Darcy sat in Netherfield’s parlour, a letter in hand, Fitzwilliam seated across from him while Bingley paced the room with uncharacteristic vigour.
“Darcy,” Bingley said suddenly, stopping mid-stride, “if Colonel Forster wishes to speak with you, why all the mystery? Why could he not simply explain his concerns?”
“Because the military depends upon a great deal of decorum, a fair amount of rumour, and an excess of secrecy.” Fitzwilliam’s reply sounded flippant, but Darcy knew better. His cousin was angry that they must again deal with Wickham when there were other, more pressing matters at hand.
He folded the letter and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. “It will not remain a mystery for long.” At least there wassomethingthat might be easily resolved.
“We all know who this is about,” Fitzwilliam said coldly.
At this, Bingley halted his pacing altogether, his expression darkening. “How does that man manage to cast such a shadow wherever he goes?”
“It is the only thing he has ever worked at” was Darcy’s wry reply.
Bingley shook his head. “I should have thought his confinement to quarters would render him harmless.”
“Harmless,” Fitzwilliam repeated with a faint snort. “The harm has already been done. Confining him only prevents him from continuing.”
“I ought to have spoken with Forster in the autumn, before he took Wickham on,” Darcy said with real regret, “but I was not aware Wickham meant to join the militia when Bingley and I met him in Meryton, and afterward, I heard nothing of him.”
“When did we meet him in town?” Bingley appeared genuinely confused.
Darcy shook his head. “When we were on our way to Longbourn to inquire about Miss Bennet’s recovery and saw her walking with her sisters.”
Bingley’s cheeks flushed. “I am afraid I only noticed that you had left rather suddenly.”
His friend would not have noticed if the town was on fire when Miss Bennet was about. “I did. Because it was Wickham, and I did not desire the scene that would follow. But I did not meet with him again until recently. It was an accidental meeting in town, and he did not remain for long. He knows better than to seek my company.” Darcy rose from his seat.
“I should like to accompany you both,” Bingley said firmly. “I am a part of this community now, and Wickham is a threat to it.”
Darcy glanced at Fitzwilliam, who shrugged. If they denied Bingley they would have to explain why. They each went to change into riding clothes and were on their way to Meryton within the hour.
Colonel Forster greeted them with a brisk nod as they were shown into his sparsely furnished office. He was a man ofmedium build with a hawk-like gaze, and he wasted no time with pleasantries.
“Mr. Darcy, gentlemen, thank you for coming today when I am sure you were all out rather late last evening. I shall come directly to the point.” He stood a little straighter, which Darcy had not thought possible. “As you are surely aware, Mr. Wickham has many debts. But he has compounded his troubles by seducing no fewer than three young women in the vicinity. Their families are outraged.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, allowing Forster to continue.
“The militia’s official stance is not to settle an officer’s debts so long as they are discreet. But these debts are not discreet,” Forster added grimly. “Indeed, many of the creditors have already approached me, assuming that the militia would settle matters. Wickham, however, has been most insistent that you, Mr. Darcy, intend to pay them on his behalf.”
Fitzwilliam let out a low whistle, and Bingley muttered an incredulous oath under his breath. Darcy alone was unsurprised.
“He said I would pay them?” he asked coolly.
“He did,” Forster confirmed. “And while I have no authority to compel you to do so, the matter is pressing. Should you refuse, I will have to deduct the debts from Wickham’s pay, such as it is, and settle the rest from the militia’s coffers—an option that would unfairly affect the other officers.”
Clearly, he was hoping that Darcy would save him from having to make such a decision.
“I beg your pardon,Colonel,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice dripping with derision. “George Wickham is a scoundrel of the highest order who barely speaks without a lie passing his lips. His promises are worthless. Why should Darcy, or anyone else, for that matter, pay his debts?”
Forster met Fitzwilliam’s gaze. “I do not disagree, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but the lieutenant says that Mr. Darcy has paid them before, and the creditors will not wait. If Wickham cannot satisfy them, the alternative is debtor’s prison.”
“Why not a court-martial?” Bingley inquired.
“Nothing he has done is considered a military matter,” Fitzwilliam explained. “He can be dismissed from the regiment, but that is all.”
Forster nodded. “I would prefer not to simply release the man, for who knows what additional damage he will do?”
Darcy’s lips pressed into a thin line. The Marshalsea. His father would hate that. But then, his father was unaware what Wickham had become. If he had known, how would he have acted? “Debtor’s prison,” he repeated thoughtfully.
