Chapter XVIII #3
“That is our friend Wickham, of course,” growled Colonel Fitzwilliam. “He does not even keep his accounts current with those he calls his friends.”
Though it was clear that she did not wish to agree, Mrs. Younge gave him a tight nod.
“Wickham has grown . . . displeased with the young lady, though he has not told me the reason.”
“Has he come out or said anything of his intentions?” asked Darcy.
“No, he has kept to his rooms except when he wishes food.” Mrs. Younge grimaced. “He has not paid me for their meals either.”
“Is there anything else that may be of some use?”
Mrs. Younge started to shake her head, then she appeared to remember something that caused her to pale. Darcy noticed at once.
“What is it?”
“It is . . .” The woman swallowed and looked away. “When Wickham came out last night, he was most put out with her. He suggested he might turn her over to a brothel and be done with her.”
“What?” demanded Bennet, unable to hold his countenance any longer. “And you did not think to confront him for that? What sort of depraved woman are you?”
“I know nothing of such things,” protested Mrs. Younge.
“I suspect, madam, that you know more than you are saying,” retorted Bennet.
“Do not concern yourself,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, his expression stony. “Wickham is caught—there will be no abandonment of any kind. The only thing Wickham can look forward to is the prospect of a life in the penal colony.”
For the first time, Mrs. Younge appeared to understand that Wickham’s troubles were not inconsequential.
With that realization, Bennet was certain she now understood that if she played them false or hindered them in any way, she might share Wickham’s fate.
Satisfied, Bennet fell silent, allowing Darcy to take up the argument again.
So much the better if Mrs. Younge was now in fear for her freedom.
“Very well, Mrs. Younge,” said Darcy. “I suggest you ensure your staff stays clear of Wickham’s room for the next half hour. You would not wish to be caught up in our confrontation.”
Mrs. Younge nodded. “I cannot disagree, Mr. Darcy. The sooner you take Mr. Wickham away from my establishment, the easier I will breathe.”
Unless Bennet missed his guess, Darcy wished to say something more, but he settled for a curt nod.
Mrs. Younge told them where to find Wickham’s room, then turned and disappeared deeper into the house, the servant following her.
She clearly intended to do exactly as Darcy had suggested and avoid them altogether.
Whatever their association, her support for Wickham was at an end.
“Let us be done with this,” said Bennet.
“Thompson,” said Darcy to his footman, “please check the next floor to make sure everything is clear.”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said the footman, climbing the stairs, moving with a cat-like silence that belied his huge frame.
Bennet followed along behind, though more slowly with the others.
When they reached the next floor, Bennet noted that no one was about; the denizens were either closed in their rooms or absent for the day.
The long corridor ran the length of the house, a series of doors on either side, while the stairs led to another floor above.
They followed Mrs. Younge’s directions to the end of the hall and an unremarkable door.
There was no sound beyond it, a welcome development to the father of a fifteen-year-old girl who was on the other side of that door with a man.
The moment had arrived. Bennet exchanged a glance with his brother and nodded.
“Do not be too hasty,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam in a low tone when Bennet moved to the door.
“What need have we to wait?” asked Bennet, eager to retrieve Lydia once and for all. “Open the door and rush the room. We shall be on him before he can blink.”
“Yet we do not know the situation in the room,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, his patient tone grating on Bennet’s nerves. “Wickham may be on the other side of the room. If he feels himself cornered, he may even think to hold your daughter hostage.”
Bennet’s glare was flinty. “Then what do you suggest?”
Fitzwilliam considered it and beckoned to the large footman Mr. Darcy had brought—Bennet noticed the man came eagerly, his face adorned with an expression of utmost anticipation.
“I shall rap on the door, but make no response when Wickham calls out. Should he not come at once, I will do it again. Then when he opens it, Thompson and I can take him into custody.”
“What if Lydia opens the door?” asked Mr. Gardiner.
“That may even be better,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Then we can remove her from harm’s way at once, leaving Wickham alone in the room. Mr. Bennet, if you will stand just behind us, should Miss Lydia answer the door, we will pass her to your control.”
The plan made sense, so Bennet gave his assent with a sharp nod. They arranged themselves, and when they were positioned to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s satisfaction, he nodded and knocked—three sharp raps, not hard enough to shake the door but impossible to ignore.
Then they waited.