Page 61 of Such Low Connections

“Doesn’t everyone, when they can get away with it? Honest men are rich men, in my experience. You simply wouldn’t understand.”

“No,” said Darcy, in repudiation of every one of Wickham’s last assertions. “Where are the things you stole now?”

“I sold much of it when I needed money,” admitted Wickham. “You don’t get much for a silver letter opener, but times have been hard for me.”

“My heart bleeds,” Darcy responded through gritted teeth. “What about the items you took for sentimental reasons? Did you sell them too?”

“Well, I had to. Cameos are pretty enough, but they don’t pay bills.”

“What of the correspondence? How much of that did you take?”

“It was all old sentimental stuff, Darcy, love letters and so forth. I just scooped up a drawerful of letters into my bag one day. I honestly had no idea it would be of any value to anyone.”

“‘Honestly’? Ha!” Darcy scoffed at the irony of this word on Wickham’s lips. “Do you still deny that you are the person who gave some of my father’s letters to Pinnock & Sons?”

“I absolutely do!” said Wickham stoutly. “I can return most of the correspondence from Pemberley, for a price, aside from what I sold on. They’re safe in a case I’ve stored at a friend’s house.”

“You sold some of my father’s letters? You just said they had no value.”

“No value as far as I could see, no. But when I once mentioned the letters to someone I know, they showed great interest in acquiring some of them. I really didn’t understand why, at the time, although I now see the use they’ve been put to. I am sorry about that, Darcy, for your father’s sake if not yours, but I really can’t be blamed.”

“Will you stop bringing up my father?” Darcy snapped irritably, sick and tired of Wickham’s excuses. “Who bought those letters from you, Wickham?”

Wickham closed his lips.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Then I’ll support the Bennets and your colonel in whatever legal cases they choose to bring against you: seduction, breach of promise, non-payment of debts…”

Darcy’s threat seemed to have its intended effect, and after several moments more thought, Wickham looked to Darcy again, a familiar insolence in his eyes.

“Very well, I’ll give you a name and all the remaining letters, if you buy me a commission in the regular army, pay my debts, and settle a certain sum on Lydia as my wife.”

“How would I even know if you’ve given me the right name?” Darcy pointed out. “You expect a high price for what you’ve described as sentimental old correspondence.”

“You’ll have to trust me, won’t you? In your present situation, it’s a cheap price for letters that likely make your birth entirely clear and legitimate, I would have thought.”

“If you had a shred of honour, you would surrender my father’s property to me without such extortion,” Darcy retorted, flushing deeper with anger at this manoeuvring.

“Well, I don’t, do I? According to you. You’ve painted me a villain, and I may as well act the part.”

Wickham never changed. All he wanted was quick money and easy pleasure, and nothing was ever his fault. There was no long term view for Wickham and no wider world beyond his own wants. Darcy thought of Aesop’s fable about the frog and the scorpion. As with the scorpion, it was foolish to expect his former childhood companion to ever act contrary to his nature.

This man would lie, cheat, and swindle every day of his life, and think nothing of it. The same nature made him incapable of a scheme of the type executed against Darcy since last autumn. However much Darcy resented Wickham, he had to accept that his search for his hidden enemy would not end in this cramped little apartment in an insalubrious district of London.

“Very well,” Darcy stated after a time. “I will consider your requests, although I tell you now that any money settled on Lydia will be bound in a trust. I will take her away to her uncle’s house in Gracechurch Street with me now, and you will retrieve the letters.”

“You’re taking Lydia? Surely it can’t make any difference now?” Wickham objected mildly to the proposed removal of his pretty companion. “She has been living with me for a week already.”

“Lydia will go to her uncle’s house,” Darcy repeated implacably. “You and I will meet here again tomorrow morning, and I will inspect the correspondence —”

“I can’t get the letters tomorrow,” Wickham broke in. “It’s a day’s ride there and back to where they are stored.”

“Wednesday morning, then. Fetch them and return here at eight o’clock on Wednesday morning if you want your money.”

“You really think I might run?” Wickham questioned him with an injured expression.

“If you didn’t want your debts paid, a commission in the army, and something extra for returning my property, I dare say you might try,” answered Darcy drily. “On Wednesday morning, I will bring my lawyer with me to start drawing up terms for a marriage contract and all relevant payments, as long as I receive the letters and name from you as agreed.”