Chapter 29 #2
Though Darcy had intended to bring Elizabeth up to her rooms at once, the shock and relief of the ladies on seeing her returned to them was too much to admit an immediate removal.
“Elizabeth, thank the heavens!” Georgiana exclaimed.
“Bring her near the hearth, Darcy,” Lady Catherine ordered him. Anne shifted over to give Elizabeth the nearest place. As Darcy was of much the same mind, he promptly obeyed.
“Have any of you seen Wickham?” he asked them.
Lady Catherine snorted. “We’ve not seen hide nor hair of him since this morning. I doubt we’ll ever see him again, after the information we’ve learned today.”
As the fire warmed her, Elizabeth had begun to look a little more alert. She sat up straighter and turned to Georgiana. “I am sorry to tell you this, Georgiana, but Mr Wickham is already married.”
“I know. We spoke to Eva,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Do you have the letter?”
“No. Mr Wickham took it from me and burned it before he dragged me out into the woods.” She looked at Darcy.
He felt the tension coiled around his heart ease a little, profoundly relieved that she had revived enough to meet his gaze.
“Thank you, Will. I would be close to death now if you had not found me.”
“I cannot imagine that was his intention,” Georgiana protested, tears standing in her eyes. “He has always been so gentle with me.”
Darcy turned to her in shock. After all they had learned, after all Wickham had done, how could she still defend him?
“He would have killed her, Georgiana. Surely you can see his true character now?” he asked, unable to keep the bite out of his tone.
She bowed her head. “You are quite right. I am sorry. I — I — please do excuse me.” Even as Georgiana hurried away, the tears in her eyes were falling.
They let her go, understanding how badly Mrs Wickham — now once again Georgiana Darcy, as she had been all along — must need a moment alone to grieve.
For several minutes, those who remained around the hearth sat in silence. Darcy reached for Elizabeth’s hands. They were not quite as cold as they had been, but she would not be out of danger for several days yet. After such an ordeal, Elizabeth would be at great risk of falling prey to illness.
“We must call for the authorities,” Lady Catherine declared. “Wickham ought to be hanged. And he shall be, if I have anything to say about it.”
“And what of his other wife?” Anne put in. “Elaine Wickham was the name on the letter, was it not? We have to warn her of his true character.”
Darcy let out a derisive grunt. “If she has been married to him for any length of time, I am sure she has an inkling of it.”
Though Elizabeth attempted to look strong and alert, her weariness was obvious. After the third yawn in as many minutes, Darcy laid down the law.
“You must go up to your rooms and rest now,” he said, gently but implacably. “If you like, you shall come down for supper after you have warmed yourself. Though I think it might be wiser for you to spend the evening in bed and have a tray brought up.”
If he had had any doubt of his judgement, it was proven correct when Elizabeth did not even try to protest. “Yes, you are right. I should like to lie down,” she admitted.
Darcy stood at once. “Very good, but it is not safe for you to go alone. You are too weak yet. Wrap your arms around my neck.”
“I am able to walk now, I think,” she protested, though rather unconvincingly, to Darcy’s mind.
“Nonsense. I would not want you to injure yourself,” he said.
She did as he asked as he scooped her up into his arms. Lady Catherine and Anne followed them out into the foyer, where they were met by Colonel Fitzwilliam.
He fell into step with them and began to report the news — or, rather, the lack of news. “We have not seen any sign of Wickham yet. I assume he knows the gig is up and has fled Pemberley. I shall send a servant for the constables directly. We may yet catch him before he leaves the neighbourhood.”
“And good riddance,” Lady Catherine snarled.
They all went upstairs, making Darcy wonder if they intended to follow him into Elizabeth’s room. He would put them right if they did. Elizabeth would be too inclined to think of their comfort when she ought to focus only on her own recovery.
As they rounded the corner that led to the main suites, they heard muffled voices coming from further down the hall. Elizabeth lifted her head, turning it toward the noise. “Is that Georgiana’s voice I hear?” she asked, her voice rich with concern.
When they came around the bend, they could see two people talking in the shadows near the back staircase.
“It is Georgiana. And Wickham!” Elizabeth whispered.
“Let me down,” she pleaded. Darcy did as she asked, then strode down the hall to where the two were evidently in the middle of a heated discussion.
“Come along, Georgie,” Wickham said, strain evident in his voice. “We must go now! I shall explain everything to you, only we must be away.”
“I will not go with you! Unhand me,” Georgiana was saying when they came near.
With a sudden effort, Georgiana jerked her wrist out of his grasp and fled to Darcy’s side. With the speed of a cat, Wickham pulled a pistol from behind his back and pointed it at the assembled company. He looked over his shoulder toward the open door of the stairwell.
“Let me be, Darcy,” Wickham snarled. “I don’t want to use this.”
Darcy instantly stepped in front of his wife and sister. He held up his hands in surrender. “We don’t want that either. Leave now, Wickham.”
“Not without what’s owed to me,” he said.
“Georgiana’s dowry does not belong to you, for your marriage is invalid. We know you are already married to Elaine.”
His face blanched. “How did you find her?” he seethed.
“By the grace of God, and by your own carelessness,” Darcy said. “Now, lower your weapon.”
Wickham hesitated, then backed toward the stairwell and his only means of escape, carefully holding the gun aimed directly at them.
Darcy held Elizabeth tucked behind him, ablaze with frustration.
Wickham was going to get away, but he could not stop him.
Not if it meant leaving Elizabeth unprotected.
“The game is up, Wickham. Put down the weapon, and perhaps the judge can be persuaded to have leniency. Deportation or even prison is better than adding murder to your long list of sins.” Fitzwilliam moved in front of Anne, shielding her should Wickham decide to fire into the crowd that was quickly closing ranks around him.
“No!” he snarled. He looked more like a cornered animal than a man.
Without warning, Lady Catherine suddenly stepped forward and raised her cane, heedless of the gun Wickham still held.
“You scoundrel!” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “How dare you come into this home and treat my nieces this way!” And with that, she began to beat him over the head with the walking stick. Darcy watched in horror, certain that his aunt was about to be shot before his eyes.
To his astonishment, it was not so. Perhaps out of surprise as much as pain, Wickham dropped the pistol, holding up his arms to shield his head from the fierce volley of blows raining down on him. He hurried toward the staircase.
Just as Wickham was about to scramble down the first steps, Lady Catherine’s cane met the side of his head one last time, knocking him off-balance.
He tripped and fell down the steep, narrow stairs, unable to stop himself.
Darcy rushed to the landing. In the dim light, he saw Wickham go tumbling down the winding stairs, gaining speed as he went.
He heard rather than saw the sickening thud that ended the grunts of pain issuing from his old nemesis.
Lady Catherine lowered her arms, a hush falling over them as they listened for the sounds of movement at the bottom of the servants’ staircase. All was deathly quiet. “Is he —?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Darcy said. He nodded to Fitzwilliam, who followed him as he started down the steps.
Once at the bottom, they turned Wickham over, his eyes staring into the void.
Darcy exchanged a glance with his cousin, but he already knew the answer to his silent question.
Fitzwilliam pressed his forefingers to Wickham’s throat, then shook his head.
“It is all over now. Wickham is dead.”