The Goodness of Men

by Anngela Schroeder

  “Lizzy, what ails you child?” Aunt Gardiner asked, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You were so downcast at breakfast this morning. Did you not enjoy your walk?”

  “I did not walk out.”

  Madeline Gardiner raised an eyebrow. “You did not walk out? I do not believe you have missed a walk these last weeks we have stayed at Chenowith.” The older woman sat down on the ottoman across from her niece and took a deep breath before continuing. “I believe I know what concerns you but will not prod. However, if you wish to speak to me, I would be happy to listen.” Her voice trailed off and she smiled with encouragement.

  Elizabeth shook her head before taking a deep breath and stared out the window. “I used to believe,” she began haltingly, pausing to consider her words, “that I was…a good judge of people…and that I could discern the character of an acquaintance with more precision than it appears I have of late…” She paced in agitation before stopping and turning back to her companion. “How is it possible that he is so bad? How could Mr. Wickham intentionally ruin this poor girl and so many others, according to Mrs. Green? This man, who I once believed better than Mr. Darcy? He is truly wicked!”

  “My Lizzy,” her aunt replied, shaking her head. “You are beginning to sound like our dear Jane. You know the truth in your heart.”

  Elizabeth sat back down on the chair and buried her face in her hands. “I have written to Father to inform him, and I have requested he recall Lydia from Brighton.” She heard Aunt Madeline’s chuckle, and she herself smirked. “I know he will most likely not, but I have pleaded with him to recognize the gravity of the situation. It is not only heiresses Mr. Wickham preys upon, and unfortunately my sister is only pleasure bent and could be susceptible to any plot he proposes.”

  “I believe that is wise counsel and hope your father heeds your warning. I will write to your uncle and ask him to intervene on your behalf with Thomas.” Her aunt raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. “What else is bothering you, my dear girl?”

  That I might be too late to win the love of a man who I now perceive to be the best of my acquaintance?

  She cast a forlorn look back out the window before replying softly, “That one has all the goodness and the other the appearance of it.”

  Lydia Bennet ignored the looks of shock and disdain as she made her way down the pier in Brighton, alone. Am I supposed to stay at home because Harriet is ill? She sniffed at the thought.

  She had already passed several officers who wished her good morning but had not seen the one who most piqued her curiosity. I wonder where Mr. Wickham and his “cousin” are this morning. She smiled to herself, her own suspicions on that subject increasing since the ball the night before. No man sneaks off into the hedges with his cousin and kisses her like that! Cousin indeed. The express from Lizzy the previous day warning her off Mr. Wickham with the vaguest of information only made her thirstier for more news. That a young woman arrived at Chenowith claiming to be Mrs. Wickham…I wonder how that intelligence would be met?

  Highly diverted with such scandal she continued to walk only stopping when she saw him. There, through the window of the tea shop, sat Mr. Wickham and his cousin, Mrs. Younge. Lydia quietly entered the shop and moved around to the back to overhear their conversation undetected.

  “Only a little longer, George, and we will be done with this life! Can you believe how easy it has been?”

  “Easy for you!” He snapped, swirling his drink. “Waking up at dawn for drill and exercises. Being in company with men who are not worthy to lick my boots? No, this has not been easy! Had you picked an heiress whose money was available at the time of the marriage and not a year later, we would already be living in luxury.”

  “Lower your voice!” she snarled at him. “Remember, it is almost over. As I said, just a little longer and we can collect the inheritance of that simple-minded chit. Then it is off to Scotland, the continent, wherever you want to go!”

  “Yes,” he said. “Wherever I want to go.” He took a sip and settled into silence.

  “But, I must be going.”

  “Where?”

  She huffed in derision. “I am to meet with the officers’ wives. One of them asked a local artist to come and paint caricatures of us.”

  “But you are not an officers’ wife,” he said with a smirk in his voice.

  She laughed at some hidden joke, then replied, “Yes, well. I had to befriend them as the cousin of their favorite.”

  “Yes,” he replied nodding. “Yes, that is true. I am their favorite.”

  “How much of a favorite are you, my love?” Lydia could hear her exasperation.

  “We both must play a part,” he whispered to her. “They mean nothing to me. You are all I’ve ever wanted.”

  There was silence and then—“Very well. I shall see you later today.”

  He watched her leave, then grimaced. “Only two and a half more months and nothing will stop me. Not Penelope Younge, not Margaret Anderson, and certainly not Fitzwilliam Darcy. I will never have to demean myself to that man again!” he grumbled, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Mr. Wickham?” He started as Lydia appeared before him and took a seat. “How are you today? Was that your cousin I saw leaving a moment ago?” She reached over and took the remaining biscuit Mrs. Younge had left on her plate.

  “Miss Lydia. What a pleasant surprise,” he said, his charming grin replacing his look of shock. “Is Mrs. Forster not with you today?”

  “No, Harriet is ill. I am out enjoying the weather.”

  “Alone?”

  “Oh, Mr. Wickham, you know no one cares about those things here.”

  He took another drink and smiled with practiced charm. Lydia said, “I received an express from my sister Elizabeth this morning.”

  “An express? Has she grown tired of Darcy’s melancholy company and asks you to implore the Foresters to allow her to visit?”

  “Mr. Darcy has left for Pemberley to prepare for Miss Darcy’s birthday ball, so she has not been in company with him for a week or so. She did, however, write that she had recently come in company with an acquaintance of yours.”

  “Really? Well, as I lived in Derbyshire my whole life, it is no surprise that someone would know me.”

  “Very true. Only this young woman is not from Derbyshire. Shall I ask my sister to give Mrs. Wickham your regards as well when next I write to her?”

  Wickham blanched and sat back in his chair, ignoring the façade of propriety he so often touted. It took him only seconds to school his features into impassivity. “Did you say Mrs. Wickham?”

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. George Wickham?”

  “Yes, she is from Cornwall. I believe you must know her.”

  Lydia’s lips curled, as Wickham began to stutter before finally regaining his thoughts. “Yes, well, there was a young girl I met in Cornwall who was quite enamored with me. My cousin worked as her companion until she had to take a position somewhere else. The girl was very ill, and I wrote her some sweet verses to buoy her strength. It seems she has healed, then.”

  “Hmmm…” Lydia nibbled the biscuit from the plate in front of him. “Could this be the same young woman I overheard your cousin referring to?” She giggled and held up her hand. “Mr. Wickham,” she whispered. “I am aware you are involved in some scheme that could bring about the ruin of a young lady, and I am certain this is not the first time. Although I have no desire to join you on your treacherous plan, I am certain you can be of use to me.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I want to go to Derbyshire. Lizzy is having a much more enjoyable time than I am, and I want to go to Georgiana Darcy’s ball. Lizzy has said how there will be loads of people, which mean lots of rich eligible young men. It will also give you an opportunity to meet with your wife, won’t it?”

  “And if I do not wish to abide by your request?”

  “If you disappear before you take me, I shall tell Colonel Forster what I h
ave discovered and we will send an express to the magistrate. They will then find you and make sure you receive none of the dowry you spoke to Mrs. Younge about.”

  “Blackmail?” he hissed. “You are blackmailing me? You do know that blackmail is a hanging offense?”

  “And what is conspiring against a young woman who claims to be your wife?”

  She leaned back in her chair and looked him directly in the eye. “Oh, look. Here comes Colonel Forster. Will he not be interested in what we are discussing and also why you are late for drill?”

  “Very well! Tonight. Midnight. Be ready with your bags packed at the stables behind the house. If you are not there, I will leave you, and no threats will bring me back!”

  “It is a deal.”

  He looked at her appraisingly, before standing to leave. “Miss Lydia, I have always been under the assumption that Miss Elizabeth was the intelligent one. I believe I was mistaken.”

  She laughed. “Mr. Wickham, it all depends on what is the desire result. Intelligence can be used in many different ways. One just has to choose how to employ it.”

  “Miss Bennet? Might I join you?”

  “Yes, please,” Elizabeth replied, slowing her pace in the garden. “How are you feeling today, Mrs. Wickham?”

  “I am well, thank you. Only uncomfortable as the child continues to grow.” The young woman kept in step with Elizabeth and began the circuit. “I am grateful to your aunt and my cousin’s wife for being so helpful. It is comforting to have a woman who has been with child before to lessen my fears on the changes occurring.”

  “I could only imagine how frightening it must be.”

  “Frightening but also wonderful. My child will be the legacy of my dear husband.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth murmured, not meeting her eyes.

  “Miss Bennet, it was too painful the other day to ask, but my husband served in the militia in Hertfordshire. Did you know him?”

  “I did.”

  “Would you tell me a little more of my George?”

  Her mind searched for anything unprejudiced she might say; anything that would not incite her disdain for a man who had used his arts and allurements to make her believe he was something he was not.

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “Oh, well, I met him on his first day in Hertfordshire. Captain Carter and Captain Denney had returned from London, and Mr. Wickham accompanied them recently having joined the militia.”

  “Yes, Denney and Carter were great friends to George. As I said, they wrote to me telling me of his death.”

  “I was surprised his commanding officer had not written you.”

  “I imagine they wanted to do it so it would not seem so unfeeling.”

  Elizabeth could only nod her head.

  “Was George a great favorite amongst the townspeople? He had the most charming manners.”

  “His manners were quite engaging, and he did not go anywhere that he was not called friend,” said Elizabeth.

  “He did mention that there was a young woman, a Miss King, who was quite besotted with him before our marriage. I feel the poor girl’s heart must have broken when he rejected her advances. George would never allow a woman’s feelings to be engaged unnecessarily.”

  “Well, he had always appeared to be the consummate gentleman.”

  “That he was.”

  Silence pervaded as they walked around the pond where a mother goose and her goslings swam through the placid water.

  “Mrs. Wickham…? I…it is only that…I am uncertain how to tell you this…but…”

  “Miss Bennet? Mrs. Wickham?” Both women turned at the approach of footsteps. A footman was standing there slightly out of breath. “Excuse me but the master wishes you both to join him in his study?”

  “Mr. Turner wishes to see us?” Elizabeth asked, slightly surprised.

  “Yes. Mr. Darcy has just arrived…”

  “Mr. Darcy?” Both Elizabeth and Margaret Wickham said at once.

  He bowed and turned back to the house. The women followed behind the retreating footman, each with differing thoughts. “Oh, Miss Bennet. What am I to say? I had planned to practice my speech to him, but now he is catching me out of sorts. It is just as George had told me. ‘Darcy is a most officious man; always trying to make himself look better in all situations.’ He did this on purpose,” she cried, attempting to control her tears.

  “Mrs. Wickham, I can assure you, that Mr. Darcy is an honorable man. Quite possibly, the distance in the relationship that Mr. Wickham and he possessed over the last several years led to misunderstandings in each other’s character?”

  The young woman shook her head but raised her chin. “I must be strong,” she whispered to herself. “I must for our child.”

  Elizabeth raised a hand to her temple, feeling a slight headache coming on.

  To say the letter had shocked him would be an understatement. Darcy was at his desk when Phillip’s express arrived. Ulysses thundering hoofbeats was all he had heard as he crossed the dales, struggling with how to approach this impending interview.

  How am I to tell this woman, this girl, the truth about Wickham?

  Visions of Georgiana and her tear-stained face on the return trip from Ramsgate flitted through his mind. Her sobs echoed in his ears and a tightness in his chest made him curse Wickham.

  Handing the reins to an awaiting stable boy, he tugged at his cravat and decided his man had tied it too tight. Taking the steps two at a time, he muttered, “Well, let us get to it, old boy.”

  As with so many times before, he heard her before he saw her. Her gentle voice attempting to reassure Mrs. Wickham that all would be well floated from Turner’s study.

  “Mr. Darcy is an honorable man, Mrs. Wickham. I have only recently realized how good and noble he is. You have nothing to fear from him.”

  “I hope so.”

  His heart warmed at the praise from Elizabeth.

  They all turned as he entered the room. “Phillip, Miss Bennet. I hope I have not kept you long.”

  “Not at all Darcy. Welcome back. And may I present Mrs. Wickham?”

  “How do you do?” He bowed to the young woman. Maybe Georgie’s age or slightly older. The look of a young innocent about her.

  “So good of you to come, Darcy. Please”—and indicating the chair near Mrs. Wickham.

  “Mrs. Wickham, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

  She cleared her throat before she began. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but I realize your relationship with my deceased husband was singular. You began life as the best of friends, but because of…well, he was left penniless and forced to find his own way. I am surprised you would find any pleasure in meeting his widow.”

  At this, Miss Elizabeth looked up at him quickly. The room fell silent. He cringed at her words but knew the worst was yet to come. “I am afraid I am the bearer of some unpleasant news.”

  “Whatever could you mean?” she asked turning from him to Miss Bennet, who squeezed the girl’s hand. “How could any news be worse than the loss of my husband?”

  “Let us hear out Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy gave Elizabeth a grateful nod before taking a deep breath. “The letter from Mr. Turner took me by surprise. You see, I have a man who regularly corresponds to me of George Wickham’s whereabouts. I just received his weekly letter yesterday that Wickham was still in Brighton with his regiment…”

  “What?” She stood immediately and looked at all with wild eyes. She sat almost as quickly.

  “And was just joined by his wife, Penelope Younge.”

  “What?”

  “Mr. Wickham has been in Brighton with the ______shire militia for the last four months, after having left Hertfordshire in March, and has been enjoying the life of a bachelor, that is, once again, until the recent arrival of his wife,” he said gently.

  “You lie!” she said, stunned. “You must have the wrong man!” Darcy reached into his pocket and pulled out a linen handkerchief as she continued
in hysterics. “You hate him! George told me you hated him! That is why you are saying this!”

  Unfolding the linen square, Darcy handed a miniature of Wickham to the girl. “George sat for this when we were at school. Is this your husband?”

  She cried out and dropped the miniature on her lap and buried her face in her hands sobbing. “It cannot be! He said he loved me! That we would buy a home in Italy when he returned from the war!”

  Elizabeth said, “I have just had a letter from my sister yesterday that she danced at a ball with Mr. Wickham last week. She said how upset she was that his cousin Mrs. Younge had joined them in town, but that she did not believe it was his cousin—that they were more familiar…intimate…than a familial manner."

  The young woman looked up at Elizabeth then stood and walked to the window.

  “I could not tell you until I was certain. I thought—no, I had hoped it was a different George Wickham.” She silently looked up at Darcy then looked down again. “I wish that I too had not been so deceived by this man’s character…” She walked to the window and took the young ladies hands in hers, and Darcy was surprised to see tears of her own spilling down her cheeks.

  His gruff response surprised them all. “He is the liar, Mrs. Wickham, or rather, Miss Anderson. He is a practiced seducer who ruins young ladies for their dowries.”

  “Ladies? I am not the first?”

  “No, Miss Anderson, but I will assure that you will be the last!”

  She sobbed, reaching for Darcy’s hand. “Then I am not married? My child is a bas…”

  “Miss Anderson. There will be no public disgrace. We will protect your name and that of your child’s.”

  Her voice was hollow, and her eyes glossy. “I will be penniless,” she whispered. “Penniless and ruined… my dowry! His motivation was to steal my fortune from me?” Her tear stained face looked up at him.

  “Most assuredly. However, I will make certain that does not occur. Turner,” he said turning to his friend, “I will send an express to London. Do you have someone who can ride?”

  “Of course.” Mr. Turner glanced with pity in his eyes at the vulnerable young woman before standing.