Mr. Wickham’s chin rose. In that moment, he looked like exactly what he was: a petulant child. Lydia stood next to him, grasping his arm and looking confused.
Children, thought Elizabeth. They’re neither of them much more than children. Except George Wickham must be nearly thirty years of age. Lydia at least had the excuse of being only fifteen.
“You don’t understand,” said Mr. Wickham. “They’re going to kill me!”
“You said that before,” said Elizabeth. “At least then you had the armed men to give credence to the lie. Are you hurt?” This last, she directed to Mr. Bingley. He shook his head.
“I have not been harmed,” said Mr. Bingley.
“Darcy and his friend here have plenty of money,” said Mr. Wickham. “What I’m asking for, it’s so very little to the likes of them. They’d hardly notice it’s gone.”
“What precisely are you asking for?” said Elizabeth.
“Just enough to provide a comfortable life,” Mr. Wickham began. Lydia interrupted again.
“You already make enough for a comfortable life, dearest. You told me so,” she said. “Your living from the military is more than enough to support a family.”
Mr. Wickham did not immediately respond.
“Poor child,” came a voice from the hall. Mr. Wickham jolted hard at it. “He hasn’t told you yet.” The door swung open once again. It was the rough-looking man who’d stood guard outside the door where she and Georgiana and Mr. Wickham had been held for ransom in London.
Against her own will, Elizabeth shrank back.
“Poor as church mice, that one is,” said the thug, pointing at Mr. Wickham. “Been given the boot by old Colonel Forster for messing with too many of the local daughters. Though I guess it didn’t help that Titan tried to settle your debts by the Colonel.”
“Is that true, Wickham?” asked Lydia. Elizabeth would later be amused that her sister was not perturbed in the least by the appearance of such a rough man. “You were meeting with other girls?”
“I’ll not be so poor this time tomorrow, my love,” said Mr. Wickham. “Your sister’s future husband here has seen fit to accommodate my request.”
“Not so fast,” came a cold voice. Another man came through the door, moving slowly. His clothes were deeply rumpled as though he’d slept in them, but they were finely made. He held a long-barreled pistol in each hand. “Got yourself a pair of pretty birds here, Wick. But then I never once laid eyes on you that you didn’t have at least one nearby. Always pretty, too. Never the common lot, not unless you need them for something.”
George Wickham appeared to have thrown off his shock, his full bravado restored. “I’ve finally obtained the means to satisfy our agreement. If you’ll just—”
“We’re not going anywhere, Wick. Not until I’ve got your money in hand at last. You’ve managed to slip away often enough, I’ve had to reorganize my men entirely. Though I suppose I should thank you for that. Business in my little corner of London is getting better, thanks to the improvements we had to make after dealing with you.”
Mr. Wickham moved to step forward; Titan instantly raised each pistol, turning one on George Wickham. The other he aimed squarely at Elizabeth.
“No!” cried Mr. Bingley. Lydia began to weep, wrapping herself about Mr. Wickham’s waist.
“Lydia, don’t!” said Elizabeth. Foolish, foolish girl thought nothing of her present danger.
“Silence!” commanded Titan. “Wick, I daresay you better see about getting that money before somebody accidentally goes and gets themselves hurt.”
“It’s not here yet,” said Mr. Wickham. He sounded on the verge of tears himself. “His man is supposed to be back with it any minute.”
“So the ladies aren’t part of the deal? Seems a waste,” said Titan.
“Excuse me,” said Elizabeth. The reappearance of her kidnapper had felled her fortitude at first, but she’d recovered it at the sight of the gun’s barrel. It was in her power to bring about a détente of sorts. It was no sacrifice to save people she loved.
“Yes, madam,” said Titan, raising a brow at her. “Wish to plead on your lover’s behalf? Pretty as you are, I’ve a mind to let you.”
She ignored the crass implication. “How much does he owe?”
“Wick?” The villain cocked his head but the pistols did not move. “With the current rate of interest, plus a finder’s fee for my compatriot here, I’d say he’s at about fifteen thousand.”
At this, Lydia began to wail. George Wickham was now visibly trembling. Elizabeth turned her head to keep them out of her line of sight.
“It is in my power to offer you twelve thousand,” she said. “Will that satisfy his debt?”
Mr. Bingley caught her eye, but she shook her head to prevent him from speaking.
“I have in my hand the information required to access this money,” she continued, for she now held his attention entirely. “All you have to do is present this receipt at the bank where the funds are held.”
Titan lowered the weapons at last.
“What’s your name, miss?” he asked, regarding her intently.
“I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she said. “And you have not answered my question.”
Titan laughed softly. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said slowly. “I’ll remember that name. Show me your proof.”
Elizabeth exposed her wrist, withdrawing the papers slowly so as not to startle him. She extended the papers to his filthy cohort, who was standing nearer by. The man grunted and seized them from her, holding them out to his boss.
“Hands are a bit full just now,” said Titan.
“I can’t read,” the thug complained.
Titan huffed. He tucked the pistols behind him, took the pages, and opened them. After a moment, he smiled.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, folding the papers and placing them in an unseen shirt pocket. “We have an agreement. Wick, you really ought to keep close to this one. Seems she’s got mind enough for the both of ye.”
Whatever reply Mr. Wickham might have made was cut off abruptly by the thundering sound of horses approaching the house.
“Time I took my leave,” said Titan. He bowed to Elizabeth. “It was a singular pleasure, Miss Bennet.” Without so much as a glance at Mr. Wickham or his employee, Titan fled the room.
For several long moments, chaos reigned. Mr. Bingley was at her elbow in an instant to ensure she hadn’t been injured. Elizabeth’s one-time captor had run off after his master, screaming for the man to wait. Lydia was wailing louder than ever, and no matter how hard he tried to extricate himself, she would not release grip around Wickham’s waist. As the sound of galloping hooves ebbed the din downstairs grew louder, followed by fast footsteps in the hall.
Elizabeth had turned to reassure Mr. Bingley when she caught sight of the first man through the door.
It was Darcy.