Chapter 16 Flight
“Mr. Ramsbury.” Darcy bowed to the elder man and his daughter. “Miss Ramsbury, it is a pleasure to see you again. How are you enjoying the performance of The School for Scandal, ma'am?”
“I love it immensely, Mr. Darcy. It is a brilliant comedy of manners. When one stops to consider it, sir, there is nothing better than laughing at oneself.”
A half smile touched his lips.
“And you, sir?” she asked, her eyes meeting his with expectation.
“Sheridan's witty dialogue and satire of fashionable society will never fall from favor, ma'am. I have enjoyed it immensely. If they revive it again in another year or two, I expect I shall be among the audience.”
She laughed. “As shall I, sir. Will you be in London through Christmas, Mr. Darcy?”
“No, ma'am. Charles Bingley has invited me to a house party at Michaelmas. I hope to conclude my business here, then travel directly to Hertfordshire to visit him.”
“And you, Miss Ramsbury? Do you and your father remain in London?”
“Yes, sir. Papa says he has neglected his business for too long and must now remain in town for several months to attend to it. I am quite contented, sir, for he has promised to bring me to the theatre once each week while we are here, and to escort me to the British Museum. I shall see the Rosetta Stone at last.”
Darcy's expression warmed. “Are you a student of antiquities, ma'am?”
Her eyes shone with amusement. “Not at all, sir. I am not a reader, nor a bluestocking. However, seeing actual artifacts holds its own fascination, and I have longed to spend some hours in the museum to view all it contains.”
“The Egyptian mummies and sarcophagi rank among my favorite antiquities. Perhaps Richard and I might accompany you and your father when you visit, Miss Ramsbury.”
“I should like that very much, sir. If you arrange it with Papa, I shall be much obliged to you. I am certain we should enjoy ourselves far more with the two of you in company.”
Mr. Ramsbury interrupted the pair. “Dearest, may I introduce you to my friends? Mrs. Laurence was a close friend of your mother's. She wishes to make your acquaintance and introduce you to her son, Michael.”
“Of course, Papa.” She looked to Mr. Darcy and curtsied. “Sir, you will excuse me.”
He bowed. “Of course.”
Darcy’s eyes followed the lovely woman until the crowd concealed her from view. He looked toward Richard. “Are you ready, Cousin?”
“Yes, Darcy. I can hardly wait to change out of this evening attire. I believe I have grown rather too stout for it.”
Darcy's gaze traveled over his cousin. “You appear well enough to me, Richard. If there is any fat upon you, it must lie in your head, for I see nothing but muscle and brawn.”
“That comes of marching miles on foot with weapons upon one's shoulders. Come, Cousin. Let us return.”
* * *
The following day proved a busy one. Darcy spent most of it with his solicitor, concluding his outstanding business. Afterward, he met Richard and Phillip at White's for dinner.
Addressing Richard, he asked, “Will you return with me to Darcy House? I am told there is a Scottish horse breeder by the name of Frazier, and I mean to travel north to inspect his stables. Barton's latest acquisition came from that stable. Perhaps you will accompany me.”
“Yes, I shall return with you. In truth, I have a mind to go to Scotland as well. We can discuss it tonight over a cup of that fine Madeira you served me last evening.”
Darcy chuckled, and the matter was settled.
At eight o'clock that evening, Higgins entered with the correspondence.
“Sir, the evening mail has arrived. I also made bold to bring Miss Darcy's letter. It came in yesterday evening's post, sir, and I see you have not yet opened it.”
Darcy accepted the correspondence from the butler. “Thank you, Higgins. You may secure the house for the night. We shall remain here the rest of the evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Darcy broke the seal on Georgiana's letter and read her fine hand. He sank into a chair.
Richard looked at him. “What is it, Darcy? What has happened?”
Darcy found no words. He held the letter out to his cousin and covered his eyes with his hands.
Richard took it. “She is marrying George Wickham? George Wickham is in Ramsgate? And where is Mrs. Younge? Why have we not received a letter from her?”
Darcy offered no reply. He sat motionless, grief and disbelief holding him silent.
Richard dropped onto a nearby couch and studied the brief missive more closely.
“This letter was written three days ago. They are still in Ramsgate. If we leave now, Darcy, we can arrive in the morning. It is only seventy-two miles, easily covered in a carriage. We shall stop only to change horses.”
Darcy lifted his head, hope stirring. “Yes, we can. Unless he has carried her to another place.”
“No. She writes that Wickham intends a leisurely wedding journey and that they will stay at the leased house for one week before coming to you in London.”
“That is an outright lie. Wickham has no intention of bringing her to me, for he has not married her. He means to ruin her, then force me to release her dowry.” Darcy rose. “Richard, he shall not touch a farthing of her dowry.”
He paced the room. “If he means to blackmail me, I have purchased enough of his debts over the past ten years to throw him into debtors' prison. He has crossed a line, and the reprobate has forfeited every claim to my forbearance.”
Richard rose. “Come. Let us go upstairs and change into traveling clothes. I shall tell Higgins to order the carriage.”
Darcy moved to the door, determined now. He would rescue his sister from that black-hearted villain. “I will fetch my traveling pistols.”
“Send one of the Miller brothers to Matlock House to collect mine and my sword while I go upstairs and change,” Richard said, and then the colonel left the room.
* * *
But three days had passed since her wedding ceremony, and Georgiana already had ample cause to regret her rash decision.
Mr. Wickham had left sometime during the night for a tavern. It was ten o'clock, and he had only just returned, reeking of drink and enraged.
She and Mrs. Younge were working on an embroidery sampler in the drawing room when he burst in. Georgiana laid aside her embroidery hoop. Her hands trembled at the sight of him.
“You, girl, pour me a drink. Clarissa, draw the curtains. My head is splitting.”
Georgiana's stricken gaze met her companion's.
“Go along and do as he says.”
Mrs. Younge rose and drew the heavy drapes. The bright sunshine vanished.
“That is better.” Wickham dropped into a chair. “Where is my drink?” He glared at Georgiana.
Georgiana reached for the decanter, but her trembling hands would not obey her. Mrs. Younge hurried to her side, poured the brandy herself, and carried it to Mr. Wickham.
He struck the snifter from her hand. It flew across the room, and the brandy splashed over Mrs. Younge and the rug.
“I told the girl to bring me the brandy, you wench. Because I have permitted you into my bed, do not imagine you have any authority over me. Get away from me. Leave this house. If you think you shall receive any share of the dowry, you are mistaken. You have received your wages. That should suffice.”
Mrs. Younge stood silent, unable to move as he spoke.
He meant to cut her off from her share? After all she had done to persuade the innocent girl to accept the addresses of such a vile man?
Never had she imagined how low he would sink in his cups.
Until today, she had never seen Wickham drunk. He had deceived them both.
Very well. If he intended to deny her share, she would stop at nothing to bring down his pretensions.
Her gaze settled upon the horrified girl.
Georgiana's hands trembled worse than before, and she could not pour the drink.
Wickham fixed an enraged stare upon her, strode across the room, shoved her aside, and snatched the bottle and glass from the sideboard.
Georgiana struck the sideboard as she fell to the floor.
“Get up.”
Clarissa Younge watched as her charge rose from the floor where he had thrust her. Georgiana stood motionless, staring at the man towering over her, too stunned to speak or flee.
Clarissa crossed to the young girl. “Come, Mrs. Wickham. Let us go upstairs and tidy you. Your hair has come down, and I am certain you wish to look your best for your husband.”
Georgiana rose. “Yes, of course.”
Mrs. Younge guided her from the room by the elbow, expecting Wickham to protest or detain one or both of them, but he did neither. She shot a quick glance back. He held the bottle in one hand, a glass in the other. He slouched upon a couch, intent upon drinking himself insensible.
She hurried her charge upstairs. Once inside Georgiana's bedchamber, she shut the door, locked it, and called for Jenny.
The maid stepped from the dressing room with a needle in one hand and a petticoat in the other.
“Jenny, pack a portmanteau for your mistress and one for yourself. Pack lightly. We travel to London and shall have need of very little. Pack only the necessities. Brushes, tooth powder, and the like.”
Jenny stood motionless, confusion upon her face.
“Run along, girl. Begin.”
“Georgiana, find your bonnet and pelisse, and change into your walking boots. We leave as soon as Jenny has your things packed.”
Tears streamed down Georgiana's face, but hope stirred in her eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Younge.”
“Gather whatever money you have and bring your jewels.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Mrs. Younge left them. Clarissa entered her own room, threw a few belongings into her portmanteau, changed her shoes, put on her outerwear, and returned to Georgiana's room.
Both girls sat upon the bed, a light portmanteau beside each of them. They rose when Clarissa entered.
“Come, girls. We shall use the servants' stairs and go out through the kitchen yard behind the house. Keep out of sight and walk as quickly as you are able. We are bound for the King's Head on High Street to hire a post chaise. Georgiana, did you bring money?”