Chapter 21
Longbourn Field
An Hour later
Marcus’s erstwhile pasture had gained an unaccustomed scarlet hue, with Wickham's body in a bloody heap, with members of the militia, dressed in their red coats, gathered around.
The militia had proven fully cooperative throughout this entire sordid affair, which was no great surprise, given that Richard was a colonel in the Regulars along with being the son of an earl, both of which tended to impress members of the militia.
At any rate, Colonel Forster stood beside him now in this cold muddy field, with three privates lingering nearby awaiting their orders.
Richard looked thoughtfully at the ground at his feet.
Grass and soil were obscured by the mangled body that lay waiting for transportation and burial.
It was not a pretty sight, but he had seen far worse in his time.
This bucolic field, with its horned and ill-tempered inhabitant led away by a farmer to another domicile, was a scene of perfect domestic tranquility compared to the aftermath of battles on the Continent in the struggle against the Corsican tyrant.
Richard had stood on muddy fields awash in the blood of his own men, good men who would be missed and mourned.
So while Richard did not relish the sight of Wickham’s gruesome body, neither did it cause him any qualms such as might afflict those less inured to bloodshed.
Of course, the body must be disposed of, and the sooner the better. Marcus the bull would want his pasture back, and as far as Richard was concerned, Wickham could not be interred soon enough, and an end made to the trouble he could cause.
“Quite unpleasant, this,” Colonel Forster said, his pale face carefully averted from the mess at his feet.
“Yes,” Richard replied. Forster had never been in the Regulars, of course, and had likely never dealt with a mangled corpse before.
“Does Wickham have any family?” the colonel continued.
“Not close family, no,” Richard said. “He was an only child, and his parents are dead. There might be some distant cousins, but neither Darcy nor I know of their names or locations.”
“I see,” Forster said. “Well, I suppose that he ought to be buried here?”
“Yes,” Richard said. “I daresay the local rector would be willing to assist with that, and my cousin Darcy will doubtless pay for any necessary expenses.”
“Will he?” Colonel Forster returned, his brow raised. “Based on your information about Wickham, it seems that the man has been a thorn in Mr. Darcy’s side for many years, with running up debts and ruining tenant girls and maids.”
“That is all true, but Darcy is a loyal man, and he…”
Richard trailed off and turned toward the road as a sound caught his ear.
The carriage he had hired in London was just pulling to a stop adjacent to the turnstile, the horses stamping and blowing and tossing their heads.
Richard strode quickly over to the fence just as Darcy alighted from the carriage.
“How are the Bennet ladies?” he asked Darcy, whose gaze was fixed on Wickham’s broken form.
“Distressed, naturally,” the master of Pemberley said grimly. “I feel dreadful about exposing them to such an experience. I ought to have known it would be a messy business, but how could I … well, in any case, we can speak of that later. I did inform Sir Thomas that his bull killed Wickham.”
“And what did Sir Thomas say?”
“He was unhappy but calm, if that makes sense. I do not quite know what to make of Sir Thomas, but since he is a genius, perhaps that is no great surprise. What does Colonel Forster think of it all?”
“He is working on not losing his lunch at the moment,” Richard said bluntly.
Darcy winced and said, “I cannot blame him, as I feel unwell myself. I must apologize to Forster for…”
“No, go back to Netherfield,” Richard interrupted firmly. “I will deal with Colonel Forster.”
Darcy shook his head stubbornly. “It is my responsibility.”
“It is no more yours than mine, and I am a fellow colonel. Moreover, I am truthfully not greatly distressed by this situation, as I have never liked Wickham, and his own foolish actions led him to this end. Go on, Darcy. I will join you later.”
“How will you return to Netherfield?”
“I am confident that Colonel Forster will be willing to lend me a horse.”
Darcy looked as if he would argue, and Richard Fitzwilliam narrowed his eyes and glared with all the authority that he was capable of.
He was vaguely surprised when it actually worked, but then again, Darcy was truly upset by Wickham’s gory death.
“Thank you, Richard,” Darcy said and slowly climbed back into the carriage.
A moment later, the vehicle lurched into motion, and Richard turned around to observe that an oxcart had arrived while he was talking with his cousin, and the three privates were carefully lifting Wickham’s body into the cart.
He walked rapidly back towards the cluster of redcoats.
Wickham was dead, and while the manner of his death was regrettable, he could not feel particularly grieved.
However, he was determined that neither Darcy nor the Bennets would suffer from the death and that Colonel Forster would take the responsibility to arrange for the burial of the reprobate.
***
East Parlor
Longbourn
An Hour Later
23rd November, 1811
The room was not really cold, of course, but a shiver wracked Elizabeth's frame anyway, and she was grateful when Jane stooped over the fire to add one of the heavy oak logs to the blaze, and then poked at it with the iron until the flames caught on the new bark and licked up tall and warm.
Jane shot a glance of obvious concern towards her sisters and moved to pour three cups of tea from the pot set on a low table.
Elizabeth herself made no move to help, still feeling too limp and stunned for such activity.
She was thankful that Lady Bennet and her three remaining daughters had not stayed overlong in Meryton to visit Mrs. Phillips.
As soon as the other Bennet ladies had arrived at Longbourn, Mary had told them of Wickham’s death, though without any details about the man’s debt.
Miss Fairchild had promptly swept Kitty and Lydia away to the schoolroom, and Lady Bennet had hastily ordered the carriage back so that she could rush off to Lucas Lodge to share the news with the Lucases.
Elizabeth was not pleased that her mother’s first thought was to gossip about a man’s death, but she was sufficiently distressed that she found she could not care a great deal.
“My dear sisters, that is so awful!” Jane declared. “I am so sorry, and am grieved that you were forced to witness such a dreadful thing.”
“It was awful!” Mary murmured, her face pale, and Elizabeth put an arm around her and pulled her close.
“It is no one’s fault, though,” Jane said, sinking into a chair across from her sisters and taking a sip of her own tea. “I mean, perhaps Mr. Darcy ought not to have…”
She trailed off and frowned, and Elizabeth said, “If Mr. Wickham has ... had hundreds of pounds in debts, then he deserved imprisonment. And it was his fault for running away and ignoring our urgent warnings to him. Of course I am grieved and sorry, but Mr. Darcy is not at fault.”
“Moreover, where did Wickham think he was going?” Mary demanded, shaking her head. “Was he planning to hide in the woods or something? In November?”
The three sisters sighed in unison, and Elizabeth said, “I daresay a man who runs up hundreds of pounds in debt is not in the habit of thinking deeply about anything. It is not anyone’s fault, really. I hope that Mr. Darcy is not accused of anything untoward.”
“Or us?” Mary asked nervously. “After all, it was our bull.”
“Who was in his field where he belonged, and Mr. Wickham had no right to be there,” Jane said. “I beg you not to worry, either of you. It is a great sorrow, and we can pray for his soul, but that is all.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said and shuddered a little as a vision of Wickham’s broken body flashed in front of her. “Yes, it is a great sorrow.”
“Does Father know about it?” Jane asked, glancing in the direction of the library where Sir Thomas was doubtless ensconced.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy told him,” Elizabeth said, “though I do not know what passed between them. Perhaps I ought to check on him.”
“Let me do it, Lizzy,” Mary said, standing up. “I understand him better than you do, and in any case, I doubt he is particularly perturbed. He never met Mr. Wickham, and he is so often lost in his thoughts that the death of an unknown reprobate is not likely to bother him a great deal.”
Elizabeth hesitated and then, looking at Mary’s face, decided that this was sensible enough. “Thank you, Mary.”
***
Billiard Room
Netherfield Hall
Midnight
At any other time, the flames dancing along the logs in the fireplace would have been soothing, but all Darcy saw as he watched them was Wickham's limp body being flung through the air.
He took another sip from his glass with a forlorn hope that it would erase that gruesome image from the forefront of his mind.
The brandy burned on the way down but could not burn away the image, and Darcy stirred restlessly, looking over the room.
Richard was sitting across from him, also staring into the fire with glass in hand, while Bingley was not far away, decanter at his elbow, watching both of them.
No one spoke, and Darcy looked down into his glass, tilting it slowly around.
He could keep drinking until he did not see Wickham's mangled corpse every time he blinked, though he had no idea how much alcohol that would take.
He made a point of never drinking so much as to be truly drunk, but in this moment of anguish, he was sorely tempted to do just that.
Wickham was dead. It was still unbelievable and surreal.
Just like that, Wickham was dead. Years of playing together, running wild at Pemberley, the distance and animosity that grew between them at school, the years upon years of memories, brought to a sudden and violent end in the span of a few terrible moments.
Wickham was dead, and nothing could change that reality.
He would still be alive now if it were not for Darcy.
Not that Darcy had actively chased his former friend into the field with a hostile bull, but he should have anticipated Wickham's attempt to flee. The steward’s son had always done everything in his power to avoid responsibility for his degenerate actions.
Had Darcy been ready, been prepared, for him to run away, Wickham might even now be alive and safely in custody.
“It is my fault,” he said aloud, and Richard huffed indignantly.
“Do not be ridiculous, Darcy,” the colonel declared. “It is entirely Wickham’s fault.”
“I should have known that he would do something foolish,” Darcy said mournfully.
Richard, who was also drinking brandy, set his glass down on a small table with such vigor that the brandy sloshed out a little.
“Darcy. Listen to me! Wickham made countless terrible decisions in his life, but until today, any pain and suffering fell on the shopkeepers whom he cheated and the young women he seduced. Today, he made a dreadful choice, which ended in his death. It is appropriate to feel some sorrow, since you were friends long ago, but this is not your fault.”
Darcy groaned aloud and ran a hand through his hair. Ordinarily, he would care if his hair was tousled, but not now.
“Your cousin is correct, of course,” Bingley said calmly. “Moreover, if you want to blame someone, you should blame me. I am the one who strongly suggested that something be done about the lieutenant before he harmed someone.”
Darcy lifted his head and frowned at the younger man. It was true enough that Bingley had strongly encouraged him to deal with Wickham instead of ignoring the man’s villainy, but it was not his friend’s responsibility.
“You must not think that it is your fault,” he said firmly.
“I am not perturbed in the least,” Bingley replied, and now his expression was grim. “Given his treatment of Miss Darcy…”
Richard snorted very much like the bull which had taken Wickham’s life, and Darcy felt the old rage rise in his chest. That despicable man had deceived his dear sister, and yet…
“He did not deserve to die,” Darcy said sadly.
“Whether he did or did not, he is dead,” Richard said gravely. “It was an accident or, if you like, an act of God. It is not our depravity that brought him to his end, but his alone.”
Darcy grimaced, pondered, and said, “My intellect agrees with you, but I fear it will be some time before my heart recovers from this dreadful event. I wanted him in Marshalsea to keep others safe, but I did not want him dead!”
“We know,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied in a soothing tone. “We know.”
“What about the burial?” Bingley asked, rising to pour himself another slosh of brandy.
Darcy looked at Richard, who said, “I spoke to Colonel Forster on that matter, and he has agreed to arrange for Mr. Wickham’s burial in the local churchyard.”
“Was he upset about Wickham’s death?” Bingley asked.
“Not particularly,” Richard replied with a shrug.
“He had only met Wickham once and was appropriately disgusted with the news of his debts and his predilection for preying on women. Our old enemy was not the sort of man who would bring honor to a regiment. Forster was rather perturbed by the gore, and I cannot blame him for that.”
“Indeed not,” Darcy agreed and stood up. He could probably manage one more glass of brandy before falling into complete inebriation.
To his surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam blocked him physically and said, “No, Darcy. No more brandy. Go to bed.”
“I do not want to go to bed,” Darcy replied and was shocked to detect a slight slur in his speech. He had obviously imbibed more than he realized.
“Think of Percy,” Richard said. “He is waiting up to put you to bed.”
This was valid enough. Darcy was fond of his valet, Percy, and the man was doubtless tired.
“Very well,” he said meekly.