by J P Christy
Elizabeth asked loudly, “Are you shopping, Mr. Wickham? I thought the merchants were no longer extending you credit because of your unpaid bills.” There—that’s for your lies!
“Go on, George,” Lydia goaded. “Tell Mr. Darcy what you think of his shameful treatment. You need not protect him for the sake of his father’s good name. Everyone in town knows.”
“I have no wish to make a spectacle,” Wickham said.
Mrs. Hobart, the tailor’s wife, spoke up. “Wickham here has told a sad tale far and wide of how you Darcys deprived him of the living at the parsonage on your estate. But seeing as how he has treated us merchants, I suspect there is more to the story.”
For several years, Fitzwilliam had felt a deep anger toward Wickham because of his defamations and debaucheries; thus, there was an edge to the colonel’s tone when he asked, “In your lament, Wickham, did you fail to mention how you approached Darcy after his father died and asked for cash in lieu of the living?”
“How much?” Mrs. Hobart asked. “Enough to pay what you owe us merchants?”
When Darcy did not speak, Elizabeth said, “I heard you were paid several thousand pounds, Mr. Wickham.”
Throughout the crowd, the phrase “several thousand pounds” was murmured and gasped. “Well, that’s enough to live on for a good long while,” a man’s voice said.
“Unless one tries to live as a gentleman of leisure when one has no estate or income or inclination to work,” Fitzwilliam said.
“You must be swimming in lard, Lieutenant,” Mrs. Hobart said. “If you will kindly return with me to my husband’s shop, you can settle your bill before the militia moves to Brighton.”
Through gritted teeth, Wickham said, “Regrettably, madam, those funds are gone.”
At last, Darcy spoke. “In addition to the one thousand pounds you received from my father’s estate upon his death, I gave you three thousand pounds to study the law in lieu of the living at the parsonage. Studies which you did not complete. By the bye, did you also mention to the good people here that my father paid for your education at Cambridge?”
As unobtrusively as he could, Lieutenant Denny pulled his arm from Lydia’s grasp and took a few steps back. Clearly, he had been unaware of the privileges Wickham had wasted.
“The living at the parsonage was worth far more than three thousand pounds,” Wickham snarled. He jerked his arm away from Lydia and strode back into the crowd.
“You—a parson?” a man’s voice called after him. “I wonder if Sophie at the Swan would have an opinion about that?”
Lydia stared after him, failing to comprehend the scene she had sparked. “Wickham, where are you going?”
Before Lydia could follow the lieutenant, Jane grabbed her hand. “I am taking you to Mama.” Bingley accompanied the two sisters as they left to find Mrs. Bennet.
Lieutenant Denny, who was still trying to sort out what he had just witnessed, didn’t move. Noticing him, Fitzwilliam said, “Sir?”
“What? Oh. Nothing, Colonel,” Denny stammered. “It’s just … it’s just that you think you know who a fellow is, but then he turns out to be a very different sort.”
“A useful lesson, is it not?”
“It is, sir. Good day.” Denny saluted and walked briskly away.
Darcy murmured “Did someone mention not wishing to make a spectacle?”
“It is my philosophy,” Elizabeth said, “that on occasion, under the right circumstances, a spectacle needs to be made.” As her eyes met Darcy’s, she wondered, Do you realize I am thinking of your proposal? Without it, we would have bumbled along, not knowing who we truly are.
Darcy, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth, was having the very same thoughts, in addition to feeling a profound sense of relief. Turning to Georgiana, he asked, “Are you well, dearest?”
“Yes, I am well,” she said. She drew a shuddering breath and then laughed. “It is done.”
Fitzwilliam kissed the top of Georgiana’s head. “You were brave and strong and perfect, my girl.”
Ainsworth, suspecting he was witnessing a personal moment not meant for his eyes, said, “Martin, you and Cassie and I have shopping to do for your mother.”
When Darcy placed Martin onto Ainsworth’s shoulders, Cassandra, who was holding Mary’s hand, asked, “Can Miss Mary come with us?”
Ainsworth smiled at Mary. “I hope she does—if you are not too busy, Miss Mary.” Upon receiving Elizabeth’s encouraging nod, Mary took the arm Ainsworth offered, and he led her and the children away.
“Georgiana, for the bonnet I was working on yesterday, will you look at ribbons with me?” Kitty asked. “You have such an elegant sense of color.”
Fitzwilliam told Darcy, “Leave it to me to escort them. As we work our way through the market, I’m sure we’ll meet you again ere long.” He shepherded the ladies through the crowd.
Darcy looked around. Meryton seemed a different place now. It was no longer a town unconnected with his life; it was a place that knew him a little and was seeing his better self. As he glanced at the faces of those who had witnessed the scene with Wickham, he felt no embarrassment. And when the townspeople met his gaze, he saw a friendliness that had not been there before.
Elizabeth laid her hand lightly on his arm. “Are you well, sir?”
“Very well, thank you.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led to her to Mrs. Hobart. “Pardon me, madam, might I have a word with you?”
A short while later, Mrs. Hobart and several other merchants whom she had identified had received money from Darcy for Wickham’s debts. Elizabeth said, “That was very kind of you.”
“As you said, I could have warned Meryton about Wickham’s habits last year, but I did not. I owed it to those merchants to make amends.” With a mischievous look, he added, “So, what about this woman Sophie at the Swan …?”
“You have a bit of the scoundrel in you, sir!”
“When I reluctantly agreed to allow Georgiana to come to Hertfordshire where I knew she might encounter Wickham, I wondered if it was the right decision. And when she convinced Fitz and me to bring her to the market where we were very likely to see him, I was afraid for her. Yet this confrontation turned out much better than I expected.”
“If you are anything other than proud of your sister and yourself, I shall be disappointed,” Elizabeth said.
“I am proud of her. I am also a bit sad knowing my sister is growing up, perhaps more quickly than I wish.”
After they had walked in silence for several moments, she said softly, “I thank you for your letter. You were most generous in your remarks to me.”
“I … I thank you for reading it,” Darcy stammered. “Like several other of my communications, that letter was overdue.”
Elizabeth could not suppress her smile. Even during his proposal, he did not show his feelings this openly. Oh dear, I am finding him too attractive by half. Yet if he is only here for the sake of Mr. Bingley and to show me he has attended to my letter, I would be a fool to lose my heart to him. Taking refuge
in humor, she patted his arm. “Well, sir, it seems we finally have the pleasure of understanding each other.”
≈≈≈
It was past midnight in the militia camp at the edge of Meryton when Lieutenant Denny reluctantly returned to the tent he shared with Wickham. Other than the snores of sleeping soldiers, there was little to hear. After the scene in the marketplace, Denny had spent long hours reflecting on his friendship with Wickham, and he realized how little he knew of the man. They had met in London, their camaraderie forged through a night of drinking and gambling. Upon hearing of Wickham’s misfortunes at the hands of the Darcys, Denny had urged him to come to Hertfordshire to join the militia; he had felt protective of the amiable gentleman who was only a few years older than himself.
Now, however, to discover the story that had inspired their friendship was a lie made Denny feel embarrassed and angry in equal parts. With a disgusted glance at
the sleeping figure on Wickham’s cot, he undressed quietly and crawled under the blanket of his own bed. Tomorrow I will be calmer; I will know what to do. Tonight, I cannot bear the sight or the sound of him! What will I say to Wickham in the morning? And how will he explain himself to convince me and his fellow officers he is still an honorable man?
≈≈≈
June 2, 1811
After church, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet returned home rather than linger in the warm sun of early June. Sitting in the parlor with Mittens lounging on her lap, Mrs. Bennet hummed to herself as she stroked the cat. She felt pride at how attractive and comfortable the room was. New draperies would be an improvement; the color of these is not quite a match for the settee. Perhaps now that the officers will not be joining us for dinner, there will be money for such a purchase.
The tranquility of the day was shattered when Lydia stormed into the parlor, trailed at a safe distance by Kitty. Mrs. Bennet asked, “What is it, my dear? Did something happen in Meryton? I know you are unhappy about the militia decamping in two days, but perhaps your father will take us to Brighton for a holiday.”
Mr. Bennet, who was passing the parlor just then, stopped in the doorway. “Do you think that wise, madam? After all, three bachelors just took up residence in the neighborhood.”
“Of course you are correct, husband. But it breaks my heart to see Lydia distressed.”
Mittens, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, jumped to the floor. Noticing the family member who gave him the least amount of attention, the cat approached Kitty. Alarmed, she fluttered her skirt to discourage him, but it wasn’t until she sneezed on him that he retreated to a corner. When Kitty’s sneeze was followed by small coughs, Lydia accused, “You are laughing at me! I know it!”
“I certainly am not—I am coughing! You know the effect Mittens has on me.”
“And why would Kitty laugh at you, I would like to know?” Mrs. Bennet demanded.
“She said I made a fool of myself over Wickham,” Lydia replied, pouting.
“Lydia, you are not unaware of the havoc that scoundrel has brought to the merchants of Meryton,” Mr. Bennet reminded her.
“But the lieutenant is so handsome in his red coat,” Mrs. Bennet said. Then, remembering herself, she told Lydia, “Listen to your father. Mr. Wickham was revealed to be a rogue. He is fortunate Colonel Forster was willing to keep him in the militia.”
“Likely it was the only way to ensure Wickham paid his debts,” Mr. Bennet said. “I am told the soldiers with whom he gambled will not receive so much as a sixpence until the merchants are paid. And at church today, I heard Mr. Darcy kindly covered several of Wickham’s bills.”
“Did he kiss your hand when you farewelled him, girls?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
“We did not farewell him,” Kitty said. “Apparently, he sneaked away last night. When Lieutenant Denny tried to wake him, he found a pile of hay under Wickham’s blanket. Yet Lydia carries on as if Wickham had died rather than deserted.” She struggled to stifle another cough.
“Kitty, do stop—”
But Mr. Bennet interrupted his wife. “Come along, Kitty. I believe we would both benefit from a cup of tea.”
In the corridor, Kitty confided, “I swear Lydia is obsessed with Wickham. I was quite mortified at how she queried the officers about his departure.”
“You seemed to like the lieutenant well enough when he first arrived.”
“So I did, but once my eyes were opened to his deceptions and improper dealings, I saw him in a different light. There are also rumors that his debts were not the worst of it.”
“Oh?”
“There are rumors of seductions,” she whispered.
Mr. Bennet patted Kitty’s arm. “At your tender age, my dear, this is a discussion I do not care to have. Perhaps when you are thirty or forty, or I am dead.”
Kitty leaned against him affectionately. “I shall note the appointment in my journal.”
≈≈≈
In the parlor, Lydia continued to rage, telling her mother, “You may think it a coincidence that Wickham left shortly after the arrival of the Darcys, but I do not. Clearly, they are persecuting him, and I hate them for it!”
“Oh, Lydia, must you be so dramatic? I cannot imagine how you came by such a habit! We do not hate the Darcys. Of course, Mr. Darcy was wrong to be arrogant and insulting to everyone, but, clearly, he has begged Lizzy’s forgiveness. As for Miss Darcy, she is everything charming. Indeed, it would do you no harm to emulate her ladylike ways.”
“Me? And what of my sisters?” Lydia demanded, annoyed to be singled out.
“Jane needs no improvement, except to be more encouraging to Mr. Bingley. As for Lizzy, well, I expect she will be a maiden aunt, teaching Jane’s children to play the pianoforte and letting them roam the countryside for hours and hours.” She frowned at the thought.
“If Lizzy is a spinster—and it would not surprise me one jot if such were to be her fate—I shall not bring her to live with my husband and me!” Lydia said. Looking down, she saw Mittens playing with the hem of her dress. She scooped up the cat. “Of course, you, sir, will always be welcome.”
22
“You know she will slander Miss Darcy!”
June 5, 1811
At Longbourn several days later, Bingley and Jane sat in contented silence under the tree in the garden. On the table between them were empty teacups and a plate containing muffin crumbs and strawberry stems. Reaching past the dishes, Bingley offered his upturned palm. When Jane placed her hand on his, he said, “Miss Bennet, it is time I revealed my plan to win your affections.”
“You have a plan, sir? You do not wish to surprise me?”
“Not in this matter. With this revelation, I am committing to course of action. Thus, you will have the means against which to assess my progress.”
“Then, most certainly, I wish to know your plan.”
“I arrived at Longbourn on the twentieth of May.”
“Rather early for dinner, as I recall.”
“It is now the fifth of June, and we have seen each other every day, for which I am most grateful. During the next month, however, my strategy is to see you only five days per week.”
“And what is your logic?”
“I want you to have at least two days per week to miss me—dare I hope, you might even long for me? However, if you seem in danger of forgetting me, I will revisit this schedule.”
“A wise idea, for even important things have been known to slip my mind.”
“I will also spend time with your father, as I wish to hear his advice on estate management.”
“Has Mr. Darcy’s counsel proved unsatisfactory?”
“Not at all. But by listening to your father’s advice in addition to that of Darcy, the colonel, and my steward, I will better understand the challenges of being a member of the landed gentry.”
“Does Colonel Fitzwilliam have an estate?”
“No, but he assists in overseeing the operation of Rosings.”
After a brief silence, Jane asked. “How will you know whether your plan has been successful?”
“I will know, dear lady, when you give me the sign to ask for your hand or, at the very least, that I may ask you for a courtship.”
“What sign?”
“This, Miss Jane Bennet, I leave up to you.”
≈≈≈
It was late afternoon when a Netherfield footman arrived at Longbourn. He was shown into the parlor where Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth were playing chess while Mrs. Bennet gave Kitty unsolicited advice about the trimming of a bonnet. Bowing with more formality than was typically seen in the Bennet household, the footman said, “Good afternoon. I am here with an invitation—”
“Mr. Bingley was here this morning; how eager he must be!” Mrs. Bennet interrupted. “Oh, Jane,” she called, “our attentive neighbor at Netherfield—”
“For Mr. Bennet,” the footman spoke loudly, attempting to quell her with a frown.
�
��For Mr. Bennet? What has he to do with anything? Surely, you are mistaken.”
“Indeed, madam, I am not,” the footman declared, offering Mr. Bennet a folded paper.
Glancing sharply at his wife, Mr. Bennet could not have said whether he was annoyed or amused by her dismissal of him. “Yes, what am I, madam, but the putative lord and master of all I survey?” He read the note quickly and instructed, “Please tell the gentlemen I look forward to joining them at nuncheon tomorrow.”
Just then, Jane entered the parlor. “Did you call, Mama?”
“Very good, sir.” The footman bowed and left, although he could still hear Mrs. Bennet’s shrill tones before the door closed behind him.
“You, Mr. Bennet? You are invited to Netherfield tomorrow? And who are these other gentlemen? I do not understand! If Mr. Bingley wishes to ask for our daughter’s hand—and what other reason does he have to talk to you?—he should come here. It is only proper,” Mrs. Bennet declared. Jane looked a question at her sister; Elizabeth, still at the chessboard, shrugged.
Mr. Bennet patted Jane’s arm. “It is merely an invitation to dine with Mr. Bingley and his gentlemen guests.”
“Mr. Bingley did say, Papa, he hoped to have your advice about managing an estate.”
Mrs. Bennet pounded her palms on the arms of her chair. “But why does he not propose? Is he toying with you, Jane? I will not have it!” In her annoyance, she did not notice Kitty gathering up her bonnet and trimmings and quietly leaving the parlor.
“Mama, Mr. Bingley has only been at Netherfield for a few weeks. I do not wish him to rush into a proposal. He understands that I need time to be sure of him.”
Elizabeth nodded at her sister, delighted at Jane’s calm explanation. Because she was sitting at the window behind her mother, she knew only her father and Jane could see her.
“Be sure of what?” Mrs. Bennet wailed. “Has he talked of quitting Netherfield? Oh, my nerves could not bear it!”
Mr. Bennet and Jane struggled to keep their countenances as Elizabeth rested a hand on her anguished brow and mouthed her mother’s words. Jane said, “He assures me he has no intention of quitting Netherfield in the near future.”