover Castle.
He did not know how he escaped, or when, and he worried that there really was a Lieutenant Morris incapacitated or possibly murdered, with his papers stolen.
Elizabeth told about her actions and reported that Wickham had told her he had rented rooms in the King’s residence. “I also saw him say something to Miss Mary King, while the regiment was marching—but I have no idea what he might have said.”
Fitzwilliam added that he got regular reports on Wickham, but of course those reports had to be forwarded to his current location from London. “If I receive any information, I will let you both know,”
Colonel Forster untied the gag and asked a few questions, but when Wickham claimed that Elizabeth had been outrageously wanton, and he seemed to wish to follow up with a further complaint about her, Sir William said, “Shut that man up. I have known Miss Elizabeth her entire life, and she is a delightful lady who does not need to hear these sorts of lies about herself. We can question him later.”
The colonel and the magistrate discussed where to keep Wickham while they investigated the matter, and Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, relieved that the authorities were taking the incident very seriously, finally left with Mr Hurst and Mr Bingley.
They walked the horses back to Longbourn, and Mr Hurst took charge of taking all the horses to the stables.
Mr Bingley hurried inside to check on Jane, and Elizabeth was so glad to have a few minutes of privacy to seek comfort in her intended’s arms.
“You are so courageous,” Fitzwilliam whispered into Elizabeth’s hair.
“I very much wish to wrap you up in my arms and never let you go, and perhaps even scold you and demand that you never put yourself into possible danger in the same way, again. But I suspect that I should, instead, simply compliment you on your intelligence and nerve, and I should thank the Lord that you are safe.”
“Yes, I believe that you imprisoning me for my own safety would be a misstep on your part, Fitzwilliam.” Her genuine laughter, undimmed by the day’s drama, rang out.
The rest of that day was both more usual and more pleasant. Mr Bingley and Mr Hurst both returned to Netherfield, but Fitzwilliam stayed for dinner.
They had just finished eating when Fitzwilliam’s valet arrived holding an express.
As they suspected, the letter informed him that Mr Wickham had escaped prison.
Two men had been murdered and their faces bludgeoned; the murders were presumed to be related to the Wickham escape.
One of the two had been identified from a scar on his back as being one of the Dover Castle guards. The other was as yet unidentified.
Fitzwilliam swiftly made his excuses, after sharing the letter with Mr Bennet and Elizabeth, and he said, “I should show this information to both Sir William and Colonel Forster. I will ride to Lucas Lodge first, given its proximity.”
Elizabeth suddenly felt deeply exhausted. She brushed aside the worries that Wickham—the man with whom she had spent so much time that day, in hopes that others might arrive to arrest him—might be guilty of two murders.
It did not bear thinking about the danger she may have faced.