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“Darcy,” Wickham said glibly. “There, may I go?”
Darcy ignored the jibe. “I want to know the whereabouts of the men who told you Miss Elizabeth Bennet was going to be killed.” It made him sick to say it, but he did not allow his revulsion to show.
Forster’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared, but thankfully he remained silent.
Wickham smirked. “What is it worth to you?”
Damn the arrogance of the man. Darcy remained outwardly calm. He would not allow Wickham to rattle him. “The question is,” Darcy replied, “what is your life worth to you?”
Wickham rolled his eyes. “You will not kill me, Darcy.”
“You will call your superior officer by his rank, Wickham,” Forster barked.
Wickham frowned. “He is not . . .”
“Colonel Black,” Forster told him.
“You will not kill me, Colonel Black,” Wickham spat out.
Darcy would have laughed if the situation had not been so serious. “I need the name of the man or men who told you this.”
“No man told me this,” Wickham shot back. He turned to Forster. “May I go, sir?”
Forster’s gaze was steady. “No.”
“Wickham,” Darcy said nonchalantly, “you can offer the names and earn fifty pounds, or I will accept Colonel Forster’s offer to invite the father, brother, and uncle of every girl wronged by you since the militia’s arrival to meet with you personally.” He pretended to inspect the office. “You will, of course, require a larger room.”
The sullen look Darcy received quite delighted him.
“Money first,” came the demand.
“I do not carry that amount of coin on my person,” Darcy replied without losing his composure. “Nor would I release it to you before verifying your information. But I will sign an avowal to be kept in your colonel’s possession.”
Wickham relented, though his words were resentful. “I was not told,” he growled. “An acquaintance of mine from London came to Meryton for the ball. I invited him to cards, and he put me off rather rudely. I made it my business to discover his. Tobias is his name. Tobias Henderson.”
“And what did you discover?” Darcy asked when it appeared Wickham would not continue.
“His job was to watch you.” Wickham replied indifferently. “He had a partner. I wanted in, but they did not wish my help. Not my sort of thing, Toby said. I did not see why watching you would be so difficult.”
“Who hired him?” Darcy asked insistently.
Wickham shrugged. “Someone with cash to spare and a grudge against you, I suppose. Netherfield was likely filled with men who fit the bill.”
“What does Henderson look like?” Fitz inquired.
“He blends in,” Wickham said with a shrug. “Dark blond hair, brown eyes, entirely unremarkable.”
“Scars? Birthmarks?”
“He has a tattoo of an English rose.” Wickham grinned. “On his arse.”
Darcy stifled the instinct to goad Wickham by asking how he knew the location of such a mark, instead simply gesturing to Forster’s desk. Colonel Forster nodded, and Darcy picked up a pen. He held it over the inkpot. “Where can we find Mr. Henderson?”
There was no response. Darcy set the pen down.
“Without a location, we cannot find your friend. If we cannot find him and determine whether he is the man we want, you will not receive your payment.”
Wickham sniffed and dabbed at his nose with a bloodied handkerchief. “He can usually be found at The White Bear in Piccadilly,” he said, refusing to meet Darcy’s eye.
