“Mrs. Younge.” He offered her a small, ironic bow as she sank into a curtsy.
“I hope…you are well, sir.” She examined him covertly, visibly struggling to regain some composure.
“I am well, Mrs. Younge, as is my sister. Miss Darcy is very well, indeed.” He looked at her steadily, willing her to meet his eyes. “But I did not interrupt your afternoon to exchange civilities.”
“I cannot imagine…”
“Can you not, ma’am? Think on it, I beg you.” She turned quickly from him, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. “What possible connection might still exist between us that would bring me to your establishment today?”
Slowly, she turned back to him, a look of caution mixed with cunning on her face. “Wickham.” She almost smiled but caught herself. “Miss Darcy —?”
“Is very well, as I said, and in nowise connected to my business here with you.”
“I see.” The lady sank into her chair behind the desk. “And just what is your business with Wickham, Mr. Darcy?”
“Then you have seen him?” Darcy jumped upon her words.
A tick at the corner of Mrs. Younge’s eye revealed her annoyance at her misstep. “Perhaps.” She rearranged the papers lying on the desk before her, then looked up at him. “What do you want with him, sir? Do you seek him as friend or foe?”
“That will depend entirely on Wickham, ma’am. If he can quickly be made to see where his best interest lies, he may in the end be glad to have been found.”
“Indeed?” Speculation had now clearly joined with cunning. “How glad?”
“That is a matter between Wickham and me.” He leaned over her, fixing her with inflexible purpose. “Tell me, madam,” he demanded, “do you know where Wickham is? Is he here?”
Her lips pursed as she boldly returned his stare. “I cannot help you.”
“Cannot or will not?” he replied quietly, then looked about her small office. “I imagine that, as a woman of business, you expend yourself in only those endeavors that will result in some form of profit.”
A half smile appeared as she inclined her head in admission. “When I was dismissed from your employ, I lost a very good situation. I was fortunate to keep body and soul together. I learned an age ago that I must look after my own interests in whatever form they may come to me.”
His mind leapt to her dealings with Georgiana. The carelessness of her words awakened a surge of anger, but now was not the time. They must both measure every word. “That was made quite clear last summer in Ramsgate, madam!” he returned in the same quiet tone. “No one’s future may be permitted to stand in the way of your interests.”
Mrs. Younge dared to shrug her shoulders at him. “It is the way of the world, Mr. Darcy, certainly of your world no less than mine.”
“No, not all the world, Mrs. Younge.” He straightened and stepped back. “I will make it worth the while of anyone who can give me Wickham’s direction.” He made to leave but turned back at the door. “You must know, madam, you are not my only resource. Others, who have no personal interest save in the doing of good, are also looking for him. I would not wait long, were I you, to decide to place your trust with me. They may find him first, and that, I believe, would not be in your interest. You know where to send word.” He bowed. “Good day, madam.”
Walking briskly down the hall, he nodded to the maidservant and let himself out. The hackney was just making the turn to come up the street again when he stepped to the curb and lifted his walking stick in salute. The driver pulled his horse to a halt before him. With one foot on the step, Darcy noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye, and looking over his shoulder, he spied a boy of no more than eight fade slowly into the alley between 815 Edward Street and its neighbor.
“Wait a moment,” he commanded the cabbie and strode over to the dark passageway.
“Don’t ya be worryin’, govn’r,” a young voice greeted him from the depths of the alley. Darcy stopped and squinted into the duskiness, barely able to see the face of his quarry as the boy peeped at him from around some barrels and boxes. “Jus’ you go home,” the voice continued. “I’ll be awatchin’ the old mort ’n’ send word ta yer groom if she bolts.” The boy’s head bobbed. “Mr. Tanner’s compliments, sir.”
“And mine to him,” Darcy replied and turned back to the waiting hack.
“Fitz! What the Devil is this about?” Richard strode into Darcy’s study before Witcher had a chance to announce him. “No knocker on the door, warnings to keep mum that you are in Town, and a dashed imperious command to make my appearance!”
“Was it imperious? I beg your pardon, Cousin.” Richard’s brow hitched up in wonder at Darcy’s apology, but he said nothing. “Lay it down to the urgency of the matter in which I need your help,” Darcy went on.
“My help?” Wonder changed to astonishment as Richard fell into a chair. “Say on!”
“I need your help, or rather the help of your connections, in finding Wickham.”
“Wickham! By God, it’s not Georgiana…!” He started back up out of the chair.
“No…no, something else entirely but about which I may not speak. He is absent without leave from his regiment, and I have every reason to believe him to be here in London. Where might such a man go to hide from the military authorities? Are there places, people, to whom he might go?”
“Possibly…probably! I know where to begin inquiries at any rate.” The Colonel looked at his cousin in curious concern. “You cannot tell me anything? Since it is Wickham, I have no doubt as to its perfidy, the poxy little weasel. You could hardly shock me.”
Darcy grimaced in agreement but shook his head. “No, I am sorry, but I can say no more. It involves others who may not be named.” He sat down in the chair opposite his cousin. “I do not want you to do more than find out where he is; I shall do the rest. Do you understand?”
“Yes…and no.” Richard drew out the words slowly. “But I shall do as you ask.” He paused, looking at his cousin from under peaked brows. “Do you realize how fagged you look? When did you arrive in Town?”
“Yesterday evening.”
“Late?”
“Late…and before you ask, I left Pemberley that morning.”
“Good God, Fitz! This must be of the utmost importance then.”
“It is.” Darcy sighed, absently rubbing his fingers back and forth over the arms of his chair. “I must find him as soon as is possible.” He looked into Richard’s frowning countenance. He wished nothing less than his cousin’s immediate attention to his task, but common civility and the lateness of the hour demanded a nod to the requirements of hospitality. “But I find that I am quite at leisure for the rest of the evening. Have you eaten?”
“Not if Mrs. Witcher’s is the hand!” Richard grinned.
“Billiards after?”
“A rack. I must oversee a new set of blockheaded young officers tonight. Officers? Children!” He snorted. “But I shall begin my inquiries immediately tomorrow and send round should I discover anything.”
“Thank you, Richard.” Darcy rose and took his cousin’s hand in a tight grip.
“You are welcome, I am sure.” Richard grinned at him. “But I would rather Mrs. Witcher’s plum duff than your thanks. Will supper be ready soon?”
With a certain grim sense of satisfaction, Darcy looked down at the card which had arrived that morning in the middle of his breakfast. It was from Mrs. Younge, of course. The name of her boardinghouse imprinted on the front, it was graced with a simple, straightforward note upon the back: “11 o’clock. £300.” Yes, he frowned as he tucked the card into his waistcoat pocket, the woman knew her own interests, and they had not included being unduly coy about the betrayal of a former conspirator. It had taken three days to arrive at the extravagant figure of three hundred pounds, but one had to begin somewhere, and time was precious to both of them. The longer Elizabeth’s sister was without the countenance of a relative during her sojourn in London, the harder it would be to retrieve her character, if indeed, that could still be done.