Chapter 6 Designs
Lydia woke to a sharp pain in her arm. She moved her shoulder and moaned. Opening her eyes, she saw Lieutenant Wickham seated opposite her, pressing a bloodstained cloth against his arm.
They were riding in a hired chaise, paid for with Papa's money.
Memory returned in a rush. Wickham had shot Papa in the chest. He had killed him.
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Shut your mouth, girl. I will hear no more from you. Be silent, unless you wish to be slapped.”
Lydia stifled her sobs and wondered what had become of the charming gentleman she had thought she knew. This Wickham was cruel and violent.
She sat huddled in the corner of the chaise for what she guessed to be two hours before they entered London.
The cobbled streets caused the old vehicle to lurch and jolt.
At last, they drew up before a three-story brick house in a part of the city she had never seen.
The buildings were dilapidated, the women and children unkempt, and the men looked dirty and vicious.
Wickham stepped down and offered his hand to help her out. Lydia ignored the offered hand and descended without his assistance.
She followed him into the house, where they were escorted to a room just off the entrance hall. Before the door closed behind her, she caught sight of several scantily dressed girls and women lingering in the hall and upon the staircase.
An elegantly dressed woman gestured to a chair, and Lydia sat. She watched in silence as the lady handed Mr. Wickham a thick wad of pound notes. Without so much as a glance in Lydia's direction or a word of farewell, he left the room.
Lydia remained seated, her eyes fixed upon the woman as the door shut behind him.
The elegantly dressed woman circled Lydia slowly. She reached out and ran her fingers through her golden hair. When she had finished her inspection, she smiled. “You are a pretty little thing. I know exactly who will pay handsomely for you.”
Lydia knew then that her life had changed forever, and silent tears slid down her cheeks.
* * *
Wickham left the building and walked to the boarding house he patronized when in London.
The business had been accomplished with remarkable ease.
If his plans for Georgiana did not succeed, he might make his fortune procuring young women.
When he entered the house, Mrs. Younge regarded him with alarm.
“Why, George, whatever has happened to you? You are bleeding.”
“Mrs. Younge, I had an unfortunate encounter with footpads. Shots were fired, but fortunately, I was only grazed.”
“Come into the kitchen, and I shall clean and bandage it for you.”
As Mrs. Younge washed the wound and bound his arm, Clarissa entered the room.
“Why, George, I thought you were stationed in Hertfordshire until the spring. Are you no longer with the militia?”
“Good afternoon, Miss Younge. I must admit the militia was not a good fit for me. The pay is miserable, and the work is exceedingly tedious. I have left to seek my fortune.”
“And what have you in mind?”
“I have been watching the advertisements. There is a position as a footman that I intend to pursue, but I also came across an advertisement for a companion to a fifteen-year-old girl, a Miss Darcy. I thought you might be interested. I know the family. She is the daughter of my godfather. The salary is generous, one hundred pounds per annum, paid quarterly.”
Miss Younge came farther into the room and took a seat at the kitchen table.
“Do you have the advertisement with you?”
“I do. It is in my portmanteau. I shall fetch it for you once your mother has finished tending my arm.”
“This is very thoughtful of you, George. I have been unable to secure a position. I have no references.”
Wickham chuckled.
“That difficulty is easily overcome. Between us, we can write two references using the names of officers in the Derbyshire militia. The names will be familiar to the Darcys, and for that reason, they may not trouble themselves to verify them.”
The two discussed the position for another hour before reaching an agreement.
Miss Younge would apply under the name Mrs. Younge and add a few years to her age, for she was only three and twenty, and George expected Darcy would hesitate to employ so young a woman.
He studied his friend. She did not appear to be three and twenty; she looked nearer thirty.
Once she had secured the position, he intended to ingratiate himself with her young charge. If Clarissa could contrive a holiday at Ramsgate, he might have an opportunity to seduce the girl. No young lady had ever proved proof against his charms when he had set his mind upon winning her.
George Wickham studied his friend's face.
Clarissa Younge raised her eyes.
“What is it, George? Why do you look at me so?”
“How am I looking at you?”
“As though you were measuring an opponent.”
He laughed. “I am doing exactly that, my dear. Are you prepared to make your fortune?”
She raised her brows. “What do you have in mind?”
“Miss Darcy has a dowry of forty thousand pounds. If you and I work together, it can be ours. We could sail to the American colonies or Canada and begin a new life together.”
She studied the man she had come to admire. Could he be trusted? Would she help him only to discover she had been cheated in the end? Her gaze swept the room. What had she to lose?
“I will work with you. What is your plan?”