Twenty-Two #2
“No one has yet asked you to do so.” Fitzwilliam regarded him for a moment before returning his attention to Mrs. Younge.
“You presented forged letters in order to enter Mr. Darcy’s household, gained the confidence of his young sister, and assisted this man in persuading her to elope.
Those facts alone would be sufficient to ensure a most unpleasant examination before a magistrate. ”
Mrs. Younge’s lips parted, though no answer emerged. Wickham shifted in his chair beside her, and Darcy saw the brief look of irritation he cast in her direction. Whatever agreement existed between them, it contained little loyalty.
“You build castles upon conjecture,” Wickham said. “A debt, an old acquaintance, and testimonials you cannot prove false. It seems a thin foundation upon which to threaten respectable people.”
“Respectable?” Darcy had intended to remain silent, yet the word escaped before he could restrain it.
Wickham turned towards him, and Darcy found that his anger had not vanished after all.
It remained beneath the cold determination, waiting.
“You speak of respectability after attempting to elope with a girl of fifteen, deceiving her concerning her family, and persuading her that no honourable man would ever marry her.”
“I believe you exaggerate the matter,” Wickham replied. “Georgiana was willing.”
“She was a child who trusted you.”
“She knew me all her life.”
“As did I.”
Wickham’s expression altered at that, though only for an instant.
Darcy had no wish to continue. The years of affection his father had bestowed upon George Wickham, the education he had received, and every opportunity he had wasted required no recitation.
Wickham knew them all and had betrayed each one.
Colonel Forster, who had hitherto allowed Fitzwilliam to conduct the questioning, regarded Wickham with unconcealed disgust. “Your conduct at Ramsgate would alone make you unfit to wear the King’s uniform. I advise you to remember that before speaking again of respectability.”
Wickham’s face reddened, but he possessed sufficient sense not to answer his commanding officer. He settled instead for a shrug and turned his attention to the window, as though the entire proceeding had begun to weary him.
Fitzwilliam permitted the silence to lengthen before gathering the papers into a neat pile.
“You shall each be questioned separately,” he said at last. “Before that occurs, I shall tell you plainly how matters stand. We know that Mrs. Younge travelled to Buxton after meeting Wickham, that she communicated there with a servant belonging to Mrs. Vane, and that both of you reacted to the lady’s name despite your pretence of ignorance. ”
“You know nothing sir,” Mrs. Younge said, though her protest lacked conviction.
“I know you have been employed by a person who will not trouble herself to protect you now that you have become inconvenient.” Fitzwilliam rested one hand upon the papers, watching her closely.
“I also know the first person who assists our inquiry shall stand in a more favourable position than the second. That is not a promise of immunity, for I possess no authority to make one, but Darcy may determine whether to press the offences committed against him.”
Darcy looked from Wickham to Mrs. Younge.
“Tell me the whole truth concerning Mrs. Vane, and I shall not pursue every claim within my power. My object is to expose the person who conceived this design and bring an end to it. I have no interest in filling a gaol with those she has employed, provided they assist me in reaching her.”
For the first time, Wickham appeared genuinely alarmed.
“You cannot believe anything this woman tells you,” he said, turning upon Mrs. Younge with an expression of sudden contempt.
“She has admitted to forging testimonials and deceiving your household. She will say whatever she thinks may save her.”
Mrs. Younge rounded on him, all traces of caution forgotten. “You witless fool. You have just implicated me.”
Wickham's composure slipped. “You are the one who dragged me into this.”
Her colour rose. “It would all have ended years ago had you succeeded in keeping Miss Darcy persuaded for one more hour.”
“Enough,” Colonel Forster said sharply.
The command silenced them, but the damage had been done. Darcy saw Mrs. Younge realise it at the same moment Wickham did. In his haste to discredit her, he had admitted the arrangement between them, and no smile or artful explanation could retrieve the words.
Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair. “That was most helpful, Wickham.”
“I admitted nothing you did not already know.”
“You admitted to a preconceive scheme at Ramsgate.”
Wickham’s mouth tightened. “An unfortunate choice of words.”
“Then you shall have leisure to choose the next ones more carefully.” Fitzwilliam glanced towards the sergeant standing beside the door. “Take Mr. Wickham into Colonel Forster’s office. He is to speak to no one.”
The sergeant stepped forward, but Wickham did not immediately rise. He looked towards Mrs. Younge, and the easy charm he had worn upon entering was entirely gone. “You would be a fool to trust them,” he said. “Darcy’s promises are worth no more now than they were when his father died.”
Darcy’s hands tightened at his sides, though he made no movement towards him. “My father provided you with every advantage he could bestow. Do not profane his memory by pretending yourself injured.”
Wickham pushed himself to his feet. “He promised me Kympton.”
“He wished you to have the living if you took orders. You renounced it in writing and accepted three thousand pounds in its place.”
“You cheated me with that offer.” Wickham snapped.
“You negotiated it.”
Forster rose, his patience plainly exhausted. “Remove him.”
Wickham allowed himself to be led towards the door, but before passing through it, he looked back once more at Mrs. Younge.
There was warning in the glance and something resembling fear beneath it.
Mrs. Younge watched him go without speaking, though Darcy saw her fingers loosen from her gown as soon as the door closed behind him.