Chapter 19 #2
Wickham finished his ale and lifted the tankard towards the slovenly wench behind the bar, who was busy refilling drinks and serving plates.
He caught her eye, and she nodded, bustling around the end of the bar moments later to fetch his empty vessel.
She bore it away again behind the bar to refill it, and in her absence Wickham steepled his fingers and considered.
Whatever had possessed Darcy to do such a thing as to become involved with the second daughter of Longbourn?
His first thought was, naturally, that uptight Darcy had at last broken those tiresome inhibitions and spirited the lady away to avoid discovery of an illicit affair.
Scarcely had the notion occurred to him, however, before Wickham had dismissed it.
Darcy could no more unbend his self-imposed prohibitions against pleasure and joy than the sun could turn blue.
Nor did Wickham really think, upon reflection, that Miss Bennet would countenance such a disgraceful relationship.
Though her two youngest sisters might throw themselves at every handsome man who smiled in their direction, Elizabeth was every inch the lady and would be righteously offended if anyone were so foolish as to suggest such an arrangement to her.
And how did Mrs. Gregson fit into it all?
He had never met the lady, but of course he knew of her; she was Darcy’s great-aunt and had scandalized the family by marrying a mere clergyman many decades previously.
How did she fit into the mystery? Was it true, as Mr. Bennet said, that his second daughter had fallen ill?
But if so, why would she stay with Darcy’s great-aunt, of all people?
All of his ponderings were interesting but ultimately fruitless, bringing Wickham inevitably back around to the same question.
What was Miss Bennet doing at Pemberley?
What had sent her fleeing like a thief in the night from her own home?
Was it her engagement to the tiresome clergyman?
But if so, Mr. Bennet had only to refuse his blessing.
But then again, Longbourn was entailed away to Mr. Collins, so it was obviously best for the family, if not for Miss Elizabeth, that a marriage take place.
But in any case, how had Darcy become involved?
He was such a proud man, and most of the denizens of Meryton and Longbourn despised him, including Miss Elizabeth! Why, how, was she at Pemberley now?
He did not know the answers, but in trust, what truly mattered was that there was some secret there, some scandal that Darcy would be desperate to avoid leaking out.
Wickham did not have to know precisely what the secret was, only that Miss Bennet was under Darcy’s roof, and that for some reason they did not wish the denizens of Meryton to know.
Wickham held all the cards, and could leverage Darcy as he pleased.
What a pleasure it was to be able to hold not one, but two possible scandals over the head of the proud and condescending master of Pemberley!
The door opened at this juncture, allowing a burst of cold air to enter the room. Wickham looked up just in time to meet the eyes of Fitzwilliam Darcy, who stood tall and proud, dressed in riding attire, his face set in grim lines.
Wickham felt a flicker of fear at his enemy’s expression but then reminded himself that he held the upper hand in this encounter. He lifted one languid hand, and Darcy stalked over to the table and sat down across from him.
Wickham lifted his glass of ale and took a sip. “Would you like some ale, Darcy? It is quite good.”
The servant girl had approached the table, her eyes full of wonder.
Wickham smiled at her and then realized that the girl was focused on Darcy, not himself.
Well, he supposed that was no great surprise.
He did not look his best right now, and Darcy was, as usual, very well dressed, not to mention tall and handsome.
It truly was not fair. Why should Darcy have all the advantages?
Why should his former friend have money and connections and power, while Wickham was cast out into the darkness to make his own way in life!
He was not the son of George Darcy, no, but he was the godson. That ought to count for something!
“I will take some ale,” Darcy said to the servant girl, who curtsied and rushed away.
Wickham forced himself to smile blandly at the master of Pemberley and said, “Good afternoon, Darcy. I hope you are well?”
“I have no desire to bandy pleasantries with you, Wickham,” Darcy said in an icy tone. “What do you want?”
Wickham took a deep breath. “I want money, of course.”
“Indeed,” Darcy said drily, just as the maid returned with a full glass, which she deposited carefully on the table before scurrying away.
Wickham leaned forward a little and said, “You are responsible for Bingley’s actions in trying to have me thrown into debtors’ prison. Did you really think I would not figure that out?”
“I expected that you would,” Darcy agreed, taking a sip of ale. “It hardly matters.”
There was a disquieting calm in Darcy’s tone, but Wickham straightened himself a trifle and said, “It does matter. Elizabeth Bennet is staying at Pemberley, and I am confident that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would be most interested to learn of the situation. Miss Bennet was affianced to Lady Catherine’s rector, and no doubt your esteemed aunt would be concerned about the presence of a pretty, runaway lady living in your very home when you are engaged to Miss de Bourgh. ”
“I have never been engaged to my Cousin Anne,” Darcy said coolly, but his right eye twitched, and Wickham relaxed. He knew that twitch, knew that Darcy was angry and distressed, which was exactly what he needed.
“Perhaps you are not,” Wickham said, “but Lady Catherine thinks you are, and I expect the Earl of Matlock does as well. I know that even Lady Anne wished for…”
“Do not speak of my mother,” Darcy hissed dangerously, and Wickham closed his mouth, his throat suddenly dry.
He took another sip, swallowed, and said, “You know that if I tell Lady Catherine that Elizabeth Bennet is secretly hiding at Pemberley, she will not be pleased, especially if I speculate that the lady has been rather easy with her favors…”
A large and very strong fist cut off his words this time, and Wickham found himself and his chair hurtling backwards onto the floor. He lay there for a second, shocked and in pain. Darcy had never, ever…
His former friend, now enemy, stood up, and Wickham watched in genuine terror as the taller man stalked over, reached down, pulled him to a standing position, and then punched him in the jaw again.
Wickham was knocked against the wooden wall behind him and lifted his hands to protect his face.
“Darcy, stop! Stop!”
Darcy did not stop. He stepped forward, grabbed Wickham by the coat, and thrust him mercilessly toward the door, with everyone else in the pub staring open-mouthed, and the servant girl scuttling to one side to avoid the two men.
The pub owner pushed the door open for the two men, and Wickham found himself thrown out onto the dirt street next to the pub.
The cold bit into his battered face, and he looked up in genuine terror. He had known Darcy his entire life and had never imagined that the cool, composed master of Pemberley would actually use physical violence.
“Get out of here, Wickham,” Darcy said, his voice shaking with fury. “Get out of Lambton and Derbyshire and never return. And if you speak ill of Miss Bennet to anyone, I will hunt you down and personally throw you into debtors’ prison. Do you understand me?”
Wickham stared up at him and then found himself scrambling to his feet. The pub owner had followed Darcy out of the Black Stork, his eyes narrowed, and a few passersby were standing across the road, staring curiously at the pair.
“Darcy, cannot we…”
“Now, Wickham,” Darcy said, his brow lowered menacingly, “or I will call the magistrate.”
Wickham ran.