Chapter XIX #2
“Honor is for those who can afford it,” spat Wickham. “Miss Lydia is a comely girl, but her charms pale in comparison to the money she provided when I needed to escape. I had some notion of ridding myself of her—I suppose I no longer need to concern myself with her disposition.”
“In that, at least, you are correct,” said Fitzwilliam.
Wickham then turned shrewd. “Of course, if you make it worth my time, Darcy, I might reconsider. That must be the reason you have come. Since the only way for Miss Lydia to regain her reputation is to marry, you mean to ensure that I cooperate. I warn you, Darcy—it will not be cheap. You are consigning me to a life with a witless bit of muslin. You had best be very convincing.”
The door opened silently at that moment, and Miss Lydia stepped into the room, her eyes blazing. Wickham did not notice her at once, but Darcy saw that the beatific girl who had left the room was gone. Miss Lydia Bennet was most displeased.
ON ONE LEVEL, BENNET pitied his silly daughter.
The overheard conversation between Darcy and Wickham was stripping away any notion she had that Mr. Wickham had fled Brighton with her for the reasons she had cherished.
On the other hand, Bennet knew it was the best way for the girl to learn what she needed to.
Sometimes a little cruelty could be kinder in the end.
What Bennet had not expected was how she responded.
Before he could so much as move, Lydia pushed the door open and stepped into the room, her fists clenched at her side. Then with a swift motion that caught everyone in the room off guard, she stepped to Wickham and slapped him so hard his face whipped to the side.
“You horrid, deceitful man!” screamed she. Bennet would not have been surprised if Maggie could hear her in Hertfordshire. “How dare you speak of me like that?”
By this time, Wickham had recovered his sense—unfortunately, his wits took a little longer.
“Because it is the truth! Why, you had me wanting to put you out of the carriage by the side of the road before we even reached Albourne!”
“Then why did you not?” demanded Lydia.
“Because you were so insistent on accompanying me!” roared Wickham. “As long as you were with me, at least you could provide a little companionship. But you could not even do that!”
“What do you mean?” asked she, taken aback. “Did I not travel all the way to London with you?”
Wickham sneered. “And an excellent companion you were. A man wants a little more for a lady companion with whom he is living, yet you would not even hear of obliging me.”
Even Lydia understood that, though Wickham had the presence of mind to at least put it in such terms as to avoid being coarse. Though Bennet considered intervening at that moment, afterward he was glad he did not.
“What do you take me for?” asked Lydia. “I am a gentlewoman, Mr. Wickham. Of course I would not allow you into my bed until we are married.”
“Wait a moment,” interjected Bennet, quite astonished by it all. “Lydia, are you saying that you are still a maiden?”
Lydia turned to him as if scandalized. “Papa, do you suppose I am not? Did you not warn us all against such activities without the protection of marriage?”
Bennet could not so much as utter a sound for a long moment.
In fact, he remembered the conversation quite well, though he had no notion Lydia had taken it as seriously as she had.
It had been a matter infamous and much talked-of for some months, though it had not happened in Meryton, but in a community to the west. A young girl, the daughter of a landowner, had found herself in the family way, and her father had compelled the man responsible to marry her, completely against the fellow’s wishes.
It seemed Lydia had carried a determination to refrain from such activities from that discussion, though she had not understood that the appearance of impropriety could be just as damaging.
Bennet caught Gardiner’s eye, and they understood each other well at that moment.
It appeared there was another alternative in this, given Lydia had not, in fact, lost her innocence to Mr. Wickham.
There was no time for that at the moment, as they still needed to deal with Wickham.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, understanding the situation as well as anyone else, took steps at that moment to remove the complication from the room.
Going to the window, he opened it and signaled to the men waiting in the streets, then he turned back to Wickham. The expression he showed the erstwhile officer was not at all pleasant—Wickham blanched at the sight.
“It seems we have no more need to interrogate you, Wickham. Since you have deserted, your regiment shall have the pleasure of dealing with you first. Trust me, friend, you will regret your rash decision to desert.”
Wickham gaped at him, then turned to Darcy—not unexpected from Darcy’s perspective.
“You have Miss Lydia. Take her and leave me be.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head, even as the tread of boots on the floor outside the room told them all of the arrival of Fitzwilliam’s men. Within moments, they entered and manacled Wickham, much to the satisfaction of everyone in the room.
“It amazes me, Wickham,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “just how blind you are to the consequences of your actions. Now that we tracked you down and you have foolishly placed yourself within reach of military discipline, did you suppose that I would just let you go?”
“Darcy!” pleaded Wickham, but Darcy was implacable.
“Not this time, Wickham. Now you will receive the wages for your actions as you should have years ago. You have preyed upon your fellow man for far too long.”
Wickham’s features twisted into rage. As the men dragged him from the room, he chose the easiest target a coward could choose.
“Enjoy the rest of your life, little Lydia,” cried he, struggling against his captors. “I have ruined you forever. It is just as well, for no sane man could withstand your silliness—”
Wickham’s diatribe was halted abruptly, the sound of flesh meeting flesh ending in a cry of pain. Then Wickham was out the door, still screaming, but his words were now unintelligible.
In an action Bennet had not expected, Lydia turned to him and buried her head in his shoulder.
Not a tactile or overly affectionate man, Bennet awkwardly patted her back, murmuring a few words of comfort.
He had retrieved his daughter in better condition than he had a right to hope.
The question now was what to do with her.
“MR. BENNET,” SAID DARCY, taking control of the situation at once, “I believe it would be for the best if we returned your daughter to Gracechurch Street at once.”
Mr. Bennet gave a curt nod. “The sooner she is in Lizzy’s care, the better.”
At that, Lydia’s head came away from Bennet’s shoulder, and she peered at her father with evident dread. “Lizzy is here?”
“At my house, Lydia,” said Gardiner. “She has come to offer you support.”
“Oh, Lizzy will be most put out with me!” fretted Lydia.
Darcy exchanged glances with Mr. Bennet, startled and more than a little curious.
It seemed that upsetting her elder sister was more of a concern to Miss Lydia than even upsetting her father.
Darcy did not suppose that Miss Elizabeth was as stern as that suggested, but perhaps she could use that to instill some sense in her sister.
“Come, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet, keeping her close with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Let us return to Gracechurch Street where you may receive Lizzy’s loving ministrations.”
Whatever Miss Lydia knew about her sister, she did not appear eager to receive the loving ministrations that Mr. Bennet had promised, though she did not protest. Mr. Gardiner followed them as they departed, leaving Darcy with his cousin and his burly footmen, both of whom appeared like the cat that got the cream.
“Confess it, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, his wide grin nothing less than Darcy would have expected from his cousin, “that was so enjoyable that you wish you had done it years before.”
“Except for the young lady’s distress,” replied Darcy, though the notion of Wickham facing accountability was no less than satisfying.
“Do not concern yourself with Miss Lydia,” replied Fitzwilliam. “She is made of sterner stuff than this. I dare say she will be herself again within a fortnight, bedeviling her father with her wild ways.”
“If you will pardon me, I shall hope not. She will be my sister, after all—if she cannot behave, she must be hidden from society, and that will not be comfortable for anyone.”
“She is not irredeemable,” said Fitzwilliam, slapping his shoulder. “She is just high-spirited and imprudent. Perhaps this business will teach her something.”
Darcy had a few notions about how to help the situation, but he remained silent. It was, after all, none of Fitzwilliam’s concern. Instead, he turned to Thompson.
“Thank you as always for your assistance.”
Thompson returned a wide grin. “For the chance to deal with Wickham, I may even pay you, Mr. Darcy.”
Knowing his sentiments exactly, Darcy nodded. “Please get one of Mrs. Younge’s maids to go through the room. Bundle all Miss Lydia’s effects and ensure they are returned to her at Gracechurch Street.”
“And Wickham’s belongings?” asked Fitzwilliam, though he sported an evil grin.