Darcy and Deception

“But surely Mr. Wickham will need his friends—”

“Mr. Wickham has friends in the militia.” A touch of steel in his voice suggested that the colonel was issuing a command rather than a request. “Your sister and my wife are quite distraught. They would like some companionship.”

Elizabeth started. “Oh yes, of course!”

“Wickham,” the colonel said, “I will visit the barracks soon, and we will discuss this sad situation. Collect your fellow officers and retire there until I arrive.”

Wickham saluted smartly and strode away.

“This is a sad business. Come away, Miss Bennet.” With a slow shake of his head, the colonel held out his arm to Elizabeth. The man gave Darcy one more suspicious glare as he led her away. Elizabeth did not look at Darcy.

Long after they had disappeared from sight, Darcy stood on the grass and considered this grim news. He was certain Wickham had already known of his friend’s death, and almost as certain that the colonel viewed the man with suspicion. Did he suspect Wickham of murdering his friend? Was it possible that Wickham had killed the man? The man was a scoundrel and a liar, but Darcy had not thought him as bad as all that.

It was as if he had a jigsaw puzzle composed entirely of pieces in the wrong shapes. His sole purpose had been saving Elizabeth from Wickham, but now he suspected he had stepped into the middle of something bigger and far more dangerous. Was Wickham associating with criminals? Smugglers? Highwaymen?

And how was Elizabeth involved? She was wrapped up in this mess. Did she know something of Wickham’s sordid activities? How could Darcy protect her? After several seconds of indecision, Darcy strode away in the opposite direction.

***

The colonel walked with a fast and jerky stride; Elizabeth soon dropped his arm and simply tried to keep pace with his longer legs. Swinging at his side, his hands were clenched into fists, and a muscle worked in his jaw. He walked with a singleness of purpose, glancing neither left nor right. Several times she considered asking a question, but the expression on his face argued against it.

A man under his command was dead. Murdered. Naturally he was agitated. But he acted almost as if he were angry with Elizabeth, and she could not understand how she might have erred.

When they reached the colonel’s residence, he held the door open for her and gestured for her to join him in the drawing room. While she seated herself on a settee, the colonel prowled about the room, apparently unable to rest. “We must discontinue your spy mission at once,” he said without preamble. “I will return you and your sister to Hertfordshire on the first available coach.”

Elizabeth blinked; she had not thought Mr. Denny’s death might affect her mission. “But—”

He would not allow her to finish. “This mission has become far too dangerous. I will not put a young woman’s life at risk.”

She frowned. “You have no reason to believe Mr. Denny’s death is related to Mr. Wickham or his espionage activities. He might have been killed in a barroom brawl.”

The man stopped pacing for a moment. “I had not considered that possibility.” Then he shook his head. “No, the risk is too great. Denny was a friend of Wickham’s, and now he is dead. It is too great a coincidence.”

“Surely you do not believe Mr. Wickham killed him! He seemed as surprised by the news as I was. If he were the man responsible, he is the best actor I have ever seen.” Still, a little doubt niggled in the back of Elizabeth’s mind. Mr. Wickham was an accomplished spinner of falsehoods; she herself had swallowed his lies readily enough.

The colonel sighed. “I do not know what to think. He did appear shocked, but I expected more grief.”

“I believe it is unlikely that Mr. Wickham killed his friend, thus there is no increase in danger.”

“No, it is too great a risk. I must return you to your home.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to quell her rising agitation. The colonel had revealed the overbearing, stubborn side of his nature before, but never had so much been at stake.

For once in her life she was doing something important—work that would help her country—and she was expected to forsake the opportunity at the first sign of possible danger. It was unfair. “I am making progress with Mr. Wickham,” she said. “Surely it cannot be too dangerous for me to stay two or three more days.”

There was a long silence while the colonel considered. Finally, he sat heavily in an armchair. “You have been of immense assistance. Agents have located his hideout, and my men are observing the friends he mentioned to you.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Who knows what else the man might tell you? I would be loath to lose your help.”

Elizabeth pressed her advantage. “If I leave now, Wickham’s plans might succeed—and that could be disastrous for England.” The colonel’s expression suggested he was wavering. “Please let me stay. I will not hold you responsible for anything that happens. But I want to be of service to my country. Surely you can understand such a desire.”

The colonel’s shoulders sagged, and she tasted victory. “Very well, but you must exercise even greater caution.”

“I will.”

“If anything else untoward occurs, I will send you home immediately.”

“I understand.”

“Very well. I pray you venture upstairs now to comfort Miss Lydia and my wife. They were most distraught at the news about Mr. Denny. Wickham will be at his leisure later in the day. Perhaps you might learn more from him then.” The colonel nodded a curt goodbye to her, turned on his heel, and left the room.