by C. J. Hill
He was soon entirely immersed, ignoring all distractions, his concentration absolute. Increasing the small allowance he had permitted himself tonight was his only object. He refused all offers of refreshment and, as the evening wore on, merely asked permission to loosen his collar due to the increasing heat and intensity of the game. Several players had come and gone, good-naturedly losing their money to the stalwarts enduring the turn of the cards, but of most of this peripheral activity Wickham remained unaware, such was his absorption. His main concern now was that his initial stake had been greatly diminished, and he was desperately trying to gauge when to retrieve the hidden card to turn his luck around. He had not deemed it necessary thus far but it must be returned or used soon before its absence was noticed. It was a tricky business indeed and he rather wished that Lydia was not so preoccupied with her own game.
While waiting for a new hand to be dealt, Wickham slowly became aware that the gentleman opposite, who had sat there all evening enjoying moderate success, was now very grudgingly relinquishing his seat, judging by his thunderous looks at the interloper insisting that he do so. The new gentleman sat down with great drama, setting out his money and drink carefully in front of him, all the while watching Wickham and waiting for his reaction.
Wickham finally raised his eyes to the new player and felt his heart sink as he met the smug smirk of the gentleman whom he had encountered thrice before. This time the gentleman appeared neither drunk, nor winning, nor losing – yet. He was clearly intent on some sort of revenge, judging by the look in his eye, and it was all Wickham could do to remain calmly seated and not immediately collect his meagre winnings and leave.
“So, sir,” the man snarled, “we meet once again across the table. Who shall be the victor this time, I wonder? Do we play, as we did before, until all money is gone? Are you brave enough for that, sir? Although, judging by your success thus far, it would be a short match indeed. Or shall your lady friend again interrupt us at the most opportune moment?”
Wickham smiled, outwardly calm, gathering his scattered composure about him with difficulty. Why was this person hounding him so? Who was he, and why had he fixed upon him as the object of his wrath? Had none other ever beaten him at cards?
“I think not, sir. We have met several times I think, as you say, but I have no desire to leave here empty-handed; I play for enjoyment only, and, as military man, cannot afford to bet all my assets as some do. As you so rightly noticed, based upon my current situation, I shall probably manage a hand or two more and then leave you to others who have deeper pockets than I.”
“Well, we shall see, shall not we? You have been playing for more than enjoyment this evening, sir. I have been observing you. I have never seen a person, who claims to play only for enjoyment, so intent on the cards as you have been tonight. If I were a suspicious person, I would think something other than honest enjoyment was going on to require such intensity of concentration. But I have no proof of course; it is all conjecture. And your luck so far certainly seems to point the other way.”
Those around the table laughed uncomfortably at his only slightly-veiled accusations of their friend and each loudly dismissed such an idea as outrageous and inflammatory: Wickham was a gentleman, a military officer, a man of his word. It did not do for a stranger to accuse him of such behaviour; he had better watch his manners indeed.
The man nodded at their outrage for their friend and smiled a knowing smile.
“I see you have sturdy support, sir; how fortunate you are. But they do not know what I know and have observed but am unable to prove – as yet. They will not be so keen to defend you when you are discovered, sir! That is all I will say on the subject for the present. Let us play. Perhaps your friends will stand as security for you when I have relieved you of your meagre stake – if they wish to see you clear your name.”
“Wickham! Do you intend allowing this person to accuse you and defame your character in this manner? It is most ungentlemanly and uncalled for, too, since he admits himself that he cannot prove his accusations. You must not allow him to insult you in this manner.”
“I will stand for Wickham’s debts, do not concern yourself with that, sir. He has many friends here who would see him make a nonsense out of your allegations.”
“And so shall I; he is assured of backing from any of his friends. Play the man, Wickham; he has nothing on you!”
“We have backed him before in this place and we shall do so again; we know he is a man of his word, unlike some here who think nothing of service to country and good manners.”
The whole crowd, it seemed to Wickham, was gathered about the table, each stating their own opinion on the subject of his character, offering generous support, and what should be done about clearing his name. He rose from his chair.
“Gentlemen! I thank you for your concern and kind generosity, but this gentleman’s accusations are nothing but surmise and jealousy; that is all. We have come across each other perhaps three times whilst in Brighton. In the first instance he lost to me; in the second he was drunk enough to accuse me of what he has again tried to accuse me of here tonight; and in the third, he won against me which should, under most sensible opinions, balance out his former loss but, apparently, it has not. And so here he is, once again, sitting across the table from me accusing me of ill-doings from which I can only surmise, from previous experience, that he is once again too drunk to know what he is saying. I feel that the best course of action for me would be to leave the table now since he finds my card playing so objectionable. I would not wish to bring unpleasantness into this house where I have spent so many pleasant hours.”
He began to leave the table, gathering his remaining winnings into his hand, amid much back-slapping and approval of superior manners being shown to such an unpleasant fellow. He turned to the man who still sat smiling at the furore he had created, tapping his fingers upon the edge of the table and watching Wickham absolve himself.
“I hope that whatever crime you believe you have seen me commit, you will believe no further. Accusing a man not once but several times in public can only result in one ending and that, I assure you, you would wish to avoid if you value your life. Forget whatever quarrel you seem to have with me, sir, and, if you have any sense, do not attempt confront me in such a manner again.”
“Then play a round or two, sir, for meaningful wagers, if you have nothing to hide or fear. Your friends seem to be convinced of your honesty – perhaps I can be also. Who will fund this game, gentlemen?” He looked around at the eager observers and watched as they emptied their pockets for their friend until a sizable sum had grown in front of Wickham. Wickham had no choice but to regain his seat, nodding to the man across the table.
“As you wish, sir, although I regret that my friends have had to put themselves at risk just to prove your point; I hope to justify their confidence in me, while absolving myself in your eyes at the same time. Deal the cards, sir.”
Silence pervaded the usually noisy room; all eyes were locked upon the game that included several players but focused on only two. Cards clicked, shuffled, and flipped down on the table and the coins and notes made rapid progress into the middle and then out again to every other player than Wickham. Luck was not his friend that evening to be sure, but, with his current hand, the re-introduction of the missing card would turn it from an almost-certain winner into a definite one. Suddenly, everyone jumped.
“Remove your coat, sir!” The man leapt to his feet, his eyes glinting with icy rage. “In front of your friends there can be no reluctance to do so, and I would like to be proved correct in my accusations.”
He waited.
The crowd around the table grew silent, waiting expectantly, eyes fixed upon Wickham.
Wickham fought to keep his composure and his smile fixed even though, inside, his heart had stopped beating for a moment.
He had been discovered! He was caught and thoroughly trapped. But how? What had he done?
Such a reques
t could not be refused, but for obvious reasons, he could not agree to it either. What seemed like hours passed as the tableau remained waiting for his response; his friends, confused but now slightly questioning too.
He drew himself up and firmly re-adjusted his collar and buttoned his jacket.
“It seems you did not hear my warning to you a short while ago, sir; that you should forget your quarrel with me or it will be the worse for you. You have now accused me once too often, in front of my friends and fellow soldiers, and it is not to be borne. I will not allow you to besmirch my character in such a manner without reprisal. We will settle this at five o’clock tomorrow morning in the open space on the edge of town. You are formally challenged, sir: apologise or accept.”
The crowd around the table grew vociferous in their agreement with such an honourable move and the man’s response could hardly be heard.
“Challenge accepted, sir,” he bellowed. “It will be decided there and then since you refuse to oblige my simple request. Clearly you would rather die at my hands than remove your coat in front of this company; I think everyone can take their own conclusions from such a decision.”
Wickham nodded and walked unsteadily from the table. He was outside the house before he realised he had left Lydia there alone and unaccompanied. He thought a moment to return and collect her but continued on to his lodgings; some other friend would stand in for him. He felt dizzy; disconnected; disbelieving that he had forced a duel – he who avoided all unpleasantness as much as possible. But it had had to be done; saving face was all that was left and that man had accused him mercilessly, so confident in his accusations. As he well should be, Wickham grimaced wryly to himself, as he regarded the card that dropped from his sleeve upon the removal of his coat.
Hastily, he began stuffing his effects into his travelling bag; there was not so much that he was done within fifteen minutes. He began to consider the matter of his departure; horses were difficult and expensive to hire secretly in the middle of the night, and he was rather reluctant to waste his winnings meant for Julia’s approval and their new life together. To his other debts about town he gave scant consideration.
His scattered thoughts were brought to attention by a rapid and persistent knocking at his door, revealing Denny, Carter and Lydia all anxiously enquiring about his plans, their enquiries dropping off as they surveyed the room and its disarray. Denny broke off from excitedly offering his services as Wickham’s second in the morning, to ask the meaning of it.
“But you are all packed, Wickham? Do not say you intend fleeing before your accuser like coward? A soldier fleeing before the enemy – it cannot be so. Stay and fight like a man, sir. Uphold your good name or else lose it forever. You cannot seriously think that this man will overcome you, trained as you have been for combat? He is the fool to think himself your equal; he would have been better apologising and skulking away to save his hide. I cannot believe that you are thinking of reneging on the challenge – but I shall not. Appoint me your second and I shall do what you are too scared to do. You shall not bring the name of the Regiment down through your actions, sir! I thought you better than this.”
“Oh! No!” wailed Lydia, frantically. “I could not believe it when Denny told me of your actions, Wickham. How dreadful to be insulted in such a manner and in front of everybody too. I do not blame you at all for challenging him, but I would not have you die on account of mere words. Better to renege than die a hero! No! Please listen to me, Wickham. You must not fight him; it is not worth the trouble and certainly not worth the chance that he might overcome you, and kill you. And we cannot hope that he also regrets his actions and is even now hastening out of Brighton; from all accounts, just as I was leaving Mrs. Bracecourt’s with Denny and Carter, the gentleman’s name is Royce and he fully intends slitting your throat! Those were his last words to his friends, some of whom were yours only an hour ago, Wickham.
“Promise me you will not listen to Denny and remain in danger. You must leave this instant – of course you must; every moment you delay only brings the likelihood of your death even closer. All of this nonsense about bringing disrepute upon the Regiment. I can tell you that Colonel Forster would not be pleased to know of such an encounter, especially when he particularly forbade excessive gambling so recently. He will not thank you for upholding your name against the disgrace involved for the Regiment if all should go badly. Listen to me, Wickham: hire a horse and leave immediately!”
Wickham, Denny and Carter looked at Lydia as she voiced her opinion; her message was clear but none hearing it would willingly endorse such a notion. Wickham had issued a challenge: he must honour it. He began to feel the embarrassment of his packed bag and hastily-emptied room in which they all stood – testament to his feelings of fear and cowardice clearly visible to his friends.
“Miss Lydia; allow me to escort you home,” said Carter, understanding that the other two gentlemen still had some discussions to conclude. “It has been quite an evening and I am sure that the Colonel would never forgive us if you remained here a moment longer. You must return to the safekeeping of your friends; there is nothing you can do or say now that will affect the outcome of this evening’s events, I assure you. Come with me, if you please.” And he led the still-protesting Lydia through the door and out into the street towards the Colonel’s house.
Wickham looked at Denny in the stillness of her leaving; he tried to present a brave face to his friend but bravery escaped him in the imaginings that sprang up concerning his future. It was quite possible that he had very limited time left for that future and he felt regret for the time he had wasted and the many things he had not yet accomplished; at the forefront of those regrets was, of course, Julia. She would never know what had happened, would not understand the reason for it if she did. No one knew about her because such a superior job of concealing their relationship had been effected over the years.
“I accept your offer to be my second, Denny, if you would be so kind. We have been good friends for some time now and I know the strength of that friendship will support me through this encounter. I will do my best to triumph over my opponent.
“But I must give you some information in the event of my passing, if that proves to be the outcome in a few hours, which concerns a certain person. I would not have her forever wonder why I never returned to her, as I promised. Guarantee that you will complete this task for me should it be necessary, and I will not fear the worst in the morning.”
Denny promised, agog to finally have some insight about his friend’s private life. Wickham then proceeded to relay the barest details about his relationship with Julia: its beginnings, its difficulties, and its proposed culmination once Wickham achieved personal security. Denny saw for the first time a depth of sincerity and attachment in Wickham’s eyes and was greatly affected by his story. That his friend had another life had many times been the topic of idle conversation between the officers; speculation of a wife hidden away somewhere had always been the most probable reason for his frequent escapes to London, but this wife, this common-law, unmarried, but a wife in every other respect, who had remained devoted so long to Wickham, utterly changed Denny’s prejudice towards her. The woman Wickham spoke so warmly of was self-reliant, intelligent, diligent and whose only true fault, upon Wickham’s own admission, was that she remained devoted to a person utterly unworthy of such devotion. A woman, therefore, quite the opposite from the one of the officers’ imaginings. Denny assured Wickham, upon listening to the end of his narrative, that he would gladly relay the sad news, should it be necessary, to such a patient and deserving woman as she must be.
“But what have you been doing with Miss Bennet, then, Wickham? I thought you to be quite taken with her these past weeks; we all wait for the announcement very soon, you know! She clearly believes it to be so and has hinted of it to many of her acquaintance.”
Wickham smiled ruefully, unwilling to admit the hold Lydia Bennet actually had over him; revealing too many secrets
in one evening could not be prudent.
“Lydia Bennet lives in her own world, Denny. She believes something to be true: therefore it is. You know as well as I do that a lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from mere politeness to admiration, from admiration to marriage in a moment! I have shown her the courtesy of escorting her about Brighton when she feared she was missing all the fun. As a family friend, I took it upon myself to increase her enjoyment while she is here. That is all there ever could be between us, I assure you, Denny.”
“Well! She certainly had an opinion about your fighting tomorrow; a more than a friendly interest in your safety. But why have not you told her about Julia? Surely that would have been the most efficient way to divert her attention from you; you have given her false hope.”
Wickham laughed hollowly. “It never deterred her when she I showed an interest in her sister, nor when I was almost engaged to Miss King. Until I am leaving the chapel with my bride on my arm, Lydia Bennet will still believe she has a chance with me; she will remain undeterred until then. There is nothing I can do to change her mind on that score.
“But you must leave me now, Denny. You have spoken frankly and sensibly to me and I thank you for it. Of course I must honour my challenge, and I shall do so with my good friend by my side. All thoughts of flight have left me, I assure you. Come and get me in a few hours and we shall go together. Good night, my friend.”
Denny bowed in acknowledgment and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Chapter 34
After Carter had escorted her home and seen her safely inside, Lydia climbed the stairs to her room filled with the greatest doubt and dismay. Wickham was to fight in the morning, a mere five hours away, and although the notion of such a daring exploit would usually have caused stirrings of excitement in her breast had it been about to happen between other men of her acquaintance, with Wickham she could not be so sanguine.
