Chapter 28
Militia Barracks
Meryton
A sharp staccato of knocks woke George Wickham from deep slumber. He sat up with an irritable moan and glanced out the window of his small, stark room in the barracks. It was bright outside, which meant he had overslept. It hardly mattered; he would be fleeing Meryton soon enough with Miss Lydia, and in any case, his duties were light today.
There was another pounding with a determined fist and he threw his blanket aside, rose to his feet and strode irascibly to the door. He swung it wide expecting it to be Lieutenant Denny, who had a penchant for rudely waking him up and then laughing about it afterwards.
But it was not, in fact, Mr. Denny, but Lieutenant Pratt, with two members of the militia at his heels. Pratt was usually a genial man, but right now the black haired third son of a gentleman had a sober look on his face and a suspicious twitch in his left eye.
Wickham was instantly on his guard. "Good morning, Pratt," he said with spurious cheer.
"Good morning, Wickham," the other man replied precisely. "Colonel Forster requests a word with you as quickly as possible."
Wickham's mind was already racing ahead but he kept his face studiously blank. "Of course, Pratt. Let me just wash my face and put on my uniform. Do you mind giving me five minutes?"
Pratt took a step back and pushed the door shut, giving Wickham privacy. Wickham glanced around frantically. He was on the second floor and thus escape through the window was not feasible mid-morning; at night, perhaps he could have departed that way without notice, but the barracks were in a busy area of town and he could hear the soft sounds of horses clopping by and people talking outside the building.
He sighed, hastily donned his regimentals, and gathered his very limited available money and valuables. Within four minutes, he stepped out into the corridor, where Pratt relaxed noticeably at his arrival.
"Shall we?" Wickham inquired with apparent calm, leading the way down the long flight of wooden stairs and out the front door of the converted warehouse. The two militia men were close on Wickham's heels and Pratt was at his right side, but all Wickham needed was to create a distraction.
There was an alleyway between two buildings coming up on the right, a narrow passageway which Wickham usually avoided because the butcher, whose shop backed up to the alley, often put smelly offal in barrels in the back. Wickham quickened his step slightly and, when he was abreast of the arcade, he glanced casually toward the right and then stopped dramatically.
"Stop!" he cried out loudly. "Thief!"
His escort, startled at his yell, turned as one toward the lane and Wickham took to his heels. Obviously his unknown opponent had made his move to collect on Wickham's debts, and the former steward's son had but one hope — to steal a horse and flee. He had scouted out the forest nearby and knew of a small cabin where he could hide for some days now that the weather was pleasant.
There were shouts of surprise from Pratt and the privates but Wickham was speedy of foot and there were plenty of horses tethered to posts on the street. He spied a likely gray mare fifteen yards ahead even as he heard the sound of racing footsteps behind him.
Wickham, terrified, increased his pace and was frantically untying the rope just as a tall, muscular form barreled into him at top speed. He was knocked to the ground and his forehead plowed into the dirt. A moment later, his assailant turned him over. Wickham scrabbled desperately for a moment and tried to push the unfamiliar man off of him, only to receive a mighty sock in the jaw which caused him to subside, whimpering in terror and pain.
"Thank you, Alexander," Mr. Gardiner said, running up to the pair. "Do not hit him again unless absolutely necessary though, Son."
"So long as he does not struggle, I will not need to, Father."
Wickham, aware of blood trickling from his nose and a clod of dirt on his forehead, lay still while his youthful adversary sat on his chest. Two minutes later, the young giant got off of him, allowing Wickham to rise shakily to his feet.
Standing in front of him, surrounded by Pratt and a dozen members of the militia, stood a very angry Colonel Forster.
"Mr. Wickham, you are under arrest," the Colonel snapped.
/
Rockhill
Jane Bennet's hands were shaking as she tore open the express letter from Longbourn. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly and she heaved a great sigh of relief.
"Lydia is safe," she told her equally concerned audience of sisters.
There were cries of joy and a few tears were shed, and Kitty found herself enveloped in an embrace by Elizabeth, who asked, "Do you feel better now, my dear sister?"
"I do," Kitty assured her, then added nervously, "Have you heard how Lydia … how she is?"
Jane scanned the letter again and shook her head. "Father says she is quite upset but the important thing is that she is safe. He also thanks Kitty for coming forward with this vital information."
"It is fortunate for us that you were not too late, Kitty," Mary said angrily. "You waited a full day after receiving Lydia's letter to tell someone!"
Kitty cringed at this and Jane actually looked disapproving and said, "Mary, we should rejoice that all is well. It was natural enough for Kitty to struggle over whether to share a private communication."
"It was more than natural," Elizabeth said gravely. "I slept very little last night …"
"I did not either," Jane agreed.
"Nor I," Mary admitted.
"And I have been pondering how poorly we communicate as a family. Kitty and Lydia have always been very intimate, and while that is not surprising given that they are the closest in age, I realize my own culpability in not being a better sister to you, Kitty. The same is true of you, Mary. It has been easy for me to relate well with Jane and I neglected all my younger sisters. I am determined to change my ways."
"This is hardly your fault, Elizabeth," Mary said grimly. "Lydia knows better than to elope to Scotland, and so does Kitty."
Elizabeth hesitated and then moved forward to sit down next to Mary. "We are all such different women, are we not?" she mused aloud. "In spite of having the same parents, and growing up in the same house, we have had quite different life experiences and interests. Truly, I believe that ... that both Kitty and Lydia, and to some extent you, Mary, have been sadly neglected. Jane and I used to visit the Gardiners often during our formative years, until their own children started coming along. You younger three, well …"
She sighed and continued, "Mother desperately wants us to marry and all we have heard of for years is that we must wed as soon as possible. I do not find it surprising that Lydia would fall victim to a heartless but magnetic wretch like Mr. Wickham. Indeed, he deceived me when we first met."
"Is he really so bad?" Mary asked softly.
Jane grimaced and said, "I fear so. Mr. Darcy told Mr. Bingley, while I was in the room, that Wickham would surely not marry Lydia, but only take her money and her virtue. He cares only for a wealthy bride. He is a liar and a cheat."
Elizabeth found her hands were tightened into fists and forced herself to relax. The worst had not come to pass and given the competence of her Uncle Gardiner and Mr. Darcy, she was quite certain they would hush up the entire affair.
It had been a very near miss, and she devoutly hoped that her parents would realize that Lydia's movements needed to be significantly curtailed. Realistically, though, she could not change Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, but she could change herself. She vowed to be a better, kinder, more observant sister to all of her siblings.
In the midst of her relief, however, came both agitation and sorrow. Mr. Bingley had pledged his undying commitment and love to Jane in spite of Lydia's scandalous stupidity. But what of Mr. Darcy? He had long disapproved of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and the younger Bennet girls; what did he think now that he was intimately aware of Lydia's near elopement with the vile rogue who had all but ruined Miss Darcy's life? Elizabeth thought that Mr. Darcy admired her – would this latest offense create a rift too wide? She respected and liked – no, it was more than that – she had fallen in love with this tall, handsome and somewhat unusual man. But perhaps Lydia's idiocy would be too much for the master of Pemberley.
She would, she supposed, find out soon enough. Mr. Darcy might well retreat to London and stay there, or perhaps move to Rosings to assist the Fitzwilliams. If she saw him no more, she could not blame him, but it was a thought that made her heart ache.
/
Meryton
The Colonel's utilitarian office was not large, and with several men crammed into it, it felt even more cramped than usual. A basic desk stood between two chairs. Beside it was a window, through which a draft seeped almost as chill as the expression in Colonel Forster's eyes.
Wickham resisted the urge to squirm. He knew he looked a sight, his clothing disheveled and with a rent in his coat from when Alexander Gardiner had tackled him to the ground. He could feel the dirt ground into his forehead, his hair flopping about in unbecoming disarray. To add insult to injury, the bumptious youth remained in the room as an ostensible guard, along with Pratt and the two privates.
"Can you pay the debts, Mr. Wickham?" Colonel Forster inquired coldly.
Wickham cast a despairing glance at Darcy, who was standing near the door with his arms folded. Aaron Gardiner, the Bennets' uncle from India, stood in front of the door itself, alongside his violent, tall, and very strong son. There was no physical escape from this mess, but perhaps he could talk his way out of it.
"Not at this moment," Wickham prevaricated. "However, I have won money at cards from some of the other officers in the regiment. Once I have collected on those debts, I will be able to pay Mr. Gardiner back for all the debts he paid on my behalf."
It had come as a most unwelcome shock to learn that Lydia Bennet's uncle had been the money source behind the payment of Wickham's Meryton debts. The mysterious red haired man was but an agent. Wickham suppressed a snarl of rage. Why was this uncouth tradesman persecuting him so? Aaron Gardiner was directly responsible for his plan to run off with Lydia Bennet, after all, since Wickham had only decided to flee when he learned that his debts were being purchased.
"Very well," Colonel Forster replied, causing Wickham's spirits to rise. A moment later, they plummeted again.
"Private, escort Wickham to the storeroom attached to my office and lock him in. Take Reynolds with you and you two will guard him for the next four hours. We will send someone to relieve you then."
"Yes sir," the man replied stolidly, stepping forward to grasp Wickham by the arm.
"Surely this is not necessary!" Wickham protested in terror.
"You disobeyed a direct order to come to my office, Lieutenant," Forster replied, his eyes narrowed. "You also attempted to flee and steal a horse. I assure you that you will be kept in custody until the situation with your debts can be clarified."
Wickham shot a furious glance at his nemesis and said, "This is all your fault, Darcy!"
Fitzwilliam Darcy did not bother replying. There was no point in bandying words with the scoundrel. Aaron Gardiner waited until Wickham had been escorted out of the room and then stepped forward, "Colonel Forster, thank you for your prompt attention to this matter. As we said, it is imperative that Mr. Wickham not be permitted to spread dangerous gossip about either my family or the Darcys."
"It will be done," Forster assured him. "I have no desire for the regiment to be disdained across the county due to the vile behavior of a rogue lieutenant."
/
Longbourn
"What should I do with Lydia?" Mr. Bennet asked wearily. Darcy and Gardiner had repaired to Longbourn, eaten a well-deserved luncheon, soothed Mrs. Bennet with the news that the family's reputation was safe, and now were ensconced in Mr. Bennet's temporary bedroom.
There was silence for a long moment. Darcy waited, uncertain whether he should speak, but it was quickly apparent from the glances of the older men that they were looking to him for possible guidance.
He cleared his throat and said, "A boarding school is a possibility, Mr. Bennet."
The man sighed and caressed his splinted leg with one unquiet hand. "That is probably the best solution, Mr. Darcy. Certainly we cannot go on as we have. Lydia nearly ruined us all."
"The other option," Pemberley's master continued slowly, "would be some kind of governess companion who has experience with very lively young ladies."
Bennet frowned at this and mused, "I am not certain where to find either an appropriate school or an appropriate governess, Mr. Darcy."
"Nor do I," Aaron Gardiner added. "In India, yes, but not here in England."
"Would you like me to have an agent look into such things, Mr. Bennet?" Darcy inquired.
The older man sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair and said, "You have already done so much for us, sir, but yes, I would be most appreciative for your assistance in this matter."
/
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Author Note: Remember that I will need to take down most of this story on Jan 28 due to Amazon's policies on publishing. Be sure to keep up so you don't miss any of the end! :-)