Page 43 of I am Jael (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

“Will I see you at the tables tonight?” Lieutenant Pratt asked George Wickham, slapping the other man cheerfully on the shoulder. It was mid-afternoon and the men of the militia were finished with their light duties for the day.

Wickham smiled charmingly and bowed at Miss Maria Lucas, who was leaving the bookstore with a maid, “Miss Maria.”

The girl curtsied, “Mr. Wickham.”

“You are a breath of cheer on a cold and dreary day, Miss Maria,” the lieutenant commented, more to keep his skills up than for any other reasons. The Lucases were not wealthy, and Wickham had discarded the Lucas daughters as potential wives early on in their acquaintance.

The girl blushed deeply, murmured a few words, and then excused herself. Wickham waited until she was a few yards away before turning to glance at Pratt, even as he shook his head, “I will not be at playing tonight, Pratt. I’m afraid my luck has been bad of late.”

“Come on, Wickham! This might be your lucky night! Surely the cards are eager to show you their favor.”

Wickham made a show of considering, then shrugged, “Perhaps I will, at that. Do not wait for me, but I may come later and try my luck.”

“Excellent, Wickham. I wager we’ll see you tonight.”

The other man strode off in one direction and Wickham, after a winsome bow and smile at another lady, walked slowly toward his own quarters.

He would not, in fact, be gaming tonight.

He would be leaving this pathetic town and its tiresome, uncouth people.

He would be leaving Fitzwilliam Darcy and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam behind.

He would not be going to Marshalsea prison as a debtor, but to London, where he would disappear into that city’s great and glorious underbelly until Darcy gave up searching for him.

His plan had come together, and the more he thought of it, the more he admired it.

He needed money, of course. He always needed money.

Two nights ago, he had drunk a little and gambled more.

He had watched carefully to see who was winning and who was losing.

Tonight, when the men were gaming and eating and drinking enthusiastically after the quiet Sabbath Day, he would creep into the quarters of the richer members of the militia and steal their ready money.

And then he would snatch Colonel Forster’s horse, and take to the London road.

His first stop in the metropolis would be at the home of Mrs. Phoebe Younge, who had assisted him in his failed attempt to elope with Georgiana.

She was still attracted to him and he knew she could be twisted around his thumb easily enough.

She was not the most handsome of women, nor was she wealthy, but she would do for companionship and lodgings until he found better arrangements.

It would behoove him to penetrate more deeply into the twisted streets of London as soon as he could, as Darcy might possibly think to contact Mrs. Younge.

Perhaps. Darcy had never posed a real threat. He would probably be thankful to have a reason to let his father’s favorite go, so there was unlikely to be any pursuit. But Marshalsea was a horrible place, and Wickham intended to be more careful than usual.

He smiled to himself as he reached the door of his quarters, determined to make the best of a bad situation. In the meantime, George would take a short nap to ready himself for what would no doubt prove a busy and tiring night.

A few hours later, fortified by a drink of brandy, he began his pilfering.

The first room he visited was that of the the militiaman from whom he borrowed the Bible to read about the murderous Jael.

George had noted that the man was not fond of drinking or gambling and therefore should have a significant amount of money.

His greedy analysis had proved correct, as there was indeed a wallet, hidden, nearly in plain sight, under the mattress of the bed.

“This man is witless!” he murmured aloud, though softly, as he collected his findings. “He might as well place a sign inviting others to take his coin.”

There was never a time that Wickham felt more superior then in these moments, and indeed he enjoyed musing about the idiocy of those he robbed and manipulated.

He was well aware that the world considered him handsome and charming, but he was also brilliant and resourceful.

The only way to find true happiness in this world was to focus on one’s own needs and desires.

Obviously, Darcy had shown him that he could not trust others to take care of him in the manner to which he was entitled.

Wickham proceeded to root through all of the officer’s quarters, one by one.

Two of them had stayed in for the night, so they would be spared the lightening of their pockets, but the rest had foolishly wandered off with their valuables either out in the open, or hidden in ridiculously obvious places.

It was getting late and some of the men might return earlier than expected, so Wickham gathered his baggage, including his newfound gains, and made his way to the militia stables.

He would need a horse for the journey, and Wickham took his practiced hand to writing an approval for the use of the militia colonel’s horse.

He approached the stable boy with a bland look and told the young man that George had been ordered to take Colonel Forster’s horse to his master for a late night emergency.

He handed the forged note as proof of his claim.

The stable boy merely nodded absently, and promptly set about preparing the horse for riding.

It was a fine steed and would sell for a substantial amount in London.

George did not much care for riding a horse.

It was not appreciably less comfortable than a coach, but he did not care for the constant attention required.

The ride was long and dark, as the moon was not near full.

The London road was well maintained, but it was still a jolting ride and he was tired; nevertheless, it had been a successful flight from the potential of a truly terrible fate, and he was proud of what he had accomplished.

/

Elizabeth stared at Georgiana in amazement, marveling over her sudden epiphany.

Georgiana Darcy was shy.

Elizabeth was truly shocked at this realization.

Given that the girl had entered the bookstore in Meryton with the mien of a warrior woman of the Bible, Elizabeth had expected Miss Darcy to be a bold, confident individual.

But here, nestled in the bosom of her family and listening to the irritating blandishments of Miss Bingley, the girl looked uncomfortable and meek.

At least Jane sat next to Miss Darcy, and Jane could soothe a wild kitten with her kind demeanor and cheerful speech.

They had been invited to dinner at Netherfield, no doubt at Mr. Bingley’s insistence. The man clearly was in love with his sister Jane, and Elizabeth was quite certain that he would propose marriage, and soon. She could not be happier for her most precious sister.

Elizabeth swallowed a chuckle as she took a bite of potatoes.

She had no doubt that Miss Bingley had toiled long and hard in the seating arrangements around the dinner table.

Jane sat between Mr. Bingley and Georgiana, certainly because Mr. Bingley insisted that he be seated next to the woman he admired.

Elizabeth was between Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Darcy, seated between Miss Bingley and Mr. Hurst, was as far away from Elizabeth as was possible.

“Are you musical, Miss Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired, turning to her after doing his duty in conversing with Mrs. Hurst.

“I am, though I confess I do not practice on the pianoforte as often as I should.”

“Miss Elizabeth performs admirably, Colonel,” Mr. Bingley commented, focusing on Elizabeth for a few seconds before his attention swung back to the lovely Miss Bennet as a moth drawn to a flame.

“Perhaps I will have the honor of hearing you perform then, Miss Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam continued. “Who is your favorite composer?

“I enjoy Beethoven, though I confess I find playing his music difficult. Mozart, too, is a pleasure.”

“Do you enjoy operas, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I do, though I have only been to the opera three times in company with my aunt and uncle from London.”

“I had the privilege of watching ‘The Barber of Seville’ in winter quarters on the continent. Both the leads were excellent singers.”

Elizabeth sighed, “I envy you, Colonel, though I do not envy the more challenging aspects of your wartime experience.”

The Colonel smiled back sadly, “I try to remember the positive aspects of my service, Miss Elizabeth, instead of dwelling too heavily on the harder times.”

“We are grateful for your service,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” Richard replied, then turned in surprise as a servant cleared his throat behind him.

“Yes?”

“Sir, I have an urgent message for you.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam snatched the message, read it quickly, and lifted his eyes to seek those of his cousin, “Darcy, may I have a few words?”

“Is something wrong?” Miss Bingley cried out.

“There is no danger to you,” Richard explained quickly, “but I do need to apprise my cousin of a situation.”

Darcy was on his feet and after bowing to the ladies, exited the room with Richard at his heels. Once they had achieved the comparative privacy of the hall, the Colonel gave Darcy the message.

Darcy frowned down at the words, and then lifted his face to stare into his cousin’s face, “You think he is running?”

“Of course he is.”

“He is a member of the militia! Desertion carries a possible death sentence!”

“He has never paid for his crimes before, Darcy. He assumes that he will slither out of any nasty repercussions as he always has in the past.”

“What should we do?”

“Do? Go after him, of course, and arrest him for desertion and, apparently, theft based on the note.”

Darcy sighed even as he nodded, “Let us saddle up then, and pursue him. I have to admit, Richard, that I truly thought you were being paranoid to assign watchers to Wickham. He’s an idiot to run.”

“Wickham is an arrogant fool,” Richard said grimly, “but he will not escape the noose this time.”