“Well, Wickham hasn’t,” said Will, glaring at the door.
“Perhaps if we could teach him…” But I knew that was not the way of it. The watch was like the winds of a storm. It moved and destruction happened its wake, but a storm wasn’t a storm because of anything. It simply was.
“Wickham?” called my husband.
There was no answer.
Will huffed. He felt about in his pocket for the key to the door, and thrust it into the lock. He opened the door and made a little exclamation.
“What?” I said.
He rushed into the room and I followed him.
The room was empty.
CHAPTER TWENTY
fitzwilliam
“The window!” cried Elizabeth, pointing at it.
It was open, curtains fluttering haphazardly in the breeze, gaping wide there, like an open mouth.
“He jumped,” she breathed.
I stalked over to the window, raging. “That would have likely killed him!”
“Yes, but I think he would have welcomed that,” she said. “To be free of us. He would reset in Meryton, and we would have to travel hours to get there.”
I peered out of the window.
She was right behind me.
I caught sight of his broken body, twisted in an unnatural way on the ground below. He had gone out face first. I stopped her. “No, no, don’t look, dearest.”
She pushed me out of the way, annoyed. “I have seen quite a lot of dead bodies lately, you know.”
I supposed that was true.
She looked down at him. “Well, then,” she said with a sigh.
“Yes,” I said.
We stared down at Wickham’s remains, saying nothing, for some time.
Eventually, we went downstairs and out of the dowager house to look over his body. He was definitely dead.
We talked, briefly, of burying him, but we decided this was not necessary, pointless, even. We were dallying, though, for we knew that we must needs get on the road immediately for Meryton. If we were to take a carriage, we would have the time to get there before midnight and the reset, but we must leave soon. We would not wish the carriage to disappear beneath us as we were traveling, because it would leave us stranded and we would have to continue the journey on foot. Horses would be safer, but I knew my wife would not be pleased by the idea of undertaking the trip that way.
It was not to my credit, perhaps, what I said next, but I was simply exhausted. “I know you are worried about what he will be doing to your sister,” I said. “But let us think this through, Elizabeth. He must wake, seek her out, talk her into some scheme to come with him, and this will all take time. We might wait and set out later. We could rest tonight, wake before dawn, and go after him then.”
She let out a gust of air and gave me a look that let me know she was wavering at this prospect.
“It is only that we were married, and we had one night together, and then… this. The madness, the violence, the sheer tumult of all of it, and we have been robbed of any time together. And if we go to seek him, it will be more of the same, forever and ever, Thursdays of thwarting Mr. Wickham in an endless loop. One night, Lizzy, let us take one night for ourselves?”
She bit down on her bottom lip, thinking it over. “Perhaps he will not go for Lydia? He knows we shall be coming for him, does he not? He is a foolish and stubborn man, but he does have ameasure of self-preservation. Perhaps he will simply disappear, go elsewhere, and leave everyone we love alone?”
I liked this idea less, for I thought he might go for Georgiana. God knew, while we’d been off in France, maybe he had already. Maybe he’d…
