There had not been enough time for Mary to get to Fitzwilliam, she supposed, let alone for him to ride to Meryton, and Elizabeth truly did not wish to lose sight of the man—especially not into a home with female servants who would be at risk from a rake.
She could call out his name to stop him, but he was an escaped prisoner. Surely he would not be enlisting under his real name.
Mere flirtation? Could she stall him long enough for Fitzwilliam to reach her?
Pretending to be Lydia-like, Elizabeth called out, “Excuse me, sir!”
Wickham stopped and turned, graceful in his movements and warmly courteous in his manner, “Can I help you in some way, Miss?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I believe that you are the officer assigned to stay with my aunt, Mrs Philips. Are you not?”
Elizabeth was a bit pleased that Wickham turned towards her fully, apparently interested in whatever she was saying. But she was also entirely horrified that he did so.
He said, “No, miss; I have taken lodgings at the King residence.”
“Oh, dear! I was so certain that you were to come to my aunt. And now I cannot remember the name of the officer I was to look for. Do you have someone named…Dennison or Derby or Denton or Benton or Bixby…?”
The smile Wickham sent her way seemed entirely sincere and quite attractive, but just as he had set her alarms ringing five years ago, in Ramsgate, Elizabeth felt it was too practiced, too smooth to be genuine. He said, “There’s an officer named Denny. Could that be the one?”
“That just might be it,” she said. “Do you have any idea where Colonel Denny is? Or…is it Captain, or Lieutenant?”
Wickham approached her and said, “It is Lieutenant Denny, and I have no idea where he might be. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lieutenant Morris.”
She said, “Oh, it is so very nice to meet you, Lieutenant Morris. My name is Miss Clarke.”
He bowed over her hand. As she rose from her curtsey, she became a bit alarmed that he kissed her hand and held onto it a few extra seconds. She was so deep into playacting, however, she managed to giggle as if the attentions he paid her were pleasing.
“Well, I suppose, if you have no idea where Lieutenant Denny is, I will have to wander around looking for the officer.” Still pretending to be Lydia, Elizabeth fluttered her eyelashes as she let loose an enormous sigh.
“Perhaps I could help you search for the Lieutenant,” Wickham suggested.
He offered his arm, and Elizabeth took it. Actually, she clutched at his arm, hoping that he would not attempt to importune her, but also not wishing him to run off easily.
She reviewed in her mind the various defensive moves her uncle had taught her, even as she rattled on, Lydia-like, about how glorious the soldiers had appeared, how handsome they looked in their red coats, on and on. She kept track of where Wickham, presumably a stranger in town, was walking, and when he tried to turn into an alley, Elizabeth planted her feet and stopped him in his tracks.
“Oh, dear, sir, I know that you are new to town, but this alley is well known as being dangerous. We must keep to the main streets.”
Wickham puffed up his chest and said, “You need not fear when I am with you, Miss Clarke. I thought I saw a dark-haired soldier—just a flash—in the alley just now, and if we follow, I believe we may find the lieutenant.”
“Nevertheless, we will not go this way. Come, I will show you where the alley ends, and then we may find the man. I do so appreciate your help, Lieutenant Morris, and I admire your courage, but three men have been killed in the alley this year alone….”
Tugging on his arm, Elizabeth got Wickham to walk down the main street again, and she kept up her praises of his courage, his obvious strength, his gentlemanly manners. He asked where she lived, and she said—truthfully—that she was the daughter of a gentleman whose estate lay nearby, but—she entered into the territory of outright lies—she also said that her father did not wish to encourage callers, while she was so young, and so he had insisted that she not tell people the name of their estate. “But he allows me to go to the assemblies in Meryton. If you come, too, we can dance together.”
Wickham seemed quite interested in her, now, and Elizabeth saw that his clever questions might seem innocuous to unsuspecting maidens, but to her they seemed to angle towards discovering how wealthy the family was, and how large it was. She talked and talked in the way that she thought the bold and unguarded Lydia might speak, if the Bennets were rich: she hinted that their father was quite wealthy and that she was an only child and the heiress.
Finally, however, Wickham stopped walking and said, “I must give up in defeat. I have not spotted Lieutenant Denny, and I assume he is indoors, doing exactly as I ought, andtherefore I must go to the King’s residence. I apologise for my inability to help you, after all, but I am certain that I shall see you soon, Miss Clarke. In fact, I very much look forward to it.”
He seemed as if he was about to use his superior strength to disentangle his arm, but Elizabeth heard horses approaching. She hoped that Fitzwilliam and Orion might be among them, but she also felt that an unencumbered Wickham might escape, so she said, “Please, sir, may I ask one further favour? Might you give me my first kiss?”
Wickham started with surprise, wavered, and was smoothly launching into one of his honeyed speeches. Because he lowered his head to speak to her, Elizabeth felt that she had enough cover to pretend as if he was being horribly improper to her, and she kneed him in the groin as hard as she could and then let out a ladylike screech of “How dare you?”
Wickham went down like a sack of potatoes, howling in outrage and, she presumed, pain. She assumed he could not easily walk, let alone run, yet she kept hold of his arm as she finally turned her head and saw that her guess was correct. Fitzwilliam was nearly upon them, Mr Bingley and Mr Hurst were farther back, and Mary, still on Ajax, was farthest away.
Fitzwilliam said, “I cannot believe that you are correct! It is indeed Wickham!” He slid off Orion’s back—apparently her intended had not taken the time to saddle his horse—and she gladly let go of Wickham’s arm as he pulled the blackguard up and pinned both of his arms behind his back.
Mr Hurst had his saddle and a saddlebag, and when he arrived he fished in the latter for some rope. Soon Fitzwilliam had Wickham trussed up and lying in the street.
Elizabeth wondered where her other sisters were, and she was planning to ask Mary—but then she saw Jane, Lydia, and Kitty exiting the bookshop, alongside John Lucas. Mary apparently asked for John’s help to dismount, and she musthave thanked him, but Elizabeth was surprised to see him riding towards home as quickly as Ajax could move.
