The Colonel made no secret of the fact that this would be a difficult chase. He had no drawings of Wickham and knew not how to get any, so all there was to go on was the man’s name and that of his comrade, Mrs. Younge. This might not even be her real name!
His efforts, and those of his team, were focused on the poor areas of town – St. Giles Rookery, for example, and Whitechapel. The Colonel knew that Wickham could not resist the opportunity to find a place where he could get a pint and a chance at a game, so they focused on pubs. And if enough men went into enoughpubs and asked enough questions, something, some small fact, some small arrow pointing to the villain, might surface.
The Colonel did not exempt himself from the task of visiting pubs. He emerged from Matlock House every day, wearing dusty old clothes and a cap pulled down over his face. He would then walk to the end of the street, hail a hansom cab, and begin his rounds.
Typically, he would pay for a pint – thus making himself a friend of the landlord – and then ask if anyone by the name of George Wickham had made an appearance. He would say that he owed the man money and wanted very much to repay him.
Invariably, the landlord would say that he knew of no one by that name, but would keep an ear out.
And then the scene would repeat itself at the next pub.
The Colonel did not enjoy the process, certainly, but he kept on, doggedly. When his energy flagged, he would imagine what he would do to Wickham when he found him, and that was incentive enough to move him on to the next pub. And the next. And the next.
Each day, his men – his Bow Street runners and his ex-army fellows – would send a message to Matlock House. And each day, the messages would say two words:No luck.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Netherfield Park
In the short carriage ride back to Netherfield, Mr. Darcy was relieved beyond words to see the small smile on Georgiana’s face as they returned to Netherfield Park from Longbourn. How kind everyone had been! How welcoming! How motherly Mrs. Bennet was!
He wondered, quickly, if there was a way to ask Mrs. Bennet how to know if Georgiana was – was – he could not form the words, even in his mind. But he could not imagine how he would frame the question.
He was aware, suddenly, that Mr. Bingley was speaking to him.
“…not the most beautiful creature you have ever seen? And so gentle and sweet!”
Mr. Darcy understood at once that his friend was referring to the eldest Miss Bennet. “She is all of that, Bingley,” he agreed.
“I will marry her!”
Mr. Darcy coughed. “Is this not rather sudden, Bingley?”
“No! I know it in my very bones, Darcy! From the moment I met her, I knew we were destined for one another!”
Mr. Darcy stared at his friend for a moment, biting his lips so as not to laugh, before replying. “Then I congratulate you, Bingley. But I ask, as your friend, that you wait a little longer before you kneel before her. You might know it inyourbones, but that does not mean that she knows it as well.”
Mr. Bingley considered this. “You might be right,” he agreed, with obvious reluctance.
“Give her a fortnight or so to get to know you,” Mr. Darcy urged. “She will learn to love you, of course, as who would not? But give her the chance to do so.”
“A fortnight. Very well. I can wait that long.”
Mr. Darcy sighed, but he understood that Bingley’s propensity to think the very best of people, to immediately single out Miss Jane Bennet, was the same impulse that had led him to offer a refuge to the Darcys.
***
Back at Netherfield, Georgiana came to Mr. Darcy’s room to speak with him.
“Brother?”
“Yes, Georgiana?”
“Will we visit them again soon?”
“The Bennets?”
“Yes.”
