Chapter 10. Mr Wickham’s Plans
“Who is the chit that Georgiana has taken to keeping in company?” George Wickham asked his companion as they sat in a carriage up the street from the Darcy house. “I saw her face in the window of Darcy’s office with the new lady’s companion the other day.”
Edith Marlborough, often called ‘Mrs Young’, moved closer to George before she replied. “Millie reports her name is Miss Bennet. She lives somewhere on Grace Church Street. Miss Darcy and the girl play pianoforte and talk about books when she visits.”
“Is Millie reliable?”
“She is a kitchen maid, and she is as reliable as an extra five shillings a week can make her.” Edith slipped a hand through Wickham’s arm.
“While you were in Bath, I spoke to Millie on each of her half-days and have the schedule the ladies are keeping. Georgiana has not been out of the house without her brother for three weeks.”
“Dora’s fortune is mine,” he said. “The cousin in Bath will no longer be a thorn in my side.”
Edith asked, “Why don’t we sail for the West Indies or Lisbon? With Dora’s seven thousand pounds, we could live very well for years.”
“There are many thousands to be had from Darcy.”
“George, your scheme to elope with Miss Darcy was well-crafted, but Darcy would not agree for the girl and I to go to Ramsgate. And I have mentioned that the girl spoke kindly of you the few times you came up in conversation.”
“Edith, my dear,” he said condescendingly, “We can have no sentimentality when convincing someone to hand over a fortune.”
“I know,” she sighed.
“We must stop by Rothschild’s for the money before the day grows late,” he said. He rapped on the roof of the carriage and called, “Head for the city and take us to Rothschild’s Bank.”
The carriage started down the street with the two passengers discussing travel to a warm city before the cold of winter closed the ports. Traffic was heavy in ‘the city’–the financial district of London–but the carriage arrived at Rothschild’s before the middle of the afternoon.
“Come along Mrs Wickham,” George said as he handed Edith down from the carriage. “Our fortune waits within.”
He had married the cow and suffered her attentions for a month to finalize the papers before plying Dora with inheritance powder in a massive dose to end his time in marital purgatory.
Then her cousin in Bath had demanded an inquest–only the promise of five hundred pounds had managed to get the local magistrate to hush up the questions regarding the poisoning of Dora Wickham.
A quick trip to Bath and the sudden disappearance of the cousin–the man would not return to Bath for at least twelve months with his unwitting volunteering for duty onboard HMS Defiance–had eliminated all the impediments to Wickham’s inheritance.
But when they stepped out of the banking house almost one hour had passed and the constabulary was waiting.
“Mr George Wickham, you are arrested for the murder of Mrs Dora Wickham. Take him,” the lead man ordered his underlings.
Thinking quickly and realizing he could not escape the current number of men; Wickham played the role of a wrongfully accused man. “My dear, be brave.”
Edith realized his game and allowed tears to fall, all the while clutching a valise with almost four hundred guineas and cheques for almost six thousand more guineas from Rothschild’s.
With almost one hundred guineas on his person, Wickham immediately considered how he could bribe his way out of the gaol in London. Edith loved him and Wickham did not fear that she would flee with the funds.
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