Chapter XVI
Darcy did not retire directly after leaving the establishment in Bloomsbury.
Though the hour had grown exceedingly late and London itself seemed at last beginning to sink into uneasy silence, his mind remained far too active for rest. The events of the evening had altered everything with such violence that stillness became impossible.
Lydia Bennet had been found.
Safe – or as nearly safe as circumstances now permitted.
And Wickham had vanished.
Darcy entered his study shortly after returning to Grosvenor Square and remained there until dawn began faintly whitening the windows behind him. More than once, he attempted to arrange his thoughts rationally; yet every effort returned him to the same intolerable conclusion:
Miss Elizabeth had endured all this believing her sister lost beyond recovery. The image would not leave him.
He imagined the horror of the first letter. The weeks afterwards. The silence. The growing disgrace spreading through Meryton, with no relief in sight. And beneath it all, Elizabeth’s own self-reproach, which he knew too well she would feel, whether justified or not.
His exhaustion had hardened into a decision by morning.
Wickham must be found.
Not merely pursued. Not merely reasoned with. Found and stopped before he escaped again.
Darcy rang for Fletcher, his valet, almost as soon as the household stirred.
“You will go to Bloomsbury directly,” said he. “You will bring Miss Lydia Bennet here directly.”
Fletcher inclined his head.
“A maid and carriage will accompany you. Choose someone discreet. He placed a packet of notes upon the desk. “Two hundred pounds. The proprietor is to receive it without discussion.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She will be received here as my sister’s guest.”
“Yes, sir.”
Darcy paused only briefly before adding, “And Fletcher – ensure she understands she is entirely safe now.”
Something in the gravity of the instruction caused the servant’s expression to soften slightly.
“Certainly, sir.”
The moment Fletcher departed, Darcy requested Colonel Fitzwilliam’s immediate presence.
Richard arrived less than an hour later, still carrying visible traces of interrupted sleep and very little expectation that the summons concerned anything agreeable.
“Fitz,” he began while entering the study, “if London has caught fire, I wish to assure you beforehand that I had nothing to do with it.”
Darcy did not smile.
The colonel straightened. “What has happened?”
For several moments, Darcy remained silent as though arranging even now how much might properly be said.
“I want Wickham found.”
Richard stared at him in complete astonishment.
“Found?” He stopped abruptly. “Now? You said to let him go.”
Darcy’s face darkened slightly.
“Something has occurred which changes the matter entirely.”
Understanding came gradually.
The colonel swore under his breath. “What do you know of him?”
“Only that he has fled.”
Richard’s expression hardened at once. “Then we find him.”
“Yes.”
Something in the answer caused Fitzwilliam to look at his cousin more attentively than before.
Darcy crossed slowly towards the fireplace.
“I believe,” said he at last, “that he possesses very little money. He is likely still in London. Travel requires funds he no longer has.” He paused briefly. “And he has deserted his militia duties.”
Richard’s brows shot up. “What? The bastard!”
Darcy then explained rapidly what Lydia had revealed: the unpaid accounts, the lodging houses, the constant movement through London to evade creditors.
By the time he finished, the colonel had abandoned all remaining traces of levity.
“What do you intend to do?”
“I intend that this time he shall answer for what he has done.”
Richard gave a low whistle. “That is… new from you.”
Darcy’s expression remained unmoved. “He abandoned a child in a brothel.”
Nothing further needed saying after that.
The colonel leant back slowly.
“Well,” said he after a moment, “in that case, I begin to think Newgate rather too generous.”
Darcy said nothing. Yet something in his silence suggested thoughts still darker.
“We could have him court-martialled – he is a deserter… during war.”
Darcy looked thoughtful for a moment. “No. I do not want him dead; I want him to suffer. And the lady’s name might make it to the papers.”
“We shall think of something else then. We could decorate his pretty face…”
“That is not a bad idea, but that is not enough. Not anymore.”
After Richard departed to begin enquiries with the assistance of a Bow Street runner – men reputed capable of finding nearly anyone when sufficiently paid – Darcy requested Mrs. Annesley.
She entered with visible surprise at so early a summons.
“You wished to see me, sir?”
Darcy motioned towards a chair, though he himself remained standing.
“I must ask a considerable favour of you.”
Mrs. Annesley looked attentive.
“There is a young lady presently under my protection who requires kindness, discretion, and – above all – calm treatment. She will arrive shortly.”
Mrs. Annesley listened without interruption while Darcy explained only as much as necessity demanded.
He did not speak Lydia Bennet’s name until the very end.
The lady’s face showed profound distress but no vulgar curiosity. “Poor child,” she said in a low voice.
Darcy inclined his head slightly.
“She has undergone severe agitation. I believe shame has frightened her nearly as much as danger itself.”
Mrs. Annesley’s expression softened further. “And Miss Darcy?”
At this, Darcy hesitated briefly. “That is why I wished first to speak with you.”
For several moments, he remained silent. Then more quietly, “There are similarities between this situation and Ramsgate which my sister will recognise almost immediately.”
Mrs. Annesley understood him perfectly.
“And perhaps,” Darcy continued after a pause, “that recognition may ultimately do both girls more good than harm.”
Mrs. Annesley regarded him thoughtfully. “You are thinking less like a guardian today than a brother.”
Something faintly painful crossed Darcy’s face. “Possibly because I have lately reflected upon my own failures.”
She inclined her head. Then with a frown on her face, she said, “This man has a habit of targeting young ladies.”
“I mean to find him.”
“Very good, sir.”
Before Mrs. Annesley stood, the door opened quietly, and Georgiana herself entered.
She stopped upon perceiving Mrs. Annesley already present.
“Oh… I beg pardon. I did not know…”
“No, Georgiana,” said Darcy gently. “Remain, if you please.”
His tone caused immediate anxiety in her countenance.
Darcy crossed towards her slowly. “There is something I must tell you.”
By the time he finished explaining, Georgiana had gone very pale indeed.
“Miss Lydia Bennet?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Sister to Miss Bennet.”
“Yes.”
“And George truly abandoned her?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
Georgiana seemed unable to speak at all.
Then suddenly: “Is she safe now?”
The question appeared to affect him unexpectedly.
“Yes,” he answered more quietly. “She is safe.”
Georgiana lowered herself slowly into a chair. “Oh, poor Miss Bennet. Is this why they left Derbyshire?”
“Yes.” Darcy watched his sister carefully. “You are not frightened?”
Georgiana looked up at once. “A little,” she admitted honestly. “But mostly for her.”
The answer seemed to relieve him. “I hoped,” said he quietly, “that perhaps she might remain here for a short time.”
Georgiana blinked in surprise. “With us?”
“Yes. Until matters can be arranged properly.”
To his evident relief, she agreed almost immediately. “Of course she must remain.”
Darcy looked away briefly then, as though unwilling that either woman observe too plainly how much the response meant to him.
Only after both ladies withdrew did practical difficulties begin again pressing themselves forward with renewed force.
Miss Lydia had now been absent from Hertfordshire for far too long.
Even if Wickham were captured soon, gossip must already be spreading. In smaller neighbourhoods, scandal travelled with astonishing speed, particularly where the ruin of young women was concerned.
Darcy seated himself at last behind the desk and began considering possibilities one by one with habitual precision.
What had the Bennets told society? Could the family’s reputation still be preserved? How much was already suspected?
His expression darkened. Elizabeth must be suffering intolerably.
And then, another recollection returned to him.
The Gardiners. Cheapside.
He rose and rang again.
When Fletcher returned from preliminary arrangements, Darcy said:
“I require the address of Mr. Gardiner’s residence in Cheapside.”
“Cheapside, sir?”
“Yes. A tradesman.”
Fletcher nodded. “I shall discover it after I deliver the lady.”
Darcy hesitated only briefly before adding:
“And once found, a message is to be delivered requesting immediate private communication with Mr. Gardiner himself.”
He stopped.
No. Not merely communication. This could no longer be managed safely at a distance.
Darcy’s eyes lowered thoughtfully towards the scattered papers upon his desk.
“No. I shall call upon Mr. Gardiner personally.”
***
The carriage arrived shortly before noon through the narrow mews entrance behind Darcy House.
Rain still lingered faintly in the London air, leaving the cobblestones dark and shining beneath the wheels as the horses drew to a halt. Darcy, who had remained near the rear passage in restless expectation for the better part of the last quarter hour, stepped forward.
Fletcher descended first.
“She is here safely, sir.”
Darcy inclined his head once before his attention moved at once towards the carriage door.
First, no movement came from within. Then the maid accompanying Lydia appeared uncertainly, followed at last by Lydia herself.
She hesitated before descending, one gloved hand trembling upon the carriage frame.