13. Chapter 12:Do not withold discipline

Ch 12: Do not withhold discipline from a child

Fredrickson looked at Knightley and shook his head. "He is driving his hogs over Swarston-bridge, ain't he?1" The rugged looking, dark haired man laughed softly.

"It be a wonder 'e can sleep so sound." Knightley frowned with pursed lips. "For a public man2 'e certainly is a bell swagger3. I never head such hoggish4 from a man who should be begging not to swing."

"Ya think he is right, that Darcy will save him from the sheriff's picture frame?5" The big man yawned and rubbed his face hard.

"I know 'e did before, but it were not 'is sister bein' imposed on then." Knightley looked at Wickham, still bound in the chair, sagging against the ropes, asleep. "No, I can not see it."

Tomorrow was the day, the day he would face the hangman. He knew a hundred different ways to describe what he would do in the morning, but they all amounted to the same thing. He would die. Darcy had spoken against him at the trial. There was no one left to rescue him.

"There were so many things I planned to do. It was not supposed to be like this. Old Darcy promised me the life of a gentleman…No, not promised, he never did promise anything. He wanted to give me that living. If only I had taken orders before it was vacant! Then Darcy would have had to give me the living. But that would have meant being someone's curate, paid no better than a servant! Doing all the work with none of the reward! Had I only taken orders, the parsonage would have been mine!"

Mercifully someone—he knew not who—had provided him with bottles of drink. He reached for the first bottle.

"At least this way I'll feel nothing," he muttered, taking a deep draw off the bottle.

The beverage was fruity and potent. Soon he had finished the first bottle. But something was wrong, he was not drunk. Bewildered, he reached for the second bottle, quickly polishing it off. Still, he felt no different. A third and a fourth produced no effect either. Frantically he reached for yet another, only to be stopped by a large hand.

"Enough. It is time."

Roughly, his hands were bound behind his back. His heart raced, his anxiety climbing. Soberly, far too soberly, he watched the man in front of him take his place at the noose, the floor dropping beneath him, the rope creaking under his weight. His face, uncovered, knotted into a grisly death mask.

Moments later, he felt a push between his shoulders and his feet were carrying him to the gallows. Heart in his throat, he breathed faster and faster, knowing that soon he would draw breath no more. The rough rope bit into his neck, tightening painfully. Words spoken behind him could not be made out as the blood roared in his ears. The floor gave way…

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Wickham's head snapped up as he drew in labored breaths. Soaked in sweat, he looked around the moonlit room to see Edwards' men on either side of him. He was still in the manse, not yet meeting the hangman's noose, instead he was facing a second night bound to the hard chair.

Slowly his heart calmed, and he began to breathe more normally. Three times now he had dreamt this dream, each time growing worse than the time before. This was the first time he had felt the floor give way beneath him.

What have I done? What have I done? Sweat burned his eyes, but he could not wipe it away. I am not ready to die. I do not want to die. But they will not hear me. If only… His throat knotted painfully. This is all that prig6 Darcy's fault. If he had only given me what I wanted… He did this to me! It is his fault, and yet I am to hang for it! Impotently he struggled against his bonds.

Knightley turned to look at Wickham, a severe expression in his dark eyes. He said nothing, but made his displeasure clear, crossing his arms over his chest. Wickham ceased his struggles.

But why would they hang Darcy? Being a rich coxcomb has never been a hanging offense. But stealing from one is. He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. My father warned me of this; he told me I would be topp'd7 if I did not change my ways. He saw this coming! He knew I would… Had his watchers been studying his face, they would have seen a look of dawning horror and understanding bloom over his features. He knew I would finally go too far! I have. It is what I have done!

But what can I do now? I must speak to Darcy. If I apologize to him…surely that is all he wants. If I can but speak to him, he will end this farce. He dropped his chin to his chest, heaving a heay sigh. Oh, but my dream, my dream. He refused to listen to me, he would not hear it. He, too, said I had gone too far and no apology could matter. What if that is true? What if that is true?

Sounds in another room intruded into his thoughts, drawing his attention to the familiar voices.

"What has been done with him?" Colonel Fitzwilliam demanded, his strong hands flexing unconsciously into fists.

"My men have him bound in the next room. He has not moved from his chair but for the necessities since we incarcerated him. He is going nowhere, Colonel," Edwards replied in a cold voice.

"Of course, I did not mean to question you. I have every faith in your efforts, sir." Fitzwilliam dropped his head in acknowledgement of the older man.

"No worries. I understand. It is different when it is your family that is affected. Do you care for coffee, sir?" Edwards looked toward the kitchen.

With a sheepish smile, the colonel nodded, a wry smile creeping across his rugged features. "You have indeed given me a barbarous expensive habit, for it was you who introduced me to the stuff! Now I must keep both tea and coffee in the larder!" He laughed companionably. "I will gladly take a cup."

A moment later, they were quietly sipping their coffee. Edwards regarded the younger man for a long moment. "I have sent a man to Manchester, where I suspect there is a writ of debt outstanding for young Wickham."

"Why bother? He has already committed a hanging offense."

"You should know, it is not wise to overlook any possible advantage," Edwards admonished.

"Too true, sir," Fitzwilliam drew a deep breath then released it. "Any simpleton could see that it would come to this. Why Uncle Darcy kept feeding that fool's demands, I will never understand. He was far too generous for his own good."

"Nor I, I am afraid. It seems that was the one place where my friend's wise judgment would fail him."

"Wickham was left a legacy that should have been his stepping stone into a respectable life, yet he squandered it all," the younger man spat angrily. "Had I behaved that way…"

"You would not be in a place to soon retire to an estate of your own." A rugged eyebrow lifted.

"How he had the idea that he, the godson, should be entitled to more than me…"

"The younger son of a great man?" Edwards finished for him, a frown pursing his lips.

"Precisely. I must admit, I think that is what has most offended me in this whole affair."

A room away, Wickham's eyes grew wide as he listened to the two officers coldly discuss him and his fate.

"He received every bit as much as if he were Darcy's younger brother! Yet what does the man have to show for it!" Fitzwilliam's voice snarled from the other room.

As much as if I were a brother… Did he really give me so much? He squeezed his eyes shut, considering this new thought, comparing it to the stories he had heard at school about gentlemen's younger sons. A cold chill crept over his face. The colonel is right. He did give me that much. Somehow it did not seem so much then. If only I had known.

I wonder, could it be possible? He was so generous. Could I have been his son?What a laugh that would be. To see Darcy's face to know that I am his brother! What a joke! There is nothing to prove that I am not He chewed at his chapped lips thoughtfully, playing out the possibilities in his mind's eye. No, even I could not convince them of such a thing. There is nothing to prove it. Old Darcy's reputation, his character they all forbid that such a thing could be possible. No, trying to play that card would only make things worse. Besmirching Old Darcy's name would only seal their resolve against me.

They were my friends once. I knew they would stand behind me. They would rescue me. But no more. An unfamiliar hopelessness descended over the young man as he realized what he had lost and the bitter price there would be to pay.

The following morning, two men strode from the manor house to the manse. The freshness of the morning was just giving way to the more pronounced warmth of the day.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam has already gone ahead?" Bradley asked.

"Yes, he wanted to speak with Edwards again. He still calls him Major Edwards. Richard thinks very highly of our magistrate," Darcy replied thoughtfully. He listened as their footsteps crunched on the gravel path. "I remember when Father had this stone put in place. This path used to be quite muddy, and Mother would get cross with him tracking mud all over the freshly cleaned floors." He laughed to himself, quickly becoming thoughtful again. "Who else knows?"

"Your father confided in me. I have spoken of it to no one until now. He never told me that he shared his secret with anyone else, and I have been given no reason to believe that he has. I think Edwards suspects it though."

Darcy nodded, sighing. "I do not know what to do. I wish to honor my father's memory8 and not bring this to light. Yet I hate disguise."

They walked on in silence for several steps, each lost in thought. Finally Bradley ventured, "Does his true father's identity make a difference when considering what he has done?"

"If anything, I suppose it makes his imposition on my sister worse. But for the rest, no, it does not."

"How should it factor into the consequences he should experience?"

"Do you not teach that the Good Lord is no respecter of persons?9 If that is true, then it should not matter who he is, only what he has done."

"Will it do young Wickham any good to know the truth of his parentage?" Bradley stopped walking and looked Darcy in the eye.

The young gentleman stared into the morning sky. "Of that I am not sure. It is a difficult question. In truth, I think it would make him even more angry and bitter against us all." He rubbed at his temples, wishing for answers. "Did he ever give you any idea of whether he wanted Wickham to know?"

"That is difficult to say. He never said one way or the other, yet that in itself is revealing to me. You see, he spoke of telling you, and asked me several times when and how I thought he should speak to you. There was much he wanted you to understand. But he never talked of allowing Wickham to know. To me, that would say he did not intend to."

Darcy blinked in the sunlight. "I suppose then I will honor my father's wishes as best I know them. I will not speak of it."

Beginning to walk again, Bradley agreed, "Nor will I."

"How did my mother do it, Bradley?" Darcy's voice was so soft the vicar could barely hear it.

"Do what?"

"Forgive him? He…he…with the wife of his steward! How could she forgive that, and then have the proof of his indiscretion in her house constantly?" Dark eyes looked off toward the rose garden that reminded him of his mother.

"Your mother was a woman of great strength, Fitzwilliam--a very special woman. But I can tell you, it was not easy; far from it. There were days when she would wrestle so hard with it that it took all the strength she had to even speak to your father. No, it did not come easy for her." Bradley looked down, contemplating the gravel under his feet.

"Then how did she finally overcome the anger and pain?"

"She made a choice--every day. We talked of it many times. Our savior gave himself as a sacrifice in payment for our sins. Each day, she chose to let that sacrifice be enough payment for your father's sin against her, as it was enough for our Good Lord." Bradley paused a moment, remembering. "It is what we all must do when we have been wronged. It is never easy, but with practice, it becomes less difficult."

"So then it is just a choice, a simple choice?" Darcy asked, incredulous.

"A choice, yes, but never a simple one."

"That was all it took for her to trust my father again?"

"I never said that, young master. That is not the case at all." The vicar looked seriously at the younger man. "To forgive and release that bitterness and pain, that was the work of a choice, sometimes made over and over again each day. Restoring the relationship though, that was another matter. For that, your father had to work diligently to show himself a man worthy of trust. Make no mistake, they had to work very hard to make things right again."

"I did not think it could be so easy for him," he sighed and began walking once again.

A short time later, Darcy and his vicar joined Edwards, Fitzwilliam and Cooperton around the plain dining table in the manse. At the far end sat Wickham, bound, Elmer and Sanderson on either side of him.

"A man should hear what is being said of him in judgment," Edwards remarked as he tied Wickham's own cravat about his mouth. "But we have no need of interruption. If we need to hear your words, I shall be quick to release you to speak. No, do not look at me so. You and I both know you cannot keep your remarks to yourself. You proved that quite well last night. So we will keep you quiet." With a nod, the magistrate returned to his seat at the head of the table.

Darcy watched Wickham out of the corner of his eye. The arrogance that he had expected to see was gone. Instead, defeat bathed Wickham's countenance. Dark circles shadowed fear filled eyes. Is it possible that he has finally begun to see?

"Ordinarily I would call such a meeting in a public place," Edwards announced, clearing his throat. "But in deference to you, Darcy, we are handling this in private, for now at least."

Around the table, the men nodded somberly.

"We are faced with deciding Mr. George Wickham's fate. All here, save Fitzwilliam, saw the evidence of Wickham's theft from the Darcy residence. Both the value of what was stolen and the fact that he burglarized a dwelling, make this a hanging offense that must be taken before a proper judge for sentencing to take place. I am not permitted to pronounce sentence on a felon."

"It is likely that his sentence will be commuted to prison or transportation," Cooperton observed softly.

"Not for theft in a dwelling," Fitzwilliam countered. "I have heard no judge have mercy for that."

"But he did not break into the house," Bradley pondered aloud, "He was an invited guest. People fear being attacked in their own homes. That is why the crime exacts such a high price. But does not his status as a guest mitigate the crime?" The vicar glanced at Darcy briefly.

Pursing his lips and frowning thoughtfully, Darcy nodded, but did not comment.

"You would have him walk free?" The colonel turned on the vicar in exasperation.

A ray of hope lit Wickham's eyes for a moment, but dimmed with Bradley's answer.

"No, by no means am I suggesting that." The vicar frowned and shook his head.

"I sent a man to Manchester, where our friend last visited. The merchants there had come together with a writ of debt against him. We might surmise that his thievery was the act of a desperate man, a man likely to become more desperate with time. I would expect that he is apt to thieve again, or worse."

At this Wickham's eyes grew wide, and he shook his head violently, but no one attended.

"Death is too good for him," Cooperton muttered angrily over his tea cup.

"What is that?" The magistrate turned toward his neighbor, an eyebrow raised in question.

"If you ask me, death is too good for him." Stephen turned his angry glare on the bound man, watching all remaining color drain from the prisoner's face. "He stole the lives of two of my maids."

"He did not kill them," Darcy said softly, brows creasing.

"I did not say that he did," Cooperton snapped. "Dinah was sent away from her family, her friends, all she knew, banished to Scotland because of her dalliance with him. Had Abby not died in childbirth, the same fate would have befallen her. The lives of those girls were stolen away. Dinah will have to live out her days suffering for what was lost to her. Death would cut his earthly suffering short far too soon."

The men were silent for a long time, considering this new perspective.

"Prison then?" Edwards suggested quietly.

"No," Fitzwilliam shook his head decisively, "I have heard Wickham practice his craft. He would too soon talk himself out of the place. That is not a chance I am willing to take." He leaned his elbows on the table.

"I agree, his life should not be easier than the one he left those maids to live." Cooperton leaned on his fist, rubbing his knuckles against his thin lips.

"You are not considering the army then?" The colonel sat back upright, affronted. "I have had men like him under my command…"

"…and I would not wish that fate on any company!" Edwards quickly finished for his fellow officer.

"No, I fear he has enough friends to buy himself a commission, and the life of an officer is far easier than he deserves," Stephen slowly agreed.

"What of the Navy then?" All eyes turned on Darcy now. "Despite all he has done, I would still seek to honor my father's feelings for Wickham. He would, I believe, want to see him with the opportunity to redeem himself. Prison offers him no chance. But the Navy would."

Again, silence enveloped the room. Wickham stared wide-eyed at his boyhood rival, unable to believe what he heard. Navy! I want no part of that! That is worse than prison! They send the press gangs into the prisons to empty them out! That is little better than a floating prison!

Finally, Richard slowly nodded. "There are no commissions to be bought there. No one can say that a seaman's life is anything but difficult. He is too old to serve as a cabin boy, so a landsman is all he could be. A no crew will stand for a slackard, he will have no chance for idleness. But under a good Captain, he could do well enough for himself."

"A Captain who would keep him ship board," Cooperton nodded ,considering the possibility, "and who would know of his history, one who would not tolerate his proclivities. That might do."

"I know such a man!" Fitzwilliam's hand landed forcefully on the table. "Captain Rogers, he is just now taking a new ship and in need of men. I did him a good turn a few years back and he owes me a favor now. I have no doubt he would be willing to take on Wickham. He is a fair man, but a strict one; he runs a tight ship."

"Some would say the Navy is a death sentence," Edwards noted reluctantly. "Others argue it is little better than prison for landsmen at sea. It would be sufficient punishment for him."

"I will buy his debts in Manchester," Darcy broke in. "I do not wish to see the merchants suffer for his selfish ways."

Bradley nodded, but it was Cooperton who cut in, "And if he shows up on land again without leave, you will see him in prison for those debts without a second thought."

Darcy blinked slowly, pressing his lips together hard.

"So gentlemen," Edwards extended open hands to the men at the table, "have we a course of action that will serve the demands of justice?"

Slowly, each one nodded. While each approved for different reasons, none could find grounds to object.

"Then we will give Wickham a moment to speak for himself." Rising slowly, Edwards walked to his prisoner and deftly removed the gag.

Wickham swallowed hard several times and stretched his neck. Finally, he looked at his accusers, trying for a defiant expression, but falling far short. "What would you have me say?" he demanded.

"I suppose there is little to say, really. You may accept the sentence we have pronounced for you, or you may take your chances with the judge." Edwards crossed his arms over his chest, glowering down at the younger man.

Wickham turned his stare on Darcy. "Do you really believe this is what your father would have wished?" he challenged, but the typical steel was gone from his voice.

Darcy bit his lip as he considered his reply. "It is as much as many fathers do for their younger sons. It is not so different from what the colonel's father did for him. So, in what way would it be objectionable to him? You were his godson, Wickham; would he really do more for you?" He held the younger man's eyes without wavering.

For long moments, their contest of wills continued, finally though, Wickham relented, his chin dropping to his chest. "I am for the Navy then."

"Have you nothing to say to the man you have wronged?" Edwards nudged his prisoner's shoulder.

Slowly he raised his head. Wickham opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, twice. "If you release me, I will never trouble you or your family again."

"I would not put on another family the suffering you have inflicted on mine." Darcy shook his head and rose solemnly to his feet. "I will trust the arrangements to you, Cousin, and our good magistrate." He dipped his head toward them and then turned on his heel to leave. Bradley's hand on his arm restrained him for a moment while blue eyes met brown.

The vicar nodded encouragingly. "I believe your father would be pleased," he offered very softly.

Accepting his words with a brief nod, Darcy removed himself from the manse. Slowly he walked back to the manor house.

Father, I hope I have done right for everyone involved.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *1-He is driving his hogs over Swarston-bridge.-This is a saying used in Derbyshire, when a man snores in his sleep. Swarston- is very long, and not very wide, which causes the hogs to be crowded together; in which situation they always make a loud grunting noise.2- Public Man-A bankrupt.3- Bell SwaggerA noisy bullying fellow.4 Hoggish Rude, unmannerly, filthy.5-Sheriff's picture frame—gallows6-Prig-A thief, a cheat: also a conceited coxcomical fellow.7-Topp'd: slang for hanged8- Deut 5:169-Ro 2:11, Acts 10:34