The Companion

by Jann Rowland

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth. “She is determined, though I suppose I should not be surprised.”

  “I dissuaded her by pointing out the house in town is likely uninhabitable.” Anne gave Elizabeth a wan smile. “We have not visited it in many years, and Mother will not hear of leasing it out to anyone. I believe there is a small staff there who looks after the place and keeps it clean, but I cannot imagine the condition it is in. Of course, my mother only turned it around and said we may just stay at Darcy’s house.”

  Anne sighed and sank back against her pillows. “I wish she would let go of this doomed fantasy of hers. Darcy does not wish to marry me, and I have no wish to marry him. But it is clear that only his marriage to another will induce her to desist.”

  There was nothing to say in response, so Elizabeth allowed Anne to simply continue to speak, to be a bearer of the woman’s burdens along with her. Elizabeth could well understand Anne’s reluctance to marry the proud and disagreeable Mr. Darcy. It was something she would never consider herself.

  Something in her expression must have alerted Anne to her thoughts, for she fixed her gaze on Elizabeth’s face, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

  “Elizabeth,” said she, “I have often had the impression that you are not fond of my cousin. Has he done something to offend you?”

  Surprised, Elizabeth said: “I have not been in Mr. Darcy’s company for above four months, Anne. I am sure I feel nothing for him, for he is naught but an acquaintance.”

  “Your reaction whenever he is mentioned gives the lie to your assertion,” replied Anne. When Elizabeth made to protest, Anne shook her head. “I do not wish to force a confidence, but it seemed to me you were subjected to some foul scent when I mentioned him just now. I have been raised by a woman who loves the sound of her own voice, and because my opinion is not often solicited, I have made it a practice to study those about me. I am not a great observer of others, but I can often tell by their reactions what they are thinking, and I have noticed your distaste for Darcy several times. Shall you not share your experiences with me?”

  Elizabeth was hesitant to sink Mr. Darcy’s character to his cousin, but Anne asked in so sincere a manner that she felt she could not demur. As a result, Elizabeth soon found herself relating their first meeting, including Mr. Darcy’s slight against her.

  “Not handsome enough to tempt me, he said.” Elizabeth attempted to make light of it, using a playful tone to imitate Mr. Darcy’s stern and unyielding one. “I was slighted by other men, and he would not give me any notice because of it. I have never been subject to such incivility in my life!”

  “I dare say you have not.” Anne directed a strange look at Elizabeth. “I can imagine that as first impressions go, it was not a good one. Darcy was very wrong to say it. But I wonder why it affected you so.”

  “Should it not?” demanded Elizabeth. “What woman would like to hear such things said about herself in so public a forum as a dance hall?”

  “No one, of course. But Elizabeth, you are a beautiful girl—why would such sentiments affect you? If Darcy cannot see your beauty, why should you concern yourself?”

  The words caught Elizabeth off guard, and her cheeks bloomed as she gaped, wondering of what Anne was speaking. “I am not beautiful, Anne. I am naught but a country girl, and though I believe I am pleasantly featured, I do not lay claim to any beauty. My sister Jane is the beauty in the Bennet family.”

  Though Anne did not respond directly to Elizabeth’s denial, the look she returned was mysterious in nature, and it made Elizabeth feel quite cross.

  “Elizabeth,” said she in a tone of exaggerated patience, “though I was not there, of course, it seems to me that my cousin’s words were spoken in ill humor. I cannot think that he truly meant to disparage you. It is possible he was simply attempting to induce his friend to leave him alone. It seems to me that you have taken this much more to heart than you ought.”

  “You know your cousin well enough to divine his intentions?” asked Elizabeth, challenging her friend’s perception. “This was not his only affront, Anne. He was rude to all my friends and neighbors and gave the impression that he felt himself to be above the company.”

  “Was he not? I do not defend him, Elizabeth, but he is the grandson of an earl and the nephew of one. I do not know the extent of his fortune, but I know that Pemberley is a vast estate, and he has other wealth besides. Should he not feel a little superiority?”

  “Perhaps he does. But should it be displayed for all the company? Should he set himself up as a paragon, looking down on all those beneath him with contempt and ridicule?”

  Anne only shook her head, though mischief gleamed in her eyes. “My mother would find nothing amiss with his behavior.”

  When Elizabeth rolled her eyes, Anne laughed, forcing Elizabeth to join her.

  “As you know, I am not close to my cousin,” continued Anne. “Though I have known him all my life, I do not know him well, for reasons of which you are aware. But for all this, I have never known Darcy to be anything other than scrupulously proper. My other cousin, Anthony Fitzwilliam, who is my uncle’s son, has often lamented that Darcy is far too rigid for a young man of his situation. It was wrong of him, indeed, to slight you and to behave in such a way. But it is quite different from what I understand of his character.

  “Consider this: one of his avowed closest friends is Mr. Bingley, is it not?” Elizabeth was forced to concede Anne’s point. “Then I hardly think that he would consider your friends, who are gently born, even if they are not wealthy, to be inferior to his friend, who is, after all, the son of a tradesman. Does it not strike you as odd if he does?”

  “That is part of what frustrates me when I try to take Mr. Darcy’s likeness. His actions and words are contradictory, and the accounts I have heard of him do not make sense.”

  Anne’s interest was piqued at Elizabeth’s statement, for she asked: “Accounts of Darcy? My understanding was that you only met him for a brief time last year, and his only friends with whom you are acquainted are Mr. Bingley and his sisters.” Anne shook her head. “And since Mr. Bingley is, by all accounts, an amiable, friendly sort of man, and one who looks up to Darcy, and his sisters are grasping social climbers, I doubt any of them would criticize him. Have you met someone else who is acquainted with Darcy?”

  “Yes, I have, Anne.” Elizabeth paused, wishing she had held her tongue. She tried to deflect Anne by stating: “But I am reluctant to speak of matters which may sink your estimation of your cousin.”

  “But now you have engaged my interest. You cannot refuse to elucidate.”

  Though Elizabeth remained reluctant, she could see no way to refuse to oblige her companion, and she wished she had not opened her mouth. What cared she if Anne thought her dislike for Mr. Darcy was due to naught but vanity? Surely it could not affect her.

  “Very well,” said Elizabeth when Anne pressed her again. “I have met another who is acquainted with Mr. Darcy, and his story renders your cousin in an entirely different light.”

  Anne appeared quite intrigued and motioned for Elizabeth to continue.

  “Not long after Mr. Darcy had come to Hertfordshire, a young man by the name of Mr. Wickham joined the regiment of militia which was quartered there for the winter. Mr. Wickham, I discovered, is the son of old Mr. Darcy’s steward. He is an amiable man, one who is friendly to all and esteemed by many. Mr. Wickham has also been wronged grievously by your cousin.”

  “Tell me,” prompted Anne.

  Elizabeth did so with a will, the old feeling of offense on Mr. Wickham’s behalf welling up within her. “It seems that Mr. Darcy’s father wished to provide for Mr. Wickham, and he left a valuable family living in his will. But when the living fell vacant, Mr. Darcy refused to present Mr. Wickham with the living, reneging on his father’s promise.”

  “And had Mr. Wickham taken orders? And for that matter, how was Darcy able to flout his father’s instructions, whi
ch were backed by the legal authority of a will?”

  Taken aback, Elizabeth could only stammer: “I have no idea if Mr. Wickham took orders. I imagine he did not, given how Mr. Darcy refused to present him with the living. As for the will, I was told that there was enough informality in the bequest to give him no hope from an appeal to the law. A man who was dedicated to his father’s memory and intent upon abiding by his wishes could not have doubted, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt.”

  It was not long before Anne’s scrutiny began to make Elizabeth uncomfortable, for though she did not speak, she regarded Elizabeth for a long moment. Unwilling to allow her friend to intimidate her, Elizabeth returned it with a raised eyebrow, daring her to contradict. Thus, Elizabeth was surprised by Anne’s laugh.

  “Do not be offended by the observation, Elizabeth, but you almost reminded me of my mother. She, too, does not appreciate it when someone challenges her.” Elizabeth was, indeed, offended, but Anne continued to speak. “I will confess that I know nothing of this situation. I do not know Mr. Wickham personally, nor do I know what was contained in my uncle’s will. But there are a few things I would like to point out that do not quite make sense to me.”

  Elizabeth gave her a curt nod, at which Anne laughed again.

  “The first is that I am confident of Darcy’s character and his knowledge of his duty. Darcy and his father were very close. If his father wished to provide for Mr. Wickham, he would have informed his son, and I do not doubt that Darcy would have felt honor bound to follow his father’s wishes.

  “The second thing I would like to mention is that there is something that does not quite add up in Mr. Wickham’s story. I do not quite know what it is, but it disturbs me all the same. What possible reason could Darcy have for denying his friend his support? I cannot fathom it. But I also cannot but wonder why Mr. Wickham would have shared such a personal matter with you. I have the impression that he did not know you long before he shared it?”

  “No, he did not,” replied Elizabeth, feeling much subdued. “In fact, he informed me on my second meeting with him. The subject came up because I had noticed both men’s reactions upon seeing the other and could immediately discern that theirs was not a cordial relationship.”

  “Then it was doubly improper for him to have spoken of such a subject. I have not much experience with meeting new acquaintances, but I could never have imagined of speaking of some of the confidences we have shared recently when we were first introduced.”

  Elizabeth was forced to concede that Anne was correct.

  “Finally, though I will stress again that I do not know Mr. Wickham myself, I have heard something of him. My cousin—Anthony Fitzwilliam—who is a colonel in the regulars, visits Rosings with Darcy every spring. I have heard them speak of Wickham, and when I asked, Fitzwilliam informed me that he was not a subject for polite company.”

  “Does he know Mr. Wickham himself?” asked Elizabeth. “Or has he just had his account from Mr. Darcy?”

  “I believe he does. Mr. Wickham and Darcy were raised together as boys, and Fitzwilliam was one of Darcy’s most treasured companions. And Fitzwilliam did not speak of Mr. Wickham as if he had heard of him through another. I believe they are quite well acquainted, indeed.”

  “I hardly know what to think,” said Elizabeth. It felt like her eyes were being forced open, and though she still could not consider Mr. Darcy an agreeable man, what Anne had suggested of Mr. Wickham made too much sense. In fact, Elizabeth wondered why she had never considered it herself.

  “Darcy is not a bad man, Elizabeth,” said Anne quietly. “Yes, I have observed a rigid formality of his manners, and I understand that he can be haughty and aloof, but I have heard he is esteemed by his friends and considered by all to be a good, liberal man.” Anne paused and directed a wan smile at Elizabeth. “And do not allow my mother to hear you speaking of Darcy in such a manner. She would not appreciate it.”

  Elizabeth attempted a smile in return, but it felt rather sickly. Anne seemed to notice this, for she patted Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Do not concern yourself, Elizabeth. Fitzwilliam claims that Darcy is adept at displaying himself to his worst advantage. I am certain you are not the only one to have a poor opinion of him.

  “Now, if you do not mind, I believe it is time to retire.”

  “Of course, Anne.”

  Elizabeth returned to her room and made herself ready for her bed, but when she lay down on it, her thoughts continued to be full of the conversation she had just had with Anne. A part of her longed to disregard Anne’s assertions—after all, Anne had confessed that she did not know her cousin well. Might she not be incorrect about Mr. Wickham?

  But Elizabeth was nothing if not truthful with herself, and she knew it would be a mistake to disregard what they had discussed. There were many facets of the situation, and though she did not wish to think of it now, she knew it was likely these thoughts would keep her awake much of the night.

  Chapter IX

  As Elizabeth woke the next morning, her mind returned to the discussion of the previous evening, and she was surprised to realize the subject of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham had not kept her awake late into the night. Her thoughts drifted back to when she had retired, and though she could not be entirely certain, she thought it entirely likely that she had been asleep only moments after her head had settled onto her pillow.

  Of the intelligence she had learned from Anne, the light of day did not grant her any greater clarity of what constituted the truth of the matter. But there were certain facts to which her eyes had been opened, and now they had been pointed out to her, she could not discount them. Mr. Wickham’s early dissertation, the eagerness with which he had made the communication, and even the manner in which Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy had reacted to the sight of the other—Mr. Darcy with a redness which spoke of anger, contrasting Mr. Wickham’s paleness, bespeaking consternation—were in the process of overwhelming Elizabeth’s initial assertion that there had been “truth in all Mr. Wickham’s looks.”

  Furthermore, another memory had sprung into Elizabeth’s mind unbidden—that of Mr. Wickham declaring that he would never sink Mr. Darcy’s character because of his godfather, which he had thereafter proceeded to do by relating the whole of it to her. He could not have had any confidence in her discretion, having met her only that day. Of course, the fact that the matter was on the tongue of every gossip within days of Mr. Darcy’s departure also did not help his cause. Then there was his insistence that he would not be run off by Mr. Darcy, followed by his failure to attend the ball at Netherfield—Elizabeth had thought it evidence of his forbearance at the time, though now she was uncomfortably aware that it was nothing more than cowardice. All of these pieces of the puzzle suggested that Mr. Wickham’s motivations in relaying the matter to her were less than altruistic.

  She did not know the truth of the matter—she could not know the truth of it—but she now knew not to trust Mr. Wickham’s account implicitly. He had taken her in with the skill of a master artist, and though she thought there was some extenuating circumstances to explain her gullibility, there was little chance of her ever understanding what of his story had been truth and what had been fantasy.

  She did know two things, however: first, that Mr. Wickham was not to be trusted, and the second was that even if Mr. Darcy was acquitted of cruelty to him, his behavior had still been objectionable in other ways. She was, therefore, required to think better of Mr. Darcy, but she was not required to think well of him.

  As it was Sunday, Elizabeth rose from her bed and with Tilly’s help prepared herself for church. She met Anne and Lady Catherine—who attended services without fail—and made her way there in the de Bourgh carriage. At the small church in Hunsford, Elizabeth greeted Charlotte with pleasure and sat in the de Bourgh pew with Lady Catherine and Anne, to the left of the pulpit in the front row.

  As usual, Mr. Collins’s sermon was long, rambling, and often seemed to go over the same material
multiple times. Whatever her previous feelings for Mr. Collins had been, or of what they consisted now, there was no denying the man was pompous and possessed a talent for putting half the congregation to sleep. In this number was included one Elizabeth would never have expected.

  “It seems not all find the good reverend’s sermon to be edifying,” whispered Anne as she nudged Elizabeth. She pointed across her body to her mother, and there, seated in the front row for all to see, sat Lady Catherine, her head nodding as she struggled to stay awake.

  Elizabeth managed to stifle a snort, but it was a near thing, indeed. Charlotte, who was sitting across the aisle, caught Elizabeth’s gaze and she looked skyward, once again trying Elizabeth’s composure. It was fortunate that Mr. Collins drew his sermon to a close soon after. After services, the Collinses were invited to Rosings for dinner, and Elizabeth was able to enjoy the company of her dearest friend, even if the company did include the silly Mr. Collins.

  Thus, the final two weeks of Elizabeth’s stay in Kent began. Over the next few days, Lady Catherine once again returned to her former self: in other words, she was domineering, meddling, overbearing, and intent upon ruling the lives of those around her. At least she was not, however, vocal about her nephew’s intransigence. Elizabeth could not say if the woman had abandoned the notion of going to London, but the matter was never brought up in her presence. Elizabeth and Anne spent most of their time together, and if Lady Catherine sometimes looked on them with an unreadable expression, and at times interrupted, dominated the conversation herself or admonished Elizabeth for some imagined offense, the two managed to ignore her. She was still busy enough with the estate and those in the parish that she was not often in their company.

  In those days, the weather was fine. As a result, Anne and Elizabeth were often to be found in her phaeton. Elizabeth was able to see much of the environs of Rosings in that manner, and the mobility allowed by their conveyance meant that there was much more to be seen than might otherwise have been the case.