Chapter 44 The Long Road Back to Yesterday #3
“A valuable precaution.”
Fitzwilliam bent and kissed her forehead. “I shall speak with her.”
During the days that followed, Darcy House settled into a routine that would have appeared ordinary to anyone outside it.
Georgiana spent several afternoons with Lady Helen and began the search for a new companion. Fitzwilliam divided his time between estate business, meetings with Kendall, and the reports beginning to arrive from the investigators.
Wickham was not difficult to trace.
His debts provided a trail.
Unpaid accounts with tailors and bootmakers, money owed to innkeepers and landlords, and private notes given to acquaintances gave the investigators a trail of creditors whose claims they could purchase and pursue against Wickham.
His gaming debts were useful for a different reason, revealing where he spent his time and how quickly his money disappeared.
The investigators followed him through lodgings in London and then farther north, speaking with men who remembered his charm rather more favorably than they remembered his habit of paying what he owed.
Fitzwilliam read every report.
Kendall began approaching those creditors whose claims could lawfully be assigned. He did so through intermediaries, leaving Darcy’s name out of the negotiations wherever possible.
By the end of the first week, some of Wickham’s debts were under Fitzwilliam’s control.
Richard came to Darcy House one evening with the information Fitzwilliam had requested from the War Office. They sat in the study while Georgiana practiced in the music room across the hall.
“I have made your inquiries.”
Fitzwilliam put aside the letter he had been reading. “And?”
“The militia is not simply the regular army wearing a different coat. Do not assume the penalties are identical. There are circumstances in which a militiaman may be brought before a court-martial, but what can be done depends upon his status, the offense, and whether the regiment has been embodied.”
“So, desertion does not necessarily give us the weapon I hoped it might.”
“Not one I would rely upon.”
Fitzwilliam accepted the answer. “Then we must find another.”
“Yes.”
Richard settled into the chair opposite him. “Have your investigators found Wickham?”
“They have found his trail. At present that may be more useful.”
“How much does he owe?”
“Enough to demonstrate that three thousand pounds did not improve his habits.”
Richard gave a dry laugh. “Your father could have handed him ten thousand and accomplished little more than delaying the inevitable.”
* * *
The next report arrived two days later in the evening post.
This one was different.
Fitzwilliam read it once, then returned to the beginning and read it again.
The investigator had followed an unpaid account to a town where Wickham had lived for several months.
A former landlord remembered him well and, after some persuasion, supplied the name of a gentleman with whom Wickham had once been acquainted.
Their association had ended badly after some trouble involving the gentleman’s daughter and an accusation of theft.
Fitzwilliam sent for Kendall, who arrived that afternoon and read the report in silence.
“This requires more than the word of a former landlord. I shall have the investigator approach the gentleman directly, if he is willing to receive him, and determine whether a complaint was ever made to a magistrate.”
“If there was, I want to know what became of it.”
Kendall looked again at the report. “If this proves true, Wickham’s difficulties may extend considerably beyond debt.”
“I sincerely hope so. My ultimate goal is to see him transported, but whether we can uncover a crime sufficient to accomplish it remains to be seen.”
Over the following days, Fitzwilliam waited for further reports as May drew closer. On the morning of April twenty-seventh, he woke before dawn wondering if this would be the day Elizabeth returned.
But how would he know if she had?
When he came down to breakfast, Georgiana was already at the table. One look at him seemed to be enough.
“How will we know, Fitzwilliam?”
* * *
The scent of Jane’s fragrance was the first thing Elizabeth noticed.
She stood close behind her sister, looking over her shoulder as Jane bent over the letter with a pencil.
For a moment, Elizabeth could only stare at her.
Jane glanced up. “What is it, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes to the letter lying on the desk. Aunt Maddie’s familiar hand covered the page. At the top was the date that had troubled Elizabeth at Arbor Low.
April 27th.
Jane was drawing the blossoms.
Today was May first.
Tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
It had worked.
Papa was alive. Lydia was safe at home. Georgiana had never gone to Ramsgate.
And Fitzwilliam?
Elizabeth drew her handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to her eyes.
“Lizzy?”
“I am well, Jane. Do not mind me.”
She kept her face lowered while she wiped away her tears.
Beside her, Jane added another tiny blossom to the cluster in the corner.
Elizabeth remembered everything that had followed.
And somewhere, Fitzwilliam might remember too.
Jane finished her drawing and regarded it with satisfaction. “There. Lydia said the hawthorn means there will be a wedding, did she not?”
She gave Elizabeth a mischievous look. “Perhaps I shall find a husband at Aunt Maddie’s this Season.”
Elizabeth looked into the face of the sister whose wedding she had witnessed only weeks before. Jane had not yet met Charles Bingley. She knew nothing of Netherfield or the man who would love her.
“You seem very certain of yourself, Jane dear.”
“Certain enough to make a wager. When I find a husband in London, you shall owe me a new pair of gloves.”
Elizabeth managed a smile. “And if you do not?”
“Then I shall buy yours.”
“Very well. I accept.”
Jane pushed the letter toward her.
Elizabeth stared at the little blossoms.
Jane’s amusement faded. “Lizzy?”
“It is nothing.” Elizabeth passed a finger lightly over the drawing. “I was thinking of Mamma this morning and all her talk of misfortune. I know it is only superstition, but seeing the hawthorn again unsettled me for a moment.”
Jane reached for her hand. “We returned the branches.”
“Yes, we did.”
From somewhere down the passage came Kitty’s aggrieved voice.
“Mamma! Lydia has made my bonnet up new and says she will wear it to church. Tell her she shall not!”
“I shall wear it, Mamma,” Lydia called after her. “It is all my own work, and Kitty would be a fright in it for she is too plain to look well in it.”
“Let her have it and be done with it, Kitty,” Mrs. Bennet answered.
“You always let her have what is mine!”
Elizabeth’s eyes filled again.
Jane’s amusement disappeared. “Lizzy? Are you weeping?”
Elizabeth brushed her fingers beneath her eyes. She could not speak of Lydia or the future, so she offered a small deception instead.
“It is nothing, Jane, dear. I was only thinking that if you win your wager, you shall marry and establish a home of your own, and I shall have to learn to do without you.”
“Oh, Lizzy.”
“Do not mind me. I am feeling sentimental, that is all.”
Kitty’s protest rose again from the passage, followed by Lydia’s laughter and their mother’s demand that they cease quarreling.
Elizabeth lowered her eyes to the letter. The hawthorn blossoms were beautifully drawn by Jane’s own hand.
Elizabeth folded the letter and slipped it into her notebook.