Wickham's Wife

by C. J. Hill

  Copyright © 2014 Catherine J. Hill

  The right of Catherine J. Hill to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

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  Cover image courtesy of vintageprintable

  Other books by this author

  Prudence and Practicality: A back-story to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

  Wickham’s Wife

  A back-story to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

  “There is a lady, it seems, … in whose character we were most unhappily deceived.” Pride and Prejudice

  Prologue

  "Stay here!" commanded Wickham as the carriage slowed to a stop in front of a nondescript front door in a street of similar doors. "Do not allow anyone to see your face. I must see what can be done. Be patient."

  He leapt from the cab and disappeared for a moment into the inky blackness of a London street meagrely lit by the occasional lamp, reappearing at the top of a short flight of steps. She watched as he rapped impatiently on the door with his cane.

  A maid answered, pulling her cap into place as though called from her evening's activities, and, after a short interaction, Wickham was left to wait upon the step staring at the closed door. He turned to look back at the cab and saw to his horror that she was clambering down, clutching her hat against the gusty wind.

  "Get back in the cab, this instant! I said to wait there for me."

  "Oh, la! What nonsense, Wickham! No one knows me here. It is too lonely waiting by myself. But why have not you been invited inside? I thought you were friends with the owner?"

  "Perhaps the fact that we are calling far outside usual visiting hours may be of concern, do not you think? It is nearly eleven o'clock; people do not willingly open their doors to knocks so late in the evening. I was lucky mine was not ignored. Now go back to the cab, I will deal with this."

  "I shall not! I shall stay here and meet your friend. I do hope he has room for us; I do not think I could endure any more travelling tonight." She slid her hand under his elbow and leaned her head limply against his arm. “I am entirely worn out!”

  The door was again opened partway and a lady looked around it; an elegant, handsome lady wrapped in a shawl and carrying a lamp which she held up, gasping when she saw Wickham.

  "George! It is indeed you! What in the world do you do here, and at this time of night?"

  Her face fell.

  "Whatever it is, it cannot be good - very rarely of late have you arrived on my doorstep with good news - but come in and warm yourself."

  Her gaze then fell upon his companion who had pushed her way into the hallway in front of Wickham, unnoticed until now in the shock at seeing Wickham.

  "Good evening?" she queried as she looked from the girl to Wickham for an explanation.

  "Oh! Good evening," the girl giggled. "I was not expecting Wickham's friend to be a woman! How interesting! I am Lydia Bennet, soon to be Lydia Wickham - is not that a great surprise? Wickham says we will be married very soon, is that not so, my dear?"

  Wickham, seeing the reaction upon the lady’s face, hastened to intervene, colour flooding his own.

  "Mrs. Younge: Allow me to introduce Miss Lydia Bennet … of Longbourn … in Meryton. Miss Bennet: This is a very great friend of mine, Mrs. Julia Younge, who has been the one person in my life upon whom I have known I could always depend and trust."

  "Well," Mrs. Younge managed a very thin smile. "To be married at last, George. This is most unexpected, as you say. Quite a surprise for everyone concerned, indeed. What good fortune to have secured a beautiful young bride. But why are not you married already, pray? Travelling together as you are, and at this time of night, can only cast doubt upon the young lady's reputation, surely even you can see that? It is most inappropriate."

  "Mrs. Younge; Julia! My dear! Please! I know that this looks very damning to you; I will explain, but I cannot at this moment. At this moment I must fall once again upon your mercy and good nature and beg you to offer Miss Bennet a bed for the next few nights whilst I sort out what is to be done."

  Mrs. Younge looked astonished and then shocked at Wickham; he had the grace to redden again, unable to meet her gaze. She moved across the passage and opened the door closest to her.

  "Come with me into the guest parlour; this must be discussed away from the prying ears of my guests and servants,” she hissed as she ushered them through in hurried secrecy before closing it firmly behind her.

  Chapter I

  It has often been observed that those who are given a false sense of their own importance when they are young, continue to feel that importance, however misguided, when they grow up.

  George Wickham, from a very young age, had always considered the purpose of life to be for his amusement only, not unlike many other arrogant young men who believe that they are owed a living, and a certain standard of living at that. However, the significant difference between young Wickham and those other young men, a difference that he had not considered in any great depth, was the vulgar necessity of money. They had access to it: George Wickham most certainly did not.

  His upbringing in Derbyshire on the very old and prosperous Pemberley Estate, mixing intimately as he did with the Darcy family, and their son and heir, Fitzwilliam Darcy, especially, had instilled in him a certain gentlemanlike manner, an assured and pleasing way of talking, and a pleasant countenance that deceived everyone who looked upon it. To the Darcys, young George was a polite boy turned into a polite young man, seemingly humble, diligent and eager to please; a pleasant playmate and convenient companion to their son.

  George's father, the estate manager, impressed everybody with his hard work, sensible opinions and good advice, and the elder Mr. Darcy found great comfort in knowing his property was being so well taken care of, and entertained sensible expectations that the son would emulate the father in good sense and industry. But, if young George did not wish to follow in his father’s footsteps, then a living would be arranged for him, such was the esteem in which Mr. Darcy held his manager and his manager’s son.

  Unfortunately, being so much with one foot in his father's world and the other in the high-class, gracious world of the Darcys, while fully in neither, young George Wickham certainly did not have aspirations to follow in those footsteps. Such tempting contact was bound to confuse and torment a growing and impressionable young mind, and, gradually, George Wickham began to question the unfairness of rank.

  He did not see why, if he and Darcy were equals in play, they could not be equals in other areas.

  George did not see why, for instance, Darcy returned to Pemberley every evening to large meals and entertainments, but never invited George to participate; he did not see why Darcy was always dressed in new, well-fitting clothes, but George's were mainly hand-me-downs from Darcy who, being a year or so older than George, was several sizes bigger. He did not see why Mr. Darcy tutored his son about estate matters as soon as he thought Darcy could understand but, when George asked Darcy if he might accompany them to inspect the estate, he was laughed at and told that it was not his business to know theirs and that he would much better learn his father's skills as a manager; and he did not understand why, when Darcy was provided with a new, larger horse almost every year that he was growing up, it was more than likely George would either have to run alongside Darcy, or
sit behind him unless some other animal could be spared.

  He finally came to understand, but never to accept, that he could not expect to enjoy the same attention and privileges as his friend, and George Wickham should not, therefore, be blamed for learning to connive alternatives and calculate improvements to his life from a very young age.

  He had learnt to admire good taste and enjoy every aspect of elegance; his appreciation of expensive clothing, fine wine and food was the equal of Darcy’s, and he quickly discovered how to attract the attention of beautiful women with flattery and amusing stories, and to love them, especially if they were rich. But all of these lessons were learnt, unfortunately, in the absence of instruction in the methods to afford them.

  He was not a stupid man. He had done well enough in school and his benefactor, Mr. Darcy, had ensured that he had received an education almost the equal to that of his son but, naturally, without his generous allowance. Once at university, happily finding himself for the first time in his life in a position free from his father's constant supervision, and mixing with those who knew nothing about him, Wickham was finally at liberty to manufacture for himself the persona he had always believed rightly to be his, had he been more fortunate in his choice of parents. All of the years spent observing gentleman-like behaviour were finally coming to fruition and he was delighted to put his expertise to good use.

  To his formal studies he devoted very little time; they were all but ignored in favour of the self-indulgent existence he could now live. He had discovered very early on in the first term that the life of a scholar was infinitely less pleasant than the life of a gentleman, and involved far more work than could be endured. The life of a gentleman, on the other hand, was his vocation, entertainment, and goal, and at those studies he worked assiduously.

  In attending university, one's wealth was automatically assumed, as was the means to support a certain lifestyle. George certainly did nothing to dissuade any of his new acquaintance that, for him, this was not the case. His gentlemanlike behaviour and ability to charm began to pay dividends; he flattered his way into all manner of parties, card evenings, assemblies, and not one person in attendance ever considered for a moment that he was materially less than any of them.

  They enjoyed his company; his nonchalant spending; his lurid and amusing tales; his ability to attract the most delightful ladies, and they slapped him on the back, encouraging his entertaining ways, always allowing him more credit from their own pockets when his had inexplicably run out, as it regularly seemed to do. Wickham, they defended themselves, was worth every penny, and upon failing to recoup even one tenth of their loans, merely shrugged their shoulders and agreed that he was probably the worst kind of dandy, but an amusing one at that; they could well afford to lose some money in pursuit of their entertainment.

  Eventually, though, even the most devoted and indulgent of friends will begin to question their generosity, and so it was for George's friends. By the end of his third year at university, many of his former acquaintance had finally distanced themselves from his company, concerned at his liberal spending of their loans at the card tables and his obvious disinclination to repay said loans. His obsessive gambling certainly diminished his value as an entertainer or acquaintance, being too much absorbed in the game to pay them any attention. The fact that his excessive gambling arose from the necessity to support his lifestyle rather than a true obsession was something of which they were unaware; their observations focused upon a man driven by greed who lost more often than he won.

  George Wickham's company had reduced in value and, one by one, they removed themselves from his company.

  Therefore, once he noticed how estranged he had become from his former friends and creditors, Wickham was forced to seek other sources of entertainment and capital away from the security and comfort of those familiar and friendly to him, and find new companionship with those of a lesser class, the likes of whom he had not yet encountered.

  This adjustment to his social circle was to prove invaluable in many ways for George.

  These men were more suspicious, and certainly not as indulgent towards George as his former friends had been when he attempted to divert their requests for repayment. These men had worked harder for their money and so required more of a guarantee for their loans, and the recouping of any unpaid debts was done by force rather than jovially writing them off. Payment was demanded in full; or in instalments; or by beatings and threats of death. His value as an entertaining companion was no longer sufficient reimbursement. On the other hand, the women Wickham now encountered were much more amenable to his advances than those he had been used to; they delighted in the attentions of such a gentlemanlike person, especially if he were winning and plied them with drinks.

  For a while, George was sufficiently adept at avoiding or placating his creditors, and the male relatives of the women he wooed; he became extremely adept at sleight-of-hand while playing cards, often winning large amounts which went in part to ameliorating his creditors' anxiety: when he won, payment was usually forthcoming - if he could not avoid it.

  Unfortunately, as ever, winning was not guaranteed.

  At his most recently-adopted drinking and gambling house in Cambridge, Wickham was now seriously and worryingly in debt. He played every night in increasing desperation but it became never to be enough; the cards had not been in his favour, night after night, week after week. He paid off what he could, but his debts multiplied alarmingly with his creditors hard on his heels demanding payment in full; several male relations of some of his more acquiescent female acquaintance were also making threats against his ability to ever be able to reproduce unless he made amends to their sister or daughter. There was, he reflected ruefully, only so much that charm and cunning could accomplish in the face of such adversity, and he feared that this time the adversity was proving too great.

  It could continue no longer.

  After one particularly bad night of losing every game, Wickham privately determined to himself that something had to be done, as he watched his last bets disappear into his opponent's pocket. Not only had he lost heavily that evening but had also been threatened publically by one rather heavy-set gentleman to whom he was in debt to the tune of the greater portion of five hundred pounds, plus whatever interest had accumulated on the loan in the interim. He had, of course, assured the gentleman in question, unequivocally, on his honour, that they would meet the following afternoon with enough proceeds from the night's winnings - of which there were none - and repay what was owed; however, judging from that gentleman's look, he remained unconvinced.

  After being loomed over and pressed menacingly against a wall, George had, while looking into those bloodshot eyes, truly feared for his life. He realised for the first time that his charm had finally failed him and his luck had run out; the only sensible recourse was to leave town without delay under the darkness of the early morning hours before any person to whom he owed money would be awake, and disappear from Cambridge for ever.

  Chapter 2

  The landlady of that same gambling house was a keen observer of all the problems and intrigues taking place in her establishment; it was the duty of any diligent proprietress to understand such things: who was in debt to whom; those who could not hold their drink and those who could; who was a successful card player and who was not. Over the many months that Wickham had been frequenting her establishment, she had privately observed his actions with more than her usual attention and had become quite intrigued with this handsome, quick-witted, and charming young gentleman; she found herself anxiously watching the door every evening for his arrival.

  From his first entrance, she had immediately noticed Wickham's dashing good looks, his easy manner, and his smooth way of talking. She admired his elegant style, but most especially attractive was the dangerous manner in which he appeared to conduct his life. She had observed his ability, time and again, to effectively talk his way out of danger; gain another week to pay his debt; or pull the
winning card from his sleeve when no one was looking or was too drunk to care.

  She had also reluctantly admired the manner in which he managed the women he encountered. He attracted them like moths to a flame, just as she found herself attracted; they all understood, for the most part, the inherent danger in involving themselves with such a man, but neither could they ignore his charm, nor wished to. He flirted and flattered shamelessly and they were invariably won; he plied them with drinks he could not afford - she knew the extent of his account at the bar - and very often insisted, most courteously, upon accompanying them safely home.

  Wickham was the complete opposite of her late husband, who had been a kind man, but much older than she, well-established with his own businesses, and whom she had married for one reason only: to escape her life as governess to three little girls, thereby improving her situation in life. He had been a practical, prudent businessman and during their marriage had taught her everything she knew about running a profitable concern; her early aptitude for sensible thinking and money management persuaded him that his choice of wife had been a sound one. He had noticed in her an intelligence not often found in those of her sex. The first rule he had taught her regarding good management was always to provide a pleasant environment which would encourage the patronage of amusing clients, who would, in turn, entice others to enjoy their company. This was sound business even if it meant allowing a certain laxity around those customers regarding the second rule of business: to insist upon prompt payment of all accounts, without exception.

  She had certainly succeeded with the first rule; her establishment was well-regarded as a decent and honest place where the drinks were fairly-priced and not watered down, and the gambling not rigged. This encouraged many young dandies and businessmen alike to spend freely at the gaming tables and on drinks; her clientele was amongst the most interesting in Cambridge and she was rightly proud of her ability to carry on in her late husband's footsteps.