Twenty-Three
Hertfordshire
Darcy
The room became quieter in his absence. Mrs. Younge remained seated, her face turned towards the dying fire while Colonel Forster resumed his place beside the table.
Fitzwilliam made no immediate attempt to question her, and the silence slowly pressed upon her until the soft ticking of the clock upon the mantel seemed unnaturally loud.
“You intend to leave me here until I speak,” she said at last.
“No,” Fitzwilliam replied. “If you choose silence, you shall be taken before a magistrate. I merely wished to give you an opportunity to consider whose interests Wickham has protected during the last quarter of an hour.”
Mrs. Younge pressed her lips together. “He is frightened.”
“He is a coward,” Darcy said. “There is a difference.”
She looked at him then. The defiance with which she had once faced him at Ramsgate was gone, leaving only weariness and apprehension. “And what of Mrs. Vane? Do you call her a coward also?”
“I do not yet know enough of her character to call her one,” Darcy replied. “You can remedy that.”
Mrs. Younge lowered her gaze once more. “You cannot protect me from her.”
“She left you to be apprehended at St. Albans,” Fitzwilliam said. “Do you suppose she will risk herself to save you? Whatever protection you believed she could offer ended the moment you ceased to be of use to her.”
“You do not understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She shook her head, though the movement lacked conviction. “Mrs. Vane possesses considerable fortune. She knows men of influence and has servants who would do anything she required. Even now, you cannot be certain she does not know I am here.”
Darcy thought of Pemberley, of every accident and misfortune that had befallen those connected with him, and of the unseen hands that had carried knowledge of his movements and affairs beyond the estate. “That is precisely why we must understand the full extent of her scheme.”
Mrs. Younge gave a short, humourless laugh. “And when I have told you, what becomes of me? You spoke generously before Wickham, Mr. Darcy, but I remember Ramsgate. You dismissed me from your house and threatened to ruin me if I spoke of what had occurred.”
“I paid the wages owing to you and allowed you to depart rather than place the matter before a magistrate. I did so to protect my sister, not you,” Darcy said. “I spared you, and I shall do so again, within the limits of my power, if you assist us fully.”
She studied him as though searching his face for the deception she had so often encountered in others.
Darcy permitted the scrutiny without impatience.
He had no intention of pleading with her, but neither would he withdraw the offer.
If leniency purchased the truth and brought Mrs. Vane's machinations to an end, he would consider the price cheaply paid.
Fitzwilliam drew the account of her journey towards him. “Begin with Buxton. Start from the man you met there.”
“They call him Hale. He is Mrs. Vane's confidential servant.”
“Has he always carried her messages?”
“For as long as I have known her.”
“And how long is that?”
Mrs. Younge's eyes moved towards the door through which Wickham had been taken.
Darcy could almost follow the course of her thoughts.
Wickham had attempted to place every danger upon her, and she appeared at last to realise that Mrs. Vane could no longer protect her.
Whatever loyalty had kept her silent now contended with the certainty that neither Wickham nor Mrs. Vane would risk themselves for her sake.
“Six years,” she whispered.
Fitzwilliam remained still. “You first met Mrs. Vane six years ago?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Mrs. Younge clasped her hands in her lap, rubbing one thumb over the other.
“I had lost my situation after an unfortunate incident involving the brother of the young lady I served. He seduced me under a promise of marriage, then cast me aside when it suited him. When he became engaged to another lady, I spread a rumour that ruined the match. I considered it fair retribution.”
“Where were you living?”
“In lodgings near Russell Square in Bath. Mrs. Vane sent me several anonymous notes, proposing to employ me before we finally met in a small shop.”
“What happened afterwards?” Darcy asked.
“I needed employement. Any position.” Mrs. Younge raised her head, a trace of her former sharpness returning. “A woman without family, fortune, or employment does not disregard an offer of service.”
Darcy could not deny the truth of it, though necessity did not excuse what followed. “What did she offer you?”
“At first, employment. She knew every detail of what I had done to my former employer. Had it become public knowledge, I should never have found another position in that neighbourhood, or in any respectable household. She then asked whether I possessed the courage to undertake work requiring discretion. Afterwards, she offered me enough money to satisfy my most pressing creditors, and I accepted.”
Fitzwilliam exchanged a glance with Darcy. “What work did she require?”
“Very little in the beginning. I carried letters and made enquiries. She never entrusted too much to me at once. It was several months before she finally spoke of Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy's attention sharpened. “What did she say?”
“There were no particulars, sir, only that I was to watch Pemberley and see whether I could get close to Mr. Wickham.”
“So that is how you came to know him?” Fitzwilliam asked.
“I watched him long enough to learn his habits, the places he frequented, and even some of his secrets.” She paused for a moment to steady herself.
“About a year after the death of your father, sir, I arranged a meeting between him and Mrs. Vane. He soon agreed to her terms after his disagreement with you concerning the property he believed was his by right.”
“Good Lord,” Darcy exclaimed.
“Beyond that,” Mrs. Younge continued, “all I have done is follow instructions. When the time came, I was told that Wickham would secure me a place in Mr. Darcy's household, which he did when I entered Miss Georgiana's service.”
Darcy could no longer contain himself. He struck the wall with his fist, the sharp pain shooting through his hand doing little to lessen the anger that surged within him. Fitzwilliam and Colonel Forster both looked at him in surprise, but he neither moved nor offered an apology.
He fixed her with a searching look. “The scheme to carry off my sister, was that Mrs. Vane's design or Wickham's?”
Mrs. Younge hesitated. “Mrs. Vane conceived it, sir. Wickham needed little persuasion once he learnt what he might gain by it. She instructed him what course to pursue, and my place in Miss Darcy's household was secured for that very purpose.”
Darcy closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Then Georgiana was marked long before you ever entered Pemberley.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fitzwilliam placed both hands upon the table. “And why did Mrs. Vane do all these? What was her motive?”
Mrs. Younge's brow furrowed. “At first, I confess I did not know the whole of it. She seldom explained herself, and even Wickham knew less than I did. But by carrying out every instruction she gave me, and from things I overheard Wickham say, I gradually realised that she wished Mr. Darcy and everything connected with him ruined. That is the best explanation I can offer.”
“But what have I done to her to deserve such hatred?” Darcy asked, scarcely able to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I do not even know this woman.”
“I do not know.” Mrs. Younge shook her head more urgently. “I swear it. Perhaps Wickham knows, or Hale. Mrs. Vane never trusted me with the full design. I was useful because I could enter households and gain people's confidence. Nothing more.”
Fitzwilliam studied her for several moments before gathering the papers once more. “You shall put everything you have told us into a written statement. Every name, every meeting, every payment, and every instruction. Conceal a single material fact, and Mr. Darcy's offer of leniency shall end.”
“I understand.”
“And you shall assist us in drawing Mrs. Vane into a meeting.”
The blood drained from her face instantly. Terror seized her so swiftly that Darcy knew the suggestion had struck its mark. “No. She will know.”
“Not if the message is one she expects to receive.”
Mrs. Younge stared first at Fitzwilliam, then at Colonel Forster, and finally at Darcy. Whatever she found in their expressions persuaded her there would be no retreat from the demand. Her shoulders sagged, and she suddenly appeared older than when she had first entered the room.
“What would you have me write?”
Darcy drew a slow breath. At last they possessed more than suspicion and half-glimpsed connections.
Mrs. Vane had hidden behind servants, forged letters, and desperate people for six years, but the shield she had built around herself had begun to crack.
Wickham and Mrs. Younge had entered the room believing their silence would preserve them.
Instead, each had discovered how readily the other would sacrifice them when self-preservation demanded it.
Fitzwilliam selected a blank sheet of paper and placed it before Mrs. Younge.
“You are to request a meeting in person. Nothing more. Tell her Wickham would not trust such intelligence to a letter.”
Mrs. Younge reached for the quill.
“You are to request a meeting in person. Tell her you have just spoken with Wickham. Mr. Darcy has returned to Hertfordshire, and Wickham claims to have discovered information which, if revealed, would ruin the Darcy family for life. However, he refuses to commit such intelligence to paper.”
She hesitated only a moment before nodding.
“Tell her also,” Fitzwilliam continued, “that Wickham demands the money he is promised upfront before he will reveal what he has learnt. Say he believes the danger of dealing with the Darcys has become greater than either of them anticipated, and he will not proceed until he has the money.”
Mrs. Younge looked up. “She will be furious.”
“Precisely,” Fitzwilliam replied. “But she will believe it. Wickham has never been content with what he possesses, and I suspect Mrs. Vane knows that better than anyone.”
Mrs. Younge lowered her eyes to the paper. Without another word, she dipped the quill into the ink and began to write.