The Plan- First Meeting

The small group huddled together, their heads almost touching. Although they had no suspicions of the servants, it was always possible an inadvertent word, reaching the wrong ears, could cause the best laid plans to fail.

Lizzie handed Wilkinson the latest letter from Lydia. He took a small magnifying glass from his pocket and studied it closely. "It is a forgery," he finally pronounced. "How can you be sure?" Lizzie asked. "You have never seen my sister's handwriting, surely."

He handed her the small glass and the letter. "Look at all the letters that swirl," he said "You will notice with the help of the glass tiny breaks in the flow of the line. These are called hesitation marks. When you write, the pen flows through these curves. Someone copying your writing cannot imitate exactly the flow and must stop and start again to make sure they don't make the curve of the 'f' too full. Or, the 's'… too narrow. It is these hesitations that reveal the forgery to the trained eye. Since my son reports that Wickham has deserted his regiment, apparently on the fear that they are to cross to France to join the battles against Bonaparte, either he forged these letters before he left, or someone at the camp is doing so now."

Linzie chewed her lip thoughtfully. "If he forged them before he fled, then who is it that is sending the letters? He must have a confederate in the regiment, for they bear the markings of the regiment's postal service."

Wilkinson thought for a moment. "I fear we must send my son back to the regiment, though perhaps with slightly less urgency and speed. He must arrange with my cousin to watch and make inquiries as to who is posting these letters. If we discover that… well, they will have someone to question and perhaps shed light on exactly what is going on with Wickham and your sister. He may have fled and taken her with him to some unknown place where he can hide while his regiment searches for a deserter."

Lizzie nodded thoughtfully, then took out her reticule and placed a handful of money and presented it to Wilkinson. "Use this as you see fit and let me know when more is needed. And certainly include a 'bonus' for your son whose work is beyond any normal requirements of his employment."

"Believe me, Mrs. Darcy, he is enjoying every moment of it. But even the young must rest and eat, so I recommend one or two days recuperation before he sets out again." Lizzie nodded her agreement, distractedly, her mind busy with the calculations of the fate of her sister. She finally forced herself to stop thinking, for none of her conclusions ended well for Lydia.

The Plan - second meeting

"I'm sorry, MadameDarcy, but it is almost certain your sister is dead, murdered by her husband, George Wickham."

Darcy ground his teeth in silent rage, even while reaching for his wife's hand to comfort her. Lizzie stifled a sob, as she shook her head sadly. "Is there any real evidence?" Darcy finally asked. "Or is it an assumption?" Wilkinson shook his head. "Once it became clear that Wickham had deserted, his lodgings were searched scrupulously. It was in this search that there was discovered blood and hair on a corner of a bureau. It was a woman's hair, the base surgeon pronounced. The same color as his wife's. Also in the cleaning of the lodgings to prepare for their reassignment to another officer, one of the workers noticed a board in the wall was loose. When repairs were being made, this was found hidden in the wall behind the board that had been pried away." He drew a small reticule from inside the breast of his jacket. It was silver and covered with gold beading. Lizzie gave a gasp and reached a shaking hand towards it. "It was Lizzie[U2]'s," she pronounced. "Jane and I bought three identical reticules from a London jeweler." She drew her own out to show the men that hers was a twin to what Wilkinson held. "Jane, and I decided to give Lizzie this as a gift last Christmas… so she could have at least one nice thing in her isolation in Newcastle." She was quiet for a moment. "It is clear to me that it was a mistake to gift her of such an item, clearly worth a significant amount of money. Hidden in the wall," she mused. "Hidden from her husband who would have turned it into money for his gambling. I can imagine he demanded she reveal where she had hidden it. Her stubbornness in keeping its hiding place a secret may be what provoked the violence that led to the savage blow that ended her life." She was silent another moment. "It may well be it was not the danger of battle threatened by the regiment's move to join forces against Bonaparte, but the murder of his wife that caused Wickham to desert. Once people realized she had disappeared, questions would have arisen he could not answer."

Both men nodded, agreeing with her logic. Wilkinson said, "It may well be the confederate who is mailing the letters to your family knows more of the matter. When he is identified, he will be questioned. It may yet be possible for you and your family to properly grieve and provide a decent burial for your sister."

Lizzie nodded, unable to trust her voice to keep from breaking in her anguish. Finally, she was able to continue her line of reasoning. "It was almost a certainty that she was dead when the forged letters started appearing. Wickham wanted us to believe she was still alive so he would have the time to set his plans in motion for the destruction of my husband and all of us who love him. Even if we learned of his desertion from his regiment, we would assume he fled the field of battle rather than face the French, taking his wife with him. But it had nothing to do with the French. It was all about his need to flee before his foul deed was discovered… that and his hatred of his childhood friend."

There was another period of silence as emotions and thoughts crowded together and left no clear conclusions to express. Finally, Wilkinson cleared his throat. "What I'm not sure I understand is… what is his plan? Why not just go after you, Sir, and attempt an assassination? Why kill the girl and leave the button? And where does the button come from, anyway?"

"It is not just my death he desires, but my public humiliation and the loss of everything my family represents… honor… public esteem… wealth. To kill me means only that I am dead. To destroy me before I am executed is the ultimate satisfaction he craves. He wants to see me dragged through the pig's mire before I am hung. As to the buttons, when we were lads at school our jackets had buttons overlaid with gold on which was stamped the Pemberley crest. George realized they were a source of money for his gambling. After we had finished our studies and no longer wore the uniforms, he cut off all the buttons from our jackets, peeled off the gold to convert into coin, but clearly kept one or more for some later evil intent, such we see here."

"And that evil intent of his is what must dictate our plans," Lizzy said firmly. ""He must think he is succeeding. Therefore, my dear, you must be arrested. We will arrange for you to sit in gaol in your uncle Matlock's home for his crime, even to suffering the humiliation of a trial." All eyes widened in astonishment at her words. She forestalled their protests by raising a slim hand.

"Listen!" she said in a sharp voice that stifled every protest. "We don't know where he is, nor what disguise he has assumed. If Mr. Darcy produces the evidence at once that he was elsewhere at the time of the murder of that poor girl, Wickham's plans are foiled and he changes his tactics… perhaps to murdering me… Miss Georgiana… my family… who can say what that evil mind is conjuring?"

"But why will he not do those abominations while I am sitting in goal?" her husband asked, frowning.

"Because then, my dear, he reveals himself. At this point he believes we do not know he is here and not with his regiment. Hence the letters to continue the subterfuge that all is well with him and poor Lydia," She choked on the name of her sister.

"The moment he realizes we are aware of him, he changes tactics and seeks to kill as many of us as he can. We must let his plans play out until we can find him and destroy him for his crimes," she declared in ringing tones.

Again there was silence as all mulled the good sense of her words. Finally, Wilkinson spoke. "Thief Takers," he said, solemnly. They looked him. "Thief Takers?" Lizzy repeated with a questioning tone.

"Nothing you would know about in your sheltered life, Ma'am," Wilkinson said. "But there are some thief takers… themselves hardly better than the rogues they pursue for reward… who can sniff out people trying to hide from justice. They can be expensive, but while his Lordship is sitting under guard awaiting his trial, the thief takers will be searching all the places where Wickham might be hiding."

Elizabeth nodded her head slowly. A thief taker! Now she recalled hearing about such people in stories to scare children! But… perhaps just the type of person needed to deal with a George Wickham, the worst scoundrel she had ever met in her life!

"'Where might Wickham be hiding'" Darcy repeated. "That could be all of England!"

"Not so, my Lord. A man like him needs drink, cards, and a place to enjoy his revenge close to hand. He will be where he can watch his scheme unfolding, as he planned."

"And you know such people?" Elizabeth asked, marveling at the depths of the man she had only ever thought of as their coachman.

"All too well, I am afraid. But if you would eat roast pork, you must endure the filth of the sty!" He reflected for a moment in silence, as though judging whether to say more. Nodding slightly to himself, he continued. "After my years in the military, (which was mostly in espionage) I used my training to become a thief taker for a number of years. Indeed I was for a while 'The Thief Taker' with a dozen underlings, and rivals who hated my success. Even Royalty employed our services. All went well for a number of years until I caught a highway man's bullet in my leg. Before I could get to a physician, it festered and I ended up losing the leg to the cutter's blade. Mr. Darcy's father was looking for a man with certain skills such as I had developed. My wooden leg did not hamper me because he was looking for advice on matters of security for the estate and property. He felt my experience was important enough for him to employ me as a coachman."

He frowned, before continuing. "The problem is we'll being sending the thief takers forth with just a name. By asking for Wickham, if he should hear of it, he will be alerted that we're on to his scheme."

Elizabeth smiled grimly. "Without knowing about 'Thief Takers', I did anticipate sending some men out to search for Wickham and realizing the difficulty you just described, I had these done."

She opened her reticule and drew out several small plaques, handing them to Wilkinson. "My childhood friend, Charlotte Collins, is a talented artist. At Pemberley I found a portrait of Wickham as a young man. I asked her to copy this portrait on some small porcelain plaques, aging him a couple of decades. Thus, our agents can show them around to find the man even if he should be using a pseudonym as a caution."

Wilkinson and Darcy looked at each other; the latter smiling. "You see why I married her? The most intelligent woman in Britain will be the mother of my heir," he said, proudly. Lizzie flushed, and her hand went involuntarily to her swelling belly. Wilkinson nodded, thoughtfully. "With such portraits in hand, the thief takers will have an easier job, although still a difficult one. I did not exaggerate when I mentioned 'expensive'. Nothing less than a thousand pounds will be needed."

Darcy flinched, but his wife waved a slender, dismissive, hand. "I assure you, Wilkinson," she pronounced solemnly, "I place a much higher value on my dear husband's life than a mere thousand pounds… or even many times more than that!"

"Then our path forward is clear," their coachman pronounced solemnly. "I will approach the current head of the Thief Takers in London. He will know the best of his men for this type of work. Meanwhile, we will make fortresses of Pemberley and Longbourn."

"But it must be done quietly and without alarming the servants, Miss Georgiana, my mother and sisters," Elizabeth interjected. "Particularly my mother and sisters must remain ignorant of our suspicions and safeguards, or their shrieks of alarm will be heard from here to London!"