Chapter Twenty-Four

"Good gracious Darcy, what did she say that's got you in such a state?" Theodore asked.

"If Mrs. Younge is with Wickham—and I cannot think it likely she knows another such man—then I have a very good idea where they are," Darcy replied as he strode purposefully in the direction of his carriage. "On Thursday last week, when we attended the theatre, Mr. Gardiner invited to join him a young man named Bingley. Bingley's family owns a textile business, which has apparently done so very well that the young man has a fortune of a hundred thousand pounds. He asked me if I knew of any estates for lease or purchase, and our dear friends the Miss Bennets both extolled the virtues of an estate called Netherfield Park that is but three miles from their father's."

Understanding came into Theodore's features. "And Mr. Bennet's estate is near Meryton."

Darcy nodded. "Yes. Mr. Bennet's estate is a mile in one direction and Netherfield is but two miles from it in another. Elizabeth told me on Wednesday when Philip and I fetched Georgiana from the Gardiners' house that Bingley had written to her uncle expressing his absolute satisfaction with the place and that he'd taken possession immediately. He had apparently decided not to even return to London that he could oversee the readying of the house himself."

"And Mrs. Younge's aunt just told us that she and her 'gent' went to visit him on Tuesday," Theodore observed. "He could still be there."

They reached the carriage quickly, and Darcy ordered it to Mr. Gardiner's warehouse, which he knew was some blocks in the opposite direction.

"Darcy, why do you go there?" his cousin asked as the chaise started off.

"Mr. Gardiner will know the town well, and if Providence continues to smile on us, he will be in his office and have a map on which he can pinpoint the location of Netherfield."

"Ah! Capital idea, Darcy," Theodore agreed. "But why should he keep a map at his office?"

"Mr. Gardiner owns a warehouse, remember? His may not be the only business his suppliers deliver to, and if he is as decent a gentleman as I believe him to be, he would be kind enough to show them how to get to other clients if they should need assistance."

"Let us hope you are right," his cousin murmured.

Continued fortune was in their favor—not only was Mr. Gardiner still at his business, but he did indeed have a recent map tucked away on a shelf. Once retrieved and spread out on his desk, he very quickly located Hertfordshire and pointed to the Netherfield estate.

"I'll not ask what this is all about," said Mr. Gardiner after the cousins had thanked him for his assistance. "I'll only point out that it will take as long as four hours just to reach your destination."

Theodore groaned. "He's right, Will. Do we risk it? We'll be late to Cessy and Livvy's ball—I'm to open the bloody dance with Olivia! Oh God, my parents will murder me if I'm late."

"Do you think they will be much less angry with me?" Darcy rejoined. "We must decide—and quickly, Theo—whether their wrath will be worth enduring."

His cousin drew a deep breath and sighed. "You are right. Much as I would not disappoint my sister for all the world, she can dance with Father for the opening dance. I'd much rather not risk the chance of losing an opportunity of putting my dearest Amelia's worries at an end."

Darcy agreed with a curt nod. "Then let us be on our way."

-…-

The carriage ride north was rife with tension and anxiety. Theodore fidgeted incessantly, which taxed Darcy's patience, but he did not attempt to settle his cousin's nerves. He was rather anxious himself—he simply had the self-command not to put his emotions on display. There was no conversation between the cousins as the carriage hurried along and they stopped only once—after about two hours—in order to rest the horses. The break lasted just thirty minutes, for both men were eager to be on the road again.

Darcy's contemplations as to what they would say and do upon arrival at Netherfield were interrupted by Theodore as they turned up the lane to the house at long last.

"How do you wish to go about this, Darcy?" he asked.

"You're the one with military experience, Theo, had not you best do the planning of our attack?" Darcy rejoined.

"Yes, I suppose there is that…" Theodore raised a hand to his chin. "What do you know of this Bingley fellow?"

"Very little more than I told you already. He is young—about the age of Jane Bennet—has at least two sisters, one of whom is recently married. A very amiable, lively young man, well spoken with excellent manners."

"Will he interfere in our purpose?" queried Theodore as the carriage began to slow. "I mean, will he come to the defense of his friend if we attempt to detain him?"

Darcy lifted a shoulder. "I could not tell you—I only met the young man once, so had no idea of his even being acquainted with Wickham, let alone to what degree."

The carriage drew to a stop and the footman was almost immediately at the door. Darcy alighted first and stole a glance at his watch—Bingley and his guests would be dressing for dinner about now. Hopefully dinner is not about to be ruined, he thought as he and Theodore quickly climbed the steps.

As he rang the bell, he began to hope that Wickham was as indolent about dressing as he'd always been—at Cambridge, he was always one of the last to the dining hall for meals. If it were another of his unchanged habits, it would give him and Theodore an advantage: they'd be able to quickly relay their business to Bingley and catch Wickham in his room, thereby preventing any chance of their quarry escaping.

The door was soon opened by a plump, kind-faced older woman who gazed up at them with polite curiosity. "Good evening, sirs."

Darcy nodded as he reached into a pocket for his card; Theodore produced one of his own. "Good evening. Is Mr. Bingley at home for callers?" said Darcy.

"We must speak with your master on a matter of some urgency," added Theodore.

"Mr. Bingley and his guests are dressing for dinner, sir," said the lady, who Darcy presumed was the housekeeper. "I will return in a moment."

With a perfunctory curtsey, she shut the door between them. Darcy drew a breath to steady his buzzing nerves—they were so close! He dared not consider that Wickham, if that was indeed who Mrs. Younge had been with, was no longer in residence.

"Oh, come on!" Theodore growled softly after less than a minute.

"Patience, Cousin," Darcy murmured in reply.

"The bugger could be running out the back door at this moment," Theodore hissed.

Darcy scoffed. "Let us hope you are wrong."

He was admittedly resisting the urge to look at his watch when suddenly the door was thrown open by Bingley himself. "Mr. Darcy!" said he cheerfully. "This is an honor, sir—I had no idea you knew I was here. Do come in."

Darcy nodded and preceded his cousin into the wide entry hall. "I presume by the name on the second card my housekeeper gave me that your companion is a relation?"

"Yes," said Darcy. "May I present my cousin, Colonel Theodore Fitzwilliam. Lord Rowarth, whom you saw at the theatre, is his elder brother. Theodore, Mr. Charles Bingley."

Theodore and Bingley bowed to one another, then the latter asked, "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Darcy drew a breath in preparation to reply, but was beaten to it by Theodore, who said, in an urgent tone, "Sir, I must ask you if there is a Mr. Wickham as a guest here, or our journey is all for naught."

Bingley's brow furrowed in a frown of confusion. "Yes," he replied. "He's a friend of mine—a recent acquaintance, to be certain, but he's a capital fellow. He's given me such excellent advice on managing an estate. What do you want with him?"

"Where is Wickham now?" Theodore pressed, ignoring his question.

Bingley's frown deepened. "In his room, I expect, dressing for dinner. His cousin and my sister as well. Pray, what is this about?"

Cousin, Darcy mused with contempt. Of course, Wickham and Mrs. Younge would lie about their relationship—how else to explain their traveling together?

Theodore drew himself up to his full height, and though he was not dressed in his regimentals, it was clear he had a military bearing. "I am in the service of His Grace the Duke of Mildenhall. Mr. George Wickham is a former employee who is blackmailing His Grace with accusations that would ruin him if they were made public."

Bingley's frown became an expression of shock, and after staring for a few seconds, he said, "You're not joking."

Darcy shook his head. "I am afraid not, Mr. Bingley. Would you please show us to Wickham's room?"

The younger man inclined his head in stunned silence and moved to lead them up the wide stairs. On reaching the first floor landing he turned to the right and started down a hallway with a runner of carpet along the middle of the floor. The second door on the left suddenly opened and out stepped a maid who appeared to be around Lady Amelia's age; she gasped on seeing them and hastily patted down her hair and her gown, her expression one of mortification. Beside Darcy, Bingley frowned, leading the former to suspect not only what it was the maid had been doing only minutes before their arrival, but that her master was unaware of his new friend's particular proclivities.

Bingley's pace quickened and he knocked rather hard on the door the maid had exited from. Wickham's unmistakable voice called out in reply "One moment."

Theodore pushed past Bingley to throw the door open. "Theo!" Wickham exclaimed as he hastily buttoned the front of his breeches. "Darcy! Well, this is a surprise indeed. I did not know you were acquainted with Mr. Bingley."

"Shut it," Theodore snapped. "Where is it?"

Wickham blinked, affecting an expression of confusion as he casually reached for the waistcoat draped over the chair next to him. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Darcy watched his cousin storm across the room and stop directly before Wickham. "The so-called evidence you claim to possess which alleges that the Duke of Mildenhall has been trading in slaves. You know, the evidence which you threatened to go public with unless he granted you the hand of his only daughter and heir in marriage."

"Mr. Wickham, is this true?" Bingley asked.

Wickham scoffed as he took a step back from Theodore. "Of course, it isn't. Charles, how can you even consider such a thing? Do not you remember what I told you of my connection to the Darcy family when you mentioned having met him?"

Darcy scowled. "What lies have you been telling about me this time, Wickham?" He looked to Bingley. "Allow me to venture a guess: He told you he'd been promised a very valuable living by my father, which I denied him after my father's passing out of jealousy and spite because he was loved more than myself?"

Bingley swallowed, his countenance openly displaying his shock and confusion. "I… He… Yes, something very much to that effect," he managed at last.

"Your father did love me better than you!" Wickham cried smugly.

The door on the wall to Darcy's right suddenly opened and through it stepped Mrs. Younge, asking "George, what is going on in—Mr. Darcy!"

"You know each other as well?" Bingley asked.

"Much to my regret," Darcy said. "I cannot speak as to the veracity of their being related, but Mrs. Younge and Wickham colluded to ruin a young lady of my acquaintance in order to purloin her fortune of thirty thousand pounds."

Wickham snorted derisively. "Oh, come now, Darcy," he said. "If you're going to accuse me of blackmailing a duke, you might as well be honest and tell my friend it was your sister I allegedly intended to ruin."

"That sweet girl I met at the theatre?" Bingley queried.

Wickham looked to him. "She was a very sweet girl when I knew her," said he. "But Darcy here has hated me for so long that I knew he would never approve my courting his sister, whom I had long admired. She loved me, Charles, and we would be happily married now had he not interfered!"

"And what of the blackmail? Are you really threatening to ruin a duke if he doesn't let you marry his daughter?" Bingley challenged him.

Darcy was surprised when the statement made Mrs. Younge laugh. "Oh, George, tell me you didn't!" she chided him. "I told you that scheme would never work, that that snobby girl was too far above you!"

"Damn it, Mary, she has sixty thousand pounds!" Wickham snapped. "We would be set for the rest of our lives!"

Mrs. Younge scoffed; at the same moment, Theodore grabbed Wickham by the front of his shirt to shake him. "Where is your evidence?"

"What 'our lives'?" the lady asked, crossing her arms. "Thirty we might have been able to disappear with, my love, but not sixty! His Grace would have us hunted down—as he has clearly done just on threat of exposure alone!"

She stepped further into the room. "Really, what were you going to tell me if your plan had succeeded? 'Sorry Mary, but 'tis the end of the road for us?' You'd be married to a duke's daughter and wouldn't have given a second thought to me—and you already know that I would never have settled for being your mistress!"

Mrs. Young whirled to face Darcy. "I know you'll not believe me, but I had no part in this blackmail scheme. He did propose it to me, but I warned him about setting his cap too high; I'm sure he never told me he'd gone through with it because he was planning to cast me off if he'd succeeded."

Though very little, given her part in Wickham's scheme to elope with Georgiana, Darcy felt some sympathy for Mrs. Younge having finally realized how little she actually meant to Wickham.

"I do not doubt it," he replied.

Theodore shook Wickham again. "Where is the evidence?" he asked again. "Or does it even exist? Was it all lies you have the nerve to threaten a duke with?"

"I-I found some papers in a desk at Lionsgate!" Wickham cried, his hands gripping Theodore's wrists in an attempt to free himself. "I-I got the position of steward at that estate after leaving Ramsgate. Of course, I had to go over the whole house for anything that might be useful to me, and in the drawer of a desk in one of the studies, there were some letters about a shipment of slaves."

"How recently were they dated?" Darcy asked.

Wickham laughed. "A good many years—older than the present Duke of Mildenhall—written either in his father's time or his grandfather's. I thought they might be of use in scoring an even better fortune than sweet little Georgiana's."

"Where are the letters?" Darcy asked.

"I don't think I shall tell you," said Wickham snidely.

Theodore opened one hand long enough to draw his arm back, landing a solid punch to Wickham's jaw.

"He'll have them here somewhere, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Younge said.

"Then let us have a look about," said Bingley, a scowl marring his features as he strode over to the chest of drawers. "Can't believe I called such a man my friend."

"Do not distress yourself, Mr. Bingley," Darcy offered. "I made the same mistake."

He joined Bingley in searching for the letters, as did Mrs. Younge. It was not long before Georgiana's former companion found them in a hidden compartment of Wickham's trunk. Solemnly, she handed them to Darcy.

"I've been a fool, sir," said she. "A blind, lovesick, stupid fool."

"That you have, madam," Darcy acknowledged as he took the folded, yellowed sheets of paper. "It is well that you have learned this most valuable lesson at last."

Darcy then examined the letters, noting that they were dated nearly eighty years ago and that some of the words were nearly faded away. He showed them to Bingley, who glanced at them briefly before saying, "I can't believe your arrogance, sir! There's no way you'd have gotten away with blaming these matters on the current duke. The letters are too old to have been his, you've acknowledged that yourself. Not to mention the handwriting could easily be proved to not be his own."

Wickham sneered at him. "I'd not planned on actually turning them over to His Grace until after the wedding—after my vows to darling Amelia had been consummated and it was too late to do anything about it."

Theodore struck him again, this time in the stomach, causing Wickham to double over. After coughing a time or two, he threw himself at his attacker, and the two began to fight each other in earnest. Mrs. Younge screeched loudly and ran for her room as the combatants tumbled onto the bed. Darcy ran to the bed to try and separate them and paid for his attempt to aid his cousin by getting himself knocked painfully into the bedside table. Bingley ran over to Darcy, asking if he was all right, as Theodore and Wickham's battle moved out into the hall.

"I'm sure to have a bruise by morning," he said sourly, rubbing a hand over his lower back. "But otherwise, I am well."

A second later, another feminine scream rang out. "Caroline!" cried Bingley, before hurrying into the hall.

Darcy followed. On the other side of the fighters stood Caroline Bingley, her face pale and her hands drawn to her lips in fright. Bingley hollered for his sister to return to her room as the grappling Theodore and Wickham were moving toward the stairs.

"Theo, be careful!" Darcy cried out.

He was too late. Wickham, perhaps in a move of desperation, shifted his weight and toppled both of them off the landing to tumble down the wooden staircase. They came to a stop with a loud thud and a frightening crack.

Darcy hurried down to them, fearful of his cousin having injured himself. "Theo? Theo!" he cried as he approached the tangled men.

"I'm all right," Theodore mumbled as he extricated himself from Wickham, cradling his left arm to his chest. "Well, aside from what I fear is a broken arm."

"Wickham?" Darcy queried as he rolled him onto his back.

His one-time friend looked up at him with a panicked expression. "Darcy! Darcy, help me! I can't—I can't feel my legs. I can't feel anything!"