THIRTEEN #2
Had he selected someone he knew Darcy would admire, someone with a hearing impairment, knowing precisely what it would mean to a man whose mother had been deaf and whose sister feared the same fate?
It was exactly the sort of calculation Wickham was capable of.
It was exactly the sort of thing Darcy ought to have anticipated and had not.
The argument seemed increasingly plausible the longer he considered it.
Despite attending social functions throughout the neighbourhood, Darcy had never once encountered Wickham at any of them.
What if Wickham had known he was in Hertfordshire with Georgiana and had orchestrated the entire thing?
What if coincidence had merely favoured him, and Darcy had walked willingly into a trap laid long before he recognised it?
He reached Netherfield at a pace that brought two grooms hurrying from the stables. Handing over the reins without a word, he entered the house and took the stairs without slowing.
Once inside his bedchambers, he crossed directly to the writing desk.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was expected that day.
If he had made good time, he might already be on the road.
Until that morning, Darcy had intended for his cousin to make discreet enquiries of Colonel Forster regarding the George Wickham he had mentioned.
Fitzwilliam was better placed to do so without drawing attention to the matter.
That was no longer necessary.
George Wickham was no longer a name or a suspicion.
Darcy had seen him with his own eyes.
Wickham had spent years slipping through every attempt to bring him to account. Now he knew Darcy was in Hertfordshire. Worse, he knew Darcy had recognised him. If there was one thing Wickham excelled at, it was disappearing when circumstances became inconvenient.
Darcy was not prepared to allow it.
He reached for a sheet of paper and began a letter to Colonel Forster.
The colonel needed to know what sort of man he had accepted into his regiment.
He needed to know that Colonel Fitzwilliam was due to arrive that day to address a matter of long-standing concerning Mr. Wickham.
Most importantly, he needed to ensure that Wickham was not permitted to vanish before that meeting could take place.
Darcy wrote quickly.
Wickham had debts. Darcy owned every one of them.
For the better part of a year, he had held them in reserve, waiting for the proper moment to act. That moment appeared to have arrived.
As for Elizabeth—
Darcy set down the pen for a moment and stared at the wall, allowing himself a single breath of something that was not anger.
He would withdraw.
There was no other course.
He would withdraw from her entirely and ensure that Georgiana did the same. He would offer no explanation until Wickham had been dealt with and the truth could be laid before them plainly.
It would hurt Georgiana.
He knew that.
She had come to care for Elizabeth sincerely and would not understand the sudden distance.
Yet it had been a close thing.
Providence had intervened at the last possible moment, and he had no intention of ignoring the warning.
Darcy picked up the pen once more and continued writing.
? ? ?
Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Netherfield that evening, mud-splattered and entirely himself, which was to say composed, direct, and asking questions before he had removed his coat.
Darcy told him everything he had witnessed that day. He described his meeting with Wickham, the note dispatched to Colonel Forster, and the reply assuring him that the matter would be acted upon at once.
Fitzwilliam listened without interruption, which was how Darcy knew he considered the matter serious.
They rode to Colonel Forster's quarters within the hour.
What they found there surprised Darcy considerably.
Wickham was already under arrest.
Forster received them with a satisfaction tempered by regret. Darcy's warning, it appeared, had been only too well founded.
Though he admitted he had never suspected anything wrong in Wickham's character, Darcy's letter had persuaded him to keep a careful watch upon the lieutenant. The caution was rewarded sooner than expected.
Wickham was apprehended at the coaching inn that evening, luggage already loaded and one foot upon the step of a northbound coach.
"It was not the conduct of a man intending to remain and answer questions," Forster observed dryly.
The debts Darcy documented were substantial. The apparent attempt to abscond only strengthened the case against Wickham.
"He was very nearly gone when my men intercepted him," Forster said. "Another few hours, and we might have had difficulty finding him."
Darcy felt an unpleasant mixture of satisfaction and irritation. It was exactly what he had expected of Wickham, and yet some part of him had hoped to be wrong.
"Would you like to see him?" Forster asked.
"No." Darcy said instantly.
Forster raised an eyebrow in evident surprise.
Darcy understood the reaction. Most men would have wanted a confrontation, an explanation, or at least the satisfaction of seeing their adversary brought low.
"There is nothing he could say that I have not heard before," he said. "He has been lying with remarkable consistency since he was sixteen. I see no reason to provide him a fresh audience."
A brief smile touched Fitzwilliam's mouth.
Forster inclined his head. "As you wish."
Forster asked that the practical arrangements for Wickham's trial be left in his and Fitzwilliam's hands. Darcy readily agreed. He had no wish to involve himself further in the matter.
Only one thing concerned him.
"Wickham must not escape."
"He will not," Forster assured. "You have my word on it."
They rode back to Netherfield in darkness. Darcy said little. Fitzwilliam, who possessed the valuable skill of recognizing when conversation was unwelcome, said even less.
It was done.
That was what mattered.
Wickham was contained. Georgiana was safe. Providence had moved with a speed Darcy had no right to expect.
He ought to have felt relieved.
And he did.
Only not entirely.
There was still the matter of Elizabeth Bennet.