Fitzwilliam went directly to the specified building, hoping to God he had made better time than Darcy. He could conceive of no other reason for his cousin to travel hither than to exact some form of revenge on Wickham, and he was resolved to prevent him, lest the wrong man ended up swinging.
Colonel Forster’s assurance that Darcy had never set foot in his establishment was not only a relief; it presented Fitzwilliam with a unique opportunity. Bringing to bear the full weight of his rank, he quickly secured permission for an audience with the sorry pox-crust of a man in Forster’s gaol.
Wickham scrabbled back against the wall when Fitzwilliam stepped into his cell. “What doyouwant?” he said, looking frantically about as though there might be a door he had somehow previously failed to notice, which might now afford him escape. “Is it not enough for you or your bastard of a cousin that I shall be flogged?”
“Wait outside,” Fitzwilliam ordered the accompanying soldier, glaring at him until he complied. Turning back to Wickham, he crossed his arms and watched him bluster and flap and attempt to justify his crime.
“What is so special about the mort? ’Tis not as though I laid a finger on your precious little cousin.”
Fitzwilliam never ceased to be amazed by the man’s foolhardiness. He shook his head and removed his gloves, one finger at a time.
Wickham watched his movements with wide eyes. “It was an accident!”
Fitzwilliam put his gloves in his pocket and patted them flat.
“She provoked me to it!”
Then he rolled his shoulders, laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles.
Wickham recommenced his backward scramble. “I wished only to silence her!”
That was as good a cue as any. Fitzwilliam exploded across the room and rammed his fist down violently into the cowering runt’ssternum. There was a loud crack and a forceful wheeze as Wickham’s chest emptied of air. His head snapped forwards, then back again, banging against the wall. Fitzwilliam gripped his shirt front, delivered two further punches to his cheek for good measure, then leant into his face. “I will see you swing for this, you bastard.”
Wickham managed only a weak gurgle before slumping sideways, insensate. That much achieved, Fitzwilliam left the gaol with but one thing on his mind. Where the hell was Darcy?
Caroline Bingley turned away from the window in disgust as Netherfield’s chimneys came into view across the detestable Hertfordshire landscape. There was nowhere in the country she wished less to be than here, yet her sister’s summons had obliged her to forego all her engagements and endure half a day in a jolting, ill-cushioned post chaise—all to prevent her hapless brother embroiling himself with the wretched Bennets.Again.
The sisters’ horror at the prospect of such a union was not without foundation. Miss Deverall had been visiting when Louisa’s summons arrived, and in her consternation, Caroline had let slip those details which prudence might have counselled her to conceal—namely her brother’s imminent alliance with the Bennets of Longbourn. Miss Deverall’s response,“Who?”had been the first nail in her social coffin—the lady’s hasty departure thereafter, the second. Mrs Blacknell’s subsequent and unexplained cancellation of their trip to Bond Street later that afternoon had been the third, and she knew very well that, unless she prevented her brother from making his addresses, all hope for the Bingleys would soon be lost.
Snapping at her slumbering maid to rouse herself, she stepped down from the carriage and trudged towards the house, enquiring of the awaiting butler as to her sister’s whereabouts.
“She is from home, Miss Bingley,” he replied.
Caroline stopped walking and took a deep breath before repeating her enquiry.
“I understand Mr Hurst had business with the McAllisters in St Albans, ma’am. They are expected to return on the morrow.”
Having sacrificed all her own arrangements, Caroline was lessthan impressed to discover Louisa off gallivanting with friends.“And my brother?”
“Is from home also.”
“They are,allof them, from home?”
“They are.”
“Do you happen to know where my brother has gone?”
“He is at Longbourn, ma’am.”
“Oh yes, of course! He would be, would he not! Howcompletelymarvellous!”
Such was her pique that it was a moment before she noticed the carriage rolling through the gates at the head of the drive. When she did, her insides performed a little summersault, for there was no mistaking theMatlock crest emblazoned upon the doors. “For heaven’s sake, get that contraption out of sight!” she barked at the driver of the post chaise.
No sooner had she straightened her attire and primped her dishevelled coiffure than the ornate carriage drew to a halt, and out stepped Darcy’s cousin. They were well enough acquainted that the salutations were swiftly observed, and the colonel barely waited that long before announcing he had come in search of his cousin.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Colonel. Mr Darcy has not been here since la?—”
“He was here this morning, sir. His trunks are within, but he left again directly.”
