Page 72 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)
Among Mrs. Younge’s many accomplishments was a fluent command of the French tongue. She had learned the language from both an early governess and her husband, whose mother was a Frenchwoman, and thus her vocabulary was far ranging. She found herself dredging her mind for the most evocative of curses, which tripped off her tongue in a most satisfactory manner.
“When did you last see the letters?” Wickham demanded harshly. He was pacing the parlor, his hands clutching frantically at his handsome locks.
“It has been weeks,” the woman admitted. “It did not even occur to me…”
She trailed off and began swearing again. This was a catastrophe; not only were Miss Darcy’s letters gone, but her forged references, which she had intended to use if she failed in making a living from the boarding house.
Silence fell between them for another few minutes, and then Wickham halted and turned to face Mrs. Younge directly. “There is but one thing to do, then. I must marry my heiress at once. I will need your help.”
His former conspirator rose to her feet and scowled at him in confusion. “What are you speaking of, Wickham? What heiress?”
Wickham shrugged elaborately. “It matters not her name. It is enough that she is of age and inheritor of a substantial fortune, and of course she quite adores me.”
Mrs. Younge growled and marched toward the kitchen to finish the bread for dinner. “If she is in love with you, then you have no need for me.”
Wickham followed her, adopting a wheedling tone, “My dear Dorothea, while the lady is very much enamored, she is unlikely to consent to an elopement without a female along for propriety’s sake. You are a respectable, charming woman, and she will feel at ease with you. We will be off to London and married by special license within a day.”
Dorothea Younge began kneading the dough on the table again, her face studiously blank. “I will not assist you in this, Wickham. Why should I? There is nothing in it for me.”
“Oh come now, my dear,” the militia lieutenant murmured, stepping close to place an affectionate arm around her shoulders. “You and I have been old friends for so long.”
She stepped back a little to shove him out of the way, turning an angry glare on him. “We have been more than friends, Wickham, and you know it. Why should I help another woman into your arms in a permanent fashion? The only reason I assisted you with Miss Darcy was that I believed, foolishly no doubt, that we would take her dowry and run off together.”
He stepped back in surprise and then managed a slight smile. Of course, she was jealous!
“My dearest, you know you will always be the only woman for me!” Wickham asserted soothingly. “Once I am master of Ros … of my bride’s estate, I will have great sums of money at my disposal, and we will share in the largesse. My bride-to-be is not a particularly attractive woman; you and I will have more opportunities together, not fewer, once neither of us must toil for our daily bread!”
Mrs. Younge hesitated, desire warring with self-preservation. In truth, she quite despised this life of hers, serving and cooking and cleaning for whatever flotsam and jetsam spilled across her doorway in search of an abode. On the other hand…
“Who is the heiress, Wickham?” the woman demanded insistently.
Wickham hesitated briefly before answering, “Miss Anne de Bourgh.”
Dorothea Younge gaped openly. “Darcy’s cousin, the heiress of Rosings? Are you mad, Wickham?”
“No,” Wickham ground out, his teeth suddenly bared like a feral wolf. “No, I am not mad. For too long, Darcy has persecuted me, has sought to destroy my life. Miss Darcy is now out of reach, but Anne de Bourgh is not, and Rosings is an even greater prize than Georgiana’s thirty thousand pound dowry. Once she is mine…”
“I will have no part in it,” Mrs. Younge interrupted, her voice rising in anger and fear. “The only reason that we had a hope with Miss Darcy was that Darcy was far away from Ramsgate. Miss de Bourgh is surrounded by relations and this companion of hers. For that matter, it is obvious a great plot is afoot against us. What makes you think Miss de Bourgh is not in the thick of it?”
He shook his head gravely, softening his expression, “Dear one, I assure you that Miss de Bourgh is far too dull a creature to conceive of such a thing. She has been sequestered at Rosings for most of her life and is quite na?ve in the ways of men. No, my dear, please do trust me. I daresay she will come along willingly enough, but she will crave companionship. I beg you, do not desert me in my time of need!”
Again, his companion’s strength of will wavered at Wickham’s soft words and longing expression, but only for a moment. “No,” she said coldly, lifting her chin. “You may destroy your own life, but I will have no part in it. Do not be a fool, George. The Darcys have great power, and now, with the letters gone, we have nothing at all to use against them in defense. You must leave Hertfordshire, and I fully intend to avoid attracting unwanted attention by involving myself any further in this matter.”
“My dear...” Wickham began.
“No, Wickham! Get out!”
She turned back to her dough and began working it vigorously, indignation and worry giving her additional strength. Wickham stared at her for a full minute and then, with a grunt, turned to leave, though he paused for one last, parting shot. “I will be master of Rosings soon, my dear, and you will regret having given up your chance for great wealth. I assure you that I do not forgive those who abandon me in my most desperate hour.”
Mrs. Younge did not bother to reply. A minute later, she heard the door open and slam shut, and she let out a gasping breath. A part of her longed to run after Wickham and apologize, but no, she must not give in to her attraction to the man. Wickham was entirely mad if he thought he could successfully take on the de Bourghs, the Matlocks, and the Darcys.
Wickham had opened and closed the front door loudly, and now carefully removed his boots and climbed hastily up the stairs to Mrs. Younge’s bedroom. He was short on funds, and had no compunction about robbing his former lover. After all, she had deserted him when he needed her most.
***
Elizabeth Bennet looked around the dinner table, aware of an odd heaviness in her chest. She was very much in love with Mr. Darcy, and greatly anticipated wedding him in the near future, but she would be leaving her family. She would never call Longbourn her home again. She had often been exasperated with her mother and younger sisters, but she truly loved them and would miss them.
“I am glad that Mr. Darcy has proposed to you,” Lydia ventured in an uncharacteristically reserved manner. The youngest Miss Bennet had been largely confined to her room of late, but had been permitted to join the family at dinner to rejoice in her sister’s engagement to a wealthy man. “When will you be married, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth smiled warmly at her youngest sibling; Lydia’s poor behavior was, in truth, mostly the fault of her parents. Now that Mr. Bennet was putting his foot down, there was hope for the girl. “I am not certain, Lydia. Mr. Darcy must go to London to arrange for the marriage settlements, and he intends to have his sister join us here before the wedding. I hope it will be only a few weeks, as I am eager to pledge myself to the man I love.”
Lydia nodded and then, casting an uneasy glance at her father, continued. “Surely now that you are actually engaged, I can go to Brighton with Mrs. Forster and the regiment?”
Mr. Bennet glared at the girl and responded irritably, “Certainly not, Lydia. Your behavior these last days has been such that I am scarcely inclined to let you out of the house. I will certainly not permit you to journey to Brighton and make an exhibition of yourself.”
Lydia began weeping copiously, and her father, with an inward groan, rose to his feet. “Come, it is time for you to return to your room, since you are clearly more interested in your own disappointment than your sister’s happiness.”
This provoked screams of outrage, and it took both Mr. Bennet and two male servants to drag the thrashing girl out of the drawing room and up the stairs, where she was locked into her bedroom.
“My poor Lydia!” Mrs. Bennet wailed as the door closed behind the girl and her escort. “She is so very disappointed! Oh Lizzy, can you not speak to your father on your dear sister’s behalf? Mr. Darcy is too much of a gentleman to draw back from the engagement and it seems a pity…”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer but Jane anticipated her. “Do not be entirely absurd, Mother,” the eldest Miss Bennet said coldly. “Lydia’s behavior is outrageous! She is but sixteen years of age and acts as if she has the right to not only determine the course of her own life, but to disdain the feelings and needs of everyone else in the family. I am entirely in agreement with Father; she ought not to be allowed to step through the doors of Longbourn until she learns some restraint.”
Her mother stared at her beautiful eldest in horror. “Jane, how can you be so cruel to your own sister?”
“It is not cruelty to point out Lydia’s very obvious flaws, Mother,” Jane insisted. “Nor is it cruelty to recognize that if my youngest sister continues to behave in such an impertinent and headstrong fashion, she will never find a decent man to marry her. No, you must allow Father to discipline Lydia as he sees fit. Besides, while Mr. Darcy is now engaged to Elizabeth, I am not yet engaged to Mr. Bingley, and he too must consider the behavior of our family while considering his future course.”
Elizabeth shot an amused, grateful look at Jane. There was nothing more guaranteed to turn her mother’s attention away from Lydia and toward her eldest.
“Mr. Bingley? Oh Jane, well, yes, if Mr. Bingley would be troubled by … oh, if I could only have two daughters well married, I would have nothing left to wish for!”
***
“Mr. Darcy is here to see you, Colonel Forster.”
The colonel of the militia, who had been laboring over accounts in his office, looked up in surprise but responded quickly, “Bring him in, Bates.”
His aide retreated and Forster rummaged around in his desk for his flask of brandy and two glasses. He stood up as his visitor strode into the office.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy! It is a pleasure to see you today. Please, do sit down. I hope you will join me for some brandy?”
His visitor murmured his greetings and thanks and took a seat, while the colonel made rather a show of carefully pouring the amber liquid into the glasses. He did not much care for the expression on his guest’s face; Mr. Darcy always looked remote, but today he looked positively forbidding.
“Well, what can I do for you today, sir?” Forster finally asked, handing over a glass before sinking back into his seat and taking a careful sip of his own drink.
“Colonel Forster, I am here to lodge a complaint of indebtedness toward one of the men in your company, George Wickham.”
The colonel hesitated. On the one hand, he was not fool enough to argue with a man as well connected as Mr. Darcy. On the other hand, Forster had a genuine concern for his troops, and he very much liked young Mr. Wickham. He knew of the young man’s adversarial relationship with Darcy and sympathized with him. Life was hard for young men without patronage and wealth at their backs, though Darcy no doubt could not understand such a thing. If it was a matter of a few pounds, Forster had every intention of helping the young man, even if it did irritate the imperious master of Pemberley.
“That is a rather serious charge,” he responded carefully. “May I inquire as to whom Mr. Wickham owes money?”
“The debts were originally racked up with a variety of merchants in Derbyshire near my estate of Pemberley, but I bought them up when Wickham departed the county with no intention of paying. They add up to three hundred and thirty-five pounds, Colonel Forster.”
The colonel took in a deep, shuddering gasp of shock at these words. “Three hundred and thirty-five pounds, Mr. Darcy? Surely not!”
Darcy, who was carrying a leather pouch, carefully pulled out a variety of bills and handed them over to Forster, who began thumbing through them in amazement. Bill after bill after bill, to haberdashers and innkeepers and owners of taverns, to jewelers and grocers.
“I had no idea that Wickham was such a spendthrift, Mr. Darcy,” he admitted reluctantly. “I suppose, growing up as your father’s godson, he regrettably became habituated to spending far more than he ought, especially since I understand that Wickham was intended for the church and a valuable living.”
Darcy silently pulled out another document and handed it over to the Colonel, who lowered his eyes and began reading in growing astonishment.
“Three thousand pounds for the living?” he finally demanded incredulously. “You paid him three thousand pounds?”
“I did,” Darcy asserted frigidly. “Wickham took the money, plus an additional thousand pounds left to him in my father’s will, and spent it all in short order through gaming and other inestimable pursuits. Since then, he has taken to blackening my name, claiming that I cheated him out of the living.”
Forster leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he have been so fooled by the young lieutenant?
“I apologize,” he said heavily. “I confess to being entirely taken in by Wickham’s false tale of woe. He is, it seems, a despicable creature.”
“You are hardly the first individual to be so deceived. Wickham has great charm, and my own demeanor is, I know, often forbidding. But I hope you will assist me in placing the man under arrest.”
Forster sighed and answered, “I will, of course, but I fear that Wickham asked for, and I granted him, leave to go to London for the day. I suppose it is possible that he might disappear into that great metropolis, though I find it odd that he would flee on the very day you are prepared to bring charges against him.”
Darcy shook his head, disappointed that his quarry had slipped out of his grasp. “Not so odd, sir. Wickham was holding some blackmail material which would have harmed a number of families, and we managed to retrieve the papers from his room last night while the malefactor was at the Netherfield Ball. It is almost certain he discovered the loss of the documents and fled.”
Forster’s head reeled. “A blackmailer! How vile!”
“Yes, he is entirely vile,” Darcy agreed, rising to his feet. “I hope if he is foolish enough to return, that you will place him under arrest?”
“Of course.”