“What will become of her?”
Colonel Rowley shrugged. “I know not. I hope she has someone who will come and care for her, as there is no one here to do so. Do you know where her family is?”
“In Hertfordshire.”
Colonel Rowley shook his head. “Quite a distance.”
“Has she no one here to help her? No friends?”
“Not that I am aware of, and the Army cannot take any responsibility for her. She will not even receive her husband’s last wages, as these monies must go to satisfy his debts.”
“I suppose I must take charge of her.” Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. Had he thought this would be easy?
“Here is her direction. I will have one of my men lead you there.”
Half an hour later, Colonel Fitzwilliam found himself knocking on Mrs. Wickham’s door. It opened after a few minutes, and the Colonel found himself looking at a young woman. She looked as if she had not slept in some time; her hair was lank, and her dress old and stained. So this was Lydia Wickham! He had imagined her rather differently, based on Elizabeth’s occasional references to her youngest sister.
“Mrs. Wickham?”
She eyed him distrustfully. “Who wants to know?”
“I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”
She had to think for a minute to place the name. “Oh! Mr. Darcy’s cousin, right?”
“Yes; may I come in?”
She stepped back, allowing him into a rather cramped and dismal set of rooms. She saw his expression and tossed her head. “Better than living in a tent!”
“Very much better,” he agreed at once. “Mrs. Wickham, I understand your husband is to be –“ he hesitated. “Well, that you will soon be left alone with your children.”
She immediately burst into tears. “It is not right! Desertion? Never! He never would have left me! Someone is lying!”
“Mrs. Wickham,” the Colonel said, desperately, giving her his handkerchief. “I know nothing of the matter, but I cannot just leave you here to fend for yourself. Mrs. Darcy would expect me to aid you to the best of my ability, and that is what I shall do.”
“Aid me? You can aid me by getting them to see that it is a mistake!”
“Mrs. Wickham, I must speak frankly. Your husband will be executed tomorrow morning. I cannot stop it. I will make arrangements to have you returned to – what is the name of your father’s estate?”
“Longbourn,” she said, her eyes wide with disbelief and dawning terror.
“Yes, returned to Longbourn. Do you understand?” Perhaps he could just find a coachman and hire him to take the Wickhams back to Longbourn, while he rode back to London on his own.
“They are really going to shoot him?”
“Yes.”
“And you will help me get home?” she said. “I cannot manage on my own.” Just then a baby began to cry. Mrs. Wickham stared at him, blue eyes pleading.
The Colonel gave up. This young woman could not possibly manage the long coach ride without considerable assistance.
“I will help you,” he said. “Pack your things and write to your parents to advise them of your coming. I will return with a carriage tomorrow.” Then he made his way to an inn that did not look too terrible and sat on the thin mattress, head in his hands, wondering if he had done right.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The next morning, the Colonel sent a messenger to the army camp; the messenger returned with the information that sentence had been carried out. Mrs. Wickham and her children were now the sole responsibility of Colonel Fitzwilliam, at least until he could get them to Longbourn.
The Colonel sent out three messages. Caroline’s message read:
