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I just chuckled and waved the gun a bit more. “A man like you ought not fear any lady.”

I waved the pistol around a bit more, looked across the barrel, and made certain it was pointing exactly where I wanted it. Mr Bingley followed my instructions and the door stood open.

Having little choice in the matter, Wickham did as he was told. He backed over to the door slowly, looking frantically all the while for an escape, while intently watching the pistol. I followed along, keeping the weapon pointed carefully where I wanted it, while never coming close enough for him to be confident he could accost me or turn tail without receiving a bullet in the back. He no doubt decided he would rather die on the fields of Spain in a few months than the floor of this parsonage at that moment. His life history probably convinced him he was invincible and could escape retribution forever. He eventually stepped into the stairwell.

I bade him walk down a half-dozen steps, while I prepared to slam the door.

I sent Mr Bingley to the other side of the room with a wave of my head, and the gentleman was sensible enough to go along with the scheme, even though I had not actually threatened him specifically. Most men have enough sense to not argue with a firearm or a madwoman.

When Wickham reached a small landing halfway down the stairs, I said, “Mr Wickham, do you see that fire iron right beside you?”

He looked at it in some growing alarm, wondering what in the world I could be talking about, but eventually answered, “Yes.”

“I suggest you take it with you.”

He looked alarmed, and I raised my voice to the one I used to call Lizzy in from the back woods. I was a mother, and I could be heard at any distance I wanted when it suited me.

“Mr Collins, there is a man come to kill you. I suggest you defend yourself.”

I was rewarded by the scream of a true madman, wound up for defence… or revenge… or mayhem… and satisfied by a corresponding shout from another throat, and only a few moments later, the sound of iron on iron, before I closed the door and carefully barred it.

Mr Bingley looked decidedly sheepish, but made no move to threaten me in any way.

“Come sit with me and have some tea, Mr Bingley. We have much to discuss. You have no need to fear me, nor fear for me, nor for your mortal soul. This is all my doing; all shall be on my account. All you have done is help a man go exactly where he wished to go. You are innocent of any crime, or sin, or dishonour.”

I carefully and obviously pointed the pistol in another direction and returned the hammer to a safe position. No matter how much I needed it, I had hated every minute I held that infernal thing in my hand; but that did not stop me from learning how to shoot. Old retired soldiers could be very useful, and my brother Philips was a much stronger and more resourceful man than anybody gave him credit for—which oddly enough, was part of his strategy as an attorney.

I shooed Mr Bingley towards the table just like I would a recalcitrant child and went over to the teapot that still had abundant reserves, as I had made it not ten minutes before the men entered. The entire episode with Wickham took far less than ten minutes start to finish, and I was satisfied with the result.

I poured out tea for both and rummaged around in my bag for some biscuits I had purchased in the village.

Mr Bingley flinched when we heard a few more shouts and the clang of iron on iron, followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the ground.

“Do not fret, sir. They cannot escape that cellar. Lizzy’s sergeant was very careful. They shan’t be interrupted from their sport, and my Jane made sure the curate, the sergeant, and Mrs MacDonald are well away for the day. I am afraid though, that I deceived her as thoroughly as I deceived you, so she has no idea why; and I daresay she will be most vexed with me when she learns.”

He looked like he was about to argue, or perhaps regret his part in the deception, or perhaps lose his biscuits, but I wanted to set his mind at ease.

“Would you feel a need to interfere, or be worried about the outcome, if Mr Wickham was in Spain fighting some French farmer’s son, who had done him no harm, and had no more idea why they were fighting than Wickham did?”

He had to reflect that not all life-and-death circumstances were as simple as they seemed.

“No, madam, I suppose I would not. It may sound vile, but in that case, I might wish the Frenchman good fortune.”

I knew I liked this boy… well, truth be told, that was not quite it. He had been a boy when he abandoned my Jane a year earlier, and a boy sat in his townhouse for most of the next year, but he took up the yoke when it was placed on his shoulder. It mattered not that it was placed on his shoulder by someone other than who he thought it was, and that I used him as abominably as Wickham used others. The burden was placed, he acted honourably, and he did the deed. No, this was not a boy anymore. This was a man.

“Think of me as a conquering army. I do apologise for the deception and the risk to your person. I quite admire you.”

He looked like he had a dozen or a hundred questions, but settled on, “How?”

“You know I am an inveterate gossip and busybody. I am certain you must have seen that?”

He simply nodded, though it looked like he was uncertain whether his best chance of coming out with his hide intact was in agreeing with me or disagreeing. I let that go. He would understand soon enough. He was understandably concerned about my character as well, but he would survive that too.

“It was easy enough to get some of Mr Darcy’s letters. Servants like to save things that should be burnt, and you left abruptly last year, leaving my brother very angry, and many of your servants without occupation. Did you ever learn about Lydia’s trials with that… that—”

I could not really even finish the thought, so I simply nodded toward the door and he caught my meaning.

“Wickham?”