Page 42 of I am Jael (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Elizabeth waited for the door to the library at Netherfield to shut, then turned to face the two cousins.

“You said there is news about Mr. Wickham?” Darcy inquired, his face stern.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and nodded, “I fear so, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Only two hours ago, my two younger sisters returned from Meryton with concerning news. There is a rumor flying through the town that Miss Darcy was once engaged to Mr. George Wickham and that you separated them, cruelly breaking their hearts.”

Darcy’s expression grew thunderous and Elizabeth found herself speaking quickly, “Of course, I do not believe such a lie, but I fear some will.”

Darcy sighed, visibly struggling to contain his emotions, “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I am very much afraid for my sister’s reputation, however, if this gossip spreads.”

“Anyone who knows anything about your sister would realize she is still a young girl and very much under age. You would never permit an engagement to a much older man, especially to such a man.”

“That is true,” Colonel Fitzwilliam agreed gravely. “But it also true that there are those who relish in false stories.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, blushing uncomfortably. “I will speak to my sisters tonight and encourage them not to spread the story further, but I fear that my sisters are not always as restrained as I would wish.”

“It is not your fault, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy replied, pulling himself together. “I very much appreciate your coming here to warn us.”

“It was the very least I could do, Mr. Darcy.”

/

George Wickham slowly climbed the stairs to the upper floor of the barracks where his room was waiting for him. The weather had been cold and misty today and while his duties were relatively light, he was still irritable about his current status in life.

Wickham had thoroughly enjoyed those two years after his godfather Mr. Darcy had died, when he had lived in London with plenty of money for wine, women, and song.

Of course, the 4000 pounds he had wrested from Darcy had not lasted very long.

And why should he not have received the Kympton living, and more?

He was just as good a man as Darcy, whose estate of Pemberley produced 10,000 pounds every year!

It was criminal that Wickham was left to scrape and bow for a few pounds a year when his nemesis enjoyed the best of food, horses, and .

.. well, not women. Darcy was a dead bore where women were concerned, insisting on treating them with honor regardless of their rank in society. Darcy was an utter fool.

He sighed as he loosened his cravat and opened the door into his room. The quarters for the militia were well enough, he supposed, but not what he deserved, nor what he would have in time. At least it would not take long for him to strike up the fire laid by a servant and warm his chilled bones.

The door swung wide to reveal the standing figures of two unpleasantly familiar men and Wickham let out a curse.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam pushed the door shut firmly and turned to gaze steadily into the face of his nemesis, “Wickham, I would say that it is a pleasure to see you, but I am not the liar that you are.”

“If you do not wish to see me, then I suggest you leave immediately,” Wickham said with a glower, his mind racing.

He wanted both money from and vengeance on Darcy, but no plans were yet laid and this surprise visit did not bode well for him.

He would need to be especially wary. What did they want and why surprise him at his lodgings?

“Regrettably, you are forcing us to once again interfere with your pathetic life, though our interference will soon be at an end.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” Wickham snapped back sullenly, though he felt a stir of concern. Fitzwilliam had a thoroughly unpleasant look on his face and Darcy looked positively murderous.

“You are spreading a foul story about my sister,” Darcy snarled suddenly, stepping forward and pushing Wickham against the wall. “How dare you?”

Wickham bit his lip, anger warring with self-preservation. Darcy was strong enough to be threatening.

Anger won, and restraint was far less enjoyable.

“I merely told the truth,” he snapped back. “I loved your sister, she loved me, and we were engaged ...”

Darcy responded by smashing a fist into the other man’s jaw, “You lie! You conspired with my sister’s own companion to entice my sweet sister to elope with you! You loved her money, not Georgiana herself!”

Wickham, reeling from the blow, staggered over to the bed even as he heard the Colonel remonstrating with Darcy, “Calm yourself. Fisticuffs are all well and good, but we need to explain the situation in detail to our friend.”

George briefly considered striking Darcy but quickly thought better of it. There was no certainty he could win a fight against the man, who was tall and well built, and of course Colonel Fitzwilliam would leap into the fray in Darcy’s favor.

Instead, Wickham sat down and cautiously ran a hand down his aching jaw.

There was no blood, but it was going to hurt for some time.

Who knew that under that rigid exterior, Darcy had so much spirit?

It was, frankly, rather unnerving. He had spent many years manipulating Darcy and regardless of Wickham’s behavior, Darcy had always cleaned up after him.

He had long counted on maintaining this status quo with his old playmate, but something apparently had changed for the worse. It was unsettling in the extreme.

“Yes, let us discuss the situation,” Wickham replied, gazing mulishly at the two cousins.

His expression softened as he realized it was the perfect time to set the terms of a favorable deal.

“I am willing to admit to the local gentry and militia that the rumors of my engagement to Miss Darcy are false, in exchange for a substantial offering towards my monetary needs.”

This seemed a very reasonable proposition, one that would fill the coffers and exact a modicum of revenge on Darcy, who was, he knew, quite weary of paying him money.

His time in Meryton was not working out as planned, but this would provide ready funds while he pursued a new target. Yes, this could work quite nicely.

Darcy took an ominous step forward but the Colonel put a steadying hand on Darcy’s arm, halting him.

“No, Wickham,” the Colonel replied, a thoroughly unpleasant smirk appearing on his face.

“No. Darcy will no longer pay you off. Indeed, as we speak, a messenger is at Pemberley collecting the receipts of all your bills from Lambton which Darcy paid on your behalf. When the messenger returns, Darcy and I will take the receipts to magistrate and you will be arrested and taken to Marshalsea, where you will remain until you have paid back Darcy all that you owe.”

What?

Wickham started, then smiled feebly, “There is no need to utter threats, Colonel. I am Darcy’s father’s godson. Darcy would not cast me into Marshalsea given that I was a favorite of his father.”

“That is precisely what stayed my hand all these years, Wickham,” Darcy replied, his eyes as cold as ice. “But no more. You betrayed me at Ramsgate and now you seek to destroy my sister’s reputation. I am finished with you.”

Wickham took a deep breath and considered his next move, “If you do this, then Georgiana’s reputation will be ruined. I have told everyone in Meryton and the militia that she was engaged to me.”

“Few will believe it when we reveal your massive debts, Wickham,” Darcy stated. “However, I do have an offer.”

“Yes?” Wickham demanded with a mixture of hope and worry.

“As you are no doubt aware, there are two sections of Marshalsea. The first is for wealthier prisoners, who have outside sources of income. The other section is for the poorer inmates. The wealthier occupants have more freedom of movement and better food. If you behave yourself, if you admit that you lied about Georgiana, I will provide the funds for the wealthier wing of the prison. If not, I will cast you in with the poor. If so, I doubt you will manage to survive a year.”

Wickham gulped incredulously, his eyes dilated in disbelief. This could not be happening! Marshalsea, regardless of which section one resided in, was a dreadful place, a place of sorrow and suffering. No!

“Your father,” he began feebly.

“Do not speak of my father again,” Darcy interrupted with disdain.

A moment later, the tall gentleman from Derbyshire swept out of the room with Colonel Fitzwilliam in his wake, leaving a thoroughly shaken George Wickham behind.

What was this? Darcy had always been stingy but now he was cruel as well.

How could he treat his boyhood friend so badly, so unfairly?

Darcy must know that he deserved far more than he had already been given; old George Darcy had loved him dearly.

Only 3000 pounds for the living! Bah! It was worth far more than that, and yet Darcy was now begrudging those minor debts Wickham had run up in Lambton and other towns?

Indeed, there had been no reason to pay them at all!

The shopkeepers who had extended Wickham credit were lower class men; they hardly mattered.

Anyone with any understanding of society would agree!

George Wickham sat back on his bed, his mind whirling with disbelief and horror.

He could see it now; Darcy had planned this all along!

He had strategically paid George’s debts so that he could use them as a cudgel.

How cowardly and brutish! In a righteous world, everyone would see the master of Pemberley for what he was, but alas, the world venerated those like Darcy even if they were wicked men.

In any case, the threat of being thrown into Marshalsea was too terrible to consider.

He would need to leave this little town, and soon.