“Then there is nothing else to discuss,” said Darcy. “Wickham has brought this on himself with his entitlement and his lust for riches at any cost. What follows is on his head.”
Fitzwilliam nodded but did not reply.
The jail in Meryton was a small, nondescript building a street away from the primary thoroughfare, set into a corner between other buildings. The only thing that identified it was the bars in the windows and the massive timbers they had used in its construction. In a town the size of Meryton, Darcy doubted its cells were much occupied, except for perhaps the occasional drunken rowdy incarcerated within until the effects of drink wore off.
When Darcy and Fitzwilliam stepped into the small building, they noted the building was more extensive than appeared from the outside, a small main room and office for the constable, with a door in the far wall, no doubt leading to the cells, of which there could be only two. The constable looked up upon their entrance, and seeing Darcy’s expression, interpreted it correctly.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said he, extending his hand in greeting. “I see the town’s lockup surprises you. Though I was not involved in its construction, I am grateful for the foresight of those who planned it, otherwise, I would receive no peace when we are hosting our guests.”
“Yes, I can well imagine it,” said Fitzwilliam with a grin. “That is why a regiment usually constructs a stockade a little away from the camp.”
The constable nodded and lost no time in addressing the reason for their presence. “I assume you wish to see Mr. Wickham?”
“Has he given you much trouble?” asked Darcy.
“Not with that stout door in the way,” said the man. “When we take him his meals, he makes it a point to protest his innocence, but other than that, I have had a peaceful time of it.
“Now,” said he, looking between them, “can you tell me how long I will need to hold him?”
“Not long, with any luck,” said Fitzwilliam. “My father is an earl. Given Wickham’s offenses, I do not think there is any need to bother with a trial, which will mean his incarceration much longer than you would wish.”
The constable grunted his agreement. “The next assizes are in Stevenage, for Meryton is too small to hold trials, and it is not for another two months.”
“Then all the more reason to deal with our friend at once,” said Fitzwilliam. “I wrote to my father to request his intervention. With his influence, I hope to see Wickham on the next ship to Van Diemen’s Land.”
“Very well, sir,” said the constable. “I can hold him until then.
“Now, I assume you wish to see him?”
“‘Wish’ is a strong term,” jested Fitzwilliam.
“But it must be done,” said Darcy, wishing to dispense with this business at once.
“Very well,” said the man, producing a ring of keys.
He stepped to the door and unlocked it, allowing them to enter, while locking it behind them, telling them that they need only knock when they wished to leave. Within the next room stood two cells, one on either side of a walkway between the two. Darcy noted it was wide enough for the jailor to elude any attempt from one within the cells to reach out for them. The cell on the left was empty, while the occupant of the other looked upat them as they entered, desperate hope lighting his features.
“Darcy!” exclaimed he, rising to his feet.
“This is where he begs for mercy,” said Fitzwilliam in an aside to Darcy.
Wickham made a credible attempt to avoid glaring at the jibe. That he saw Darcy as the only path to freedom was clear in the way he focused his attention, completely ignoring Fitzwilliam.
“I see you wish to negotiate with me. Perhaps a new start in the Americas might be for the best?”
Darcy regarded his former playmate, unsurprised by the man’s audacity. Then again, nothing about George Wickham’s boldness was a surprise and had not been for many years.
“No, Wickham, I believe your offenses extend beyond the point of offering you freedom in the New World.”
“What do you mean?” asked Wickham as he blanched at the implication.
“You attempted to elope with the granddaughter of an earl,” said Darcy.
“For the second time,” added Fitzwilliam.
Darcy nodded and turned his attention back to the pathetic scoundrel in the cell. “Besides this, you entered the house of a man with five daughters, attempted to abduct that granddaughter and hold her for ransom, to say nothing of what I suspect you meant to do to the man’s daughters should he defy you. Do you suppose the earl would stay silent if we granted you clemency? Would any decent man plead for your salvation with such sins staining your conduct?”
“He would flay you with his tongue,” muttered Wickham, coming to the correct conclusion far more quickly than Darcy might have imagined.
