Her Indomitable Resolve

by Jann Rowland

  “And you can provide proof of these claims?” said Elizabeth.

  “Do you suppose I am possessed of the means to procure proof?” asked Mr. Wickham.

  “Physical proof, perhaps, may be beyond your means,” replied Elizabeth. “However, at the very least it should not be beyond your ability to provide witnesses who will corroborate your claims of Mr. Darcy.”

  “You suppose incorrectly,” said Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth sensed his patience was fraying. “To those with whom Darcy associates, his wealth and standing in society are all that matter.”

  “Then you can offer no proof.”

  Mr. Wickham took on an injured air. “If you choose not to believe me, that is your prerogative. I related these facts to you in the spirit of ensuring you are armed against him should you meet again. But it is your choice to do as you see fit with what I have told you.”

  “And I thank you for it,” replied Elizabeth, now eager to end this conversation. “I will take care, as I always do, Mr. Wickham. Under Mr. Bingley’s protection, I doubt Mr. Darcy, even at his most depraved, would do anything to bring censure down on his head.”

  While Elizabeth was certain the lieutenant wished to say more, it seemed he realized whatever more he said would only damage his case. Thus, he complimented her on her discernment, expressed hope for her safe journey, and allowed her to excuse herself. Elizabeth went away, her head full of thoughts of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy, though she did not for a moment believe anything the former said of the latter.

  So much were the thoughts of Mr. Wickham’s charges prevalent in the following days that another noticed. Mr. Collins was as unobservant as ever and Mrs. Bennet was wrapped up in her own languor. But Mary was far more perceptive than either of them.

  “Has something happened, Lizzy?” asked Mary a few days later. “It seems to me you have had some grave thoughts weighing down on you.”

  Though Elizabeth’s impulse was to remain silent, the prospect of speaking with another on the matter was appealing. Elizabeth had never been close to her eldest sister. Beyond the distance of seven years between them, they had never been alike to the slightest degree. These past weeks in Mary’s company since Jane’s departure had improved Elizabeth’s opinion.

  Therefore, Elizabeth explained to her what she had heard from Mr. Wickham, not stinting in relating her own examination of Mr. Darcy and what she thought of Mr. Wickham’s demeanor. Mary, as was her wont, listened with gravity and attention, not interrupting until Elizabeth had completed her account. Then Mary sat back and considered the matter for a moment.

  “That is distressing to hear, Lizzy,” said Mary at last. “As you know, my acquaintance with Mr. Darcy is of greater length than yours, though I cannot say I know him well. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, however, I do know well, and while the lady may be called many things, she is not one to stand for such behavior.

  “Furthermore, I have seen no such tendencies in Mr. Darcy, and there is not a whiff of scandal about him in Kent. While one might suggest he is not there long enough to have caused such havoc as Mr. Wickham implies, he visits for several weeks every year.”

  “I no more believe it than you do,” replied Elizabeth. “What I cannot account for, however, is what Mr. Wickham means to accomplish by turning me against Mr. Darcy. While I might meet the gentleman in London again, I cannot imagine my enmity would mean much to a man of Mr. Darcy’s position.”

  Mary paused, considering Elizabeth’s words. “I will confess, I do not know. He may blacken Mr. Darcy’s name wherever he goes.”

  “Yes, that is possible. Do you suppose Mr. Wickham tends toward imprudent behavior himself?”

  With a slow nod Mary said: “That may be. His eagerness to defame another to whom we possess the barest of acquaintance does not speak well to his character.”

  “Perhaps we should warn others in the neighborhood against his falsehoods?” suggested Elizabeth. “Before he spoke of Mr. Darcy, I had the distinct impression Mr. Wickham wished something from me, and I do not think it was an exchange of civilities.”

  “Which may mean the ladies of the district may be in danger,” replied Mary.

  “What should we do?”

  The smile with which Mary responded was unusual in its ferocity. “I think Mr. Wickham may have made a critical error, for he did not consider—or perhaps even know—that we have a previous acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. It is clear he also does not know Mr. Collins was Lady Catherine’s parson, and that my husband has an acute sense of loyalty to her ladyship.”

  While Elizabeth was not in the habit of appreciating Mr. Collins’s brand of obsequiousness, in this instance she could not help but believe they could put it to good use. That night at dinner, Mary raised the subject with her husband. His response was nothing less than predictable.

  “An officer of the militia defaming Mr. Darcy?” gasped Mr. Collins. “Oh, no, no, no, Mrs. Collins. That will not do! Mr. Darcy is everything gracious and amiable, incapable of such behavior as this Mr. Wickham describes. Why, I shall go to Meryton at once and call this officer out for daring to slander Mr. Darcy’s good name!”

  Though it appeared Mr. Collins was ready to jump up on the spot and rush off to Meryton, Mary’s soothing voice brought him up short. “Of course, I agree with you, Mr. Collins. But perhaps there is a better way to deal with this officer, who is, by virtue of his profession, better acquainted with weapons of war than you could possibly be.”

  Sinking into his chair, Mr. Collins blanched only a little. Elizabeth suspected he had not thought of what calling another man out entailed, and she knew for a fact he did not know one end of a sword from the other, and he had not so much as shot a rifle since arriving in Hertfordshire. The thought of his mortality prompted Mr. Collins to reconsider his rash stance.

  “You have some thought of how to deal with this Mr. Wickham?” asked he, his manner tentative and uncertain. Though Elizabeth had never had any respect or liking for Mr. Collins, the man knew his wife was superior in matters of thought and often deferred to her based on that knowledge.

  “Those of this neighborhood care nothing for Mr. Darcy or Lady Catherine, Husband,’ said Mary to her husband’s displeasure. “We cannot appeal to their outrage.”

  “Then what do we do?” asked Mr. Collins, his tone sulky.

  “Lizzy and I agree that Mr. Wickham must have other repugnant proclivities since he disparages another man with ease for the smallest of reasons. Perhaps if we speak of his actions toward our Lizzy and spread our knowledge of him, we can induce the colonel of the regiment to investigate his doings.”

  “As always, I shall be guided by your excellent suggestions, Mrs. Collins.”

  As it happened, where an appeal to the indignation of the neighborhood might not have succeeded, Mary was correct in apprehending that other factors were weighing against Mr. Wickham. They drafted Mrs. Bennet, apprising her of a few salacious stories of Mr. Wickham, and while Mary did not, in principle, approve of gossip, they used Mrs. Bennet’s propensity to carry tales to their advantage. Soon, there was not a drawing-room in the neighborhood which did not echo with talk of Mr. Wickham, and his crimes, real and imagined, grew with each telling.

  The colonel, hearing some of these accounts, investigated, discovering that some of the accounts bore truth, for he discovered Mr. Wickham was free with his favors. This led to several merchants coming forward with their concerns, leading to the discovery that he had run up debts in almost every shop in town. The debts of honor he owed to his fellow officers weighed the scales even further against him. These offenses led to Mr. Wickham’s incarceration and eventual court marshal and transfer from the regiment. The officer was never seen again in Meryton.

  As for Elizabeth, she resolved to think of the man no more. What he might have accomplished in the past with foolish young ladies, she could not say. She, Elizabeth Bennet, however, was no fool. Mr. Wickham had made his last mistake when he attempted to mislead her for no other apparent reason than his vanity.


  Chapter VI

  As March passed and the time for Elizabeth to depart for London approached, she began to prepare herself to leave Longbourn. If asked, Elizabeth might have been honest enough to confess she prepared long before it was necessary. Such was the discomfort she now felt living in her childhood home.

  Had Elizabeth anyone to speak to on the subject, she may have acknowledged the possibility she would never return to live at Longbourn again. Little though she wished to impose upon Jane, the prospect of living with her sister grew more desirable with every silly word which issued forth from the mouth of the detestable Mr. Collins. Mary was not an unintelligent woman; Elizabeth could not understand how she could endure that husband of hers. Then again, it was not as if Mary had a choice now.

  An interesting development occurred as Elizabeth saw to her personal effects. Mrs. Bennet, wallowing in monotony and bemoaning the tedium in which she lived, took an interest in Elizabeth, showing signs of life which had been lacking, of late.

  “You are to go to London soon, are you not?” asked Mrs. Bennet one morning when she entered Elizabeth’s room without so much as a by-your-leave.

  “As I informed you all at dinner two days ago,” replied Elizabeth, wondering at her mother’s sudden vigor. “Jane has confirmed the carriage shall arrive in two days.”

  Mrs. Bennet nodded. “While I might wish I could go with you, it is you who must find a husband. Pack all your best dresses, Lizzy, for there will be balls and parties and I know not what. You must make a good impression.”

  Amused, Elizabeth listened to her mother rattle on. What Mrs. Bennet did not know is Jane had promised Elizabeth a shopping trip as soon as she arrived in London. It was an unfortunate fact, but most of Elizabeth’s dresses, and all her finer clothing, were several seasons old because of Mary’s tightening of the purse strings. Even her finest clothes would not do for a London soiree, regardless, for according to Jane, the sophistication and cut society expected was far beyond what Meryton could boast. Though Elizabeth was of two minds about allowing her sister to purchase her clothing, the prospects of having new dresses was welcome after having gone without.

  If Mrs. Bennet knew this, Elizabeth understood her mother well enough to know she would dispense abundant useless advice on what she should purchase. Elizabeth had never agreed with her mother regarding fashions, considering Mrs. Bennet’s preferred styles ostentatious and frilly. Thus, Elizabeth remained silent on that fact, eager that her mother should never know of it.

  “Then it appears I have little time,” said Mrs. Bennet.

  Confused, Elizabeth stared at her mother. “Time for what?”

  “Why, to educate you on what you must do to catch a husband, of course,” replied Mrs. Bennet as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I blame myself for becoming distracted after Jane’s departure when I should have taken the time to ensure you knew what you were about. Well, there is little help for it now; I must work with what I have.”

  “Really, Mama, that is not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is! You have always been a headstrong, stubborn girl, intent upon going your own way. Now that your sister has married a man of fortune, she has proven it can be done. It is your turn to make me proud. But you cannot do so if you insist on speaking in that impertinent way of yours. Your manner must become more complying like Jane’s if you are ever to make enough of an impression to persuade some man to offer for you.”

  Mrs. Bennet, it seemed, was determined Elizabeth would not gainsay her, for she sat on Elizabeth’s bed and began to impart instructions. This set the pattern for the rest of that day and the one following, for her presence was ubiquitous and her advice never-ending. Mary, Elizabeth knew, saw what her mother was doing but she refrained from intervening, traitor that she was.

  To the astute reader it should be clear there was little sense in Mrs. Bennet’s exhortations. How excessive batting of her eyelashes to a gentleman would help him fall in love with her, Elizabeth could not determine—it seemed more likely he would suspect her of having something irritating her eyes. And leaning forward to expose her assets to some hungry man’s eyes was not something Elizabeth would do willingly, for that was a way to become fallen, regardless of what her mother said. After more than a day of this passed, Elizabeth became wilder to be gone, and she had thought she was eager before!

  As for Mary, to Elizabeth she was as closed as she ever was. While Elizabeth would never accuse her sister of being so callous as to wish to throw a sister off, she had a distinct impression that Mary was relieved Elizabeth was to depart. While this could be due to the further lessening of the family budget in her absence, Elizabeth thought it was more because of the uncomfortable relations which existed between her and Mr. Collins. More than once, Elizabeth overheard her sister speaking to her husband, attempting to induce him to refrain from saying whatever nonsense he wished to Elizabeth and maintain the family peace.

  “Are you excited to depart?’ asked Mary the day before her departure on one of the few occasions when Mrs. Bennet was not “instructing” her.

  “I am to see Jane again,” replied Elizabeth. Then, attempting to be diplomatic, she added: “It is hard to leave Longbourn, for it has been my home all my life. The prospect of new adventures and experiences is agreeable.”

  “Yes, I suppose it must be. I hope you enjoy yourself in London, Lizzy. Perhaps there you will find something I believe has been missing from your life these past months.”

  It was a bit of understanding Elizabeth might not have expected of her sister. It was also something Elizabeth had thought of little herself, though now that Mary spoke the words, they rang with a hint of truth.

  “You did not accompany Jane on her wedding tour,” said Mary.

  Drawn back to her sister, Elizabeth shrugged and said: “I did not wish to impose, though I know Jane would have welcomed me and Mr. Bingley would not have opposed her. It seemed best to remain here.”

  Mary nodded. “I commend you for your forbearance. As I have been a new bride myself, I understand the desirability of wishing to be alone with one’s husband after being married.”

  Elizabeth’s feelings for Mr. Collins did not allow her to reflect on the appeal of being alone with him, but she would not say that to her sister.

  “Let me remind you of our former conversation,” said Mary, moving on from her previous statement. “Do not be concerned about returning to Longbourn after your time with Jane. It has not missed my attention that you might prefer to live with Jane, and I will not attempt to dissuade you, as I know how close you are. As I suspect you will not find a husband so quickly in London as our mother believes,” the sisters shared an amused glance, “you will likely return hereafter. What I wish to say is I hope you do not feel your welcome is uncertain.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” replied Elizabeth with feeling. “Jane has asked me to live with her, but I have yet made no choice. I feel it certain I will return to Longbourn, at least for a time when my sojourn in London is complete.”

  “Then I hope to see you again, Elizabeth,” replied Mary.

  Never had Elizabeth felt so close to Mary as she did now, appreciative as she was for Mary’s assurances. Elizabeth did not think it likely she would live here long after she returned from London. The support, however, was welcome.

  In direct contradiction to Mary’s pledge was the conversation she had with Mr. Collins later that day. Though the man rarely concerned himself with Elizabeth, other than to berate her for walking out, on this occasion he called her into his room, the room that had been her beloved father’s refuge in a house containing six women and all their attendant concerns. There were few things Elizabeth wished less than to allow Mr. Collins to spout his nonsensical drivel, but Elizabeth thought it politic to allow him to have his say for the moment.

  It was the first time since her father’s death that Elizabeth entered this particular room, and while she might have thought the sight of it would bring pangs to her heart
, she was surprised by the reverse. Mr. Collins had removed the bookshelves her father had placed on every available wall space, leaving only one in a position of prominence between the two windows on the far wall. It stood there in loneliness, only a few tomes decorating its shelves. The removal of the other shelves and some other sundry items her father had kept in this room made it less crowded, brighter, and utterly without the character it possessed before.

  The only item in the room which remained much as she remembered was the solid dark bulk of the desk—Mr. Collins had even replaced the chair her father had used with one newer. Because there was little resemblance to the room she remembered from her earliest childhood, Elizabeth felt as if she were walking into a room she had never entered. Thus, though the thought of her father’s absence was before her, it did not affect her as much as she thought.

  All these thoughts passed through her mind in an instant before Elizabeth turned her attention to the man who had summoned her. Mr. Collins, when he closed the door behind her, took his seat behind his desk, lowering his bulk into the chair, prompting an alarming creak in response. Clasping his hands on the desk, Mr. Collins regarded her, saying nothing, and as he did not invite her to sit, Elizabeth decided it was safer to remain standing. As it was, however, she did not appreciate this man’s show of dominating her as if she were a child of five.

  “Tomorrow you are to depart from us,” said he at length.

  Though it was no question, Elizabeth replied: “I anticipate my reunion with Jane, though I offer my thanks for your continuing support.”

  Among Mr. Collins’s oddities was the tendency to preen on occasions when someone invoked his supposed benevolence, but her simple thanks did nothing to provoke that trait. Instead, Mr. Collins watched her, seeming to wonder if there was some hidden meaning in her words. As Elizabeth thought it pointless to attempt to convince him and uncertain what his purpose was in calling her into his bookroom, she remained silent, waiting for him to speak.