Page 70 of Resilience

“Mary and I are both recently married, and no one has received any letters from us begging for assistance. If Lydia and her husband have wasted her dowry already, it is entirely their own affair. Do you really wish to be called upon every quarter day when you receive your pin money? For I do not. Just because Lydia always received a share of everything that was mine when we were children does not mean that I am willing to support her now.”

“But they could not have,” Darcy said. Everyone turned to him as he continued. “Bingley and I each contributed five thousand pounds to the affair. I did so because I felt guilt that even though I was having Wickham watched, he could still manage to commit such an act. The five thousand that I gave paid Wickham’s debts and bought him a commission in the north. One that ought to at least feed a wife, if nothing else. The five thousand contributed by Bingley was placed into the percents under the control of Mr Gardiner. The Wickhams have two hundred a year from Mrs Wickham’s dowry, and they receive another hundred and thirty a year from Wickham’s wages. They cannot be imprudent, but they can certainly afford to eat without selling anyone’s clothes.”

“Cousin, you know that three hundred a year would slip through Wickham’s fingers without effort,” Priscilla observed. “He is starving his wife and telling her that it is all your fault, which is not surprising. You must do something about it.”

“We must go to Newcastle!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she reached for her husband’s hand. “Please, say that we may.”

“I believe we must, for I instructed Wickham myself that he must treat his wife with dignity, and if he has not, I want to know about it.” Darcy examined the letter again. “I would also like to know why my investigator has not reported this to me. I sacked the last one after Wickham was able to run off with Mrs Wickham without me having known he was even in Meryton.”

“I think your investigators just take your money,” Priscilla said.

“Perhaps because Mrs Wickham never leaves her rooms, the investigator does not see how she is neglected, if Wickham keeps her indoors, as the letter says,” Georgiana suggested.

“We will leave in the morning, Elizabeth,” Darcy said to his wife.

“Thank you, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth was tearful.

Mary and Kitty took their leave so that they might return to their homes and apprise their husbands of these new events. When they were gone, Priscilla turned to Darcy.

“I am not ready to discuss this with Richard, although I know he would be unhappy if he were to know he is to be circumvented again. I would prefer to know it was handled by your dependability than his rage. I have not had any letters since Mrs Younge died. I do not think she shared my tale with anyone, for indeed, who could she tell that might not use the information for their own benefit? I think it is finally safe to move against Wickham. You must make the best choice, Cousin. You must decide whether the greater evil would be to deprive Mrs Wickham of her husband in some manner, though it sounds as if she could do no worse without him. One can just as easily starve in the hedgerows without a man as with one, and I do not think her family will let that be her fate.”

“Mrs Wickham’s income is enough to sustain her, and even her child, though not in a lavish manner.” Darcy said. “If her husband will not use it to support her, she could do well enough on her own, that is if, as Mrs Denny, suggested, this is not a farce created by Wickham. We cannot rule out that he is attempting to use her to manipulate us, though I cannot think he would knowingly allow her to write that he abuses her, for that is what the letter implies.”

“I have sensed since we arrived at Hawthorne Vale that something was not right,” Elizabeth insisted. “I knew something was wrong.”

“We will find out when we arrive,” Darcy promised, kissing her on the forehead as Georgiana and Priscilla left them.

As they journeyed north, a servant whom Darcy trusted was sent ahead upon horseback to make inquiries in Newcastle about the location of the Wickhams’ residence.

“The direction upon the letter was not the address I engaged for Mrs Wickham,” Darcy said as they rode together in the carriage. “Sending someone to inquire will ensure that we do not spend time searching Newcastle ourselves, for you will wish to see her the moment we arrive, I am sure.”

“I believe this is the cottage I engaged for the Wickhams.” Darcy later indicated through the window as the carriage stopped. The door was opened to reveal the servant that had been sent ahead.

“Lydia should be quite snug here,” Elizabeth whispered as she peered out, searching for any sign that this was Lydia’s home. “It is a comfortable looking place.”

“The woman inside says she rents the lease from Mr Wickham,” the servant explained to Darcy and Elizabeth. “I have been waiting most of the day for you to arrive, so I could not watch, and I have not seen Mrs Wickham, but I made inquiries, and I will lead you to her rooms, sir.”

The servant closed the door and mounted his horse. Elizabeth moved closer to her husband as the carriage pulled away from the little cottage and followed the man on horseback through the market town to a door in a long line of other rented doors. This neighborhood was not a genteel one. Working men and women passed. There was not a servant to be seen besides their own.

Darcy handed her down, and they stood back as the servant pounded upon the door. It went unanswered.

“She be in there, tha young lady.” An old woman stopped behind them. “Never answers ta callers, but errybody knows there be a young lady in there. ‘Er ‘usband says as she’s ill.”

“She had better not be ill!” At this, Elizabeth took the servant’s place and hammered upon the door herself. “Lydia, please! Lydia!”

“Elizabeth, calm yourself.” Darcy laid a hand upon her shoulder.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a pair of dark, shadowed eyes peered out. “Lizzy?”

“Lydia!” Elizabeth gasped. If she did not recognise her voice, Elizabeth might not have immediately recognised her sister in the waiflike child before her.

“Like ‘er ‘usband said. She be ill,” the old woman spoke up from behind them, peering at Lydia with interest. “She looks ill.”

“Thank you, madam, you have been very helpful.” Darcy gave the woman a coin as he escorted his wife inside and closed the door.

“Lydia,” Elizabeth gasped as she looked about in the dim light. There was only a tiny window, but the room was sparsely furnished. There were signs of an old meal in the basin, but no evidence of food or comforts.

“Sorry there is no tea or candles, Lizzy,” Lydia apologised. “Is Mr Darcy here to reconcile with George?”