Page 64 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ON THE TRAIL OF WICKHAM
The morning air in Hertfordshire carried the bite of winter as Darcy’s carriage traversed lands both familiar and unfamiliar.
Mary had prepared a detailed orientation for the journey south, recounting his past visits here—accompanying Bingley to court Jane, dancing with Elizabeth at Netherfield Ball, dinner at Lucas Lodge where Elizabeth’s sharp wit first caught his attention.
Reading through her journal during the trip had awakened fragments of memory—the sensation of her hand during a country dance, her sparkling eyes when she mocked his conversational blunders, and that musical laugh which seemed to mock everything.
But these recollections remained frustratingly vague, like mist seeking water.
“Our first call should be upon Sir William Lucas,” Graham noted, consulting the notes he’d taken from Mary’s preparations. “His position as local magistrate lends weight to our investigation.”
“Precisely,” he agreed. “If anyone has official documentation of Wickham’s activities in the area, it would be him.”
Graham nodded, his expression revealing nothing of the exhaustion he must surely feel after days of hard travel from Yorkshire. “ Local authorities often maintain records of complaints, even when formal charges aren’t filed.”
Lucas Lodge appeared around a bend, its modest facade suggesting prosperity without ostentation. As the carriage pulled to a stop in the graveled drive, Darcy straightened his cravat and reached for his hat.
An older gentleman who could only be Sir William Lucas emerged from the house before they had fully descended from the carriage, his expression reflecting the sort of delighted surprise that suggested their arrival was both unexpected and welcome.
“Mr. Darcy!” he exclaimed, hurrying forward with alacrity. “My dear sir, what an unexpected pleasure! Though I confess we had heard disturbing reports about your health… that dreadful attack on the road to London…”
“I am quite recovered, Sir William,” Darcy replied with crisp authority, noting how his host’s gaze catalogued his appearance. “I come to Hertfordshire on matters of business.”
“Of course, of course! But you must come inside immediately. Lady Lucas will be delighted to see you looking so well. We feared…” Sir William paused, clearly recognizing the delicacy of his position.
“That is, the reports were most alarming. Most gratifying to see you in such excellent health. And your companion is…?”
“Mr. Graham Pullen, steward of Bellfield Grange,” Darcy introduced, with a nod toward Graham. “He assists me in a matter of some delicacy concerning former residents of this neighborhood.”
“Former residents?” Sir William repeated, gesturing for them to be seated in the drawing room. “You must forgive my confusion, Mr. Darcy. We had received reports that you were… indisposed… for quite some time following an unfortunate incident near London.”
“Reports that were not entirely inaccurate,” Darcy acknowledged, taking the offered chair.
“I suffered an attack that left me unconscious for several months and with significant memory loss upon awakening. It is these missing memories I now seek to recover—along with certain documents stolen during the attack. ”
Sir William’s expression shifted from polite confusion to genuine concern. “How dreadful! Please be assured of any assistance I might render in my capacity as magistrate.”
“The connection,” Darcy said carefully, “involves a Mr. George Wickham, formerly of the Hertfordshire militia. I have reason to believe he orchestrated the attack and subsequently spread false information regarding both myself and… certain other parties.”
At the mention of Wickham’s name, Sir William’s expression darkened perceptibly. “Wickham,” he repeated, the name emerging with evident distaste. “A most unfortunate acquaintance for our community. The man left considerable debts behind when he departed rather abruptly in the winter of ’11.”
This confirmation of Wickham’s presence in Hertfordshire during the crucial period sent a surge of satisfaction through Darcy’s chest. “Then you were acquainted with him personally?”
“Not intimately,” Sir William clarified, tugging at his waistcoat with nervous fingers.
“He was invited to various assemblies, of course. Charming manners, most engaging conversation—the sort of young man who makes himself agreeable to everyone. But there were… incidents… following his departure that cast his character in a most unfavorable light.”
Graham produced a small notebook and pencil, his movements discreet yet purposeful. “Might we inquire as to the nature of these incidents, Sir William? Any information could prove valuable to our investigation.”
Sir William glanced toward the door, then lowered his voice slightly.
“There were unpaid debts with several merchants in Meryton—significant sums that suggested a pattern of deliberate fraud rather than mere oversight. The tailor, Mr. Waters, was particularly affected. Then there was the matter of certain… misrepresentations… regarding his background and connections.”
“Misrepresentations?” Darcy prompted, his voice neutral despite the growing certainty that they were finally on the right track.
“He claimed acquaintance with several prominent families,” Sir William explained, warming to his subject.
“Suggested he had been promised a living within the Church, only to be denied it through the jealousy of a benefactor’s son.
Most affecting tale—had half the neighborhood sympathizing with his plight and extending credit on the strength of his anticipated prospects. ”
The familiar pattern of Wickham’s deceptions—the same lies he had apparently spread in Hertfordshire as elsewhere—confirmed his suspicions. “And these claims were later discovered to be false?”
“Indeed,” Sir William nodded gravely. “Though not before considerable damage had been done. Both financial and… social.”
The hesitation before “social” alerted Darcy to a deeper current beneath Sir William’s carefully measured words.
“I would appreciate any details you might provide regarding the social consequences of Mr. Wickham’s presence here,” he said, watching the older man’s face for reaction.
“Particularly as they might relate to the Bennet family of Longbourn.”
The effect was immediate. Sir William’s complexion paled visibly, while his fingers twisted the fabric of his waistcoat. “You are… aware of that unfortunate situation, then?”
“I am aware that Miss Elizabeth Bennet left Hertfordshire rather suddenly in December of 1811,” Darcy replied, choosing his words with extreme care. “And that her departure coincided with Mr. Wickham’s disappearance from the neighborhood.”
“A most distressing coincidence,” Sir William agreed, though his expression suggested he viewed it as something more significant than mere coincidence.
“Miss Elizabeth had refused her cousin Mr. Collins’s offer of marriage—a decision that placed her family in a somewhat precarious position given the entailment of Longbourn. ”
Graham made a note in his book, his movements deliberate enough to be noticed without being intrusive. “And Mr. Wickham’s role in these events?” he asked, his tone suggesting merely professional interest.
Sir William’s discomfort increased visibly.
“It is not my place to speculate on private matters,” he demurred.
“ Suffice it to say that Miss Elizabeth’s departure was followed by certain…
rumors… that linked her absence to Mr. Wickham.
When these reached Mr. Collins’s ears, he withdrew his attentions from my own Charlotte, citing concerns about association with the Bennet family. ”
Darcy had heard differently from Mary that Mr. Collins had continued to pressure the rest of the Bennet daughters until the younger ones were forced to seek guardianship with their uncles. Perhaps Mr. Collins hedged his bets.
Lady Lucas entered the room carrying a tea tray. Her appearance triggered no recognition in Darcy’s mind, though Mary had described her as a woman perpetually comparing herself to her neighbors.
“Sir William, you did not inform me we had guests,” she chided, setting the tray on a small table with practiced precision. “Mr. Darcy, what an unexpected pleasure. We had heard such concerning reports of your health.”
“Your husband has been most helpful in clarifying certain matters,” Darcy replied, rising briefly in acknowledgment of her arrival. “We were discussing the unfortunate events surrounding Mr. Wickham’s time in Hertfordshire.”
Lady Lucas’s expression tightened, her lips compressing into a thin line of disapproval. “That man,” she said with uncharacteristic vehemence, “caused more distress to respectable families than anyone in recent memory. My poor Charlotte—well, it is not to be spoken of.”
Darcy accepted a cup of tea, using the moment to consider his approach. “May I inquire as to the specific nature of these rumors? As Mr. Wickham’s activities have affected my own affairs rather significantly, I am attempting to establish a pattern of his behavior.”
Lady Lucas glanced at her husband, who gave a small nod of permission.
“It was said,” she began, her voice dropping despite the absence of servants in the room, “that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been… compromised… by Mr. Wickham during his time with the mili tia. That when this became known to her family, she fled rather than face the consequences.”
“Though others claimed it was Mr. Collins who compromised her,” Sir William added, his tone suggesting he found this version less credible. “The rumors varied depending on who told them.”
“Did these rumors come from Wickham himself?” he asked, keeping his tone one of detached curiosity rather than personal interest.