Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mr. Darcy caught a public coach across the River Thames to Lambeth, to the address he had found for Mrs. Younge. He chose not to take his own carriage because he did not want to draw attention to himself. He had even borrowed a coat and hat from his butler. If he'd been surprised by the request he was too well versed in doing his master's bidding to ask any questions. Mr. Darcy looked disdainfully at a couple of raucous young men, who were shouting and making salacious remarks at a couple of shop girls who were shouting back. Darcy was shocked by their language and wondered for a moment whether to intervene, but he knew his voice would give him away and he shrunk into the corner and looked out across the gloomy city. London became far more menacing at night and it worried him greatly that Georgiana was out there somewhere.

He was angry that Lady Catherine had refused to have Miss Bennet back at Rosings, but he was far angrier with himself. If he had not been so lax with Georgiana she would not have had the opportunity to run away. Georgiana had argued with him before she left, accusing him of not standing up to Lady Catherine and then of deliberately forcing Elizabeth out.

"Your dislike of her was apparent to everyone," Georgiana had snapped at him.

But in that, his sister had been wrong, very wrong indeed. He did not dislike Miss Bennet at all. In truth, he had begun to like her very much indeed. She was unlike any woman of his acquaintance and he was fascinated by her. His cheeks still blanched at the marriage proposal he had made to her. He had offered her the chance to have a good position in society and the opportunity to live in the best house in the whole of Derbyshire and yet she had turned it down. With time to reflect he had realised that his proposal had not only been ungentlemanly it must have caused Miss Bennet a great deal of hurt. It was little wonder she had reacted with such scorn. The look in her eyes were burned into his memory and had caused many sleepless nights. He wished he could withdraw the words but it was done. Although the future of Pemberley was becoming daily more pressing, finding his sister was now more important.

Darcy got off the coach several streets earlier than his destination. He was not familiar with that part of London and he had to ask a young woman for exact directions. He dropped a coin in her hand when she pointed out the house which was down an unlit street. He could see there was a weak light from inside. He banged on the door with his cane. He heard movement from inside and the door was suddenly opened by a maid. He saw the familiar figure of Mrs. Younge standing just beyond her. The maid tried to shut the door, but Darcy was too quick for her and with his foot and a bit of pressure the maid stepped back allowing him to enter the house.

"Mrs. Younge…"

The woman was furious. She pulled her shawl protectively about her shoulders. "Mr. Darcy, I must ask you to leave at once."

"Not until we have had the chance to talk," he said coolly.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said bitterly. "I lost my job and with no reference I have been unable to find a similar position."

"You were well compensated," said Darcy unsympathetically, "and it was more than you deserved."

Mrs. Younge shrank angrily away from him. "Get out, before I call for help and get you thrown out."

Mr. Darcy reached in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out some notes and put them on the table.

Mrs. Younge stared at them and then quickly reached out and tucked them inside her dress before he could change his mind.

Darcy looked at her contemptuously. How could he and Fitzwilliam have misjudged her character so much? He had always thought her innocent in Georgiana's failed elopement, but seeing how quickly she snatched up the money he was no longer sure.

"What do you want?" asked Mrs. Younge, sounding a little more conciliatory.

"Did Georgiana have any friends that I was unaware of?"

"Of course not. We led a very quiet life in Ramsgate."

"Are you certain? I thought she might have met some local ladies."

"Mr. Darcy, she did not. There was a lady she met who admired her drawing, but she was not a friend and she only saw her on two occasions on the promenade. Apart from myself and the servants she spoke to no one."

"Apart from Wickham."

Mrs. Younge pursed her lips. "I have nothing else to tell you," she said defensively. "You should go."

Mr. Darcy was desperate to leave. The aroma of food being cooked in another room hung in the air. It was all he could do to stop himself wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Have you heard from Georgiana at all?"

"No… not since I left your employ. Why are you asking these questions?"

Mr. Darcy did not want to explain. He did not trust Mrs. Younge.

She continued to stare at him with her small dark eyes and then her lip curled into a smirk. "Run away has she? "

Darcy glared at her. "That is none of your business."

He turned to go.

"I don't know why you asked me. It's Wickham you should be asking…"

Darcy turned around, his heart thumping hard. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't think giving him that money would be enough. He kept in touch with her."

The woman was preposterous. "That is not possible?"

Mrs. Younge laughed. "Yes it is, Mr. Darcy. You never could see what was going on under your nose."

Mr. Darcy didn't think he'd ever felt so angry. "Where is Wickham now…?"

"I have no idea. He did say something about getting married…"

Mr. Darcy pulled out a chair from the table and sat down.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mrs. Younge looked as if she was going to call her maid.

"You will tell me everything you know, because if you don't I shall call a constable and have you charged with fraud."

"You can't do that. I have done nothing wrong."

"Oh yes, you did. You encouraged Wickham to see Georgiana when she was only fifteen. Now shall I summon a constable?"

Mrs. Younge crumbled, and pulling out a chair, sat down opposite him, her eyes fearful.

"What do you want to know?" she asked.

"Everything."

Half an hour passed before Darcy left Mrs. Younge's home. His nostrils were full of the stench of her house and he tried to breath in some fresh air, but the smog and damp was not much better. What Mrs. Younge had to tell him made him furious, but he realised just how little he had known about his sister. This was his fault. He could see how his neglect had caused this unhappy situation. He only hoped it was not too late to prevent a disaster. Mrs. Younge had given him an address for Wickham though she admitted she didn't know if he was still there as she hadn't seen him for several weeks.

He caught another coach and travelled back across the river to Whitechapel. He was shocked by the decay and noise and feeling of violence in the air. He had paid what he thought was a satisfactory amount of money to Wickham to keep him away from Georgiana which should have allowed him to live in relative comfort for a while. He must have spent it all to be living in such a place.

Once again, he was forced to ask for directions, but after going down several wrong streets and almost getting tangled up on a street brawl when he knocked into a couple of men who were fighting, he found the place and knocked on the door with his cane. There was no light coming from any of the windows. He banged again. Nothing. "George Wickham," he shouted.

A head suddenly appeared from an upstairs window of the adjoining house.

"You looking for someone, sir?" asked a woman with her hair in tight rags.

"George Wickham, ma'am."

"Gone," said the woman, "and without paying his rent."

Darcy's heart sank. He was too late. How typical of Wickham to leave owing money. It was typical of him wherever he went. "Do you know where he is now?"

"No, sir… he left in a hurry."

"Is there anyone else who might know him around here?"

"No… we keep ourselves to ourselves."

Darcy was in despair.

"Sorry I can't help," said the woman, starting to close the shutters.

Darcy called out to her.

"Was Wickham here alone?"

"Mostly. Though he did have a young woman here recently…"

Darcy's grew cold. "What did she look like?"

"I never saw her properly." She suddenly turned and shouted at some unseen person in the room.

"Ma. Gentlemen here is asking about Wickham. Did you speak to the girl who was here a few days ago?"

Darcy never heard the reply, but waited patiently until the woman turned to him once again.

"She says she had brown hair and called herself Gloria or something,"

"And did the girl leave with him?"

"Don't know, sir, sorry. He just took off. None of us knew a thing until Mr. Kempton came to collect the rent and found he'd scarpered."

Darcy tipped his hat to the woman. It was clear the woman could give him no more useful information.

His heart ran cold. Was the woman Georgiana? If it was, he had no doubt Wickham would have whipped her off to Gretna Green by now and married her and Georgiana would be lost to him forever.