by Massey, Beth
“Do not be sorry,” said Wickham with a most endearing smile on his face. “I have a similar opinion of the man to yours, but with him, I suspect we are a minority. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners.”
His words left Elizabeth more comfortable in continuing her deceit. “I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an unsociable man.”
Wickham nodded his head in agreement. “I wonder, whether he is likely to be in this country much longer.”
“I do not know for certain, but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield.” Elizabeth chuckled inwardly at the precise truth of her statement. She had not heard of his plans to leave the day after the ball, until Jane told her after they returned to Longbourn. Mr Darcy, who despised disguise in women, would probably be appalled at her tactics. “I hope your plans in favour of the militia will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.”
“Oh! No… it is not for me to be driven away by Mr Darcy. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him. When I am around him, I often harbour a desire to proclaim to all the world… a sense of very great ill-usage. His father, the late Mr Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and his cousin, the Viscount Wolfbridge, is to this day, the truest friend I have. I can never be in company with this Mr Darcy without a thousand tender recollections of our youth. However, his behaviour to me lately has been scandalous, but I believe I could forgive him anything and everything, except his disappointing my hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.”
Elizabeth forced herself not to react to the mention of the man who had so brutally changed the course of her life. She listened for what her companion would say next with her heart pounding in her chest. Her frustration grew when next Mr Wickham began to speak on more general topics. He expressed pleasure with all that he had seen since arriving in the neighbourhood. “It was the prospect of constant good society which was my chief inducement to enter this militia regiment. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me by his account of their present quarters, and the excellent company to be found in Meryton.”
His last statement increased her apprehension. Had he been directed to Meryton by the Viscount? Was this a plot by Wickham and Lord Wolfbridge to expose her and force her to relinquish her ‘ill-gotten’ gains?
“Society, I own, is necessary to me. My spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it my best choice. The church ought to have been my profession. I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.”
Elizabeth relaxed a bit. It seemed he was more fixed on discrediting Mr Darcy than soliciting information about her. She said with fake horror on her face, “Indeed!”
“Yes, the late Mr Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done so. However, when the living fell vacant, Mr Darcy gave it to someone else.”
“Good heavens!” cried Elizabeth. She was genuinely surprised at Mr Wickham’s revelation. “How could that be? Why did you not seek legal redress?” Once over her initial surprise, she concluded that Mr Darcy certainly knew best. No one who considered Lord Wolfbridge to be his ‘truest’ friend, should be a clergyman.
Mr Wickham continued with his tale of woe. “There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from the law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr Darcy chose to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by my conduct. But I cannot accuse myself of having done anything that should have caused me to lose it. I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him too freely. I recall nothing worse. The truth is, we are very different sort of men, and he hates me.”
Elizabeth thought to herself. Yes, Mr Darcy is a good man, and I am quite certain you are not. A good man does not speak so openly to a recent acquaintance to discredit another. To Mr Wickham, she said, “This is quite shocking!” Elizabeth then said something she was unsure was wise, but did so in order to make this man conclude he had an ally in her. Her eyes darted around to ensure her words were private before she said, “He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”
“Some time or other he will be, but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him.”
His words encouraged her to believe she had encountered a very slippery character. Mr Wickham had just spent the last quarter hour attempting to publicly disgrace Mr Darcy to her, and was now proclaiming he could never do such a thing because of admiration for his father. However, she decided to continue to encourage his tale. “But what can have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?”
“A thorough, determined dislike of me… a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. His father’s particular attachment to me irritated him. He had not a character to bear the sort of competition I presented or the sort of preference which was often given me by both his father and his cousin.”
Elizabeth felt guilt for what she was about to say. Once again, she determined no one could hear their conversation. “I had not thought Mr Darcy as bad as this. Though we sparred often during our time together at Netherfield, I had not thought him to be so very cruel.
There was one day when he was boasting of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful.”
Mr Wickham smiled at his success. His beaming satisfaction caused Elizabeth to momentarily lose assurance of how she should proceed. After a moment of sipping her tea, she determined it was time to escalate her endeavour. “To treat in such a manner the godson, the favourite of his father, the friend of his cousin!” She almost choked on the last but continued, “A young man too, like you, who had been his own companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!”
“Yes, the greatest part of our youth was spent together. We lived in the same house, shared the same amusements, and both our fathers made us objects of their parental care. My father began life in the profession to which your uncle, Mr Philips, appears to do so much credit. His service made him an intimate and confidential friend to his employer who often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest obligations to his steward’s active role in the administration of Pemberley. Before my father’s death, Mr Darcy senior gave him a promise of providing for me. I am convinced he felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude to my father as of affection for me.”
“How strange!” cried Elizabeth. Despite her goal of learning the nature of this man’s association with Lord Wolfbridge, she had become engrossed in learning the details of his grievance against Mr Darcy. She was struck by the inconsistency of his story and suddenly felt the need to point it out. Mr Wickham just seemed to ooze deceit, and she was beginning to think he might believe her entirely too gullible. “I wonder that the very conceit I have observed in this Mr Darcy did not force him to be just in his dealing with you? His pride of his reputation should have caused him to worry about being perceived as dishonest.”
Mr Wickham smiled again—this time at her checking him. “You are correct. Almost all his actions may be traced to that aspect of his character. I would even say, pride has often been his best friend, but we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me there were stronger impulses even than his arrogance.”
“Can such abominable pride as his ever done him good?”
“Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous… to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants and relieve the poor.”
His reference to giving money freely sent chills of
fear through her. She held her breath as she waited to hear what he would say next.
“Family pride has always been very important to him. He is very proud of his father’s reputation and has lived his life in such a way to ensure he does not appear to disgrace his family.’’
Wickham had emphasized the word ‘appear’ and Elizabeth’s mind wandered to her own history with Mr Darcy. Was this another possible hint that he knew of their conspiracy?
When she was pulled back to his words, she realized he was still intent on smearing Darcy’s good name. “Above all, he endeavours not to lose the influence of the Darcy name. He has also brotherly pride, and that makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister. I am sure you will hear him generally described as the most attentive and best of brothers.”
Elizabeth remembered the sweet young girl she met that day in the bookstore in Lambton. Thinking a change of topic would offer a brief respite from his vindictiveness toward Mr Darcy, she asked, “What sort of a woman is Miss Darcy?”
He shook his head. “I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy, but she is too much like her brother… very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me. I devoted hours and hours to her amusement.” Wickham’s face betrayed some annoyance at the memory. He reined in his emotions as he continued his description. “She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and highly accomplished. Her cousin and I were recently remembering the lively little girl she used to be. He fears that unless someone pulls her away from her brother’s control, she will become as arrogant and disagreeable as he. My impression is that she has already succumbed to his influence.”
Elizabeth could feel tears forming. Jamie had written her that Miss Darcy had remembered to ask whether his cousin had a girl or a boy. Mrs Reynolds had described her very differently from Mr Wickham. She was not proud, and his revelation about her convinced Elizabeth this man was a snake. She had a strong sense from his words that he had tried to hurt Miss Darcy and been thwarted. His calling her proud sounded like sour grapes. Once she felt fully composed, she began to ask some very provocative questions that she knew were probably not prudent. “What have you heard of his husbandly pride and his fatherly pride?”
“He married for convenience and an heir—not to mention the considerable wealth his wife brought to their marriage. While she was still alive, he was very careful to make sure none ever heard of any indiscretions.”
She was shocked by Wickham’s innuendo. This disclosure was not something she had expected to hear. A query popped out inappropriately. “Were there indiscretions?”
Darcy’s critic was obviously pleased with her curiosity. “I know nothing of substance, but I have heard rumours in that regard. It is said that he spent time with a very young woman, a girl actually, who tickled his fancy. His circle rarely honours their vows. It is not even considered immoral among their kind. Now, of course, he has the best of circumstances. He has his wife’s property and fortune, he has an heir and is free to find pleasure wherever he desires now that Mrs Darcy has passed on.”
Elizabeth was sickened by Wickham’s disclosure. She studied the lieutenant to determine whether he was alluding to her time spent at Pemberley. The only thing she concluded was that Mr Wickham did not exhibit a strong sense of moral outrage for dalliances whether a man was married or not. Instead he seemed to be evaluating why she had such an improper need to know about this aspect of Darcy’s life. Throwing off this unpleasant topic, she steeled herself for her next question. “What of his children? I understand he has two. He seems very proud of them.”
“Yes, he has a daughter and a son. I understand he talks of them incessantly. His cousin says he has become quite a bore on the subject. His pride causes him to tell of their accomplishments wherever he goes. No other children have ever been as perfect. Lord Wolfbridge thinks it quite humorous that his cousin’s daughter, in particular, seems to him to be the smartest and prettiest child that ever was born.”
Again his smirking innuendo unleashed an involuntary shiver in Elizabeth. She was now convinced Mr Wickham’s motives with regard Mr Darcy were tied to her well being. With all the disguise she could muster, her next words were designed to introduce an entirely new topic. “I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr Bingley! How can he, who seems good-humour itself, be in a friendship with such a man? Do you know Mr Bingley?”
“No, I do not.”
“He is a sweet-tempered, charming man. He cannot know what Mr Darcy is.”
“Probably not, but Mr Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want for abilities and can be a fine companion if he thinks it worth his while.”
Elizabeth was tired of their discussion. His descriptions of Mr Darcy had unleashed a desire to think of that man not through the lieutenant’s eyes, but through her own. Lucky for her, supper put an end to cards, and she gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr Wickham’s attentions.
That night, Elizabeth awoke from a nightmare as she did so many other nights. She was shaking and drenched in perspiration. The dream had been pleasant until the very last moment. She had been waltzing with Mr Darcy. She looked beautiful, and he had told her so.
His dimples never left his face, as he smiled down at her, and even now, she could almost smell his delightful scent. They whirled around the room and ignored all the people staring at them. They only had eyes for each other. Suddenly she became dizzy from the whirling, and looked away for the briefest second. When she looked back, it was not Mr Darcy but Mr Wickham, and then the inevitable happened, the face above her became Lord Wolfbridge, with his malevolent smile of gleaming white teeth.
She determined she must tell Mr Darcy what Mr Wickham had said. He was the only one who could help her make sense of his accusations and innuendos. Perhaps at the ball, they could find a moment alone.
35 SUCH A BRAVE NEW WORLD OF POSSIBILITIES
Longbourn was a beehive of activity. Mrs Bennet was busily preparing for Christmas with Sir Walter, Becky and the Gardiners in attendance, to be followed by Mary’s wedding. The additional anticipation of the Netherfield ball made her quite giddy, and her “flutterings” threatened to overcome her on a daily basis. Mrs Bennet decreed that all of her daughters have new gowns made for the ball. After all, she had a reputation to uphold. She was the mother of the most beautiful young women in the neighbourhood, and the host of the ball had singled out her eldest for the first set… as well as the set before supper.
Jane did not confide in her mother or her sisters about the final dance with Mr Bingley. Fear and superstition led her to hide her hopes. If her glimmer of expectation was extinguished, she was sure she could not survive her family’s disappointment. When Becky arrived, she would request her friend to help discern the truth of Mr Bingley’s affections. She had wanted Tom’s sister to attend the ball, observe them together, and determine his seriousness.
Elizabeth did confide in her sisters of her plans to attend the ball for the last dance, but asked them to conceal her decision from their mother. All her sisters, except Mary, were pleased she was making this attempt to spend time, and perhaps even enjoy herself in the company of a man. Mary was apprehensive that coercion might be the reason for her acquiescence, and planned to tell her father of this development.
An outpouring of cajoling from her sisters was not enough to persuade Lizzy to have a ball gown made. She was adamant in believing the expense too extravagant; despite Lydia’s insistence she needed something new to wear. They went over possibilities if she was to borrow a gown from Kitty; but Lydia thought nothing suitable for her reclusive older sister. She insisted Lizzy show her what was in the trunk, where she had some items packed away from five years before. Lydia was hopeful, as this was the same trunk where Lizzy had found the red cape. Buried within was a green gown of the most beautiful silk she had ever seen. She quickly described alterations to Kitty, who sketched the result. Lydia was determined to make the gown over t
o show off her sister’s lovely décolletage. The resulting design fashionably lowered the modest neckline, shortened the sleeves and embellished the watered silk with silver beading. They insisted Lizzy purchase additional beads to adorn her hair. The Celtic cross given to her by Mrs Wilder was to finish the ensemble.
Necessity forced Elizabeth to tell her father of her plan for the ball. She needed his help to ensure she arrived at the ball after all sets were over, but before the last dance. He decided the time had come for a serious talk with his daughter. Ever since Mr Darcy had arrived in Hertfordshire, she had been acting quite out of character… or at least the character she had established since her return from Derbyshire. Mr Bennet walked to his study door and locked it. He did not want anyone, even Mary, interrupting their discussion.
Elizabeth’s father stood before her as she sat on the sofa. He put on his most stern countenance to deliver the speech he had been practicing ever since Mary had told him of Elizabeth’s plan for the Netherfield Ball. “Lizzy, for five years, I have accepted your answer that nothing untoward happened to you when you were away from home; but I have never believed you. A more diligent man would have pressed for the truth. You and your uncle told me you had inherited ‘a certain sum around twenty thousand’ but did not have the courtesy to include me in the details—I felt humiliated by your deceit and disrespect.”
Mr Bennet had felt certain Lizzy would be forthcoming after his admission, but she sat stone-faced before him. Obviously, he must push even harder if he was to prompt her to break. “I chose to do nothing, to be honest, because I had established a pattern of being a negligent parent; but also because I saw that you came back a changed person. You, my most happy daughter, returned filled with a kind of sadness. My choices seemed to be to either lock you up for not honouring me, or believe in your essential goodness, and hope you would confide in me when you felt able. I am now asserting my right as your parent. It is one of God’s commandments to honour your father.”