Page 46 of The Marriage Game
April 1815
It was a weary and travel-stained Colonel who finally arrived at the militia camp in Newcastle. He presented himself to the guard stationed at the edge of the camp. “I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and I am here to speak with your commanding officer, Colonel Rowley.” His tone spoke of authority, and the guard responded to it.
“Yes, sir!” The man executed a snappy salute and led the way through the camp.
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the command tent, and was immediately welcomed by Colonel Rowley, who offered him a comfortable seat and refreshments.
“Thank you, Colonel. I am grateful for your hospitality.”
“You have come all the way from London on horseback?”
“Yes.”
“Your errand here must be urgent indeed.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam hesitated. How much family business should he relate? Very little, he decided. “I hope to speak with one of your men, a Lieutenant George Wickham, on a personal matter.”
Colonel Rowley frowned. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“I would not call him a friend.”
“That is just as well, as he is in prison.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s jaw dropped open. “In prison?”
“Yes; he tried to leave camp with my own horse, if you can believe that.”
“Desertion and horse theft!”
“Precisely.”
“What will you do with him?”
“Shoot him at dawn, unless you are here to rescue him. If the latter, I must say you have cut it fine indeed, as punishment is to be carried out tomorrow.”
“Would you actually permit me to rescue him?” the Colonel wondered.
“You would need a mighty fine reason, as he has been nothing but trouble for me.” Colonel Rowley eyed his guest carefully.
Colonel Fitzwilliam thought about it, long and hard, while Colonel Rowley waited patiently. Whatever decision he made was one he would have to live with for the rest of his life. Finally, he said. “I will not interfere. I understand that he has a wife and two children. Does she know his fate?”
Colonel Rowley hesitated. “Mrs. Wickham was told, and she immediately went into hysterics. She has not visited her husband in prison, and I am given to understand that she has not left her lodgings.”
“What will become of her?”
Colonel Rowley shrugged. “I know not. I hope she has someone who will come and care for her, as there is no one here to do so. Do you know where her family is?”
“In Hertfordshire.”
Colonel Rowley shook his head. “Quite a distance.”
“Has she no one here to help her? No friends?”
“Not that I am aware of, and the Army cannot take any responsibility for her. She will not even receive her husband’s last wages, as these monies must go to satisfy his debts.”
“I suppose I must take charge of her.” Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. Had he thought this would be easy?
“Here is her direction. I will have one of my men lead you there.”
Half an hour later, Colonel Fitzwilliam found himself knocking on Mrs. Wickham’s door. It opened after a few minutes, and the Colonel found himself looking at a young woman. She looked as if she had not slept in some time; her hair was lank, and her dress old and stained. So this was Lydia Wickham! He had imagined her rather differently, based on Elizabeth’s occasional references to her youngest sister.
“Mrs. Wickham?”
She eyed him distrustfully. “Who wants to know?”
“I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”
She had to think for a minute to place the name. “Oh! Mr. Darcy’s cousin, right?”
“Yes; may I come in?”
She stepped back, allowing him into a rather cramped and dismal set of rooms. She saw his expression and tossed her head. “Better than living in a tent!”
“Very much better,” he agreed at once. “Mrs. Wickham, I understand your husband is to be –“ he hesitated. “Well, that you will soon be left alone with your children.”
She immediately burst into tears. “It is not right! Desertion? Never! He never would have left me! Someone is lying!”
“Mrs. Wickham,” the Colonel said, desperately, giving her his handkerchief. “I know nothing of the matter, but I cannot just leave you here to fend for yourself. Mrs. Darcy would expect me to aid you to the best of my ability, and that is what I shall do.”
“Aid me? You can aid me by getting them to see that it is a mistake!”
“Mrs. Wickham, I must speak frankly. Your husband will be executed tomorrow morning. I cannot stop it. I will make arrangements to have you returned to – what is the name of your father’s estate?”
“Longbourn,” she said, her eyes wide with disbelief and dawning terror.
“Yes, returned to Longbourn. Do you understand?” Perhaps he could just find a coachman and hire him to take the Wickhams back to Longbourn, while he rode back to London on his own.
“They are really going to shoot him?”
“Yes.”
“And you will help me get home?” she said. “I cannot manage on my own.” Just then a baby began to cry. Mrs. Wickham stared at him, blue eyes pleading.
The Colonel gave up. This young woman could not possibly manage the long coach ride without considerable assistance.
“I will help you,” he said. “Pack your things and write to your parents to advise them of your coming. I will return with a carriage tomorrow.” Then he made his way to an inn that did not look too terrible and sat on the thin mattress, head in his hands, wondering if he had done right.