Page 7 of I am Jael (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

The common room of the Pig in the Poke was warm, and the smells emanating from the great oven in the kitchen made Wickham’s mouth water. It had been a rather tedious day of marching and drilling, but here he felt relaxed and cheerful.

Lieutenant Denny, seated across from him, looked tired but satisfied. Denny was a good friend; not sufficiently intelligent to be troublesome, but bright and enthusiastic enough to be enjoyable company.

The arrival of a buxom serving girl pulled both officers from their relaxed stupor. The girl deposited plates of food and drink for both men and then held out a hand.

“That’ll be two and six for each of you,” the woman explained with a flirtatious glance at George Wickham.

Wickham smiled back at her, making sure that his white teeth and handsome face were front and center in her vision, “I tell you, Sally, or is it Mary?”

“Sarah,” the girl replied, giggling.

“Sarah, such a lovely name for a lovely girl. Miss Sarah, I find myself a bit let in the pocket right now, but I’ll be paid in a few days. I hope you won’t mind me running a tab until I receive my pay packet?”

“Of course, Mr...?

“Wickham, Lieutenant George Wickham, very much at your service.”

The girl giggled again, her red braids bouncing on her shoulders, then turned to collect Denny’s money. A moment later, she glided away in the direction of the kitchens.

Wickham took a deep draught of ale and glanced idly at Denny, “How were your duties today?”

“Well enough,” the other man stated, tackling his meat fervently. “The horses will require proper stables as the weather turns colder, and I’ve been assigned to work with the crew making arrangements. It’s good work.”

Wickham grumbled softly into his drink before taking another gulp. In his view, no work was good work. He was George Darcy’s godson. He deserved more than this life of working and striving to keep two pence together. If only he’d managed to wed Georgiana!

His ruminations were interrupted most unpleasantly.

“Mr. Wickham?” a deep voice demanded.

Wickham looked up, blinking into the face of a heavyset man wearing the garb of a publican.

“Yes, I’m Mr. Wickham,” he replied, sitting up expectantly. “How can I serve you?”

“You can pay your bill, Mr. Wickham,” the man said flatly. “There will be no tab for you at the Pig in the Poke.”

Wickham felt a stirring of anger, but was careful to keep his expression pleasant.

“I assure you, sir, that I pay my debts,” he began winningly.

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” the man interrupted without compunction. “Word is that you’ve left debts in the past, and some rich man paid them up for you. I’m not taking any chances with losing out on my hard earned coin, Mr. Wickham.”

“I’ll cover it,” Denny said quickly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the required amount. “Here.”

The man took the money without a word and turned on his heel. The serving girl Sarah gave Wickham an apologetic look before quickly scurrying back to the kitchen.

Wickham muttered a few imprecations under his breath. This was catastrophic. He was used to having many months of freedom before local merchants became aware of his mounting debts. He had not yet been in Meryton for a week!

“What was that all about?” Denny demanded, his brow furrowed.

Wickham growled and took a bite of his potatoes. They were too heavily peppered, adding to his sense of injury.

“Miss Georgiana Darcy happened,” he bit out.

“Darcy? Related the man who deprived you of the living?”

“His sister. We met in town only yesterday and she proceeded to defame me in front of the Bennet ladies and the bookshop owner. No doubt the man has spread lies about me to all the shopkeepers here.”

Denny whistled softly and shook his head, “That’s not good. Still, as you say, we’ll be paid soon.”

Wickham didn’t bother to answer that. His pathetic pay as a member of the militia wasn’t nearly enough to fund his expensive habits.

“I heard the whole family is snobbish,” Denny commented gloomily. “Rich and snobbish.”

Wickham took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He would pay Georgiana Darcy for her words.

“Miss Darcy was pledged to marry me,” Wickham stated dramatically.

Denny set down his glass so hard that the liquid sloshed onto the scored wooden table, “No!”

“Yes. She loved me once, and I loved her. But that blasted brother of hers took her away and he’s turned her against me, my one true love.”

“Take heart, Wickham,” Denny said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Perhaps at some level, she still loves you and hopes you’ll pursue her. I suppose she’ll be at the Bingley ball? Perhaps she’ll dance with you and you can work your considerable charms on her!”

“She’s not out.”

“Is she so young?”

“Sixteen.”

Denny looked startled, “That is very young.”

Wickham pasted on an expression of sorrow, “We weren’t to marry immediately, of course. She was, as you say, youthful. But we grew up together and our hearts were entwined. I will go to my death grieving her loss.”

“All the same,” Denny murmured, “you may wish to avoid the Bingley ball. If Darcy takes it into his head to vilify you, it could be a problem.”

“I’m not afraid of Darcy,” Wickham retorted with a show of indignation. “I doubt he would have the courage to look me in the eye after taking my living and breaking his sister’s heart.”

“Good for you, Wickham,” the other man said, lifting his glass of ale. “You’re a brave man.”

Wickham smiled as he thought furiously. Colonel Forster always had unpleasant tasks that no one wanted to do. He would ensure that he was assigned to some tedious job during the Bingley ball.

The truth was that Wickham was a little afraid of Darcy. Darcy could usually be managed but after the Ramsgate debacle, it would be wise not to push his luck. It would be best to let a few more months pass before he interacted directly with the master of Pemberley.

/

“Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley gushed, “It is truly an honor to listen to such a gifted player. You put me to shame.”

Georgiana smiled politely and shook her head, “You too are an excellent player, Miss Bingley.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley replied with a quick glance at Darcy, who was standing nearby. “It is true that my sister and I attended a most exclusive ladies’ seminary, and our teacher was excellent.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Bingley said cheerfully, “we were entertained royally by the ladies this evening, don’t you agree, Darcy?”

“Yes,” Darcy replied, his warm gaze on his sister. She had grown up so much in the last few years, no longer a child but an accomplished woman.

Briefly he remembered Elizabeth Bennet’s comments about accomplished women, and he found himself smiling.

The second Miss Bennet was entirely unlike Miss Bingley.

The former debated him with an arch smile and charming wit.

The latter hung on his every word and made a point of gushing over his sister whenever he was in earshot.

“Brother, I will retire to my room now,” Georgiana said, rising to her feet. Darcy shook himself loose from his reverie and smiled at her.

“Good night, Georgiana.”

“Good night, Fitzwilliam. Good night, Richard. Good night, Mr. and Miss Bingley.”

Amid the murmurs of the assembled party, Georgie managed to catch Richard’s eyes. He nodded slightly.

It was time.

/

“Marshalsea?” Darcy demanded incredulously. “It’s a death trap. You cannot be serious!”

“We are entirely serious,” Georgiana said sternly. “Wickham owes hundreds of pounds to you, does he not? You have receipts of all of his bills you paid to the merchants of Lambton on his behalf?”

Darcy stared wide eyed at his sister before striding over to stare out of the window of Georgiana’s sitting room. It was a clear night and the stars penetrated the darkness with their celestial beauty.

“Surely,” he said slowly, turning to face his cousin and his sister, “we could find another way. Perhaps I could warn Wickham that if he continues to defame me, he is in danger of being thrown into debtor’s prison.”

“No, Brother,” Georgiana riposted, her eyes flashing. “No. You have warned him about his debts before, have you not? His response was to form an alliance with my hired companion, Mrs. Younge, in an attempt to entice me into eloping with him! And have you forgotten Jenny Reynolds?”

Fitzwilliam Darcy, only son of George and Anne Darcy, looked down at his hands. He always wore the signet ring passed down from his father, and the emerald shone dully in the firelight. He fingered it carefully.

There was a rustle of skirts and Georgiana was suddenly in front of him, her small hands reaching out to grasp his own.

“This is about Father, isn’t it, Brother?”

Darcy swallowed hard and nodded, “Yes, my dear, it is. Father loved Wickham and Wickham brought him much joy in those last desperate months before his illness took him from us. I was a good son, and a loyal one, but it was Wickham who made him laugh. If I send Wickham to his death at Marshalsea, I feel that I am betraying Father’s memory. ”

“William, Father is dead,” Georgiana said tenderly. “He did not know Mr. Wickham’s true character when he lived, and now he has gone on to his eternal reward. We can only do what is right for the living.”

“I know,” Darcy replied. “I know, Georgie. But I feel that I must have failed Wickham in some way. Perhaps if I had been firmer with him earlier, perhaps if I had disciplined him when he first began to rack up debts …”

“Nonsense, Darcy, nonsense,” Richard boomed indignantly. “Utter nonsense. Wickham was given the best of education, at your own expense no less. He was blessed with the best of examples from both his own father and yours. No, this is all on Wickham.”

“Remember Jenny Reynolds, please,” Georgiana begged. “Remember what he did to me! If Wickham is not stopped, I have no doubt there will be other women who suffer at his hands.”

Darcy took a deep breath and sighed heavily. They were right.