They entered the room with Mr. Wickham. A slight smell of putrefaction, but not bad.
The shirt had been removed for the body to be washed.
The face was bloodless and unmoving. Someone had closed the eyes. Flashes of memory. So many memories. Miserable and happy.
George ran up and looked at the corpse with wide-eyed astonishment. He went to poke his finger into the small hole where the bullet entered.
“Do not do that,” Elizabeth said sharply.
“Mypapa. I get to. I get to. My papa. Let me poke it.”
“George.”
Half to Eliabeth’s surprise, the boy did not scream when Elizabeth grabbed his arm to make it impossible for him to poke the wound. When George nodded to her, she let his arm go. He cautiously touched the body’s arm.
George drew back in surprise. “So cold!”
Wickham looked peaceful. Damn. Damn. He still looked the same. Just as charming. Thinner. So not the same. Elizabeth did not know if that was due to the way the skin had relaxed now that he was dead or due to poor eating.
The curate bowed to them and said, “I shall leave you to your mourning.”
“Did the other woman sob when she saw the body?” Elizabeth asked.
“Very much.” He pulled at the collar and bowed again.
Elizabeth looked back at Mr. Wickham’s body. There was not much point to staying long. “I shall not. There is no need to give me privacy.”
There was a shadow of stubble on Wickham’s face; Elizabeth was rather surprised that vanity over personal appearance had not ensured that he shaved before the duel. She remarked as much.
The curate pulled at his collar and bowed to her once more. “The hair grows a little after a man dies. He was clean shaven when they brought him here.”
“Ah, of course. He would not forgetthat. No matter what else happened to him, he would not forget to care for his appearance. He could never forgetthat.”
Elizabeth wanted to reach out and stroke Wickham’s face, but she did not.
“The wound is so small.” George pointed. “How could it kill him when it is such a small hole?”
“Bullet wounds are much bigger where they come out,” Elizabeth said. “I dare say the other side is far uglier.”
At this information George struggled to push the arms up so that he could look at the back. With a shrug Elizabeth helped him. Yes, the exit wound was quite large, and likely the bullet had gone right through his heart, just as Mr. Darcy had said.
Damned, damned gentlemen.
It appeared from how George started from the sight that this was more thanhecould easily handle. The little boy was now quite pale.
Elizabeth let the body fall back heavily onto the bed.
“George, do you wish to look longer?”
“No, Mama.”
When she exited the room, Elizabeth curtsied to the sweating curate, who now held his chapbook again. “Thank you. You have been kind.”
He pulled at his collar again. “Think nothing of it. My condolences for your loss, Mrs. Wickham.”
Upon leaving the church, Elizabeth set out for the address that had been given to her by Miss Darcy. The trip required her to inquire for directions from other persons on the street several times, and she reached the building as the late afternoon turned into the evening. Due to the season, it would stay light for several more hours.
By the time she reached it, George had started dragging, and Elizabeth picked him up to carry for several blocks. Her arms and back ached from the weight.
