Note: This is a one-shot with no connection to the previous stories.

Chapter Eleven – Sooner rather than later

What if the servants had decided to deal with a certain problem sooner?

Edith Harrow was a good girl. She couldn't help it if she had begun to sprout earlier than the other girls. Truthfully, she didn't like the way men looked at her. It made her uncomfortable. She did like the way that Bill the young footman smiled at her, but he was so shy that she wasn't afraid of him. George Wickham was another story entirely.

When Edith first went into service at thirteen, only a year ago, all of the girls would talk and giggle about boys. Pemberley, the grand estate house where she worked, was as big as a whole town to young Edith. There were so many servants that she thought it would take years to know them all. There were quite a few handsome young men for the girls to giggle about too.

Of course the two most handsome men were young Master Darcy, the heir, and George Wickham, the godson. Several of the girls would scoff and talk about Wickham being merely the son of the former steward, but others told a different story. It seems that Wickham himself told them that he was actually Mr. Darcy's natural son, and that he would inherit as well... if fact, since the Master seemed to like him better than the legitimate son, Wickham might inherit it all!

Edith had grown up on a tenant farm with a father and one brother. Her mother had died when she was too young to remember her. She knew nothing of the things that a mother would teach, so she was ignorant even for a girl of three and ten. She learned quickly though that some of the maids and some of the footman liked to visit each other at night... and that George Wickham was often seen on the servant's floor slipping into one room or another. The older women warned the younger ones that the man was a "rake" and a "wastrel," words that Edith was only beginning to understand, but several foolish girls only giggled and brushed their elder's words aside. In that first year one girl became "with child" from her trysts with Wickham. He paid the girl no mind and the girl had to be dismissed.

Mrs. Reynolds, the head housekeeper, was known to one and all as a strict leader who expected hard work and dedication from her people. Edith also learned that she was a kind woman who saw a frightened, lonely, and confused young girl and took her under her wings. Mrs. Reynolds believed that the only protection against the evils of the world was straightforward honesty, so she answered Edith's questions honestly and completely... sometimes providing more information than Edith really wanted to hear.

The unfortunate side-effect of the housekeepers protection was that Edith's peers thought she was becoming a "snitch." When one girl was dismissed after stealing several trinkets... which she gave to George Wickham... the other girls began to say that Edith had informed on the girl. She had not. In fact, she had known nothing about the affair. But once such a rumor was started, it took on a life of its own. Life became uncomfortable for poor Edith and she despaired of having friends.

Perhaps one of the reasons that the other girls were so quick to turn on her was that she was already developing a womanly figure at four and ten. Edith was not happy about this for several reasons, but all that the other girls saw was competition for attention. Young Master Darcy and George Wickham were away for their last year at Eton for most of that year. When they returned Edith suddenly found herself under the eye of the man who she most wished to avoid.

Edith managed to avoid being caught alone with George Wickham for most of the summer. The other maids were jealous of his attentions, so they also managed to disrupt the few times where he had her alone and vulnerable. Finally one day while walking down a hall she was suddenly grabbed and pushed into a darkened corner. "You have been avoiding me, little girl. I don't understand why you would do that. You are such a lovely girl. Don't you like me?"

"Please, let me go! Leave me alone!"

For a reply, George forced a kiss on her. How far he might have gone was never known because he heard two male voices joking as they walked down the hall towards their location. George kept her flattened against the wall for a moment more as he growled, "I am Mr. Darcy's godson. You have to do what I say. I will come to your room tonight girl. Make sure your door is unlocked or I will not be pleased."

In a breath, the man was gone. Feeling panicked and distraught, Edith managed to slip into one of the rooms she was cleaning before the two footman walked by. She stood there for a long time, fighting to breathe and crying. Then, resolved, she marched right down to Mrs. Reynold's office.

oOo

George Wickham was looking forward to enjoying the tasty little morsel. Ever since that fool Lucy had let herself get pregnant, most of the other maids had closed their doors to him. There were a few who were still welcoming, but he was already tired of them. This new girl was a pretty little thing and untouched, which was how he liked them. Yes, he might make good use of this one. She was also too timid to ever say anything.

He had spent the evening playing the devoted godson to that drunkard, Mr. Darcy. Ever since the man's wife had died the man had pine after the woman. Personally, George had never liked Lady Anne. Sure, she was pretty enough, but she didn't like the amount of attention that her husband paid to his godson. George was glad when she died. Now if only his "friend" Darcy would die as well, then there would be no more obstacles to George becoming Master of Pemberley. Sure, he might have to marry the little chit Georgiana, but maybe she would grow up to look like her mother. That would not be a hardship. Also, there were almost fifty females servants at Pemberley. It would be easy to get rid of the older ones and replace them with the type he liked... like the girl who was waiting upstairs for him now.

Young Darcy had excused himself to the library half an hour ago, scowling at his old friend. Now Mr. Darcy was finally soused enough for his valet to successfully lead the man off to his chambers. It was finally time!

He ignored the footman's frown when George snatched up the rest of the Master's decanter of fine brandy and sauntered out of the room. He whistled while he climbed the stairs to the first, then second, and finally third floor. He went silent then, swilling a drink as he stalked down the hall and around several corners until he reached the door he was looking for. Looking to the right and the left, he turned the knob and let himself in.

He dropped the decanter in shock when he found Mr. Reynolds, the butler, waiting for him. When he tried to flee, however, he found his way blocked by two of Pemberley's biggest footman. Mr. Reynolds broke the silence, "You just never can be satisfied, can you George. I stood by when the willing ones let you in, but now you're trying to force yourself on the unwilling... and that I will not countenance."

Wickham sneered, "Don't fool yourself, Reynolds. The girl wants it, just like the rest. And don't think for a moment that Mr. Darcy will believe you over me. Fitzy tried to inform his dear ole' father all about my bad deeds at Eton, but Mr. Darcy always believes me. I'll have you fired and off this property by noon tomorrow."

"Oh, don't you worry none about that, Georgie. You see, I have not intention of talking to Mr. Darcy about you..."

George Wickham grunted in agony as the first blow struck. Many, many more followed.

oOo

Despite George's firm belief that he was Mr. Darcy's favorite, it was actually three days before the master thought to ask the nearest footman about the young man's whereabouts. Paul kept his face impassive as he replied, "I have not seen him, Sir."

It was another four days before Mr. Darcy asked the same question to his butler and housekeeper, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds. Mr. Reynolds was the one to furnish, "I believe that the young man must have wished to visit friends before returning to school. His horse is gone. I can check to see if his room has been cleared...?"

"Not to worry, Michael. Young men move about on a whim. I only wish that my son would be a little less serious. Plenty of time for that when I die and he becomes master."

"As you say, Sir," Mr. Reynolds thought that his Master was blind, but it would do no good to say so. Besides, George Wickham would never be a problem again... or at least not for many years to come.

He left the man to his musings and went about his own duties. When pretty little Edith walked by with a load of sheets, he gave the girl a friendly smile and continued on his way. Knowing how much his wife liked the "dear, clever girl", he suspected that she would someday be trained to take his wife's place. With that in mind, he would be careful about how any footmen approached the girl as she continued to grow in beauty. Perhaps Alfred, the young man who he had already selected as his replacement, would take a shine to her. Pemberley was one of the few great houses that did no forbid marriages among their servants.

oOo

"Pull, ya yeller laggard!" George Wickham cursed under his breath as the gunner barked another order and then hit him with a starter when he didn't move fast enough to please the man. With groans of exertion and agony, he pulled on the tarred rope that hauled the massive cannon back into firing position, then stepped out of the path. The man applied his slow match to the touch hole and the cannon roared back, almost knocking George off his feet with the concussion, and nearly deafening him. Then the process of preparing to fire once again. It would never end.

It had taken weeks for George to mostly recover from the nightmarish beating that the butler and his two lackeys had inflicted on him. He didn't even remember the journey by cart that had left him languishing in a prison hulk, waiting for one of His Majesty's ships to claim him for their crew. Now he was crew on the Imperator, a landsman, which was the lowest of the low on board a ship of over five-hundred. At first he had refused to work, but the mates of the ship quickly put an end to that idea. They knew just how to hurt a man so that he could still work.

And the work never ended! If it wasn't swabbing decks, it was emptying bilge. If it wasn't pulling ropes to shorten of let out sail, it was working a cannon. He worked. He ate. He slept... and it would never get any better unless he escaped.

I will get off of this ship and then I will return to Pemberley. They will pay! They will all...

George Wickham never heard the barked command to fire, so he did not move out of the way fast enough as the gunner applied fire to the touch hole and the massive cannon hurled backwards on its carriage. When the gunner looked down on the result, he only shook his head and muttered "stupid landsmen. I hate 'em all."

The Captain appended the log that day with the name George Wickaham, DD, which stood for "discharged dead."

Back in Derbyshire his name was slowly and, for the most part, gratefully forgotten.

Author's Note: Okay, maybe not as uplifting as I promised... but hey, it isn't too hard to imagine a world without Wickhams. In the next tale I promise not to kill anybody off. Thanks for reading my stories and for all of your kind reviews.