“Ah, I see I am right. You do understand that you are going to have to make your peace with Georgiana at some point, Darcy.”
“I suppose you are right.”
“You know that I am. So I suggest that we go to London first, as I need to resign my commission, and then repair to Netherfield. Also, it is almost Christmas.”
“Why does Christmas matter?”
“Darcy, do you prefer to spend the holiday with my parents, in Meryton, or – hold on, let me guess – all by yourself at Darcy House? Or even Pemberley? No, do not bother growling at me. I would like to spend Christmas with Jane. And with you as well, Darcy.”
“Very well,” Mr. Darcy said, resigned. “Once we reach London, I will send a message to Bingley to let him know that we will be his guests.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
After leaving Mrs. Harvester’s house, Wickham was brought up before a judge, who took all of two minutes to conclude that the prisoner could not pay his debts. He was then taken to Fleet Prison.
When he and three other prisoners were decanted at the gates of the prison, Wickham craned his neck, searching for Evelina. Surely she was here, somewhere, and had found a means of rescuing him.
But he did not see her. He was pushed roughly from behind; finding himself face-to-face with a large man with cruel eyes, he pulled himself up to his full height and said, “I am certain this is a misunderstanding.”
The man held out his hand and said, “Ten shillings to keep your clothing.”
“Ten shillings? I do not have –“ The large man was evidently done with the conversation, as he pushed George towards another man, who stripped him down to his smalls, clapped his hands in irons, and dragged a loudly protesting George Wickham down two flights of stairs, down to a small, dark, damp room in which seven nearly naked men were sitting on the floor.
One of the men groaned upon seeing George. “Guv’nor, we ain’t got room for another – well, damn your eyes!” The last was added as the door was unlocked and George was shoved inside.
***
Evelina Younge Wickham watched from the Ludgate entrance to the city as George Wickham was taken from the back of a wagon and pushed toward the entrance of the prison. She was able, from her vantage point, to see his head swivel about. She knew he was looking for her, but she was determined not to be seen.
Evelina had experienced a sort of awakening the moment she had watched her twenty-five pounds disappear into George’s hand. She knew enough of sponging houses to understand that the money would be used to feed George for several days, and he would then be taken to prison. It was impossible for them to raise five thousand pounds, of course, so there he would remain, likely for the remainder of his life.
She had put up with a good deal from him. She had watched him make love to and even marry Georgiana Darcy, while all along it had been she, Evelina Younge, who had truly been Mrs. Wickham. What other woman in all of England would have endured so much and been rewarded with so little?
It had taken her a long time to save up that twenty-five pounds. She would not be so foolish again.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Miss Bingley was not at all happy with her new life.
For one thing, she had quickly run through her quarterly allowance and was now in debt to her modiste. Madame DuBois had informed her that no new gowns would be delivered until her bill was paid in full. Caroline was going to have to take money from the principal of twenty thousand pounds in order to satisfy the debt.
Then Peggy had quit her job, as she had quickly discovered that working elsewhere would pay more, and – according to her – give her a far kinder mistress. Miss Bingley had elevated her nose, sniffed loudly, and professed herself glad to see Peggy go, as Peggy had very little understanding of the new hairstyles! Miss Bingley was certain that she could find a cheaper lady’s maid, but she had been quite wrong. There was, apparently, a very active servants’ grapevine in London, and she could find no-one who would work for her without a substantial increase in pay. The word, she was told, had gone out that Miss Bingley was not a considerate mistress.
As if all that were not enough, her social life was a mere shadow of what it had been when she had lived at Bingley House. Most of her friends had dropped her once they found out where she now resided. She did not blame them in the least; she would have done the same to them. The few who still visited her madeit clear that they did so out of Christian charity; she wouldnothave done the same for them.
One day, Miss Armstrong came to tea. Miss Armstrong was a spinster of thirty years old, with a long face like a horse. She lived with her brother, who was a baronet. The brother had, very briefly, shown interest in Miss Bingley, but that interest had evaporated quickly.
“And how are you today, Miss Armstrong?” Miss Bingley cooed. She did not much like Miss Armstrong; the woman had no interest in fashion and rarely had any interesting gossip to share.
“I am quite well, Miss Bingley, I thank you.”
The usual courtesies and comments on the weather followed, and Miss Bingley soon ceased to pay much attention. Perhaps she could go to a different modiste for a while; Madame DuBois was definitely wrong in saying that ponceau was not a good colour for her.
“…your brother’s marriage.”
Miss Bingley snapped to attention. “I am sorry, Miss Armstrong. What about my brother?”
The woman looked miffed. “Isaid, Miss Bingley, that you must be over the moon about your brother’s marriage! The new Mrs. Bingley was seen in the Park with her husband.”
