“Madam, if you believed all of those lies, then you will believe anything,” Fitzwilliam growled. “Do you think we would have an arrest warrant for forged debt markers? He was not left a penny in the late Mr Darcy’s will because of his dishonourable actions, and this parasite was the one jealous of my cousin! Did he tell you about the young girls—I will not call them ladies—he likes to seduce and ruin? I will wager not.”
Darcy stared at Wickham with balled-up fists. “We know it all! I should thrash you for what you planned to do to my sister. But I will leave you to the dirtiest, darkest cell in King’s Bench.” He paused for a moment. “Go ahead, Wicky, try and tell your wife that my cousin said one word that is not true,” he challenged.
Knowing he could not refute anything, Wickham looked away.
At that instant, Karen Wickham knew her husband had played her for a fool. He had used her, and she realised that had he managed to get any money from Mr Darcy, he would have taken off without her. “I will tell you anything you want to know. Like a silly schoolgirl and not a woman fully grown, I fell for his silver tongue,” she admitted sadly.
“Take him away,” Fitzwilliam ordered. He looked at the dejected Mrs Wickham. “We could have you prosecuted for fraud, but as you are in a way one of his victims, we will not. See to it you never have cause to be arrested again because there will be no reprieve next time.”
Before Wickham could attempt to think of an escape, his wrists and ankles were manacled. Two rather large men dragged him out of the boarding house on Edward Street. He was thrown into the back of an open cart where the chain running between his wrists was locked to a ring in the bed of the grimy cart. There would be no squirming out of this situation.
Wickham watched as fear overtook him. The two large men climbed onto the driver’s bench and one took the reins of the nag which was to pull the cart. Even had he not been secured to the bed, to abscond from the cart would have been impossible thanks to the four burly men acting as outriders.
At the slow plodding pace, the ride from Edward Street to the prison, located in St George’s Fields, took the best part of an hour and one half to cover the little more than four miles. Wickham was as uncomfortable as he had ever been because he was unable to change his position thanks to being shackled to the bed of the cart. The whole time he was being conveyed towards the hellhole Darcy was consigning him to, he attempted to divine how his enemies had discovered his plans so completely.
No matter how many times Wickham went over everything in his head, he could not reach a conclusion as to who betrayed him. They had only discussed the plans in the house and except for when the deaf manservant was about, they had been very careful. Perhaps one of the maids had been paid some coin to spy on them?
It was all immaterial now. He was on his way to debtor’s prison and thanks to Fitzwilliam and the prig telling Karen the truth, he had lost her as an ally as well. As her husband, he could command her, but that was difficult to do from prison.
He felt a cold shiver when the cart and riders passed under the arched sign announcing the name of the prison. He heard the grinding of metal on metal as the high gates were closed behind them and did not miss the sounds of bolts being slid home. Soon the cart stopped and a man roughly unlocked him from the bed of the cart and almost pushed Wickham out onto the flagstones in what looked to him like a courtyard.
There was a man in gentleman’s clothing who received the papers from one of his captors. Wickham watched as the man read.
“I see ourguestwill be with us for a long time,” the governor quipped. “It says he is to be housed in the palace. You two, show Mr Wickham to his new home and make sure he is comfortable.”
‘Thank goodness. At least Darcy is not having me locked away in squalor,’ Wickham thought on hearing the governor’s words.
When he arrived at a cell, Wickham realised that the man had been sarcastic. It was nothing more than a large cage; five other men within. Other than some straw on the floor, there was nowhere to lie at night. The odour was pungent. In one corner there was one bucket to relieve oneself in, and from the smell it was not emptied every day.
The manacles were removed, and before Wickham could react, he was pushed through the open door and the barred door was locked behind him.
“Welcome to hell,” one of the men grated out.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“I do not know how to thank you,” Darcy stated. He had come to Hurst House to see Hurst and indicate the level of his gratitude to the man. “I would have employed Mrs Younge while arrogantly not checking her characters, and who knows what would have…” He stopped speaking. Saying the words out loud would have been too difficult for him. Gigi would have paid for his mistakes. “This is not the first time you have saved me from myself, but I hope I will learn enough so it is not needed again.”
“No thanks are necessary. I never trusted the parasite and even with the short leash you and Fitzwilliam gave him, I was certain he would reach a point where he would be enough of a simpleton to attempt one of his doomed-to-failure schemes. Perhaps I should have informed you I was having him closely watched. However, until there was something to be concerned about, I did not see the need to do so.”
“Regardless of when you told us, your actions saved my sister from what could have been a hellish fate. If he wanted his revenge on me for the perceived wrongs he hassufferedat my hands, hurting Gigi would have been an effective way to get at me,” Darcy owned.
“I have heard the lady you are interested in say something that has been handed down through her family. She says, ‘learn from the past, but then only remember it as that remembrance gives you pleasure.’ You may want to follow that philosophy.”
“Of late, Bingley has been speaking of leasing an estate to begin to see if the life of a landed gentleman is for him. Who should I send him to in order to enquire about an available lease on Netherfield Park?” Darcy enquired. “From my stay there I remember it to be a good-sized estate for him to learn at.”
“And the fact it neighbours Longbourn, where Lizzy, who turned twenty in March, lives, is not important, is it?” Hurst quipped.
“Of course not; that is purely coincidental,” Darcy returned with put-on hauteur.
“I still have Mr Phillips’s card—he is the owner’s agent—here in my drawer.” Hurst made a show of searching for the card when he knew exactly where it was: in fact, he had a few of them. “Here it is.” He handed Darcy the card.
“How is your wife since the birth of your second son in December past? I trust she is fully recovered.” Darcy asked.
Louisa had given birth to Ignatius Harold Hurst on the twentieth day of December 1810, only five days before the Lord’s birthday. Their second son was doing very well, but thanks to a very hard birth, Louisa had taken much longer to recover than she had with either Arthur or Tisha. Sir Frederick Gillingham had attended her, and Hurst was sure he had saved Louisa’s life. They had been told by the accoucheur that the chances were great Louisa would not fall in the family way again.
They had three precious gifts from God, so although they would not have repined more children, Louisa and Harold were thankful for the ones they had been blessed with.
Louisa had been weak and listless until mid-February, and then, it seemed the Hand of God had been at work, because Louisa finally began to improve until by the end of March she had thankfully been back to her full strength. She had been sad that due to the malady she suffered after his birth, she had not been able to suckle Ignatius like she had their first two, and he had been fed by a wetnurse. Again, rather than look at what shehad not had, Louisa gave thanks that both she and their second son were healthy.
