From the light of the candle in the stairwell, she could see the valet’s expression harden.
“Our attention was diverted by . . .”
“Yes,” she said in a rush. “I saw it.”
Mr. Slipworth tipped his head towards the next floor. “Continue up the stairs, Miss Bennet, and find a place to hide. He may not be the only one inside.” He turned the lock.
Elizabeth fled.
Darcy’s gaze snapped to the side, and his hands balled into fists. Wickham was standing outside the cobbler’s shop, uncharacteristically alone. Of all the luck! Fitz had not seen Wickham since before the miscreant had attempted to elope with Georgiana. He would never pass up this opportunity, but the timing could not be worse. Wickham would love nothing better than to spin a tale about what Darcy was doing back in Meryton posing as a colonel. Darcy dismounted but did not approach.
As he moved behind the horse’s neck, Darcy had a fleeting glimpse of Wickham’s face as it paled even more than it had when he and Bingley had encountered him being introduced to the Bennet women. Fitz’s hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, and Wickham’s eyes were fixed upon it.
“Darcy mentioned you had joined the militia,” Fitz said pleasantly. “I am much obliged. The red coat has made locating you a simple thing.”
“What do you want, Fitzwilliam?” Wickham asked bitterly.
Fitz’s laugh was hearty and dangerous. “Do you not know?”
Darcy snuck a look around his horse’s head. Another man in a red coat approached cautiously but made no move to intervene. He recognized him as Captain Denny, a friend of Wickham’s.
Wickham must have seen his comrade, for he sneered and raised his voice. “Darcy has made certain I shall never be prosperous. What worse can you do?”
Fitz stepped forward again, and Wickham retreated, his right hand moving to the small of his back and under his coat. Darcy glanced to his right. Captain Denny was too far removed to be of use.
Darcy cursed silently. If Wickham pulled a weapon, Fitz would run the man though, and though it was unlikely Fitz would be sent to prison for defending himself, it would make a timely return to London rather difficult. He deftly stepped around his mount just in time to capture Wickham’s wrist as the man withdrew a long, thin knife. “Drop the blade, or I will break your arm,” he said darkly.
Wickham stilled for a moment, but then cried “Darcy!” His words were gleeful. “Back to the scene of your crime so soon?”
Darcy’s hand tightened on Wickham’s wrist, and he bent the man’s hand inward until the knife dropped, hitting the wooden sidewalk at an angle and tumbling into the mud on the road.
Fitz gave the weapon a cursory glance where it lay on the ground. “You meant to wound me with that child’s toy?” His laugh was scornful. “You never properly prepare for anything, do you?”
“I am fully prepared to explain to the good people in this town that Darcy is responsible for Miss Elizabeth’s death,” Wickham said calmly. “The magistrate has her bonnet and Darcy’s button. Now that he has returned in disguise, I do not see how even Darcy could deny it.”
Darcy twisted Wickham’s arm back with one hand and placed the other on Wickham’s shoulder.
Fitz fished the knife out of a puddle. He tucked it into his own belt. “You are free to do so, if you wish.”
Wickham’s muscles tightened under Darcy’s hand. “Do you not believe me?” he asked, incredulous. He struggled, spitting the words at Fitz. “I will do it. It would be a pleasure to watch the man squirm.”
Darcy tamped down the urge to strangle his father’s godson. Fitz must have a plan. He was rarely without one. He caught his cousin’s eye and was reassured by what he saw there.
Fitz grabbed Wickham’s elbow, the one not pinned to his back, and motioned to Denny that he should follow. Darcy and Fitz hustled Wickham around the building and into the alley between them.
“For a certain price, I am sure, you would be willing to forget everything,” Fitz said thoughtfully, stepping back. “How much this time, Wickham?”
“Ten thousand pounds,” Wickham said. He struggled to break Darcy’s grip, but his gift was in charm, not strength. “Far less than the thirty you owe me. Your sister was only too pleased with me, Darcy.”
Darcy strengthened his hold on Wickham’s arm, and Fitz laughed, smiling darkly in a manner that was almost feral. “You mean she would have been pleased to watch you gamble and whore your way through her fortune? I know my cousin, Wickham, and I assure you she would have been wretched. But no matter. You would never have lived to spend it.” His pat on Wickham’s cheek was more like a slap. “You ought to thank Darcy for not calling me home. He saved your life.”
Wickham struggled to free himself, but Darcy held firm. “Good God, Darcy, stop it this instant. Is this how you tossed Miss Elizabeth into the river?”
“Interesting,” Fitz mused, not at all averse to playing a part. “You claim that my cousin Darcy has murdered a gentleman’s daughter, but you are willing to remain silent about it for the princely sum of ten thousand pounds?” He glanced back at Captain Denny, who was listening very closely.
“Fifteen now,” Wickham shot back without looking up. He lurched forward, trying to break free.
Darcy sighed. The man never learned. With a single hard strike of his boot to the side of the man’s leg, he forced Wickham to one knee.