Chapter XIX #3
“Fit for nothing more than the rag man, I should say,” replied Darcy. “Wickham will not require possessions where he is going—I doubt there is anything to save, regardless.”
“By his own admission,” agreed Fitzwilliam, “he was in dire straits.”
“Then let us leave this place.”
As they strode from the room, Thompson to search for a maid, Fitzwilliam put his hand on Darcy’s back as they walked.
“Do you mean to do anything about Mrs. Younge?”
Darcy considered it, then stopped to discuss the matter. “She assisted us, though she was most reluctant to do so.”
“Has there been any sign that she has misrepresented herself again?” asked Fitzwilliam.
“None of which I am aware,” replied Darcy, shaking his head. “My man of business has kept a discreet, though not consistent, watch on her. So far as I am aware, she has focused on keeping her house and eking out an existence here.”
Fitzwilliam considered it as they turned to walk again.
When they reached the stairs, they descended, finding their companions had taken their charge and were likely waiting in the carriage.
There was also no sign of Wickham—no doubt he was in chains, on his way to military prison and the fate that his actions had wrought.
As they passed through the entrance, however, Darcy caught sight of Mrs. Younge watching them from a hallway leading further into the house.
She was, Darcy thought, a handsome enough woman, though now that he understood more of her character, he fancied he could now see something of her avarice in her eyes and in the lines of her face.
There was also a stiffness in her stance, as if she were understanding for the first time what crossing the highest levels of society might cost her.
Wickham being led out in chains would have reinforced that lesson.
“Mrs. Younge,” said Darcy, turning to her.
“That was more excitement than I have seen in my house for many a month,” replied she, watching him warily. “I hope that this concludes our business.”
“Trust me, Mrs. Younge, I have no desire to meet again.”
She nodded, but she did not move away. A notion came to him, and Darcy moved forward without considering it.
“If you will accept a little advice?”
Though she paused, she nodded. “And what would that be?”
“I know something of your situation, Mrs. Younge,” replied Darcy. “As you must be aware, I have the resources to make inquiries and the motive to do so, considering your previous association with my sister.”
Mrs. Younge licked her lips, now quite nervous. “I have said nothing of that.”
“That I know,” replied Darcy, his gaze never leaving hers. “Had you said anything at all, you would be in prison now or bound for the bottom of the world.”
It was not an idle threat, but a reminder calculated to ensure she understood his point and the power he could bring to bear against her. Mrs. Younge did not misunderstand.
“Do not concern yourself with that—I shall never breathe a word of it.”
“Good,” said Darcy. “But that does not change your situation. Let us be blunt, Mrs. Younge. Though you own this house, letting out rooms does nothing more than allow you to keep food on the table—maintenance is largely beyond your means. Without your husband’s income to support you, the house is slowly decaying. ”
“You are . . . not incorrect,” muttered she, as if the admission pained her.
“Then you would do well to sell it and find some other way to support yourself,” said Darcy.
“The profits from selling your house would provide you enough to make a new start in a place of your choosing. Perhaps somewhere abroad. I understand that a woman of modest means may establish herself more comfortably in America than she can in London. You are still young enough that you might even marry again.”
Mrs. Younge pondered this for a moment. “That is an interesting notion, Mr. Darcy. I shall consider it.”
“Then I wish you good fortune, Mrs. Younge. Let us both hope that we never cross paths again.”
With that, Darcy turned and left the house, Fitzwilliam following behind. As he walked, he could hear Fitzwilliam chuckling.
“That was a rather audacious bit of advice, Darcy.”
Darcy shrugged. “It was not untrue. To own the truth, I suspect Mrs. Younge has nearly exhausted the possibilities of living in England. It would do her good to get a new start elsewhere.”
“I do not disagree with you,” said Fitzwilliam. “If I did not already know that Wickham was the force behind their intrigues, I would have her in the same cell. If she voluntarily leaves England, I will be content.”
“As will I,” said Darcy.
It was a tight fit with one extra passenger, but with Miss Lydia sitting between her father and her uncle and meeting the eyes of no one, they began the journey back to Gracechurch Street.
Darcy knew the revelations of the past half hour would change matters, but for the moment he was content to defer that conversation.
It was his distinct impression that no one else had a burning desire to raise the subject.