Vol 1, Chapter 13 #3
“Thank you, Captain, we will take it from here. You are dismissed,” the Colonel ordered quietly.
Wickham’s rifle and bayonet were quietly handed to one of the men with the bailiff, and once they made sure that there were no more weapons in the tent, the brothers tipped the cot over and Wickham ended up face down on the hard ground with a thud.
“What the bloody hell! Get out of my tent!” Wickham yelled, not seeing his antagonists as yet as he tried to push himself up from the dirt.
“Now, Georgie Boy, is that the way to welcome old friends!” Richard ‘s sardonic reply cut through Wickham’s tirade.
At first Wickham thought it was a nightmare, at least, he did until a boot to his posterior rudely reminded him of reality. “W-why a-are y-y-you h-h-here?” Wickham managed to stammer.
“Were you not given a very specific warning by my cousin of what your fate would be if you attempted to blacken his name again?” the Colonel asked as he towered over the cowering and snivelling shell of a man.
“I have not,” Wickham attempted to prevaricate as he searched for a way out of the trouble he had once again caused for himself.
“Are you trying to tell me that all of the Bennets who reported hearing you are lying and you, who would not know the truth if it took a bite of your arse, are to be believed?” Lord Andrew pointed out sceptically.
“How w-would you know the bloody Bennets?” Wickham could see the writing on the wall. He would either be dead before the sun set that day, or, more likely, on his way to Marshalsea, which in many ways was worse than death. “Ow!” Wickham exclaimed as the Viscount gifted him with a kick in his arse.
“Watch how you talk about the family of the lady I am courting!” the Viscount warned the wastrel.
Of all the bad luck Wickham had in his life, this took the cake. He had taken a chance, believing that the Bennet daughter hated Darcy! Instead, he had chosen a lady who herself, or one of her sisters, was being courted by the prig’s bloody cousin!
“If it were up to me, I would run you through and leave you to the carrion. However, I agree with my father and brother. The rest of your miserable life locked up in Marshalsea will let you experience some of the pain you thought naught about dispensing to those around you. Perhaps you will be lucky and annoy the wrong one in the gaol, and he will instead send you to hell early,” Richard growled.
Wickham decided to play his last card as he stood up.
“If I were you, I would have me sent to the Americas in first class with a good amount of money to start with,” Wickham added to his list of many misdemeanours as he attempted to use blackmail to save his hide.
“Never knowing who I will talk about Miss…” Whatever he was about to say was lost as both Richard and Andrew’s fists slammed into him.
Richard connected with Wickham’s mouth and dislodged four more teeth, while Andrew drove his blow into the bastard’s stomach with all the force he could muster.
The combined force of the blows drove Wickham into the wall of the tent and out the other side as the pegs gave way.
When Richard reached him, he was lying in own vomit, having cast up his accounts from the force of the brothers’ blows.
Richard lowered himself to his haunches, so he was close to the blubbering man’s ear.
“If you ever mention that name again, even in passing, I will hear of it. I will use all the techniques of interrogation that are used by any army in the world on you for days before I finally allow you to die! Everything that has befallen you is by your own hand! You had better pray that you never see me again,” Richard whispered menacingly to the prostrate man.
Wickham did not doubt that Richard Fitzwilliam meant every word of his threat.
He had played what he thought was his trump card, and it had backfired on him in the worst way.
The Viscount turned to the bailiff. “This rubbish is yours now; please remove it to Marshalsea, and the journey may be as painful for him as you please.”
The man nodded to two of his burlier men who lifted the blubbering man to his feet.
His hands and legs were well and truly secured with manacles and chains, then he was roughly tossed into the back of a cart.
Once they had him in it, his chains were locked to an iron ring in the bed of the cart, and soon it was moving out of the encampment while Wickham’s former comrades in the militia watched with disgust, relieved that the blight on their regiment was finally removed.
Per Colonel Fitzwilliam’s suggestion, Colonel Forster had Wickham’s belongings searched after the man had been carted off.
A number of missing items, including Denny’s and Saunderson’s purses, were recovered.
Forster thought over the merit of pressing further charges, but as the man would never be able to get out, he decided that his languishing in Marshalsea for the crimes he had already committed was punishment enough since his men’s money was returned almost in its entirety.