Page 73 of Knowing Mr. Darcy
“Tell me his name.”
“You mustn’t kill him,” she said, setting down her teacup. “It’s Mr. Wickham.”
He shot up out of his chair. “Ofcourseit’s him.”
BINGLEY ARRIVED ATthe boardinghouse that Jane had described to him at roughly the same time as Colonel Fitzwilliam was riding up on his horse. Bingley didn’t know him very well, though they had been introduced before.
The colonel recognized him and dismounted. He led his horse by the reins toward him. “Mr. Bingley? What are you doing here?”
Mr. Bingley’s mind was working very quickly. He remembered speaking to Jane at the theater. She had been going to Kent to stay at the parsonage there. And then he’d heard that Darcy and all his party had gone to Rosings. He had thought then that Darcy was following Elizabeth around, so he realized that they’d all been there together, and he knew, with a surge of some strange emotion, that the colonel would have been spending time in Jane’s presence. “You have come after her, haven’t you?” was what he replied.
The colonel stopped short, pulling his horse to halt with him. “I am not at liberty to say what I’m doing here, because it’s all of a rather delicate nature, I’m afraid, but suffice it to say, I have no idea whatyouare doing.”
“I’m here to find Mr. Wickham,” said Mr. Bingley.
“Really,” said the colonel. “And when you say ‘her,’ you mean Miss Jane Bennet?”
“She’s not here anymore,” said Mr. Bingley. “She is safely tucked away in my house, and I am seeing to her comfortand safety, but Wickham has much to answer for.”
The colonel made a face like something smelled bad. “I see.”
“No, not like that,” said Bingley. “She got away before he was able to fully impose his villainy on her—”
“Thank Christ in heaven for that,” said the colonel. “How did she get away from him? Why is she with you?”
“She ran away, and she managed to make her way to my house—”
“But why you?”
“I don’t know, but I’m glad she did,” said Bingley stoutly. “And now, I shall find that man and…” Well, he still wanted to kill him, but he supposed it wasn’t wise to announce his intent to murder loudly on the London streets.
“We shall find him together,” said the colonel. “Let me tie my horse up.”
“We don’t need to do anything together,” said Bingley. “I’m quite capable of seeing to all of this myself.”
The colonel, who was in the process of tying up his horse, only smiled faintly at this.
Bingley didn’t like him, he decided. He turned on his heel and started for the entryway of the boardinghouse.
The colonel fell into step with him only moments later. Bingley thought of forcing his way to be in the lead, but this seemed petty and idiotic, so he felt he had no choice but to allow the colonel to walk with him.
At the doorway, they were met by a woman in her mid-thirties.
“Mrs. Younge,” said the colonel. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you again, but after you sold my niece’s virtue for some sliver of her dowry or whatever it was you did, I have to admit it’snota pleasure.”
The woman, obviously Mrs. Younge, put her hands on her hips. “Virtue? You think so little of me, do you? As her governess, I was there to protect her. She wanted to marry him, and I was making sure the marriage took place before anything happened. On that, you may depend.”
Oh, Bingley was understanding this rather readily. Hehad known that Darcy had dismissed some governess of Miss Darcy’s, but he hadn’t ever met her or known the particulars. This must be the woman. She was in league with Mr. Wickham, was she? Well, he was appalled.
“I don’t care what tale you wish to spin to yourself,” said the colonel. “You know what you did, and the fact that you are, even now, not even the least bit sorry, it tells me everything I need to know of you. We don’t need to converse. What you shall do is to take us immediately to see Mr. Wickham.”
She shrugged. “He’s gone, as it happens.”
“Gone?” spoke up Bingley. “Gone where?”
“He didn’t tell me where he was going,” said Mrs. Younge. “He simply left.”
“If you think I shall take your word for that, you’re mad,” said the colonel, pushing past the woman.
