Page 45 of I am Jael (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

George Wickham cursed under his breath as he caressed his swollen jaw with a careful hand. First Darcy had hit him in Meryton, and then Colonel Fitzwilliam in Mrs. Younge’s lodgings. It would take some time for the swelling and pain to subside.

With a groan, he sat down on the pallet on the bed and gazed around in disgust. The cell in which he was confined was small and damp, and the corners were smelly.

There was a simple pot in the corner for his more intimate needs, but it was clear that prior inhabitants of the cell had not bothered with even that minor refinement in their personal habits.

The steward’s son lifted his arm to cover his nose as he leaned against the brick wall.

What was Darcy up to now? It was complete idiocy for the man to go to such lengths to persecute him!

He was George Wickham, godson of George Darcy, a son not by blood but by affection.

There was no possible way that Darcy would allow him to come to true harm; even Marshalsea had likely been an idle threat.

Nonetheless, this place, with its darkness and mustiness, with the clattering of keys and the groans of men, was a disgusting place.

He was, at least, thankful for the Darcy and Matlock connection; unlike most of the men here, he would not stay long.

/

“He is being confined in a small prison connected to the Army headquarters in London,” Richard said, leaning back and taking a long draught of tea. Darcy, Georgiana, and Colonel Fitzwilliam were in Georgiana’s sitting room, hidden away from the inquiring ears of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.

“I presume he will be well guarded,” Georgiana inquired worriedly.

The Colonel chuckled softly and patted his young cousin on the arm, “Do not be alarmed, dear Georgie. Wickham will not escape.”

“What will be his fate?” Darcy asked, feeling a lump rise in his throat.

Richard sat up and began ticking off his fingers, “He deserted the militia in a time of war. He stole his Colonel’s horse.

He entered the living quarters of some dozen fellow militiamen and stole their money.

Any one of those crimes would garner the death sentence.

Taken together, it would take significant lobbying on our part to keep him from being executed in short order. ”

Darcy clenched his teeth and shook his head, “He is hardly worthy of such intervention.”

“No, he is not,” Georgiana stated coldly.

“I stopped by Meryton before arriving here,” the Colonel continued.

“Colonel Forster was almost pathetically grateful for our actions. He is sincerely attached to the horse we retrieved, and is relieved that his men’s money has been returned intact.

It would have gone hard for many of them if Wickham had successfully absconded with their hard earned coin.

Forster is recommending execution as well. ”

Georgiana looked at her brother, whose gaze was fixed on the carpet.

“William?” she asked softly.

Darcy lifted his head and his eyes were grief stricken, “Thus, it ends. What a waste of a life.”

She rose to her feet and came over to sit down beside him, to clasp her arms around his broad form, “You did what you could, Brother. Mr. Wickham made his own choices.”

“Thank you, my darling.”

/

Wickham was unkempt and unshaven, which Colonel Fitzwilliam found grimly satisfying. The scoundrel had always maintained an impeccable appearance. That, combined with his good looks and gentlemanly manners, had encouraged all too many people to trust and admire the rogue.

In spite of the unpleasantness of nearly two days in prison, Wickham strutted arrogantly into the room and sat down without permission, his face a mask of irritation.

As expected, someone representing Darcy had come to see George in prison.

However, it had taken far longer than anticipated.

George was enraged that Colonel Fitzwilliam had tracked him down in London and subjected him to the humiliation of capture and imprisonment, and was further infuriated by the two day wait in the reeking cells.

Darcy’s efforts to anger him had worked, but he would not grovel for his due. There was no need.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam, how charming to see you again” he said sarcastically. “What do you want?”

Fitzwilliam sauntered over and lowered himself to the chair across from Wickham, “Nothing from you, Wickham. I’m enjoying the fact that this is the last time I will ever see you.”

Worry flickered briefly in Wickham’s brown eyes, but the man retained his insouciance, “I am delighted that you now see fit to leave off your persecution of me, Fitzwilliam.”

He was surprised that the Colonel had volunteered that he was giving up on him, and it was a definite relief. Richard Fitzwilliam had proven far more capable than Darcy at spoiling his plans.

The Colonel grinned unpleasantly, “That is not what I meant. You deserted your post without leave in a time of war, stole a horse from your commanding officer and robbed numerous fellow soldiers. This time you will pay the ultimate price for your arrogance. The penalty for your crimes is death.”

Impossible. It must be but a bluff on the Colonel’s part, but George nonetheless paled at these words and swayed in his chair, “No, you would not.”

“I am not the officer in charge. It was not my decision to make, if that pleases you.”

“But surely,” Wickham implored, terror encroaching on his interior certainty, “surely your family will intervene. The Darcys and Matlocks have great influence.”

No doubt Fitzwilliam was toying with him. But what if ... he was not?

“Indeed we do,” Fitzwilliam drawled, “but why should we sully our good name in defending you?”

The prisoner’s eyes were wild now with fear, dismay and yes, incredulity, “Darcy will not permit such a thing to happen to me. We were boyhood friends and his father’s godson.

I realize we have had our differences but still – you are merely provoking me.

Darcy will not allow them to put me to death! ”

The Colonel bit back his first response in favor of a second, more vicious one, “My cousin insists on your death, Wickham. Far be it for me to disdain that desire.”

“Darcy?” Wickham sputtered, rising to his feet so quickly that his chair pushed back from the table and nearly tipped over. “He’s always been jealous of me. He’s always hated me! He has kept from me what I deserved and now seeks to murder me as well?”

Fitzwilliam chose not to point out the lack of logic between Wickham’s statements in favor of a more devastating explanation, “It is not Mr. Darcy who insists on your execution, Wickham, but Miss Darcy.”

Wickham wobbled slightly and sank back down on the chair, barely keeping from tipping off the front of it. This could not be. “Georgiana? Impossible! She loves me!”

The Colonel’s face grew dark with fury at these words and the prisoner shrank back slightly, “Not, er, I realize that Ramsgate – I mean, we played together as children. I devoted hours to her entertainment. I know that regardless of her feelings about last summer, she must harbor some kindness for me.”

The Colonel forcibly relaxed his hands and took a deep breath, “I spoke to Miss Darcy recently concerning you. She does remember your times together when she was but a child, but she is now aware of your dealings with the maid, Jenny.”

Wickham blinked in bewilderment, “Jenny?”

“Yes, I doubt you remember her with any clarity, but Miss Darcy does. Apparently the woman, Mrs. Reynold’s niece, was a valued maid at Pemberley until she was forced by your actions to leave because she was bearing your progeny.”

Well that much made sense, at least. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all.

Not that he had scorned Georgiana, with her immense dowry, connections and previously malleable temperament.

But if Miss Darcy misunderstood the situation with the maid Jenny Reynolds, Georgiana’s behavior in Meryton was all too understandable.

“So Miss Darcy is jealous?” Wickham demanded with a sly smirk even as he leaned forward a little.

“You can tell her there is no need. Young Jenny did not come willingly.

She was a downy one and had no time for the likes of me.

It took a strategic advance in the still room, and a locked door, to convince the wench that I would get what I wanted from her.

“You raped the girl,” Fitzwilliam grated out.

“Such harsh words,” Wickham pointed out, leaning back with a smile toward the other man. Darcy was a prude, but surely Colonel Fitzwilliam was not?

“She was only a maid,” he continued with an arrogant lift of the chin. “What is the purpose of such a woman but to please men, either through service or ... service.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam rose to his feet, his expression one of rage and disgust, “Georgiana is right, Wickham, and my position is confirmed. You are too dangerous to be set loose on the women across the ocean and thus I would not dream of arguing for transportation. If you are so inclined, I suggest you pray for mercy from God above, because you will be hanged soon.”

Wickham’s mouth dropped open in panic. What was this? Execution? No, it could not be!

“But ... but you can tell Georgiana, Miss Darcy, there is no reason to be jealous! I did not care for Jenny!”

“No, Wickham, you did not,” the Colonel growled, leaning forward to scowl into the other man’s greenish face. “You care for no one but yourself. Miss Darcy is not jealous, she is heartbroken that a man raised in the shadows of Pemberley would remorselessly ruin a good girl like Jenny Reynolds.”

With this Colonel Fitzwilliam turned his back and strode out of the room, ignoring the frenzied words from behind him.