Darcy knew him well enough to recognise the signs: the studied stillness, the measured breath, the deliberate control that spoke of effort rather than ease. Collins’s folly was vexing, but it was Richard’s reaction that gave him pause.
A quieter resolution began to form at the edge of his thoughts. Now that he was engaged to Elizabeth, there might, in time, be some means of securing Richard greater independence—if it could be accomplished without wounding his pride. For the present, however, he set the notion aside. The matter of Wickham demanded his full attention.
Refocusing on the room, Darcy listened as Captain Denny addressed Collins and directed that a chair be brought for him. It was not one of the upholstered seats occupied by the others, but a plain chair hastily fetched from the passage. It would suffice.
Collins, however, remained dissatisfied. He complained of his treatment and hinted that one of the seated gentlemen ought torelinquish his place. The suggestion lasted scarcely a moment. Both Denny and Richard issued a sharp command in tones honed by habit and authority, and the parson subsided at once. He continued to mutter under his breath—something about respect and the proper regard due to connexions of consequence—but after hearing his aunt’s name invoked no fewer than three times, Darcy ceased to attend to him.
“So, Wickham,” Captain Denny said evenly, “tell me again what you assert occurred today. You should bear in mind that Mr Bennet and the magistrate have already heard the coachman’s account, and any contradiction will be quickly detected.”
“I would prefer to hear the coachman’s version first,” Wickham replied.
Even without looking at him, Darcy recognised the tactic for what it was: delay. Denny, however, appeared unmoved. A quiet resolve settled over his features, and he gave no sign of indulging the request.
“Your account,” he demanded.
Darcy observed Wickham falter for several moments before launching into a tale of having come upon the coachman in distress. Moreover, he stumbled further when pressed to explain why he had been in Luton with the Bennet carriage.
“You expect us to believe you merely stumbled upon the carriage?” Denny asked coolly.
Wickham opened his mouth.
“Spare us,” Denny said.
Wickham attempted to recover himself, spinning his explanation further, but the effort only deepened theinconsistencies. After only a short time of what could scarcely be called coherence, Denny raised his hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Enough,” he said sharply. “Enough of your falsehoods.”
He crossed to the door and, after a brief word to the servant waiting beyond—presumably Mr Hill—requested that the coachman be admitted.
A more substantial chair was brought in first, and shortly thereafter the coachman entered. He took his seat before the assembled gentlemen and delivered his account of the afternoon’s events with far greater clarity. Wickham attempted to interject more than once, but each effort was silenced by a look—whether from Denny or Fitzwilliam, Darcy could not always tell—which proved sufficient.
In due course, the magistrate arrived, and Jane and Mary Bennet were shown in. Additional chairs were fetched, and each time Collins voiced dissatisfaction at being relegated to the less comfortable seat set slightly behind the others.
When Jane spoke, her voice was steady.
“Lieutenant Wickham stopped the carriage and presented a pistol,” she said. “He ordered the coachman down and took his place upon the box.”
She did not look at Wickham.
“He did not offer assistance,” she added quietly. “He compelled us to remain where we were. His intention was to take us to Scotland and marry one of us. Which one, I am not certain he knew, for he mistook us for another with more by the way ofdowry than we can offer. I cannot imagine what he would have done to us when he discovered the truth.”
Mary folded her hands in her lap before speaking, confirming her sister’s account.
“Lieutenant Wickham spoke little to us once he had taken control of the carriage. However, he did clearly introduce himself and declare that he intended to marry one of us. His concern appeared to be only that we remain within it and attempt no resistance. When we asked where he meant to take us, he replied only that the matter would soon be settled. He acted with deliberation; there was no misunderstanding. He stopped the carriage with purpose and compelled us to continue with him.”
Darcy detected no embellishment in either of their tones, no hint of hysteria, only a calm recital of fact, which, in his mind showed an admirable steadiness in the midst of these circumstances.
At his side, Richard did not move—not obviously. Still, Darcy saw his hand tighten upon the arm of his chair, the upholstery shifting faintly beneath his grip before he mastered himself and released it. The muscle along his jaw flexed once, then stilled. He did not speak.
When their account was concluded, Mr Bennet insisted they be spared further questioning. Wickham, Darcy noted, had been shifted in position so that neither young woman needed to look upon him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Wickham was afforded no further opportunity to proclaim his innocence or to protest his treatment. Shortly after the ladies were escorted from the room, Sir William in his position as magistrate joined Captain Denny in conducting him to the town gaol, accompanied by the footmen from Millwood Cottage.
“I shall speak with Colonel Forster as soon as I return to camp,” Denny told Darcy in a low voice. “The regiment will determine what is to be done with him. You may expect a decision within the next day or two. The colonel may prefer to manage the matter privately, but I will ensure you are informed. Mr Bennet and Lord Granfield will, of course, be apprised of the proceedings.”
Darcy’s attention sharpened at once.
