He had been able to blacken the name of his nemesis, Fitzwilliam Darcy, after the prig had left the area. And thanks to Darcy’s aloof behaviour, the stupid people were ripe for his tale, starting with one Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He would have liked to have plucked her, but unlike the younger Bennets, especially the youngest, she was not a flirt. Though now that he thought of it, the younger Bennets, who would normally be found flirting with officers every day, were nowhere to be seen. He had been close to bedding Miss Lydia Bennet. And now there were rumours circulating that the Bennets were fantastically wealthy and the girls had impossible-to-be-real dowries.
He was still angry that his plot to gain that mouse Georgiana Darcy’s thirty thousand pound dowry had come to naught. And just when he was about to get that freckled red-headed Mary King to give him her virtue, and find a way to extort her ten thousand pounds, her uncle had removed her and sent her to Liverpool. But the new rumours about the Bennets could not be true. He had seen their small estate and he was sure that if any of it were true, that their silly mother and even sillier daughters would never have been able to keep that secret and would have been dressed in clothes at the height of London fashion.
Mr Wickham had just finished his ablutions and donned his regimentals when there was a knock on his door. He opened to find that it was his ‘for as long as he proved useful friend,’ Denny, who informed him that the Colonel wanted all of his officers to be on parade in the Meryton Main Street in fifteen minutes. Although this was not something that the Derbyshire Militia had done in the past, he made his way over, with his normal over-confident swagger, to where the officers were lining up smartly in three rows.
Wickham felt very proud to be placed in front of all of the officers and directly facing Colonel Forster. He glanced around to see who would take note of the position and possibly buy him a drink later, confused at the looks of disdain and disgust that were being directed at him by the townspeople.
The Colonel called the officers on parade to attention, then he told them all, excepting Lieutenant Wickham, to stand easy. The man who had always thought himself due things that he never earned smirked and puffed out his chest, assuming that he was about to receive a medal or award.
“Lieutenant Wickham, when you joined my unit,” the Colonel’s voice boomed, “did you or did you not sign the document that I require all of my officers to sign, pledging that you are an honourable gentleman who does not lie, cheat, or steal?”
“Yessir, I did,” Wickham frowned, not liking the direction the question implied. Something stirred in his chest, exciting that will to survive which was inside of all men. He felt he should bolt, but saw that escape was not an option. He had not noticed it until he was considering his escape route, but the soldiers of the unit had surrounded the area. However, he was certain that he could lie his way out enough to make his escape, just like always. “May I ask, sir, to where your question tends?” Wickham feigned ease and friendliness.
“I am glad you asked, Lieutenant Wickham, and I will be more than happy to tell you,” the Colonel agreed. “How many maidens have you ruined with false promises of marriage since you have been hosted by the good people of Meryton, Mr Wickham?” he demanded, his voice again carrying through the street for all to hear. His eyes stayed locked on Wickham, and said only “I dare you to run.” For the first time in his life, Wickham did not, could not if he wanted to, his legs felt like blocks of lead.
Wickham was overwhelmed by fear, as one would expect from a coward, and would have collapsed were he not held up on either side by a soldier who each held an iron grip on an arm. He had not even noticed that they had silently closed in. ‘How can this be happening? I am clever enough to escape before there are problems, am I not? I will yet charm my way out of this as it has always worked in the past.’ He was about to try some of his famed charm when the Colonel ignored his attempt at a response.
“Lieutenant Wickham, not only have you ruined young maidens, but you have accrued over eight hundred and fifty pounds of debt between what you owe the hard-working merchants of Meryton. Then there are the loans and debts of honour that you owe to your fellow officers. Do you have the money to settle your debts here and now, Lieutenant Wickham?” the Colonel demanded.
“I would have the money if Darcy had not cheated me…” he started to trot out his well-worn lie.
“You can stop trying to spread that lie, Lieutenant Wickham,” the Colonel cut him off, “we know the truth! How did you run through four thousand pounds in three years? Incidentally, your lack of skills at cards is now infamous among the officers of my regiment, so perhaps I can understand how you fritted the money away. Were you not to study the law, and did you forget that you signed a legal document resigning all claims for said living for the upfront offering of three thousand pounds when you refused to take orders?” the Colonel demanded.
‘How do they know the truth! Darcy would never lay his private dealings open! This is not happening!’ The panicking coward told himself.
A murmur rippled through the crowd that had gathered to watch as they comprehended the true depths of the man’s depravity. It was finally obvious that while he had the appearance of goodness, George Wickham was certainly not a good man and no gentleman.
“All money you do have is being confiscated, and any wages you are due along with the money confiscated will be paid toward your debts with the good merchants of Meryton. The rest will be paid by this Militia and Mr Thomas Bennet of Longbourn. You are forthwith stripped of your rank without reimbursement for your commission, as per your contract. When the commission is sold, it will help pay your debts.” As the Colonel announced this, Wickham’s epaulets that denoted his rank were torn from his shoulders. “You will receive forty lashes publicly, ten to be given by me and the rest will be administered by the fathers of the girls that you have ruined here in Meryton. Once you have been flogged, and your back treated, you will be clapped in irons and then escorted to Southampton where you will meet with Colonel Fitzwilliam, who will assign you to your new unit.” The Colonel relished the delivery of Wickham’s fate.
At the mention of Richard Fitzwilliam, Wickham soiled himself. It was then that the crowd parted so he could see the two posts. He was dragged over to them and his arms were tied to rings at the top of each post. The Colonel gave him ten lashes and he was sure that he could not experience more pain. The fathers of his victims shared the remaining thirty lashes among them; the younger his conquest, the harder the lashes fell. He passed out from the excruciating pain well before the twelfth lash was administered.
When the flogging was mercifully over, he came to in more pain than he had ever imagined. A howling Wickham was clapped in irons and salve was applied to the open wounds on his back. He was then placed in a cart that would be escorted by six officers, each who held his markers for a significant amount. This being the case, he was unlikely to be able to persuade someone to let him go, and he did not doubt their resolve to deliver him to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Just before he left, the Colonel leaned in and claimed what focus Wickham could give.
“What you heard about the Bennets’ wealth is all true. In fact, what is being reported may even be on the low end. You have just made enemies high and low. Your life will not be worth too much as you are going to the front,” the Colonel whispered in Wickham’s ear.
With a very pained and shocked look on his countenance, former Lieutenant George Wickham, heavily smelling of urine, started his trip to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam and the infantry unit he was about to unwillingly join.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
At about the same time that George Wickham started his cart ride toward his date with destiny, Darcy, with his young sister and cousin, knocked on the impressive doors at the townhouse of Mr and Mrs Edward Gardiner. The door was opened by the butler who took Darcy’s card as Darcy requested that he, his sister, and cousin be granted the opportunity to call on the Misses Bennet. They were asked to wait in the entrance hall while the butler went to see if the ladies were at home.
Mr Charles Baire, the Gardiner’s butler, who had been serving the family since the days when they lived in the far more modest townhouse on Gracechurch Street, gave a single knock on the door to the drawing room in which he knew the Bennet sisters were sitting and talking to the mistress. He entered and Mrs Gardiner beckoned for him to approach.
“Yes, Baire? I see you have a card, who is here to see us?” He handed her one of the more elegant cards he had carried in, and after reading the name on it, her eyebrows shot up and she passed the card to her niece, Lizzy, who gasped.
“What can he mean by coming here?” Lizzy exclaimed.
“He asked that he, his sister Miss Darcy, and his Cousin Lady Tiffany Fitzwilliam call on the Misses Bennet,” Baire stated.
“Can we not send him away, Aunt Maddie?” Lizzy pleaded.
“Now Lizzy, after you lectured him about bad behaviour and hypocrisy, how can you suggest behaving so impolitely?” Aunt Maddie chided. Lizzy harrumphed but nodded to her aunt, and Jane nodded that she would also meet them. “Please show them in Baire.”
“Right away, Mistress.” Baire bowed his head to the three ladies and went to complete their request.
Two minutes later there was a noise from outside the door, so the ladies within stood, anticipating the entry. “Lady Tiffany Fitzwilliam of Snowhaven and Matlock House, and Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley and Darcy House,” Baire announced as he bowed and the ladies all curtsied. The butler backed out of the drawing room, closing the doors behind him.
Elizabeth saw none of his pride or hauteur evident. ‘Who is this pleasant man and what has he done with the proud, taciturn, and arrogant Mr Darcy?’ Lizzy asked herself before making introductions at her aunt’s request. “Aunt Maddie, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, Mr Darcy our aunt, Mrs Madeline Gardiner, formerly of Lambton and mistress of this house and the estate of Dovedale,” Elizabeth offered.
