PP Non-Canon General Regency

A Gentleman's Choice

Sequel to Making Peace

Previously:

"Why not?"

"Because Lady Shaw has high connections to Parliament and she has helped many women; if woman who is wanting to get back on her feet and, for whatever reason, does not wish to be found, then that woman is not found -even an ex-drunk like me knows that."

Mr. Walton Makes Inquiries

Ch. 7

It was one of the hotter days in England, almost seventy degrees, and sweat rolled down Mr. Walton's face, as it did Mr. Darcy's, as they rode in one of the Darcy's carriages heading out of London. Fitzwilliam had been doing business in London when the solicitor had begged him to join him on the trip up north, explaining why he was going and why he needed Elizabeth's husband to go with him. "I need someone capable of keeping their mouth shut, has no need to mingle with others, and can keep their eyes wide open."

Mr. Darcy had then consented and sent his wife on home with some friends before climbing into Mr. Walton's carriage. Neither one of the men had talked for a good five miles and heard no noise until a horse's pounding hooves could be heard drawing close. Ordering his coach to stop, Mr. Walton leaned out and was somewhat surprised to see a young man about twenty handing him a sealed piece of paper.

"I was ordered by a Mr. James Hurst to find you and deliver this post to you. Said you needed to see this before you got to Wetherby."

Mr. Walton took the post and did not watch the young man ride away. Breaking the seal, Steven unfolded the paper, his mouth turning somewhat downward. His action caused Fitzwilliam to speak up as he too had ignored the messenger as he had made his departure.

"Is something wrong?"

"No and yes."

"There were two bodies in that area of water, not one. Charles Gibson was one of them; Mr. Hurst identified him. Says Bruce Kent is alive and repented of his ways."

"The second body?" Fitzwilliam figured the frown had to have something to do with him.

"We still have no idea. Besides George Wickham, there is still another missing man by the name of John Corby. Mr. Hurst says he has been given conflicting information in regard to the gentleman. Some say he was never military; some say he was. Guess he is trying to get answers, as is His Grace. What my instincts tell me made me frown and, I willingly admit, I did not like what came to my mind."

"If I may be so bold as to ask, what do you think the scenario may be?"

"Mr. Darcy, I would gladly tell you, only…" sighed Mr. Walton. "I promised both the duke and Mr. Hurst if I suspected anything I would tell them first—they are nowhere around. And, before we can even go to Wetherby, I have to swing by York first. I am meeting with a gentleman I have met before. He is supposed to have met all four men and knew them all quite well. Hopefully, he is able to fill in some gaps others cannot."

"I understand."

The carriage rolled steadily along the dusty road, leaving behind the bustling streets of London. The early August sun hung high in the sky, casting its rich golden paint over the landscape. Fields of ripening wheat stretched out on either side, their golden heads would have swayed gently in the warm breeze—had there been any. Occasionally, the road would pass through small villages, where children played in the streets and women could be seen hanging out their wet laundry to dry.

As they traveled further north, the scenery around them began to change. The flat fields gave way to soft, gentle, rolling hills, dotted with patches of woodland. The trees provided a much welcome respite from the relentless sun to the two gentlemen in the coach. The trees' leaves rustling softly in the wind was quite soothing to Steven's mind, which needed relaxing at the moment—he really had been working extremely hard the past week. Birds flew from branch to branch, their songs mingling with the creaking of the carriage wheels and the whistling of the driver who really could not do the job very well, nor very loud. However, in his mind's eye it was better than remaining completely quiet.

The road was lined with hedgerows, thick with summer growth. Wildflowers bloomed in abundance, with a few breaks here and there. It was refreshing to see splashes of color in addition to the plain green landscape. Occasionally, they would pass a large estate, its lawns meticulously kept, visible through the trees. The sight of these grand homes served as a reminder of the wealth and privilege that defined the lives of men like Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Walton, though well-off as a solicitor and living nowhere near in shambles, did not share the same level of wealth. His carriage, quite comfortable, lacked the beauty and shine of Mr. Darcy's. As the afternoon wore on, the heat became more than a bit oppressive. The sun beat down without mercy, and the air was thick with the scent of warm earth and blooming flowers. Sweat trickled down Mr. Walton's face, and he wiped it away with a handkerchief. Mr. Darcy, too, felt the heat, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back.

Despite the high discomfort, their journey continued onward. The road wound its way through the countryside, past fields and forests, villages and other well-known estates. The landscape was a patchwork of green and gold, almost as if giving a personal witness to Mr. Walton and his friend of the beauty of the English countryside in summer.

"What kind of ethics does this gentleman you are going to see have?" Mr. Darcy asked more out of wondering if their time was going to be wasted or not and said as much.

"Mr. Thompson may be known for being a bit stubborn, and strong-willed, I will admit." Mr. Walton grinned. "I have had the… privilege… of having him on the witness stand before. However, for as… tactless as the man was, he shot straight. Made the prosecutor as mad as a hornet in a bonnet, and I thought for sure the bonnet was going to fly off in a fit of rage and land straight on the judge's gavel."

The two spoke no more until they pulled up to a blacksmith's shop. A broad-shouldered, barreled-chested man, with hair down to the bottom of his collar and a full-beard that was kept off his neck. The man was pounding away at a horseshoe and glanced up at Mr. Walton and Mr. Darcy as they walked in. "Whatever you two want, the answer is no." He swung the hammer back down, hitting the metal shoe.

"I have not asked my questions yet. And you do not even know who my friend is."

"Last time you came here I ended up in court answering some idiot's questions."

"No argument there." Steven laughed; the other lawyer really did need to get into another line of work and willingly—and openly—admitted it. "However, I really do seriously need your cooperation. I have been asked to help out on an extremely serious case. And you really are my best bet on getting answers."

"Oh, what a fortunate man I am." Mr. Thompson did not even bother hiding any sarcastic tone from jumping out. "How many judges get to offer to threaten to toss me out on my ear this time?"

"None, I hope. I honestly—at this point—see no reason you would be needed to testify to anything, unless you are stupid enough to be doing business with a John Corby or George Wickham."

"No, I did not do work for, or with, either one of those men." Mr. Thompson spoke as he finished smoothing out the sharp edges and applying a final polish, and carefully inspected the horseshoe one last time before adding it to the neatly stacked pile of finished products. "But why ask me about them? I have not seen either one of those men for over three years."

Mr. Walton explained about the mixed reports about John Corby. He also explained about the rumors, about the two corpses and what had—or had not—been figured out so far. The solicitor then explained they were hoping Mr. Thompson could tell Mr. Darcy and Mr. Walton if either one of those men had changed their ways.

"Depends on what their ways were when you knew them." Mr. Thompson was given a rundown on John and George's personalities and the man rubbed his chin. "As to John Corby, he was not half-so bad when he was younger. Had quite the potential. Used to come in all the time and help me. And, yes, he joined the military. So, why some are saying he did not is beyond me. Maybe, it was one of those 'you are in but if something happens, we are going to deny knowing it' type things." Mr. Thompson then shook his head. "Last time I saw him though, he would not look me straight in the eye. Kept avoiding my questions. And the crowd he was running around did not seem all the good, rotten values if you ask me."

"It sure would explain why the duke is having such a hard time getting answers on Mr. Corby." Mr. Walton then asked about Ensign Wickham. "What about him?"

"That boy was just plain bad news, I am sorry but he was. As to his wife, in the end- before she disappeared into the night- I admired that young woman. Though, I will openly admit I did not know what she was like when they first married other than what I have been told."

"And what was that?"

"That Mrs. Wickham was a spirited and impulsive young woman, known for her lively and flirtatious nature. That she often acted without stopping to consider the consequences, almost as if driven by a desire for excitement and a life of adventure."

"She was," Mr. Darcy replied only because Mr. Walton looked his way. "So, why did you admire her?"

"Some women I know take years to wake up, or do not wake up at all. Some of them do not ever hold the ability to see beyond the end of their nose. But that one? I listened to her the couple times she was around me and people were selling her short because of her humor. Mrs. Wickham had a very sharp intelligence behind any lively demeanor, and she had a knack for observing the subtleties of human behavior. She woke up."

"What makes you say that?"

"We had a town social once and, I hung back as normal—mostly go for the food. A young girl was sitting in a chair and people—by the way they talked—seemed to think she was enjoying herself. I could tell, by the way her hands were twitching in her lap—though she was fighting to keep them hidden—she was not. Mrs. Wickham, just as I had opted to go see what was wrong, went over, sat down and soon had that young lady relaxed and laughing. There was one other time something similar happened, did not matter what, but she gave aid when others missed it was needed. And, when asked a hard question- the lady did not lie. However, that rat well, never mind...let us just say soon his wife was gone and it was not long afterwards he was too." Mr. Thompson shook his head. "Always wondered what happened to her."

"Word is Lady Shaw took her under her wing. But did you just say she fled first?"

"Yes, I did. As to what you just said yourself, it would not surprise me. Used to take women like that into her house all the time. Help them get on their feet. Start over, get new -respectable-life. A few have even married men with titles. Not men like me halfway to forty a diary farmer who comes and does blacksmithing a few hours a day. However, I doubt she is there now. Personally, I would go talk to Lady Morgan before bothering Lady Shaw."

"Why?"

"She stopped about nine months ago, had her hands full trying to help her brother turn his life around. Women started going elsewhere; just do not ask me where, probably Lady Morgan. Nonetheless, neither one of those women are talkers."