Darcy drew out his pocket watch and examined the face. “Did you have a point? I have more important business than empty posturing.”
Wickham’s teeth showed, and he stabbed out his cigarette. “I thought you might enjoy a bit of old friendliness before getting to it, but very well. Twenty-five thousand.”
Darcy slowly put his watch away and pursed his lips. “What makes you think you are worth that much?”
“Oh, it is not my services I am selling, but your peace of mind. I ought to ask double. Perhaps I shall.”
“I never said I came to buy.”
“It won’t work, Darcy. I am not tipping my hand just because you feign disinterest. You came here for a purpose, so what is it to be?”
Darcy drew out his pocketbook. “How far are you in debt? A number, Wickham.”
His old friend leaned back and scoffed. “What fellow keeps track of such things? You are not carrying the sum in your pocketbook, I can say that.”
“I am not giving you money. A name—yes, here it is.” Darcy withdrew a slip of paper and laid it on the table. “Recognise it?”
Wickham leaned forward and squinted, as if he were having trouble making out the letters. Slowly, he sat back, some of the swagger drained from his features. “Walsh? I wonder what you think it means to me.”
“Five thousand, at least. You contracted to undertake a particular sort of work—a delivery of some sort—and never fulfilled the obligation. A man in that line of business? He would see you snuffed out rather than waiting on payment if only to make an example of you.”
Wickham’s features hardened. “Very well, Darcy, you must have your sources in the slums, after all. I never thought you would soil yourself so far.”
Darcy put away his pocketbook. “I have more to learn, I am certain, but I have been occupied of late. What happened to this money you owed Walsh?”
“Oh, that? Walsh is nobody—hired muscle.”
“Then you owe someone even more dangerous. Come, Wickham, I’ve no patience for your games. You needed to leave the country because of your many debts, and my sister was your ticket. Is that the sum of it?”
Wickham lifted a lazy shoulder. “I was only helping her, Darcy. Poor girl simply longs to escape your iron fist, and she had the perfect chance until she lost her nerve. What matters it if I stood to gain a little for my trouble?”
“You preyed on an innocent girl’s emotions and sought to use her and deceive me. You cannot suppose I would overlook that.”
Wickham leaned forward. “I don’t need you to overlook it. It is enough for you to mend this fix your sister got herself into. It would be a dirty shame if I lost one of her letters, and the wrong person found it.”
“It would,” Darcy answered casually. “It would be an even greater shame if I had a private conference with a certain general, or even worse if I happened to let slip to Walsh’s men where you might be found.”
Wickham stared for a hard second, the flesh around his eyes pinched, and then a slow grin curved his lip upwards. “Do you know, from another man, I might take that threat seriously, but not from you. It would be the next thing to murder, and I know you could never be a party to that. Speaking of which, you and Miss Darcy have been keeping rather questionable company of late. What would you say if I told you I had proof of your houseguest’s tarnished past?”
“I would call you a liar.”
“Then you do not know the lady so well as you believe. Ask her about a man named Bryson. Ask about her father—I believe his name is Bennet. And ask if she has been missing any letters from home—it seems that word of the lady’s change of address was slow to reach her family, though I do not know how that could have come to pass.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened and, most maddeningly, he felt his cheek beginning to twitch. Wickham was too experienced a gambler to miss this tell, and he pressed his advantage.
“What is this? I see my revelation is no surprise to you! Well, now, thisisa curiosity. I wonder what would be said of you if this were learned about Town?”
“The letters, Wickham. All of them,” Darcy snapped.
Wickham raised his hands. “Hold there, I did not bring them with me! I am not such a fool.”
“And I am not so toothless and spineless as you presume. One breath of aspersion cast on my sister or Mrs Fitzwilliam, and you will not be so much as a bad memory.”
There was a long pause. Wickham leaned back fractionally in his seat—his expression still smug as ever, but his nostrils flared unevenly, and his pupils were dilated. At length, he ventured lowly, “You have changed, Darcy. The man I knew in my youth was noble. An honourable figure he was, cut much in the line of his father. He would count it disgraceful to lower himself to idle threats and churlish mannerisms. Beneath his dignity!”
Darcy crouched forward, levelling a brittle stare at his once and former friend. “What is beneath my dignity is to tolerate threats to my family. You have until this time tomorrow, Wickham. If the letters do not arrive at my door, Walsh will be at yours. Good day.”
Wyoming
