Page 26 of The Scarred Duchess
Darcy clenched his jaw but remained silent.
“Maybe you are a girl. You look like a girl!” Wickham said with a laugh.
Unwilling to pay the bully the compliment of recognition, Darcy turned to leave.
“Go back to your palace and hide with your monster sister.”
Darcy spun round. “What did you say?” he ground out through clenched teeth.
“Run back to your beast sister, I am?—”
Darcy leapt upon Wickham, grappling wildly, trying to hurt his tormentor. Several inches and a stone heavier, Wickham easily flung Darcy onto the ground and kicked him. Cobb intervened, only to receive a bloody nose. Baxter ran off.
Wickham squatted on a supine, bruised Darcy. “I’ll always be bigger than you, stronger than you, and smarter than you.” He slapped Darcy hard on the cheek each time he said ‘you’.
Running footsteps alerted them both that others were coming. Wickham stood, stomped on Darcy’s stomach, and ran off. Darcy turned his face and vomited into the dirt. He rolled away from the soiled grass and lay on his back. Holding his stomach, he looked to God.
“If you do not assist me in defending my sister, I shall seek help from others.” He groaned as he slipped into unconsciousness.
The magistrate entered the private room at the back of The Rose & Crown, the three miscreants sitting with their heads down. Their bound hands rested in their laps. He surveyed the boys with an expression of profound gravity.
“You ruffians stand accused of attacking a young woman and causing her great harm,” he declared. “I will hear your defence, but I warn you: I have no patience for such deeds. This office will show no mercy to those who commit such acts.”
The three boys squirmed. The magistrate continued.
“I know what witnesses have reported. As you say, a small lad disabled you in seconds. He was too quick for your eyes to identify, but a larger, long-armed companion repelled you from the young lady in the aftermath.
“The young lad beat you all soundly. I have additional witnesses who report that he was the one who came to the aid of the woman you were tormenting.”
“We did not mean no harm, sir,” the largest thug whispered. “We was looking for a good time. But Wickham took it too far.”
“The law shall give you one chance,” the magistrate said, “should you provide some proof that you did not intend to harm the woman. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to see justice served.”
He levelled a gimlet eye at the boys. “Public flogging is the least of the retributions warranted.”
“George Wickham,” volunteered the smallest of the gang. He spoke with pain, bent over, his chest upon his legs.
“Things got out of hand, and we are sorry for it,” pleaded the last of the three.
The room was silent as the boys awaited the magistrate’s decision.
“I sentence each of you to two months of labour at thetenant farms. I will inform your families of my decision. I expect you to abide by it.”
The boys all hung their heads in defeat.
“Let this be a lesson to you all,” the magistrate said sternly. “Do not repeat such misdeeds. I shall see each of you here tomorrow with your fathers. That is all.”
The crown official remained in the room as others took the boys away. Minutes later, a scowling George Wickham shuffled through the door in chains.
“You stand accused of leading an attack upon a young woman,” the magistrate repeated. “I will hear your defence, but expect no mercy from me.”
Wickham remained silent, his face a mask of defiance. His snarling lip infuriated the magistrate.
“You are thirteen? Let us see how you bear up against the lash, shall we?”
The boy’s face paled. “I get flogged while the earl’s son gets nothing?”
“You are at ease making such an accusation?”
