Darcy in Want of a Wife

Chapter 10

Mr. Harding’s House

Meryton

Later

Darcy had never been in a sponging house before, but he had heard about them; based on the rumors, George Wickham was relatively fortunate. The house was a neat brick one, all on one floor, with one main living area, a kitchen area, and three bedchambers that ran across the back of the house. The room which served as a temporary prison for Wickham was small, but it was neat and clean, provided with a mattress and even a pillow. The windows had been bricked up to prevent escaping, so the room was dim, but there was one tallow candle so that Wickham would not be entirely in the dark.

Darcy guessed that it was rare for the citizens of Meryton to be locked up for debt, and thus Mr. Harding, who served as bailiff for the local magistrate, rarely found himself forced to imprison men in what had probably once been his spare bedrooms.

Darcy was thankful that the magistrate, Sir William Lucas, had not protested when approached about taking Wickham into custody. Sir William was a genial man, but he had, before his knighthood, been in trade. He, more than most of the gentry, was aware of how badly it would affect the local merchants and shopkeepers if the militia officers ran up debts and did not pay them.

“I am indeed most grateful to you both, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley,” Sir William said, glowering through the open door at Wickham, who was standing against the wall of his room looking dazed. “I hope that this will be a warning to the other militia officers; if they leave Meryton without paying their debts, this too might be their fate!”

“Thank you, Sir William,” Bingley said and then turned toward Mr. Harding, a tall, grave man of some fifty years, a widower whose children were already grown and married. “Mr. Harding, I will send some servants over to help guard Mr. Wickham tonight.”

“You do not think he will be violent, surely?” Sir William demanded.

“I do not think so,” Darcy said, “but he is desperate, and I am not completely certain. Moreover, he has quite the silver tongue.”

He noted Harding’s offended expression and said, “It would make me feel more at ease, sir; Wickham has been plaguing my family for many years.”

“As you like, then,” Harding said gruffly, “your men can use the other bedchamber to rest.”

“Thank you,” Bingley said gratefully. He turned to Sir William and said, “Can I bring you home to Lucas Lodge in my carriage?”

“That would be very kind of you, sir.”

“I will stay here until your servants arrive,” Darcy said quietly. Bingley looked startled, but then, at his friend’s nod, declared, “Of course, Darcy. My people should be along within an hour or two. Until later.”

Darcy lifted a hand in farewell and waited until his friend and Sir William had departed, whereupon he turned and said to Mr. Harding, “I will pay for Wickham’s meals tonight and tomorrow.”

Harding raised startled eyebrows. “That is generous of you, sir.”

“Would you be kind enough to have a meal prepared for him now?”

Harding looked first at Darcy, then at Wickham, and nodded. “Yes, sir. I will give instructions to my maid, and then I will be in my office, which is a small room next to the kitchen. If you need me, call.”

“Thank you.”

Darcy waited until the man had disappeared into the kitchen and then turned a rather uncomfortable stare on Wickham. He was not afraid of his old friend, now enemy, whose elegant hands and fine features spoke of a life of ease. Indeed, Darcy could detect a slight rounding of Wickham’s face, doubtless due to the copious quantities of food and drink he had been consuming since his time in Meryton. Even when they were boys, Darcy had been taller and stronger than Wickham. He had never used that strength to physically beat on his father’s godson, as it would not have been a gentlemanly thing to do, but he could have.

“I never thought that you would betray your father’s memory in such a way,” Wickham blurted.

Any wayward and unreasonable sympathy in Darcy’s breast gave way to prompt outrage. He took a step into Wickham’s room, which provoked the shorter man to retreat a nervous step of his own.

“Do not speak of my father,” he said icily. “He never knew what you were, what you have done – the gambling, the philandering, the ruined women.”

Wickham, whose face was pale and lips trembling, said, “If you are so outraged by my behavior, why now? You have never made any fuss before about my debts. Indeed, when Georgiana and I were…”

“Do not speak of her,” Darcy growled. “As for why I have not stopped you before, I hesitated because my father genuinely loved you and long ago we were friends. As for why now, it is Bingley who has brought about your doom, though I assisted him with alacrity.”

“Bingley!” Wickham snorted. “Do not be absurd! Your friend is far too congenial a man to buy up all my debts if you were not behind it, my old enemy!”

“Bingley is now master of Netherfield, and as a man whose fortune derives from trade, he knows more than I do about how men like you can devastate the financial well-being of the lower classes! You ran through four thousand pounds in four years and left hundreds of pounds of debts in Lambton, which I paid. I have no doubt that you also left debts in London. You have no shame over using others for your own pleasure, and Bingley decided, very sensibly, that such a man would bring hardship to the people of this little town where he is now a principal landowner.”

Wickham scowled hideously, and for a minute, the two men were silent.

“Darcy,” the prisoner said suddenly, and now his voice was pleading, “please do not do this! I cannot survive Marshalsea, you know that!”

“Others do,” Darcy said coolly, though his chest hurt a little. It was genuinely painful to take this step.

“But thanks to your father, I was raised as a gentleman’s son! I was raised to expect more than the life of a steward…”

“But you are a steward’s son,” Darcy said harshly. “You are intelligent and charming and well educated, and you have used your gifts to cheat and harm others. Enough, Wickham!”

“Darcy, please! We were friends. Georgiana would not…”

“Do not mention Miss Darcy,” Darcy interrupted angrily. He took a deep breath and said, “I am sorry that it came to this, Wickham, but your many poor decisions have come back to exact a price. It is time for you to be in a place where you cannot harm others.”

He retreated out of the room, shut the door after him, and locked it, ignoring his old playmate’s calls. “Darcy! Darcy! Darcy!”

Darcy left Wickham and his holding cell behind, stepped into the main area of Mr. Harding’s house and lowered himself onto a couch. He let his head slump into his hands for a moment and released a weary sigh. Though he knew that Wickham deserved this and more, that did not make this situation any easier.

Darcy lifted his head at the sound of footsteps and sat up straight as Mr. Harding passed through the room with a plate of prepared food. Cold beef and bread, certainly far less grand than the fare that Wickham was accustomed to, but it would fill his belly regardless.

Wickham was silent as the door was unlocked, and Mr. Harding entered for just long enough to place the plate within before leaving again, locking the door up tight. Darcy’s gaze tracked him as he walked into the common area, having left the key in the outside of the lock.

“Can I offer you a light, sir?” Harding asked him.

Darcy shook his head. “I thank you, but no. I will not trouble you, as I will be leaving shortly.”

Mr. Harding nodded. “Then I will return to my office. Goodnight, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy returned his farewells, and Mr. Harding left the room once more.

The room was cold, and Darcy fetched his gloves from his coat pocket and put them on. He was looking forward to the warm glow of Netherfield, and his good friend’s company, but could not bring himself to leave Mr. Harding’s residence just yet, not without Bingley’s servants here to watch over the rogue. It was absurd, really. The door was locked from the outside, and Wickham had no experience in picking locks, but the man had caused so much trouble in his lifetime; Darcy would not feel at ease until he was certain that Bingley’s men were watching over Wickham.

Abruptly, the hinges on the front door creaked loudly, and Darcy looked up in anticipation of the servants from Netherfield entering the house. Instead, he was treated to the sight of a tall, feminine form carrying a lantern, who stepped inside the house and shut the door quietly behind her. Darcy sat in the far corner, frozen in astonishment. Who on earth could it be at this time of night?

The lantern swung to light up the intruder’s face, and Darcy was shocked to recognize the youngest of the Bennet daughters, Miss Lydia. He said nothing as she began to approach Wickham’s cell, wishing to understand her purpose before intervening.

“Mr. Wickham! Mr. Wickham!” Lydia called out softly, setting the lantern down.

There was a rustle from behind the door, and Wickham cried out, “Who is it? What do you want?”

“It is Lydia Bennet, Wickham! I am here to rescue you! I have some money, and we can run away together and…”

Before she could speak further, Darcy seized her around her shoulders with one arm and clamped his remaining hand over her mouth. Lydia emitted a muffled cry, struggling and attempting to bite, but the leather gloves that he wore kept her from doing any damage. He dragged her away from Wickham’s cell and to the kitchen door, pushing through it and releasing her inside. The room was lit by a candle and the light of the moon, and Darcy blocked her escape as Lydia whirled about to face him.

“What are you doing, Miss Lydia?” he demanded.

Lydia stared at him in terror, which transformed, a few seconds later, to outrage. “Mr. Darcy! How dare you manhandle me in such a way! I have a good mind to tell my father that…”

“Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Harper exclaimed, and both Lydia and Darcy turned as another door opened wide, a door which led into a small room with white plaster walls and a simple wooden desk, on which sat a candelabra with five candles burning. Based on the smell, they were tallow candles, but they lit up Mr. Harper’s office well, and the light spilled into the kitchen to fall on Lydia Bennet, dressed warmly in a woolen pelisse and hat, and Darcy, who was panting a little with the effort of hauling a tall, strong young woman into the kitchen.

“Mr. Harper,” Darcy said, forcing himself to speak steadily. “I fear we have a difficult, and delicate, situation here. Miss Lydia Bennet just attempted to free Mr. Wickham from his room.”

Harper stared at Darcy incredulously, and then at Miss Lydia.

“She what ?”

“I tried to free Mr. Wickham!” Lydia said shrilly. “It is not fair! None of this fair! Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are very wealthy! Mr. Wickham is the most wonderful man I have ever met, and for him to be sent away to debtors’ prison merely because…”

At this moment, a voice from the main living area called out, “Mr. Darcy, sir, are you here?”

Darcy froze for a second and then lurched forward to place a warning hand on Lydia Bennet’s mouth.

“Be silent,” he ordered sternly. “You and your family’s reputation will be permanently besmirched if it gets out that you attempted to free a prisoner and a debtor.”

“Indeed, it will,” Mr. Harding said, looking anxiously toward the front room as another call rang out for Mr. Darcy.

“Harding, take Miss Lydia out the back door of the kitchen,” Darcy ordered. “I will deal with Bingley’s servants and then escort Miss Lydia to Longbourn. Can I trust you to keep this quiet?”

“Of course, sir,” Harding agreed.