Page 60 of Such Low Connections

At this, a flash of some new emotion crossed Wickham’s face where he sat on the floor. Something Darcy had said had finally touched him.

“Being dishonourable enough to steal private letters, it presumably came easily to then steal a church registry, a wedding certificate and God knows what else. Did you really think your scheming for Georgiana’s hand could work this time when it failed so badly last time?”

The emotions that ran across Wickham’s face ranged quickly from something akin to guilt to puzzlement and then utter incredulity.

“The letters were taken a long time ago, and I’d almost forgotten about them until… Well, as for the rest, I still have no idea what you’re talking about. For what it’s worth, I haven’t seen or thought of your sister since that day in Ramsgate when you told me to go to hell.”

So, Wickham was now admitting to the theft of old Mr Darcy’s letters? But why admit that much and then deny the rest? It made no sense, just as nothing about the case made any sense when Wickham was placed at its centre.

Darcy allowed him to rise and wipe his bloodied nose on a rather grimy handkerchief. Before he could challenge Wickham to further explain himself, they were interrupted by the sound of a girlish giggle from the doorway of a nearby room, which he presumed to be a bedroom.

“You’re not really fighting over my running away with darling Wickham, are you?” Lydia Bennet laughed merrily, joining them in the sitting room with her clothing and hair as disordered as those of her paramour. “Can’t you see what a grand adventure it is, Mr Darcy? None of my sisters has ever had such an adventure as this. I can’t wait to see their faces!”

“I have just been assuring Mr Darcy that you came away with me of your own free will,” Wickham told her with an attempt at a winning smile that was rather marred by his bloodied nose and swollen lip.

“Oh, you mustn’t be too severe with poor Wickham, Mr Darcy!” Lydia asserted, coming to sit on the arm of the chair where Wickham had dragged himself. “When he said that he was running away from the regiment because of his debts —”

“Lydia!” Wickham protested, but was no more successful in prevailing upon her than he had been in prevailing upon Darcy.

“You did say that! Anyway, I couldn’t bear the thought of being without my dear Wickham. When you offered to take me away with you, how could I resist? But I still don’t see why we couldn’t have gone straight to Scotland. It is dreadfully tiresome, hanging about here in these mouldy rooms for so long.”

As she pouted over this question, and failed to grasp her lover’s bad faith or its deleterious consequences, Darcy saw all of the girl’s youth and foolishness. He saw, as Lydia did not, that Wickham had never planned a flight to Scotland. He had never planned to marry Lydia at all.

Yet this marriage must take place if Lydia was to be rescued, and with her, the rest of her family. It would not be a question of personal benefit. Elizabeth had refused his hand so vehemently that Darcy could entertain no hope that she would marry him. Yet he found that her happiness and well-being were paramount to him, however little connection they might have in the future. To be separated from Elizabeth was painful; to know that she was suffering was impossible. Such guilt by association, such degradation could not be permitted to touch her — not if any effort of his could stop it.

“We have been talking of your wedding to Mr Wickham, Miss Lydia,” Darcy told her gravely, watching the twitch in Wickham’s face at this reference to marriage, an honourable state in which that blackguard had no interest unless it came with significant pecuniary advantages.

“Weddings are expensive affairs, Darcy,” Wickham spoke up a few seconds later, confirming Darcy’s judgement of him. “I would need…assistance, if we are to be married sooner rather than later.”

“Costs can be negotiated, I understand,” returned Darcy with contempt in his voice. “It depends very much on wider considerations.”

“As we are talking of wider considerations, Lydia already mentioned the small debts of honour in my regiment that should be settled before I marry…”

Of course, there would be gambling debts, thought Darcy grimly. There always were. Wherever Wickham went, debt and dishonour followed him. He turned to the girl, who was happily toying with a lock of Wickham’s hair as its owner smiled vaguely at her. How it would break Elizabeth’s heart to see her sister like this!

He nodded his understanding to Wickham and then directed his gaze to Lydia Bennet.

“Mr Wickham and I must work out some legal matters that need to be arranged with your family before the wedding, Miss Lydia,” Darcy said in as neutral a tone as he could manage. “They can be of no interest to you. Perhaps you had better wait in the other room for a while, do not you think?”

“Oh, certainly,” she accepted with no hesitation, jumping to her feet and skipping away back towards the bedroom. “I would far rather plan my wedding dress than listen to the two of you droning on.”

“My wife must have a fine dress,” agreed Wickham, as magnanimously as if he planned to pay for it himself, receiving an appreciative smile from Lydia before she closed the door on them again.

“You will get what you are given and like it,” Darcy told the other man brusquely as soon as they were alone. “Any assistance from me also depends on your wider cooperation. To begin with, I want to know about those stolen letters.”

“I’ve already told you, Darcy,” answered Wickham wearily. “Years ago, after he died, I did take a quantity of your father’s old correspondence from the study at Pemberley, along with some other small items from the house.”

“Small items?” Darcy asked.

“A paperweight, a silver letter opener, a bottle of port, a few cameos from a display case…”

“What on earth for?”

This admission of petty pilfering was easy to reconcile with Wickham’s loose character, but made little sense in itself.

“Oh, I don’t know. Some of it I took for sentimental value, other things because I resented you. I suppose the rest was…for fun. It was so easy to do when old Reynold’s back was turned — that judgmental old bag! I couldn’t help myself.”

“You enjoy stealing,” Darcy stated bluntly, and Wickham shrugged.