by Jann Rowland
At length, another lady approached them, Mr. Collins’s wife, as Darcy recalled. The apologetic smile which she gave him spoke to her understanding of the situation, and she spoke to cut off her husband, saying:
“Mr. Darcy. Welcome to our home. I thank you for standing up with Mr. Bingley, for he was eager to have your presence here today.”
Mrs. Collins, as Darcy recalled, was much more sensible than her husband. “It is no trouble, Mrs. Collins. I regret I was unable to visit in the autumn, for I had promised Bingley I would assist him. To hear that he was to marry was a surprise, but I can see she is an excellent young woman who will make him happy.”
A soft snort drew Darcy’s attention to where Miss Bingley was standing not far away, listening to them. Darcy had never had any trouble ignoring the objectionable woman, and he put that ability to use at that moment.
“Jane suits him,” said Mrs. Collins with a smile. “I am as happy for my sister as I am for Mr. Bingley.”
Then Mrs. Collins turned to her husband and pulled him away, using the excuse of something which required the man’s attention. It was a relief to be released from the man’s pomposity.
“It seems I need not introduce you to my brother-in-law, and for that, I am grateful.”
“Oh?” asked Darcy, arching an eyebrow at her.
“It has made it much easier,” said she, a blithe air of unconcern about her. “Seeing you with him has also solved a great mystery, for I have always wondered why Mr. Collins thought so highly of Mr. Bingley, excellent man though he is. Now I know why.”
Darcy could not help his snort of amusement, though he made a valiant attempt. Miss Elizabeth, appearing satisfied she had provoked that much, continued to grin.
“Tell me, sir, is your aunt all that I have heard? To hear Mr. Collins speak of her, I must believe your aunt walks on clouds and uses the mountains as her throne.”
Much as before, Darcy could not help the chuckle her comment produced. “Lady Catherine has a talent for surrounding herself with those who believe she is capable of that and so much more. She is naught but a woman.”
Miss Elizabeth nodded. “I thought as much. Though I know it is unlikely I shall ever meet her, Mr. Collins has given me such a picture that I do not think it is necessary. I shall only say that my gratitude to her ladyship has never wavered, for she has given us much interest over the years; Mr. Collins rarely allows a day to pass in which her name does not cross his lips.”
“I wonder at his continued devotion,” mutter Darcy. “It is not as if he is beholden to her now.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “But you must remember that Mr. Collins is a man continually looking for someone to direct him. As Lady Catherine was such a powerful force for direction, her impact on him was profound.”
Nodding, Darcy changed the subject, and they spent an agreeable time together, though Miss Elizabeth still assumed the bulk of their conversation. When the crowd thinned and the newlyweds boarded their carriage, the company farewelled them, with all the cheer the occasion demanded. Miss Elizabeth, Darcy noted, watched the carriage depart with mixed emotions. Clearly, she was close to her sister.
At length, Darcy used Bingley’s departure to excuse himself for his own. This did not mislead Miss Elizabeth, for he knew she saw his eagerness to leave. To her credit, however, she wished him safe travels and saw him on his way.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” was Darcy’s reply to her courtesy. “It has been a delight making your acquaintance. I hope we meet again.”
Though he spoke with something akin to civility, Darcy was surprised to find he meant every word.
Chapter V
When Jane’s carriage door closed behind her, a new chapter started in Elizabeth’s life. To all appearances, however, little seemed changed from what it had been before.
Bereft, as she was, of the company of her dearest sister, Elizabeth began spending more time in solitude. There were friends to visit occasionally, and Elizabeth was on friendly terms with Mary, but as there was little of society in those days and Mr. Collins was to be avoided as much as possible, Elizabeth’s room became her refuge. Even the weather, so promising the day of Jane’s wedding, had returned to the dreary, overcast conditions expected of January and February, often with hints of snow to further dampen spirits and force Elizabeth indoors.
While Elizabeth often sat with Mary, assisting with her sewing or playing the pianoforte and singing, Elizabeth found Mr. Collins more than usually tiresome in those days. The gentleman seemed as affected by the same seasonal ennui which beset them all, and while most gentlemen used the late winter months to plan for the upcoming growing season—even her father, an indifferent estate manager at best—Mr. Collins was engaged in no such useful work. Not only was he unsuited for such tasks, but Mr. Collins was keenly aware of his new position as a gentleman and engaged in congratulating himself to excess. While Elizabeth would not be so bold as to attribute to the other gentlemen of their area their feelings for Mr. Collins, the exasperated looks she often saw, coupled with the shaken heads when he departed seemed to speak of their opinions of him with eloquence.
The most surprising member of the family was her mother. For as long as Elizabeth could remember, it had been Mrs. Bennet’s mission in life to procure splendid marriages for her daughters. Now that Jane had married and with Kitty living in London with the Gardiners, Elizabeth had been certain her mother’s attention would now turn to her as the last unmarried and accessible Bennet daughter.
While Elizabeth did not think she could be blamed for expecting the dubious honor of her mother’s attentions, the reality was far different. Mrs. Bennet, of all the residents of Longbourn, seemed most affected by the endless days with little to do. The first few days after Jane’s departure, she took to her room, ostensibly to “rest her nerves.” This they all knew to be a fiction, for Mrs. Bennet had always fancied herself nervous and put upon. In addition to sequestering herself, she required constant attention—Mrs. Hill, their longsuffering housekeeper, if she could arrange it. When Mrs. Bennet had been mistress, there were none to gainsay her, for her husband would not bother. Now, however, there was another mistress at Longbourn.
“No, Mother,” said Mary not two days after Jane’s departure. “If you must rest your nerves, you shall do so in solitude. The maids have their work and Mrs. Hill must see to the house. We cannot spare anyone to attend to you all day.”
“Mrs. Hill has never complained about attending me before.” The petulant tone with which Mrs. Bennet replied made her appear like a spoiled child being denied a sugar stick at a confectioner. While Elizabeth did not think the display would move Mary regardless, behaving as a child was not a way to excite her sympathy.
“She did not because you were mistress and required it of her. That work that she could not attend to she still completed, using her own time to do it. I will no longer allow it, Mother—the servants have their tasks. Leave them to it and nurse your nerves in solitude.”
The complaints Mary’s edict provoked grated on the nerves of the rest of the family, but after a few days, Mrs. Bennet subsided to a sulky silence. Though she rested her nerves in solitude, she also joined Elizabeth and Mary in the sitting-room, for boredom, Elizabeth thought, drew her forth. Mary and Elizabeth might have wished she remained isolated, for her conversation, if it could be termed in such a way, was nothing more than complaints and moaning, and rare was the time when she sat with them in contentment.
An addition to the neighborhood which might have provided some relief had conditions been different was the company of militia which had arrived the previous autumn. Those dashing fellows were popular in the district, their society sought after for parties and dinners, such that it was rare there was any event that did not include some of their number.
To Longbourn in particular, however, they did not go, though they could be found visiting most other houses in the district. There was a simple reason for this—the officers had learn
ed early on that visiting Longbourn entailed the society of Mr. Collins, and as the man disapproved of the militia in general, they found little welcome there. Thus, they turned their attention to other, more welcoming homes where the inhabitants would give them more consequence. Elizabeth did not feel this loss, for she had little interest in the officers.
Among their number was a lieutenant by the name of George Wickham. Having little to do with the regiment except at certain parties she attended, Elizabeth did not know the man and had spoken but a few words with him. While she did not know him, however, she knew much of him, for she could not speak with any friends without his name coming up in conversation. It seemed the neighborhood was half in love with him, leading to ladies hanging off his every word, and, at times, off his arms. The lieutenant took full advantage of this from what Elizabeth could see.
As the days grew longer and the weather warmer, Elizabeth once again took to the paths of the estate, walking far when she could, attempting to return without drawing Mr. Collins’s notice, who continued to berate her whenever he could about her habit. Meryton also became a destination of some interest to Elizabeth, for while she had not the money to make purchases, she could browse, especially in the bookshop so beloved by her father. It was during one of these sojourns to Meryton she became more acquainted with Mr. Wickham than she had ever wished.
It began as a typical outing. When she arrived in Meryton, Elizabeth stopped in the milliners, looking at some bonnets, and entered the bookstore as was her wont, for the proprietor was a kindly man well known to her who allowed her to spend some time reading in his shop. An errand for Mary, she completed at Meryton’s general merchant, and then took some thought for returning to the estate. It was then Elizabeth noticed some friends—Mrs. Long’s nieces—speaking with several officers, and at Penelope Long’s invitation, she moved to join them.
“Lizzy!” exclaimed Penelope, greeting her with an embrace. “I declare I have seen little of you of late.”
“It is now March,” replied Elizabeth, “so you shall see much more of me if the weather remains fair.”
“Then you are to go to London next month,” said Prudence, Penelope’s younger sister, a faint hint of jealousy wafting about her.
“Yes, Jane is expecting me. I received a letter yesterday asking me to join her early, for she and Mr. Bingley will be in London sooner than they had expected.”
“Then you should accept at once,” replied Penelope, ignoring her sister. “There must be much more to do in London than in Meryton, especially during the season.”
Militia officers, by their very nature, could not endure young ladies ignoring them for any length of time. Elizabeth noted their impatience until one of them made some comment, drawing the sisters back into conversation with them. Lieutenant Wickham, however, ignored what was happening between his fellows and regarded her earnestly; Elizabeth could see he had more interest in her than in the discussion. After a few moments of observation, he addressed Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet,” said he. “How fortunate it is that I have met you here today. I trust you are well?”
“Very well, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth.
When she said nothing further, the gentleman smiled and said: “And your family? I imagine it must be difficult to be the last unmarried sister. Do you think you will follow your elder sisters’ example before long?”
“One cannot know the future,” said Elizabeth. “But on one subject, I must correct you: though I am the last unmarried sister remaining at Longbourn, I have one elder sister living in London who has not entered that blessed state. As such, I am merely ‘Miss Elizabeth’ rather than ‘Miss Bennet.’”
“Yes, I had heard you had another sister,” replied Mr. Wickham, seeming uninterested. “And how does she get on?”
“Kitty is well. She lives in London with my aunt and uncle, taking advantage of the proximity of masters to further her studies. Kitty is a talented artist.”
“Then I shall be interested to see some of her work.” Mr. Wickham appeared amused. “Kitty is an interesting name, is it not? Is there some reason for it?”
“Her name is Catherine,” replied Elizabeth. “But we have called her Kitty for as long as I can remember.”
“That is interesting,” said Mr. Wickham, the gleam in his eye seeming to speak to other thoughts. What those might be, Elizabeth could not say, for the gentleman made no further comment about her sister.
“So, you are for London, are you? Have you visited before?”
“With an aunt and uncle in London, you cannot suspect I have not gone myself,” replied Elizabeth.
“Of course!” exclaimed Wickham with a measure of jollity Elizabeth thought a little overdone. “Then you must have some experience. I, myself, have partaken in the amusements of London and can assure you there is much to see and do. As you go during the season, you shall receive much enjoyment, though I suppose that depends on the level of society Mr. Bingley can attain.”
“True,” replied Elizabeth.
“Then I hope we shall see much of you before you depart,” replied Mr. Wickham. “As the youngest sibling, I doubt you will be content to allow your elder sisters to long outdo you. You must wish to discover a man of your own before long.”
Curious, Elizabeth said: “This interest in my marriage prospects is beyond what I might have expected, Mr. Wickham. Are you putting yourself forward as a candidate to fill that role?”
While Elizabeth might have expected the man to stammer and retreat, Mr. Wickham did no such thing, confirming Elizabeth’s suspicions about the extent of his daring. “Were I more than a poor soldier with naught but the uniform on my back, I might have been first in line to claim your affections. Sadly, certain events in my past have prevented that, leaving me as you see.
“If you are interested, however,” said the gentleman, sidling a little closer, “I can help prepare you for what you will find in London. I have some experience after all and would be pleased to share it with you.”
The way his hungry eyes raked over her form told Elizabeth what kind of instruction Mr. Wickham would prefer to impart to her. The blatant suggestive nature of his advance, however, repulsed Elizabeth, rather than eliciting the reaction for which he hoped.
“Thank you, Mr. Wickham,” replied Elizabeth, the temperature of her voice dropping several degrees. “As I have said, I am not ignorant of what I shall find in London, and I shall have my sister and new brother to guide me.”
It could not be said that Mr. Wickham was bereft of determination, for her dismissal did not discourage him. In fact, it seemed to Elizabeth that it emboldened him, for he loomed over her, unleashing the full measure of his charm.
“I quite understand. If I may be so bold as to comment, I would say that you are certain to cut a swath among the gentlemen of London, for who could resist you? In the time you have left here, I hope to have further opportunity to come to know you better, for I would not wish you to leave Meryton and forget about me the moment you are gone.”
“That much is evident, sir,” replied Elizabeth, her voice cooler still. “I have much to do before my departure and am engaged with my sister and mother. You have my apologies, but you will need to content yourself with the ladies remaining in town.”
A whiff of disappointment hovered about Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth thought his charm had failed him but little, so confident in it was he. For a moment Elizabeth thought he might attempt to charm her further; thus, she was relieved when he decided against it.
“Yes, well, I hope your sojourn in London is all you expect. There is one more thing of which I wish to speak to you.”
“There is?” asked Elizabeth, interested in spite of herself.
“I would not have you go to London without being armed to protect yourself, for I understand you made the acquaintance of a Mr. Darcy at your sister’s wedding.”
“You are acquainted with the gentleman?” said Elizabeth, skeptical as to the man’s purpose. The sudden in
jection of Mr. Darcy’s name into the conversation, when she had thought but little of him since he had left, left her a little off balance.
“We have been acquainted for many years,” replied Mr. Wickham. “Darcy’s home in Derbyshire, you see, was the estate at which I was raised, so there are few men who know Fitzwilliam Darcy better than I.”
“And you wish to warn me against him,” said Elizabeth.
“It is prudent. For though Darcy presents himself as a gentleman, his habits are not worthy of the designation, though no one can speak against his lineage or his wealth. It is exactly those qualities that bring him acclaim in society instead of condemnation.
“I am the son of the late Mr. Darcy’s steward, and—”
“That is surprising, Mr. Wickham, for I should not have thought a man such as you portray Mr. Darcy to give notice to the son of his father’s steward.”
Had she not been looking for it, Elizabeth might have missed the annoyance her interruption provoked, as he masked it in an instant. The more she spoke to this man, the more practiced his manners became, informing Elizabeth she would do well not to trust him.
“One might think that if they did not know the circumstances,” said Mr. Wickham. “There were no other boys our age nearby, which meant we were often pressed together as companions, little though he liked it. His behavior to me after we became adults confirmed everything I ever thought about his pride.
“Of more pertinence to the situation, however, is Darcy’s proclivities, which may be of some danger to a woman of your quality. Darcy is nothing less than a predator, a man who entraps young women for his pleasure, leaving blasted lives and ruined prospects in his wake. Should you have occasion to meet him in London, Miss Bennet, I would urge you to take great care and never allow yourself to be caught in a situation where you are alone with him.”
This portrayal, so different from what Elizabeth had observed of Mr. Darcy, taught Elizabeth to remain wary of this man’s purpose. What it could be, she did not know, but Elizabeth did not think her powers of observation could be so deficient, or Mr. Bingley’s judgment so faulty.
