An Unlikely Acquaintance

Part 26

Colonel Fitzwilliam was reading back through a report he was due to forward to his superiors over the condition of the men of the Meryton regiment when a knock at the door to his office disturbed his peace.

"Yes?" he barked, not looking up from his notes as the door opened and someone strode in. He had been writing and rewriting this particular report for above an hour, trying to strike a balance between outlining the degree of work still to be done to make the men he had inherited battle-ready and not unduly blaming his predecessor for their ill-fitness. It was not entirely Forster's fault, he knew, for there was a struggle to manage a militia in peacetime that he had not experienced at the front.

"Hard at work?"

He did not need to look up for he recognised his visitor by his mocking tone of voice. Still, his head did jerk to attention, sensing danger, as ever he did where Wickham was concerned.

"I was," he ground out from between gritted teeth. "And yet I see you are not. Do you neglect your duties, Wickham? Have you need of more work to occupy you?"

Glancing over one shoulder to assure himself the door to the corridor was closed, Wickham dropped comfortably into a chair, lounging as if this office belonged to him, and not to his superior.

"I hardly require more work, sir."

There, again, was the same mocking tone that set Richard's nerves on edge.

"And yet you have completed it in good time."

"Perhaps I am merely excessively skilled," Wickham began, before letting out a low laugh. "Or perhaps I have a great many friends more than willing to offer their assistance."

"Ah."

Of course Wickham would do less than half of his tasks himself but delegate them. Bribery and persuasion all worked in his favour, Richard supposed. And well I know it. He leaned back in his chair, smoothing his hands down flat on the table before him, determined to avoid giving his friend even the tiniest passing insight into his true feelings. To do so would be to give Wickham the advantage and as Richard had learnt to his detriment such an advantage invariably led to harm.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Richard asked, at last. He had been the first to break and the glint in Wickham's eyes suggested his friend had known he would be. Doubling down on the irritation a superior could vent on a subordinate, Richard asked plainly. "What do you want?"

"It is not what I want but what I can do," Wickham said with a smooth smile. "I wish to offer you some assistance. Some...insight into matters at the barracks."

"Yes?" Richard glanced nervously at his report, wondering if this insight would derail a morning's work.

"There is some dissatisfaction amongst the men."

Tell me something new, Richard thought, suppressing a sigh. Whilst there had been no outward shows of defiance amongst the men he most closely associated with, it was plain to him that they tolerated him as they must because of his rank, but they bided their time impatiently until their true leader, Colonel Forster, would be returned to them.

It is not as if I am unfamiliar in carving a place for myself where I am tolerated, rather than wanted, Richard thought, with a grim smile.

"Now, I can help to soften it, and I have been," Wickham continued, smiling at Richard as if they were old friends, as if their shared past were not as chequered as it was. "I will continue to do so, only..."

"You wish some recompense for doing so." Richard had been expecting this. No favour of Wickham's was ever offered for free. To his calculation, he was in debt on account of the Bennets and the regiment. He supposed it was only a matter of time before Wickham collected.

"Believe it or not, good opinion can be bought," Wickham remarked, with a cheerful smile. "At least the good opinion of simple men in want of an extra coin here and there. And as you well know my own pockets are dreadfully light these days."

"You have spent the earnings you managed to extract from my cousin already?"

Richard had not meant to say this aloud. Any reference to Georgiana or Darcy, however oblique, was to lead Wickham into dangerous territory. He was like a cat, liable to strike without warning, particularly when baited. I am tired of avoiding the subject, Richard realised, with a sigh. Let the man face the consequences of his actions, just once, as we all must do.

"If you do not want my help..." Wickham began, making a motion as if to stand from his chair.

"Sit down." Richard's response was curt, but his friend obediently stayed put. He would not admit to wanting Wickham's help, but it would also serve him ill to let the man go unappeased. He would not only lose Wickham's assistance, then, but would secure the man for an enemy. I have seen how bitterly you treat those you count a foe and have no desire for you to make my lot any worse. Without another word, Richard pulled open a drawer in his desk and lifted out a small coin purse. It was not weighed down with much, but it would be enough to buy him a few more days of solidarity and support, and save him the headache of dealing any further with George Wickham.

"You are too generous, Colonel!" Wickham said with a wink, as he swiped the purse and deposited it about his person in one swift movement. "Now, I see I distract you from your work. I shall leave you to it." His eyes narrowed, his voice taking on that lazy, mocking tone that so exasperated Richard. "I suppose this is all official correspondence?"

"What other kind is there?" Richard was too tired to play Wickham's game any longer. He wanted the man gone, if not from his life forever, then at least from his study for an hour.

Wickham did not respond straight away, merely mused in a low voice as he reached the door.

"I wondered if you were perhaps penning a note to Miss Bennet. She certainly seemed unduly taken with you, and I dare say you are deserving of a little happiness, Richard. Do not squander the opportunity Providence presents you."

He pulled the door closed quietly behind him and Richard looked up, surprised by this uncharacteristic kindness. Perhaps it was not delivered by Wickham at all but by someone else entirely. His own better angels. His unconscious mind. Providence herself.

Reaching for a clean sheet of paper, he dipped his pen and began his report over. The sooner he finished and submitted his papers to the proper quarters, the sooner he would be free of his duties for the day. Free to pay a call, should he wish to, to a young lady who was of late never far from his mind...