Darcy & Elizabeth (58 page)

The Piper's Wages

“I
am aghast!” exclaimed Jane. “I am aghast, distressed, and vexed.”

Such a pronouncement from his gentle wife was of a sort Bingley had hoped never to hear. But in truth he supposed keeping their imminent ruin a confidence from her was not altogether wise. In his defence, he had kept his financial failings from her not to protect himself, but her. Jane, however, was incensed (or the closest expression of pique of which she was capable).

“Charles, how could you?”

“I did not want to cause you worry,” he explained.

It was a dicey business, protecting his wife's sensibilities. She despised few things, but being denied the opportunity to assist another in any of life's travails was amongst them. Bingley looked pleadingly at Darcy, who in return raised his eyebrows in an expression that was both commiserative and an indication of a reluctance to be drawn into what some might describe as marital discord. He had been called urgently from his cousin's funeral to Bingley's side for two reasons—both of equal distress to Bingley. The first was to help him salvage some part of his fortune and the other was to stand by him whilst he apprised his wife of their situation.

“Does Lizzy know, Mr. Darcy?” asked Jane.

Darcy did not for a moment believe that that question was indicative of Jane's being embarrassed by her sister knowing of their ruin. Jane could but be inquiring because she would not want her dear sister to worry upon her behalf.

“Only the smallest share,” he answered.

Jane appeared comforted—as was Bingley. Having finally relieved himself of the catastrophic news that he had been keeping for some time, Bingley felt light-headed and found a wingback chair in which to collapse. Jane rushed to his side, drawing a linen pocket-square from her sleeve and commencing to flap it before his face.

“Nicholls! Come! Mr. Bingley is unwell!” she called to Bingley's man.

“I am not so unhinged as that,” Bingley replied, holding up the flat of his hand to dismiss Nicholls, who had come hastily into the room.

Bingley stood and motioned for Jane to be seated in the chair. They exchanged places and then Bingley and Darcy began to talk about methods of retrenchment.

“I will sell my jewellery,” said Jane, not a hint of reluctance in her words. “And my father's legacy—of course—I will assign to our creditors.”

Caroline, Louisa, and Mr. Hurst sat in a row upon a divan, but none could think of a single thing to give up in defence their finances. Darcy turned and looked pointedly at Mr. Hurst.

“I suppose,” that man said, “I could give up my one set of duelling pistols.”

“Not those,” interjected Louisa. “I suggest one of your long guns.”

Finally, disgusted at what little progress was made, Darcy concluded, “I think it is imperative that you give up Kirkland Hall.”

A chorus of dismay erupted from everyone save Bingley. He had resigned himself to that probability.

“You cannot, Charles,” erupted Caroline. “Where will I go? How shall I entertain? I could not possibly stay in town out of season!”

Jane rose and walked to Caroline, putting her hand upon her shoulder.

“There, there, Caroline, Charles will think of something. You must not despair.”

With this sympathy, Caroline attempted to relieve herself of Jane's comforting hand and leapt to her feet. “Father should have employed a banker to oversee our money, Charles! You have run us to ruin! You are not fit to be a night-soil man!”

She then stomped to the fireplace and began angrily stabbing the ashes with a poker. As far as Darcy was concerned, he hoped she would betake herself from the room altogether. From the mortified expression upon Bingley's countenance, he did as well. Even sweet-tempered Jane was, in the first time of his recollection, gifting Caroline's back something akin to a glower.

“I am happy to know your true feelings, Caroline,” Bingley replied, sounding very much like a younger brother.

“I believe,” said Darcy, “accusations are unhelpful.”

Caroline turned and gifted him a spiteful glare, but he cared not. Therefore, neither did he notice the alteration in her countenance as she bethought herself. Darcy had but one goal, to save Bingley from compleat and utter ruin.

“You must free up some capital, Bingley,” Darcy told him. “Time is of the essence.”

He knew that if Bingley did not, he would not be able to pay the taxes on the fortune of crates of fabric that were waiting idly aboard to be unloaded into his warehouse. Nor would he be able to pay lading costs to the shippers for the cotton waiting equally idly dockside to be loaded. Did he not forthwith, all would either be confiscated or fall prey to land pirates who were even then stealing cargos from other ships unable to unload due to taxes owed. As Darcy saw it, there was little choice. Bingley needed cash—a lot of it. But if he could free up some equity, he could salvage his business. He would not be quite so rich as he had been, but he would not be ruined. Darcy had offered a personal loan several times, but Bingley would accept none.

“I must stew in my own juices,” he had said.

Bingley did see then that Darcy's plan was his only course. As did Jane. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst sat seemingly stunned, of no use to any discussion. Caroline still fumed from the abhorrence of the notion that she should have to curtail any of her wants.

At last, Bingley agreed, “I will send my card to Sir Howgrave.”

***

Sir Henry Howgrave received his knighthood for recognition of his heroics during the Waterloo engagement. As he was much involved in politics, he had offices in his home near Whitehall. It was with a great deal of glee that he agreed to see the haughty Mr. Darcy. (He did not, of course, dare exhibit any trace of that unseemly pleasure.) Mr. Darcy asking to see him meant that Mr. Darcy wanted something of him. To be in the position to oblige or deny Mr. Darcy as he saw fit was the cherry on the considerable cake of his year. He had never forgiven that man's cut some half-dozen years ago. Mr. Darcy had refused him, not only to court his sister, but to dance with her as well. Supposedly, Mr. Darcy disapproved of his familial…indecorousness. From the variety of rumours he had heard, he hardly thought Mr. Darcy in a position to point fingers at paternal wandering eyes. Ah, was not life sweet? Society's leper in one life, society's darling in another. He withdrew a looking-glass from the drawer of his desk and exposed his teeth, checking for any errant fragments of his dinner. Satisfied, he went to the door and bid Mr. Darcy and his friend Bingley to enter.

Mr. Darcy did so with unparalleled dignity. Howgrave marvelled at it. He had never seen another gentleman rival Mr. Darcy's bearing. At one time he had tried to effect it himself—but to little avail. He had not the leg to pull it off. Indeed, since his return from the wars, he had grown stouter. Self-consciously, he ran his hand across his waistcoat, then caught the hem and pulled, pretending to straighten it.

“I thank you for seeing us, Sir Howgrave,” said Mr. Darcy.

“It is nothing,” replied Howgrave. “Do call me Howgrave.”

“As you wish,” Mr. Darcy replied. “May I have the honour of introducing my friend, Mr. Bingley?”

After these formal introductions, Howgrave asked his guests to be seated and they both moved to do so, Mr. Darcy expertly sitting without having to flick the tails of his coat from beneath him like the average man. Was there any limit to this man's finesse? Howgrave attempted a bit of small talk, but Mr. Darcy was disinclined to engage thusly.

“Mr. Bingley wishes to sell his estate,” said Darcy.

Howgrave nodded in recognition of the statement. Mr. Darcy did not much like to fuss about—got right to the point, the man did. But did he think Howgrave was a bloody estate agent? He was determined to be a member of Parliament, although up to that moment he had not yet determined by what means. He would not suffer such foolishness. The man, Bingley, seemed altogether content to have Mr. Darcy talk for him throughout their meeting. He sat there like a puppy-dog waiting to have his stomach rubbed.

Perhaps Howgrave's countenance exposed his lack of esteem for Bingley's wants. Regardless, Mr. Darcy continued, clarifying his opening statement.

“He would like to sell it to you in exchange for your estate and a settlement of cash.”

“What makes you believe,” countered Howgrave, “that a lowly public servant such as myself would be in a position to accept such an offer? And, if indeed I was, what would tempt me to entertain doing so?”

“I believe, Howgrave, the privateers that you own under an alias would make you wealthier than many in Parliament—should you make that run. I also understand you are but little at home in Derbyshire. Your business keeps you much at town.”

No idle rich man he, sighed Howgrave. Darcy had done his homework. Howgrave knew Mr. Bingley but by reputation—which was excellent. He was also quite cognizant that one of the accoutrements of Bingley's estate was a political seat, now vacant. This was interesting, indeed.

It was quite expeditiously then that an agreement was made. Howgrave and Bingley shook hands. The one hindrance to the expeditious completion of their transaction was the unavailability of the funds for several days.

“For reasons which I do not care to explain, it would behove Mr. Bingley to receive this money as soon as possible.”

By that time, Howgrave had lost interest in the specifics of Bingley's finances. He was a man of action. Once his agreement was reached, little did he care what others needed to do as long as they upheld their end of the bargain. He walked the gentlemen as far as the door of his office and closed it abruptly behind them.

Bingley and Darcy looked at each other, both relieved that their meeting was met with such success and mildly perplexed to have been turned out so rudely. For his part, Darcy expected nothing else from Henry Howgrave, but Bingley decided to find offence. He was a good-natured man, but the preceding months had used up a good portion of his patience. As Howgrave's maid brought them their hats and gloves, Bingley was anxious to take leave and went out the door, down the steps and headed to the coach. Hence, Bingley was climbing into the carriage when Darcy was still halfway down the steps and still donning his gloves. When Darcy looked up from this small task, his attention was arrested by a lady ascending the same steps Bingley had just vacated.

It was Juliette Clisson.

Wherefore, Mr. Darcy

It was but a few hours before Elizabeth learnt that Wickham would call her bluff.

Dearest Elizabeth,

My price for stepping aside in favour of Major Kneebone is ten thousand pounds by seven o'clock tonight. I will await above the public house of our previous meeting.

If you are unable to raise this sum, I would be happy to make alternate arrangements.

Yours,

George Wickham, Esq.

With the utmost reluctance she had concluded that she could not keep Darcy from the negotiations with Wickham. Indeed, as much as she had wanted to spare her husband, Wickham's demands were far beyond her means. The jewellery that she owned, she did not count as truly hers, as most were Darcy family heirlooms. Moreover, those which were not were of such sentimental value because her husband selected them especially for her she would never contemplate exchanging them in such a disreputable manner.

And an exaction was what it was.
Wickham
was exacting money from them in exchange for Lydia's freedom.

That he had not taken umbrage when faced with the barely veiled accusation of her note, she knew he was fully guilty. That realisation sent such a cold shudder through her body, her fingers began to shake. They were still shaking when she entered a coach and hied to Jane's in search of her husband.

She had left the Kneebones' residence in stealth. Although Lydia had taken to her bed before Wickham had replied, she knew Major Kneebone was most anxious to know of it and its contents. She took extra care in making her escape, but did feel a certain compunction at doing so. Until she spoke to Darcy, she thought it best no one else be privy to it and even left it behind for safe keeping. The one thing she would not do was show her husband the note itself. His implication in offering her “alternative” means of paying him was unambiguous—the cad. Was there no depth to which the man would not sink?

By the time she had reached the street and hailed a carriage, not only were her hands shaking, her knees had weakened as well. The driver of a hack coach had been lounging next to his horse, feeding it bits of the apple he was peeling, when Elizabeth appeared. With all due haste, he opened the door and flipped down the steps, but did not offer his hand to help her take them. When that small discourtesy materialised, she straightened her shoulders and pulled herself aboard.

She was happy that had been necessary. She was far too used to being pampered. She could certainly fend for herself if need be.

After that fit of self-delusion, she realised there had actually been a time when she would have thought nothing of entering a coach without assistance. Pemberley saw to her every whim even before she had one. At that moment, that had not been an altogether disagreeable thought. The thought of her husband's cosseting was even sweeter. In the face of a blackguard called Wickham, she was no match. It was time to seek assistance. She would go to her husband and see how Jane and Bingley fared. She would put the matter before them. Indeed, the thought of her husband's rescue cheered her considerably.

Once the decision had been made, so anxious was she to be there that she did not entertain the notion of returning for her own carriage. The man who drove her was kind to his horse and thus deserving of the crown she paid him to take her to Belgrave Square. When she handed him the coin and begged him to please make haste, they left in such a hurry she was cast back against the seat. She clasped the hand-hold and held on for dear life.

***

“Jane!” Elizabeth called.

Holding her arms before her and extending her fingers, she rushed to her sister's own outstretched arms.

“Lizzy! It is so
good
to see you!”

Jane was in a small sitting room upon the second storey of her home. Two of her children played at her feet, the remnants of some unidentifiable project strewn about them. Jane had been perched upon the edge of her chair admiring their handiwork, but she leapt to her feet when she saw her sister.

It was most refreshing for her to see Jane once again, but she was uncertain how she might broach the subject of Bingley's urgent post to Darcy. She was certain that it had pertained to their financial straits, but was not disposed to reveal that she was witting of their predicament. Moreover, she still did not know if Jane was aware of any of it at all. Once Elizabeth was before her, Jane could not withhold what had just come to pass within her own walls. Hence, before Elizabeth had done more than begin to untie her bonnet, Jane took her hands and burst out with all.

“Oh, Lizzy, my poor Charles!”

That, of course, revealed to her that Jane was no longer unenlightened of their impending ruin.

“Do not fret, Jane. I know that Darcy has a plan!”

She knew part of that plan, but not all.

“Yes, they have gone there now. I cannot tell you when they shall return.”

“To Sir Howgrave's?”

“However did you know?”

Elizabeth told her she only knew that an agreement was to be reached with that man. She was most unwilling to be the one to tell Jane of the necessity of moving from Kirkland Hall—despite her joy in having her so near. Therefore, their conversation became stilted—Elizabeth not wanting to betray all she knew and Jane knowing so little to tell. In that quiet, Elizabeth had no choice but to tell Jane why she had come to London. But before she could, Jane inquired.

“Why are you come to London by yourself, Lizzy? I know Mr. Darcy would not approve. He assured me that you were at his aunt's.”

The doings of Rosings Park were enough to entertain their conversation for some time—poor Anne's untimely passing, Georgiana's childbirth, and Charlotte Collins's discomfiting situation—all were subjects they would have been able to engage in discourse for hours had not Elizabeth had other tidings as well.

“Directly after Darcy's leave-taking for London, I received a very urgent letter from Lydia,” she reported. “I have been at Lydia's these last two days.”

Jane placed the flat of her hand against her chest, fingers extended in alarm.

“Dear me! Whatever can be the matter now?”

The tiniest shred of exasperation in Jane's voice was understandable. Elizabeth drew an inward breath, exceedingly unhappy that she could not prepare her for the news that she was about deliver.

“Major Wickham has returned.”

Jane did not speak, but she blanched. She sat, alternately blinking and opening her mouth, but nothing came out until at last she exclaimed, “Sweet Mother of God!”

With Jane still flabbergasted, Elizabeth endeavoured to answer those questions that she knew Jane would most have liked to ask. She would not, however, relate to her the extent of Wickham's crimes. Darcy had told her that in confidence. It would be up to him to confide that at a time of his own choosing.

“I do not know where he has been or by what means he has returned,” she explained. “I have been far too busy trying to keep Major Kneebone and Major Wickham from duelling for Lydia's hand.”

She took a breath, uncertain if that was what it was called when two men fought over the same wife, and looked at Jane for further instructions. She nodded and Elizabeth took that to mean she should continue her monologue.

“My Uncle Phillips advises us that, in cases such as these, when a husband has been thought dead and his wife remarries, that wife may choose which husband she would like to keep.”

Having at last regained her voice, Jane exclaimed, “Certainly she will choose Major Kneebone!”

“Would that I could be certain that she will,” replied Elizabeth.

She then related the meeting with Wickham, including the near duel, but omitting the gunfire. “Although she professes she loves Major Kneebone, Lydia was far too sympathetic to Wickham to be certain of her heart. Indeed, I fear he may yet sway her.”

She was happy to have information of the sort to share with Jane proving Wickham's wickedness without resorting to revealing he was thought a murderer. She was quite fearful Jane might be swayed by the notion of Lydia following her heart in the matter. Thereupon, Elizabeth took a deep breath and confided in her the true reason for her coming.

“Wickham has vowed that he will leave Lydia be for a payment of money. That he will is proof that his designs on Lydia are not in her best interest.”

“For shame! What kind of a man is this?” exclaimed Jane.

In answer to that question, Elizabeth resorted to the imprecise, “When the truth of Wickham's flight from his family and his regiment comes out, it cannot be a happy business. Lydia is well done with him.”

Jane nodded in concurrence and did not question her further on Wickham's misdeeds. Surprisingly, Jane was not opposed to doing what had to be done to be rid of him.

“It is a distasteful business,” Jane observed. “But do you know how much would have to be laid out to secure his riddance?”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

Putting her hand across her gaping mouth, Jane gasped. She quickly looked to see if her children noticed anything amiss. They kept on with their playing, occasionally arguing over ownership of certain toys. Looking upon them gave Elizabeth a tug at her own heart. Only lying alone in bed at Lydia's had she allowed herself to think of her children at home without her. Even if everything working itself out perfectly, she could not look forward to seeing them for several days. Once again that thought tugged at her heart, this time quite mercilessly. She knew alleviation of that pain would best be remedied in her husband's arms. Suddenly, that need was paramount to any other.

“I must go to Darcy,” she said abruptly, “he and Bingley will know what to do. Wickham has demanded I return with his inducement forthwith.”

Jane wrote the address of Howgrave's house upon a piece of paper.

“I do not know the way…” Jane apologised for having no directions.

“I have a good driver.”

Elizabeth smiled to herself that Jane was unwitting of her manner of travel through the bustling (and occasionally dangerous) streets of London. It was still early and the days were long. If she hurried, she could locate Darcy and be done with Wickham before nightfall.

***

She was quite satisfied with her driver. He knew the streets well and was happy to do whatever she bid, as long as she kept feeding coins into his hand. The address she had given him was not so far away from Bingley's house, but an overturned dray carrying several barrels of ale had caused a near riot on one of the thoroughfares. By the time she reached the address, she feared that she might have been tardy of their leave-taking. When the driver pointed out the house, she was greatly relieved to see Darcy's coach had not gone.

“Here,” she told the driver and he came to a halt. As she reached for the door handle, she caught sight of the handsome figure of her husband upon the steps and was overcome with relief. A few minutes more and she would have missed him entirely. Would Darcy not be surprised to see his wife in London?

With the unerring bad luck of certain happenings, the moment she caught sight of her husband was one and the same moment in which he took Miss Juliette Clisson's elbow and began escorting her up the stairs. Elizabeth watched as they walked through the door and into the house. She watched as the door closed behind them. She even sat there a moment to ascertain that her eyes had not deceived her.

“Can I 'elp you out?” inquired the driver, now aware of the niceties expected by certain clientele.

“No.”

That had been spoken in a voice entirely too soft for him to have heard. Therefore, she repeated herself, making certain there was no mistake.

“I said
no
!” And without hesitation she bade him, “Drive on!”