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“Fifteen,” Fitz repeated slowly. He drew his sword with a theatrical flourish. “You would allow a man you say murdered an innocent girl, a gentleman’s daughter no less, to flee from justice for the price of fifteen thousand pounds?”
“Yes, and the entire town will know what Darcy has done,” Wickham spat. “How long before the news is carried to London? Put up your sword, Fitzwilliam. No one is impressed.”
The angry huff behind Darcy told him that Wickham was wrong.
“Alas, Wickham, I fear your attempt at blackmail is doomed to failure.” Fitz emphasized the word “blackmail.” He sheathed his sword and continued with an air of self-importance. “Captain Denny, this morning Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth’s father, and Sir William Lucas, the local magistrate, have both informed me that Miss Elizabeth is, at this very moment, safe in London.” He nodded once at Darcy. “Colonel Black?”
Darcy released Wickham, who struggled to his feet as Darcy stepped to the side. Without appearing to move, Fitz landed a crushing blow to Wickham’s nose and then an uppercut to the chin that saw Wickham laid out on the ground. He was not unconscious, but he was temporarily incapable of coherent speech.
Without pausing, Fitz addressed Captain Denny. “I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of the Light Dragoons and the younger son of the Earl of Matlock. Lieutenant George Wickham is well-known to my family. I am sorry to say he has squandered every opportunity my uncle offered, and there have been many. You, captain, are a witness to his attempts to blackmail my cousin. If he owes you money, I would not depend upon him paying the debt, and I certainly”—here Fitz winked at a gaggle of young girls who were staring admiringly at him from the pavement back near the shops—“would never expose innocent ladies to such a scoundrel.”
Darcy watched Captain Denny’s scowl intensify. Wickham’s former friend leaned over the prone figure and helped Fitz drag Wickham to his feet.
“We ought to leave him with Colonel Forster,” Darcy said flatly. He removed a length of rope from his saddlebag and securely bound Wickham’s hands. “The militia is quartered a mile or so to the south.”
“We could just leave him here,” Fitz replied, indicating the merchants.
Darcy shook his head. “Wickham would simply steal a horse and ride off, Fitz. He is not one to stay and fight.”
“I will ride with you,” Captain Denny said, speaking at last. He sent a look of disgust in Wickham’s direction. “I should never have agreed to introduce him to Colonel Forster. He has been nothing but trouble from the off.”
Fitz’s eyes lost their false merriment and darkened precipitously. “Right then.” He shoved Wickham forward. “You are fortunate we wish to be on our way, Wickham. Otherwise, I might make you run behind my horse all the way to London. As it is . . .” He motioned to Darcy, who helped him secure Wickham over the horse’s back and bind his ankles together. Fitz climbed on behind him, and Denny led the way.
He made a sorry sight, Wickham did, his head hanging down one side of the horse and his feet on the other, swearing and hollering the entire journey. Darcy felt a deep sense of satisfaction seeing Wickham in such a position and would have greater pleasure still in charging the man with blackmail. Fitz had set that up perfectly. No better witness than a friend of the accused. He would enjoy telling the story to Elizabeth.
Denny had ridden ahead, and Forster was awaiting them. Wickham was hauled off by a few unsmiling fellow officers, and this time, Darcy refused to wait outside.
Fitz took the lead in introducing them and explaining what had happened. Forster listened carefully.
“I am not sure what I can charge him with, truly,” Forster said grimly. “It will be his word against yours. It is not as though he wrote a note.”
“He was not discreet, Colonel,” Fitz argued. “Captain Denny heard it all.”
Forster glanced at the captain, who nodded. “Mr. Wickham is your friend. Will you give testimony against him? You will not suddenly change your mind?”
Denny shook his head.
“If it is not enough,” Darcy said roughly, “speak with the merchants. Wickham has undoubtedly purchased on credit with many of them.” He paused. “It is unlikely that he has a way to pay them, meaning that the regiment shall have to make it good.”
Forster’s jaw tightened. “I shall, Colonel Black.”
There was no hesitation, no irony in Forster’s use of his new name. Was the man that good at his job? Or that bad?
“You may also be hearing from some rather irate guardians,” Fitz said. “I would not wish for you to be taken unawares.”
Forster rubbed his forehead. “Excellent,” he said sarcastically. “I have half a mind to let him fend for himself there.”
Fitz grinned. “Your regiment, Colonel. I would never presume to instruct you.”
“Is there is anything more you require, gentlemen?” Forster asked.
“Yes,” Darcy said. “May we speak with him again?”
Forster nodded and issued a command to a man just outside the door. When Wickham was shoved into the colonel’s office, he had clearly been on the wrong side of some additional blows. His lip was bleeding now as well as his nose, and a red welt was rising near his eye.
“What do you want?” he sneered. All pretense to gentlemanly behavior had vanished, leaving behind the real Wickham, the one that Darcy knew better than he wished. Fitz stepped forward, but Darcy stopped him with a glance.
“A name,” Darcy said coolly.
