I have a theory that writing chapters for two different stories every week will eventually make my head explode. So I'm thinking of switching off - this will be a Torches week, and next week will be a Gathered week, and so on. We'll see how it goes.


Wickham carefully resettled his hat on his head and smiled blandly up at Darcy. "I'm sorry, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"She's been gone a week. She was seen leaving with you. Somehow those two facts seem connected to me."

Wickham shrugged, hampered by Darcy's grip on his arm. "Sorry. Haven't seen her since we went dancing that night. Maybe she ran away. You're awfully good at disappointing people, after all."

Darcy let go of Wickham's arm and punched him in the stomach. "You're a rat, Wickham, and you know it. Where is she?"

Wickham straightened up and leaned back against the wall. He was still gasping for breath, but his grin was maddening.

Darcy punched him again, this time in the face, and blood started flowing from his nose. "Where's my sister, Wickham?" he roared.

Wickham wiped the blood from his lips and bent down to get his hat. He grinned at Darcy and started to sing softly:

"A bullfrog sittin' on a lily pad, lookin' up at the skies..."

Darcy slapped him. "My sister, Wickham. I will find her, and when I do..."

"'Scuse me, sir," came a deep voice from behind him.

Darcy grabbed at Wickham's jacket to keep him from running away and turned to see who was speaking. The saxophone player from the band had come out and was watching them impassively.

"Well?" Darcy asked.

"You keep out of this, Harvey Conroy!" Wickham spat.

"Oh, I'll keep out of it all right, Mista Wickham, jes' as soon as you pay what you owe me," responded Harvey. Turning back to Darcy, he asked, "What's your sister look like, if you don't mind my askin'?"

"She's eighteen. She's about this tall," Darcy responded, holding up his free hand, "with green eyes and fair skin and a nice slim figure. When she left she was wearing her pearls, a pink dress and a fur coat."

"I don't know about no fur coat or no pearls, sir, but I saw that Mista Wickham with a girl in a pink dress jes' the other day. And if that was your sister, I sugges' you go get her as soon as possible, sir. They was where no lady oughta be, if you take my meaning."

"That's hardly surprising. Can you show me where?"

Wickham snarled incoherently, but Harvey ignored him. "Yes, sir, I can."

Darcy turned back to Wickham. "I'll be off to get my sister, then. Thank you for your kind assistance," he sneered, and punched him one more time. Wickham sank to the ground, holding his face.

"My car is this way, Mr. Conroy," said Darcy, walking away.

"Darcy, wait!" called Wickham.

Darcy paused and looked back over his shoulder. "I can't be bothered with filth like you, Wickham."


"At least Jane is happy," Charlotte said, giving Lizzie a brief hug.

"I'm thrilled about that," Lizzie said, "just not about anything else. I get insulted, Lydia gets drunk...not the whoopee I was expecting." She fished a cigarette out of her handbag.

She glanced around. "Where'd that high hat Darcy go?" she asked. "He seemed to be glued to the wall earlier."

"Don't know. He was dancing with Caroline earlier, and then he vanished." Charlotte shrugged.

Lizzie smiled. "Good riddance," she said. "Hope he never comes back. I see Miss Caroline sulking at the table over there. Seemed awfully sure of him earlier."

"Oh, have a little sympathy, Lizzie. It's not like you have a man of your own, you know."

Over at her table, Lydia suddenly slumped forward. They watched Kitty shake Lydia's shoulder, apparently calling her name, and then look up at Lizzie when Lydia didn't respond.

Lizzie sighed and got up. "I told her she'd fall asleep soon. I just hope we can get her home before she upchucks. Tell Jane what happened, will you?"

"Of course. Good luck," Charlotte responded, smiling up at her.

Lizzie stood up and stubbed out her cigarette. She got Kitty to calm down, and the two of them started carrying Lydia out of the room. Lydia woke up enough to walk with their support, and they got out to the car without mishap.

Lizzie had just gotten Lydia and Kitty arranged in the back seats and was walking around to climb into the driver's seat when she saw a man stagger into the parking lot. He was sharply dressed in a gray suit and gray fedora, but she could see that his face was bloodied.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, walking over to him.

"What?" He looked up and saw her. "Oh, hello. It's nothing, just a bloody nose."

When he looked up she could see that he had the beginnings of a black eye. "You are hurt! Do you have somewhere to go? Do you need a ride?"

"No, I came here with friends but I think they've left already," he replied. "My name is Wickham, by the way. George Wickham."

"I'm Lizzie Bennet. Why don't you come to our house and let us clean you up? There's an empty seat in the car."

"I would truly appreciate that, Lizzie Bennet," he replied with a twisted smile. He climbed into the passenger seat.

Lizzie had to focus on driving for a few minutes, but once they were safely cruising down the road she glanced over at her new acquaintance. The black eye was only getting worse.

"What happened?" she asked.

Wickham sat back and looked pensively at the road. "I wish I knew, really. Darcy and I used to be such close friends."

"Darcy did this?" she asked.

"Oh yes. I think he came with the intention of finding me, just so he could bully me some more. We grew up together, you know."

"Really," Lizzie replied.

"Oh yes. His father and my father were good friends, even though my father worked for his father. His family was much richer, of course, but we were very close. We did everything together. Then at some point in high school...I don't know what happened, but Darcy started ignoring me."

"That's so sad."

"I hate to say it, but it gets worse. Darcy's father died when he was eighteen. He'd promised to pay for me to go to college, but Darcy wouldn't honor that promise. I couldn't go without the money, so here I am." He gingerly touched his eye.

"That's awful! Did you want to go?"

"Oh, I really wanted to go. I was going to study business, and open a theater with some friends of mine. But..." he trailed off.

"Has he been violent before?"

"No, this is new. He boxed in college, and I guess he decided he was out of practice and should take a swing at me. I didn't even say anything to him - I'm here to talk to the band about letting me help them."

"Are you a musician?"

I"m what you might call an agent. I know people, people who might want to hire a band like that one. If it weren't for Darcy, I'd know more people and I'd be the one hiring bands. As it is..." he sighed.

Then he looked over at her and smiled. "But it isn't all bad. I'm driving with a doll like you, and Darcy went off alone!"

Lizzie smiled back. "I'm glad you're able to enjoy things anyway."


Wickham starts singing a verse from "It Ain't Gonna Rain No More" by Wendell Hall, which was popular in the mid-twenties. The full verse is:

Oh, a bullfrog sittin' on a lily pad, lookin' up at the skies.
The lily pad broke and the frog fell in, got water all in his eyes.

It's a nonsense song, which seems appropriate for something he would sing to infuriate Darcy.