“I thought Mr Wickham had funds to have a room on the master’s side?”
“He has no money left and no friends to help him, and he asks my cousin to speak to me to intercede on his behalf because he fears that after he moves into the lesser accommodations, he will die from some typhus-like fever that is now running through the prison.”
“What does he expect you to do?”
“The only way to secure his release is for him to settle his debts.” Darcy crumpled the letter. “But since I purchased every single debtfrom every shopkeeper, banker, and moneylender, I am his only creditor, and I refuse.”
There was a triumph in his words that Elizabeth could not like, although she understood it. “And he will be sent into the squalor of the lesser accommodations in the common side?”
Darcy nodded with a small, mirthless smile.
“Where there is currently a gaol fever that has killed other prisoners?” Darcy nodded again, and although the smile was gone, his eyes were alight with satisfaction.
“Fitzwilliam, Mr Wickham might die.”
“Then good riddance to bad ware!”
“You cannot truly mean that?” she pleaded. She did not want to believe that a good man’s grief and anger could lead him to feel satisfied to see a wicked man die.
Darcy looked at her in disbelief. “Mr Wickham did not default from poor business decisions or through a tragedy or from ignorance. He is in prison because he gambled and borrowed too much, defrauded his creditors, and alienated any friend who might have pitied him and helped him.”
“That is true, but he is also in prison because you had the fortune and the desire to put him there.”
“No axiom is more clearly established than that whatever end is required, the means are authorised. Mr Wickham could not be brought to task for seducing Georgiana—she wasfifteen—but he borrowed too freely, never intending to repay, and I can see him die in gaol forthat.”
Elizabeth did not want to suspect Darcy capable of descending into such malicious revenge as wishing for a man’s death. Grief and regret were potent forces. How could Darcy ever be relieved of the guilty burdens he carried if he added to his conscience allowing Wickham to die?
“Fitzwilliam,” she began, moving closer to him, “Mr Wickham is a corrupter, he wronged Georgiana, he was selfish, but he did not cause her death. She was already dying of consumption.”
Tears formed in his eyes but did not fall. “His actions at Ramsgate led to her death. Had she not born his child, she might have lived for years.”
“Or she may have died this summer in any event.”
“He killed my sister!” Darcy roared, and Elizabeth drew back. “Yes, I am eager to inflict some retribution on him. Does that make me wrathful, vengeful, resentful? Perhaps it does, but I no longer care, Elizabeth. Mr Wickham can die in prison and go to the devil!”
She was in silent agony to see him filled with such hatred. He spoke with a resolution that sprang from despair rather than reason. Elizabeth gave Darcy a long look before slowly wrapping her arms around him. She felt him, after a moment’s hesitation, relax and return her embrace.
“Your grief and regrets will establish these wrathful thoughts into your character if you do not consider paying for Mr Wickham to remain in the master’s side of the Fleet until the typhus infection has passed.”
“You cannot think that my resentment could be applied to anyone other than Mr Wickham. Nor can you think he is deserving of compassion.”
“I fear your spirit might become more settled as a vengeful one, and this wrath will consume you and ruin you more than pride or any other vice.” She leant back to look him in the eye. He heard her words, he considered them—she could tell—but they had not entered his heart. “You ought to see Mr Wickham. He has appealed to your mercy.”
Darcy dropped his arms and gave her an incredulous look. “I forced myself to the task ofwritingto him when I interrupted their intended elopement. All I did after Ramsgate was take up my pen and tell him to stay away, and that was a trial. To see him in person would be the most grating experience of my life.”
There was a private grief and anger that she had sensed in him but had never been able to penetrate. It was something more visceral, and mixed with a righteous anger at the man who, Darcy believed, had caused Georgiana’s death.
“If you want to take revenge on Mr Wickham, then you ought to see him and know what that harm will mean, for the both of you.” Her husband was a principled and generous man. She believed that, in duecourse, Darcy would regret that he allowed even a villain to die when he might have prevented it.
“I know what will happen.” He gave a cold smile. “He will die in a fortnight from typhus.”
If she could not convince him to reconsider, there was one other person who might. “Before Georgiana died, she made me promise not to let her brother blame himself for her seduction or for not curing her. She made me promise that you would not mourn her for too long.” She paused to draw breath. “And she made me promise not to let you wish for vengeance.”
Darcy exhaled as though he had been hit in the chest, and he turned away. She followed immediately, putting a hand on his arm and forcing him to stay near her. “Elizabeth, I will not release Mr Wickham from his obligation.”
“I am not asking you to. He cannot be put in prison for preying on women. Every young lady is safer with him in debtors’ prison, and he deserves to be punished for not repaying. All I am asking is that you see him before your choice leads him to contract typhus and die, and Georgiana is asking you to consider your own happiness and peace.”
Darcy gave her a long look before yielding. “I shall not argue against both of you.” He sighed. “He will only run on about the abuse he believes I have bestowed upon him. My going will likely confirm my decision to see him die there.”
