The sound of Wickham's name nearly had me crying in despair, until I heard the rest of it, looked at the burning parsonage, and felt light as a feather, ready to float away in the breeze. I could tell Elizabeth was concerned about how I would take the news, but she only needed a glance at my countenance to know that all was well.

The arrival of Jane and the rest of our assorted sisters along with Aunt Catherine (I had finally bowed to the inevitable and thought of her with that name… but 'inevitable' in this case had actually been about a week), I was back to feeling at my ease.

Yes, I was quite at my ease, perfectly comfortable, until of course, I realized where my hand was. I saw Jane assign Bennet sisters to look out for me with a few glances, and I found I did not mind. Considering that I did not appear to have complete control over my own hand, it seemed sensible and wise. Mr. Bingley was of course staring at Jane like a man dying in the desert staring at a distant river, but I doubt Jane noticed. She was as hardheaded as Lizzy when it came right down to it, but like her sister, I thought that if this man proved worthier than his previous actions had supposed, she may end up in a similar state.

Of course, since I had just witnessed quite possibly the oddest phrasing for a proposal in history, who knew what might come next. I was quite curious about what would happen with Mr. Bingley's story, and equally curious about what was wrong with my own hand. Now that I was aware of it, I thought I should just return it to where it properly belonged. Unfortunately, once I removed my hand from the crook of his arm, the rest of my arm turned traitorous, and my legs joined the rebellion. Somehow, a few seconds later I found I had wrapped my arm even tighter against Richard's arm and had stepped half a pace closer… practically touching.

It was the oddest thing, but it felt like some kind of fog was lifting from my mind for the first time in seemingly forever. The ever-present fear was gone in a puff of smoke… and in this case it was literal and not figurative as was usually the style. I was free to actually think for the first time in quite a while. I had always been a practical woman, uninterested in romance, wanting only a comfortable home. I had found a man that was willing to give me all of that and more after knowing me for less than an hour, and being well aware of my shame, and I had discarded him without a second thought, just because I was afraid. Now he knew the very worst thing about me, and yet, still he was here attached to my arm. I wondered how Lizzy had survived her year of fear, and how she had finally allowed her heart to be open to another; for make no mistake, she had given it to Fitzwilliam freely and without reservations right in front of my eyes.

Their story might give me a lesson, because I had heard it all, beginning to end… except for the one hidden part that she would share with none other… except I doubted very much that Fitzwilliam did not know it. For them, nothing had ever been easy. Nothing had ever been proper. Nothing had ever been affectionate, or nice, or cordial or any feeling that could lead to love, except that it had. Fitzwilliam was a good man who took care of her sisters when he did not have to, but I was quite convinced she had given her heart to him well before the attack. Nothing else would explain her bizarre behavior during that very odd week. She was in love, and simply would not admit it to herself. There was no need to overcomplicate things. It was as simple as that.

Richard, who had somehow became Richard in the last half hour noticed the change of my hand, but wisely said nothing. He somewhat unwisely reached over and covered the hand on his arm with his own, but I thought I had given him provocation enough to not be alarmed by it. In fact, I found it comforting. My sisters had been telling me relentlessly for months that he was worthy and I should give him a chance, so while all attention was focused on Mr. Bingley, I whispered so softly only he could hear, "I am sorry."

He looked at me carefully, and said, "You have nothing to apologize for. Give me time and I shall provoke something worthy of an apology for the ages, but to date, nothing you have done merits it."

Perhaps I had spent too much time in Lizzy's company, but I said, "If we argue about this apology for much longer, we will work our way up to needing a real one."

He just laughed at that, squeezed my hand tighter, and we returned our attention to Mr. Bingley, but I found both the laugh and the squeeze… comforting.

Ever the taskmaster, Jane said, "Pray continue, Char… Mr. Bingley."

She looked embarrassed at the slip, but he did not. He began his story.

"Well, you see, I am here because I brought Wickham to kill you Darcy."

We all gasped in surprise, and he realized what he said in something of a panic, "Not to actually kill you, of course. I had letters I thought were from you, asking me to hunt him out and bring him here at a specific date and time, so I thought I was following instructions. He was deucedly hard to find."

This was hardly an explanation, and everyone started talking at once, and it took Jane's command voice to calm us all down.

Jane asked, "Where did you actually find him?"

He replied casually, "St. Giles eventually. He is the sort of man you have to hunt like a chicken hunts a fox. I had to set myself up as tempting bait and let him find me."

Richard and Fitzwilliam gasped, "St. Giles!", but of course the rest of us had never heard of the place. It took a couple of minutes for the description to sink in, and I had to look at Mr. Bingley with a newfound sense of appreciation and respect. It was not a place a gentleman like him went without some considerable risk to both life and limb. In fact, it was a place a rich gentleman like him did not go at all… ever.

Jane asked, "Is that where you got that old bruise on your face, or the damaged left leg, or that sore right shoulder?"

So, she was not so completely indifferent to the man after all, apparently.

He said, "Not at all, that was in the rookery before that one… I think, or perhaps the third one. I cannot recall the exact place anymore. It has been a couple of months."

So, he had been hunting Wickham in the worst rookeries in London for months, not days. That was fascinating, and I could feel Richard tensing up more and more as the story continued, so I squeezed his arm to calm him down. Where I got the instinct, I have no idea.

That unleashed a torrent of questions, with Bingley simply telling every new facet of the story with a matter of fact nonchalance as if he were describing the most recent ball or race, and every new question generated an even more startling new answer.

Richard finally asked, "A rich man like you in that place must have been a very tempting target. How did you do it?"

Mr. Bingley just laughed and said, "Oh, I was not rich at the time. I sold my townhouse, and let it generally be known that I was on my way down. Rumors like that are frightfully easy to spread. Oh, and I may have pretended to be a drunk and an opium eater in the process. And of course, I had Stockton to teach me the tricks, so it was all quite simple really."

Jane just stared at him in stunned disbelief, as we all were doing. Sold his townhouse! Destroyed his reputation! Opium eater! There was no place you could even take ahold of that narrative to begin.

Jane finally asked, "Did this mysterious letter writer tell you all this? Tell you the details of how to accomplish the task? He sounds like… well, I do not what he sounds like… either heartless and cruel; or a genius; or both."

Mr. Bingley just grinned, but it seemed to have more substance than what we had seen last year in Hertfordshire, and he said, "Not instructions per-se. Just a few guess about where he would hide and some things to motivate me…"

He stopped in consternation about what he might say, so I prompted him, "Pray continue, Mr. Bingley. I shall not be distressed, and then pointedly looked up at the smoke still billowing into the sky."

He stared at me for a moment, and he said, "The letters told of… a supposition of what happened with you Miss Lucas."

I looked at him carefully, and with true respect and said, "The suppositions were correct. I owe you my thanks, Mr. Bingley. I owe you a life without fear, and I shan't forget it."

Richard somewhat surprisingly added, "And mine, Bingley. You have my respect as well. I would have been afraid to go there by myself looking for him."

Richard just snorted at that. He knew what he was about, and I determined I would learn more about the particular risks Mr. Bingley had endured for our sake… but then stopped and stared at him. How had that thought flitted so easily through my mind? That I would be having a private conversation with him, and that I did not mind the idea. Perhaps Lizzy was not the only stubborn one who spent all her time arguing with herself in a hopeless match.

Fitzwilliam added, "I owe you as well Bingley. I had a dozen men hunting him with nothing to show for it, and I frankly would not have known where to begin."

Mr. Bingley seemed uncomfortable with the praise, and said, "I was not alone. I had Stockton. You could not have done it Darcy. It required a new money man on his way down. It was my task. There was also…"

Mr. Bingley looked even more sheepish, and then stared pointedly at Elizabeth, until she said, "You knew?"

He simply nodded. There was not need to enunciate what he knew, and I saw Lizzy, quite unable to actually speak, just mouth the words, "Thank you."

The exchange was not lost on Jane, and she looked at him with… what she probably did not quite realize was a proprietary look of her own.

Jane finally, asked, "So if it was not Mr. Darcy that set you on this path, who was it?"

Mr. Bingley looked uncomfortable with that, paused at least half a minute, and finally said, "Before I tell you that, I must tell you that this person sent me off on a hopeless chase, and would have been happy for either myself or Wickham to come to harm… for good reason. This person held Wickham at gunpoint, then locked him in a cellar with Mr. Collins and oddly enough two fire irons, and let them engage in a peculiar sort of 'sport' until they reached the inevitable conclusion, while this person sat and had tea with me listening to the mayhem with hardly a concern in the world. This person then deliberately encouraged the fire you see behind you. This person is an implacable and formidable person, although possibly a bit heartless as well. Are you certain you want to know?"

Jane stared at him for a moment, wondering if she truly wanted to know someone who could do something at the same time so noble and so heartless; so wonderful and so terrible; so valorous and so despicable. She finally said, "May I presume you are not intending to disappear again?"

He just said, "No, I am not!" with a finality that I admired.

Jane nodded, seemingly not in the least perturbed by the assertion, and said, "Then I should like to know."

Mr. Bingley looked around at all of us. The drivers and groomsmen had returned to the coach and taken it well out of earshot, so it was just those of us intimately involved.

He finally shook himself and said, "Mrs. Bennet sends her regards."