Chapter 13
Rather than hiding in the depths of St Giles, he should have been married to the mousy Georgiana Darcy and owner of her dowry of thirty thousand pounds.
Damn the prig for arriving days earlier than he was supposed to come.
He had spoilt everything for Wickham, again!
First, it had been the restriction the old man had placed on him all because of some maids and debts left behind.
It was only fair that the Darcys should pay his debts; they had more than enough blunt to do so.
Then, there was that debacle at Cambridge.
He supposed that the bastard whose father was in trade was more to blame than the prig and Fitzwilliam.
Wickham felt a cold shiver traverse his spine when he thought of the last man.
Lastly, he had heard damned Fitzwilliam was still alive, not doing Wickham the favour of dying on the battlefields of the Peninsula and at that time, was a major.
What a fool, risking his life for others.
His thoughts returned to his bad luck at Cambridge.
Bingley had seen him lift the Medfords’ purses and had watched as Wickham had hidden the loot in Darcy’s suite.
When he had been sent down instead of being arrested for theft, Wickham had thought that Mr Darcy had stepped in to save him.
He had not; the worst blow had come at Pemberley.
The old man had not only made him sign documents admitting he stole the purses and acknowledging that the charges would be reinstated if he ever acted against the Darcys, or did anything else that was dishonest, he had also withdrawn both as Wickham’s godfather as well as any and all patronage.
Being Mr Robert Darcy’s godson had become an integral part of Wickham’s persona as it gave him consequence he would not have had as just the son of a steward.
Not only did he lose Mr Darcy’s patronage that day, but his gentleman’s education, and according to the old man, there would be nothing for Wickham in his last will and testament.
Wickham chose to disbelieve the last item. Hence, when he heard that his former godfather had died, he made for Pemberley to collect what he believed he had been left in the will. He had been so sure the old man would have relented. He had not. He was thrown from Pemberley’s lands for his trouble.
With the little money he had at the time, he had made his way to London and eventually met Karen and Clay Younge. By acting as if he loved the former, he had a warm bed, food, and coin from time to time.
It did not last long. The brother, who was a brute, insisted Wickham contribute.
As Wickham could speak like and even look like a toff, he scouted houses where the residents were away for Younge and his crew to rob.
For a few years things had been as well as could be, but then one night, Younge and his crew were caught in the act.
Younge and his two men had swung, and much to Wickham’s relief, none of them had shopped on[2] him.
In Wickham’s mind, there were two reasons for his reprieve. First, telling would not have gained them any leniency, and secondly, in his mind more importantly, Younge and his men hated toffs, and those who protected them, with a white-hot passion.
As he had not been the reason for her brother’s capture, Karen Younge had allowed Wickham to remain with her at her boarding house on Edward Street. The cost was having to perform some duties around the boarding house for her.
Things would have continued in this way had he not seen the advert in the paper telling how one Mr Darcy was seeking a companion for his sister.
His foolproof plan—or what was supposed to be—was hatched and on the promise of ten thousand pounds of the dowry to Karen—money he would never pay—she agreed to play her part and became Mrs Younge.
Everything had been going to plan; he was to bed the little mouse that night, but damned Darcy arrived, and Wickham had to run for his life.
Luck was with him; Darcy had not thought to post a man at the back door.
Wickham had sprinted across the yard and was on the horse he had left tied to the fence before anyone had found him.
The money he had received from the pawnbroker for little Georgiana’s jewellery was enough for him to make his escape and to hide himself in the depths of Seven Dials.
He could not go back to Karen. If she had not been arrested herself, she would have been informed about all of the lies he had told her.
Knowing that Fitzwilliam would be after him and that the bastards would have him arrested and hung if he was caught, Wickham knew he needed to keep hidden for a while and then he would discover a way to make some blunt and escape England.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
It had taken a dozen drafts of the letter over many weeks before Lady Catherine was satisfied and told Collins to post it.
What Collins did not understand was that Lady Catherine had him in such a dither about getting the letter just so that he had completely forgotten to ask her how his investment was doing and when he would be receiving his first dividends.
She had succeeded better than she could have hoped, because the very last thing on Collins’s mind was the funds he had handed to Lady Catherine.
It had taken well over a month to get the letter to the point his patroness had not felt she needed to make changes.
If Collins had bothered to compare the last version Lady Catherine approved against the first one he wrote, he would have discovered that they were the same save a word here or there.
At last, on the final Wednesday of August, Collins sent the manservant who worked at the parsonage to post his letter from the inn in Hunsford.
Now that she no longer had the letter to distract her parson, Lady Catherine made sure to keep him running hither and yon to accomplish all sorts of tasks she called important.
One stratagem she used was to criticise his first drafts of each new sermon, sending him home to try again.
Just as it had been with the letter, this and other tasks made asking about his investment the farthest thing from the simpleton’s mind.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Bishop Lankershim was not very happy with the reports he had been receiving about Mr Collins in Hunsford, but so far, he had not discovered anything which could be termed misconduct.
It was true that the man was not a very effective rector and that his sermons were not exactly what the church would like to hear, but if Collins were to be removed from his post for being a bad parson, almost half of those serving the Church of England would have to go as well.
There were no accusations of his importuning any of the women in the parish or any other such thing.
There were some whisperings that his parishioners did not like to confide in him because whatever they told him got back to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Unfortunately, when the man he sent had asked about the rumours, the members of the parish had refused to say anything.
The investigator had the impression that the people were afraid of retribution from Lady Catherine.
All he could do was keep watch to make sure no dismissible offences were committed. How Bishop Lankershim regretted sending Collins along that day to meet with Lady Catherine.
Other than watching and waiting, there was not much else to do.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
The four Bingleys—Aunt Hildebrand had arrived a sennight previously—departed Bingley House at sunup on the final day of September.
A very sullen Miss Caroline was in the coach.
She had railed against rising at such an ungodly hour, but when Aunt Hildebrand promised to empty a bucket of cold water on her head if she was not out of bed at the required time, Caroline decided not to test her aunt.
She knew only too well what Aunt Hildebrand said, Aunt Hildebrand meant.
That her siblings and aunt were all cheerful only added to Miss Caroline’s pique.
Since the day her brother had stolen a quarter of her dowry, she had made sure not to set a foot out of line.
She had even managed to bite her tongue when Charles had informed them Mr Darcy would only join them on Thursday.
Caroline would have had immense enjoyment by having him as a captive audience for the time they travelled towards the backwater town.
At least, she had acquired one new ensemble with her available allowance.
It was the colour she preferred, burnt orange, and she had had enough to purchase a matching turban and four ostrich feathers, all dyed to match.
At the first public event that they attended, she would wear the outfit to show Mr Darcy how much more sophisticated she was than the country mushrooms they would have to lower themselves to be among.
Thinking of going out in public, Caroline hoped that Louisa would remain sequestered and not embarrass her with the blemished cheek which left Louisa so ugly, and if she did, she would be heavily veiled. She was distracted from her thoughts by her aunt’s voice.
“Nephew, what, if anything, do you know about your neighbours?” Hildebrand enquired.
“Mr Phillips, the local solicitor as well as the agent for the landlord, told me that there are four and twenty landed families in the area, one of them being his late sister’s family, who are my nearest neighbours.
In fact, their estate borders Netherfield Park,” Bingley revealed.
“If my memory is accurate, he said he has five nieces at that estate.”
“A solicitor,” Miss Caroline sneered, “is but a tradesman, so these nieces are far below our notice.”