by D. L. Carter
Mrs. Bennet gaped at them.
“On what?” she demanded when she recovered her voice.
“It was an old pamphlet that papa had left over from his university days,” said Elizabeth and sat, indicating the chair beside her for Darcy.
Unwilling to waste another moment on her most confusing child, Mrs. Bennet directed her attention toward forwarding the courtship of Jane and Mr. Bingley.
“Why, Mr. Bingley, how kind of you to call. I was just saying to the girls that we should invite you to dine once this dreadful mourning period is done. But I quite think we have that level of friendship that you would accept an invitation to a family dinner before then.”
“I would accept, indeed,” said Bingley, smiling first at Jane then glancing toward Darcy.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Bennet in a much less welcoming tone. “Mr. Darcy may come as well, if he will. And your sisters?”
“I suspect my sisters shall have other plans. But I shall pass the invitation along. When shall this dinner take place?”
“This evening?” hazarded Mrs. Bennet and was overjoyed when her invitation was accepted.
She hustled out of the room, shouting for the housekeeper, and all gathered seemed to let out a sigh of relief.
Darcy shifted his chair so that he faced Elizabeth and excluded some part of the room.
“Tell me true, Miss Elizabeth,” he said in a low voice. “How is all with you?”
“Well enough,” said Elizabeth although a shadow did pass across her countenance. “You have heard, I suppose, about Mr. Fitzwallace’s message from the pulpit?”
“With astonishment. He was present, was he not, at the inquest? He and Mr. Prescott were part of the jury? How can they be saying these things?”
“They were there, to be sure. Papa summoned them Sunday to explain themselves but, of all things, they refused to come! They, the magistrate, the coroner. They have all ignored all of papa’s messages.”
“What is this? How can they deny a parishioner’s petition?”
“It is not as if any in the house is ill or dying,” said Elizabeth, picking up her embroidery frame and examining the flowers. “They must have known papa would demand a reason for the choice of readings.”
“Cowards.”
“Poltroon,” suggest Elizabeth and that small dimple that caused Darcy to think of kisses made a brief appearance in her cheek.
“Exactly so,” said Darcy, surprised. “Shakespeare would know how to describe him.”
“Scurvy Jack-Dog Priest,” suggested Elizabeth and Darcy laughed aloud.
“Stale Old Mouse-Eaten Dry Cheese,” quoted Darcy in reply.
“Good heavens,” cried Elizabeth. “Why?”
“Have you seen Mr. Fitzwallace when he raises his gaze to heaven as he prays? Raises his hands? There are signs that the mice have been nibbling on his vestments.”
Elizabeth raised her embroidery above her face to hide her laugh.
With sparking eyes and a flash of small white teeth she shook a finger at him. “To speak so of a man of God. Shocking, Mr. Darcy.”
“When he is a man of God, I shall speak with more respect.”
“As you will have it.”
A giggle from the other side of the room caught their attention. Kitty was ignoring their guests in favor of the view from the window.
“Oh, now we shall have some fun,” announced Kitty. “Lt. Wickham and Lt. Denny have come to call.”
Darcy turned so quickly the legs of his chair scraped on the floor.
“Wickham pays calls here?” he demanded.
“I know you do not like him,” continued Kitty, loudly. “But we like him well enough. At least he speaks to us.”
So saying Kitty turned her back on the room to wave vigorously out of the window. Mrs. Bennet returning from the kitchen peered over her daughter’s shoulder.
“Oh, excellent. Mr. Wickham has come as he as promised.”
Then Mrs. Bennet bit her lip and scanned the room.
Her dearest Jane was sitting conversing softly with Mr. Bingley who looked to be as smitten as ever. That was to the good since Mr. Bingley had his five thousand a year to recommend him and a suite of rooms at Netherfield was infinitely preferable to a simple cottage bedchamber and one measly drawing room. But as for Mr. Wickham with his fine manners and pleasant address, it would not do to let such a clever man, so well versed in estate matters, to escape when she had four more daughters to marry off.
Her gaze fell on Lizzy, still seated conversing politely with that dreadful Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham used to regard Lizzy as a favorite. Jane would persuade Mr. Bingley to promote dearest Lydia before some wealthy friends. Mrs. Bennet knew Lydia deserved a good life. Mary, who knew what sort of man Mary would wed? Well, she could stay at home and be a spinster. After all, Mrs. Bennet would need someone to run and fetch. And there was Kitty to consider as well.
But a life spent as the wife of a steward was more than Lizzy could expect, under the circumstances, and if Mr. Bennet were so unreasonable as to not give Mr. Wickham the duty then a life following the drum would take Lizzy out of the neighborhood quite nicely.
But then, she might be writing, needing money and there was little enough to go around. Far better to talk to Mr. Darcy about the living that was owed to Mr. Wickham. A clergyman in a good neighborhood would be able to provide for a family and it would be somewhere for Mary to go when her mother no longer needed her.
Now was the perfect time for Mrs. Bennet to attend to that matter. Yes. She would advocate for reconciliation between childhood friends. Vicar’s wife in a far off living would still see Lizzy a satisfying distance far from home. Either situation would be preferred than having Lizzy remain under her roof. There simply remained the task of redirecting Wickham to Lizzy’s side.
“Mr. Darcy,” called Mrs. Bennet.
Darcy glanced up. Mrs. Bennet stayed firmly planted on the furthest side of the room from the door and waited. When Mrs. Bennet made no further comment and did not walk toward him it was no less than gentlemanly to go and discover her needs. He rose without complaint and joined her.
“Mrs. Bennet?”
“I did not hear your answer earlier, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Bennet when he was far enough away from her daughter. “Shall you be staying to dine or shall you leave? I must know the numbers at my table.”
“I would be honored to accept your invitation, Mrs. Bennet.”
At that moment the door opened and Mrs. Hill escorted in the next wave of visitors.
“Mr. Wickham,” cried Mrs. Bennet, abandoning Darcy in an instant and charging across to greet the men. “And Mr. Denny. How good to see you.”
“Mrs. Bennet,” replied Wickham with a charming smile. “Where else would one go for the best of company when one has leave?”
“So kind of you to say so,” simpered Mrs. Bennet. “Now, we have other visitors so, Mr. Wickham, look, there is a chair available near our Lizzy. And Mr. Denny, I have no doubt you shall find much to discuss with Kitty there in the window.”
Denny accepted this instruction without any complaint, slipping past Darcy to exchange smiles with Kitty. Mary took advantage of the moving about to reclaim her position at the keyboard where she began to, softly, play a heavy portentous piece by a German composer. Mr. Wickham hesitated, glancing across the room to where Miss Jane sat with Mr. Bingley. Darcy prepared to take a step toward Elizabeth but unaccountably found her mother in his way. Mr. Wickham, however, did not hesitate. Instead of taking the proffered chair he strolled across the room to bow to Jane.
“Miss Jane. May I say I have never seen you in better looks? The morning light is your friend.”
“Mr. Wickham, good morning,” was the mild, polite reply. Jane sat and both Bingley and Wickham took straight-backed chairs facing her. The two men exchanged startled looks, an expression not quite a frown passed across both faces then they turned back to Miss Jane.
“May I say that shade of peach becomes you particular
ly,” said Bingley.
Jane blushed in reply.
“Come now, Mr. Bingley,” said Wickham, “surely you have observed there is no color that does not become Miss Jane.”
Darcy stared for a moment before returning to Elizabeth’s side. Mrs. Bennet frowned at the scene before her but since all were seated except herself, she accepted it for the moment. After observing the conversations she turned and left the room.
“How long has this been going on,” demanded Darcy of Elizabeth with a tilt of his chin toward the threesome on the other side of the room?
Elizabeth did not pretend not to misunderstand.
“Not long. We have not seen Mr. Bingley since the day of the funeral and Mr. Wickham has called twice.”
“And paid pointed attention to Miss Jane?” Darcy frowned. “She is not his usual flirt.”
“My sister does not flirt,” replied Elizabeth with a sharp edge to her tone.
“Forgive me, I mean no slight on your sister. It was an observation on Mr. Wickham. He…”
There was a clatter of footsteps and Lydia flew into the room.
“Wickham, I saw you arrive from my window. How wonderful to see you. And Mr. Denny.” Lydia entered, holding out her hands toward both men.
Wickham and Denny rose but made no effort to move toward her.
“Miss Lydia. You do look well,” said Wickham in rather suppressive tones. “May I assume by your presence here that your father has declared you out again?”
“Oh, that is nothing to me,” said Lydia, with a flip of her hand. “Come, sit with me, and tell me all the latest news. Is the colonel’s wife still…”
“I am afraid, Miss Lydia that it is something to me,” interrupted Mr. Wickham, as if it were his daily duty to remind young girls of their place in the world. “If you are to remain with your family I am afraid that Mr. Denny and I must leave.”
Mr. Darcy's jaw dropped and he snapped it shut as soon as he realized. When had Wickham become the advocate for proper behavior? Something was deeply wrong here.
“No. That must not…” Mrs. Bennet, who had just returned, turned on her heel and departed. In the distance they could hear her rapid knock followed by, “Mr. Bennet. Mr. Bennet, you are needed immediately.”
Mary began playing louder and no amount of shushing from Jane or Elizabeth could lower the volume. Soon enough, though, they heard Mrs. Bennet return accompanied by her scowling husband. It took only one meaningful look from her father for Lydia to leap from her chair and depart, casting mournful looks over her shoulder toward the soldiers. Neither man met her gaze and soon turned their attention to the women near them. Lydia’s expression of betrayal was sincere and she ran upstairs in tears.
Mary played on, filling the silence as Mr. Bennet prepared to retreat.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet. Mr. Bennet,” cried his wife. “Only stay a moment to attend Mr. Wickham. When he visited last he commented to me on the state of a bridge on our property.”
“Not a criticism, Mr. Bennet,” said Mr. Wickham rising quickly when Mr. Bennet turned his heavy gaze upon him. “Only I thought, since it was in an odd location, that your steward might not have yet seen it. If you might give me his direction I should call and arrange to view it with him.”
Mr. Bennet’s expression did not change but he took in Mr. Wickham’s position on one side of his eldest daughter, with Mr. Bingley on the other, and gave a sharp nod.
“Come along,” said Mr. Bennet. “I have a map of the properties. Let me see where this damage is.”
“Your servant sir.” Wickham bowed to Jane. “If my present charming companion will excuse me?”
Jane inclined her head while Bingley steamed. A moment later after a simpering Mrs. Bennet escorted Wickham from the room she returned and placed herself beside Elizabeth.
“How nice of Mr. Wickham to show attention to our property, do you not agree, Lizzy?” she declared. “Only think how attentive to his neighborhood he might have been were he a clergyman. Such a gentleman. So refined and polite.”
“I have every reason to doubt his abilities in that regard, ma’am.” Darcy drew a deep breath. Usually only the very greatest need would cause him to reveal some part of his private dealings, but he did not like the way Mrs. Bennet was trying to direct Mr. Wickham toward Elizabeth. Impossible though it seemed, Mrs. Bennet seemed to regard Wickham as an acceptable suitor. Penniless lecher, Wickham, with Elizabeth? It was intolerable. “I believe I remember the circumstances upon which Wickham was to receive a living, ma’am. The terms of my father’s will were conditional only. If Wickham took orders and served five years under the practical tutelage of a respectable vicar then he was to have a living when it fell vacant. Wickham, however, was quite clear in refusing at the time of my father’s death, declaring his intentions of never taking orders therefore he did receive a considerable sum in lieu of the living of Kimpton. I must wonder what has become of that money if he is willing to accept a militia salary now. No doubt wasted in loose living and gambling. He always had a weakness for cards and was forever exceeding his income.”
He shook his head. Mrs. Bennet sniffed and gave him her back. Obviously his words had little effect on her prejudices.
Elizabeth, however, did come alert as he spoke. When her mother moved away she said: “Sir, I admit I listened closely when Mr. Wickham told his tale of woe and suffering at your hands. Are you telling me he … he lied?”
“Most comprehensively, Miss Elizabeth. He long ago learned that telling a story of lost hopes and unrealized ambition, particularly within the church, created sympathy in his listeners - of which he would take excessive advantage. Believe me, there is no man less worthy of serving in the church, and I include your curate, Mr. Fitzwallace, in that group.”
“I am relieved to hear you say so,” said Elizabeth. “I have had such conflicting reports as to confuse me utterly. Now my mind can be at rest.”
Darcy smiled at her. She believed him. She was safe!
At that moment Mr. Wickham returned and Mrs. Bennet was in motion again.
“It is such a fine day, and we have so few this time of year, you should all take a turn in our garden. We have a very pretty wilderness and Jane particularly finds the shrubbery a pleasant stroll.”
Immediately Darcy stood and held out his hand to Elizabeth. She smiled up at him and slipped her hand into his. This was the first time he had held her soft hand in his without the barrier of gloves. She was soft, warm, and fit well in his palm. He closed his fingers over hers and held them just a touch too long before releasing them. A blush climbed her cheeks and she reclaimed her fingers slowly instead of with a tug. Mrs. Hill and a maid entered with the young ladies outdoor clothes and bonnets.
In the shuffle Mrs. Bennet descended again and placed herself between Darcy and the door.
“I had hoped to see more of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Mr. Bingley tells me they are waiting until the end of the mourning period to call. Such refined manners. However, I would have thought that their friendship with dear Jane would bring them hither earlier. Please assure them we would be happy to see them.”
“I cannot say,” said Darcy. “Bingley might have a better understanding of their intentions.”
Darcy tried again to extricate himself from his hostess but she shifted again. Behind her Wickham appeared at Jane’s side to hold her bonnet while Bingley held his temper.
“Oh, Mr. Wickham,” called Mrs. Bennet.
With all appearance of pleasure Wickham abandoned Jane’s side and came to her. “How did Mr. Bennet receive your news? About the damaged bridge?”
“Indeed, he was most grateful.”
“Excellent.” Mrs. Bennet turned. “Lizzy, there you are. Be sure to show Mr. Wickham the shrubbery.”
Darcy swallowed a curse at Mrs. Bennet’s incomprehensible matchmaking.
He had taken the risk, exposed his private opinion and Elizabeth had believed him. She was safe while she stayed within her family park. She was safe from
Wickham’s lies.
For now. She would know to regard him with suspicion and avoid his society when she could. But that did not mean that Darcy should abandon her while they walked.
Ah, but he had not prepared for Mrs. Bennet’s ongoing interference.
“Kitty, I am certain Mr. Darcy and Mr. Denny will be interested in the view over toward Netherfield,” continued Mrs. Bennet.
Darcy knew without being told that Netherfield would be on the other side of the house from the shrubbery. Judging by the lack of enthusiasm on Miss Kitty’s face, he would have no difficulty avoiding her stewardship.
There was nothing in Miss Elizabeth’s expression indicating Mr. Wickham’s presence was unwelcome. Neither was she enthusiastic to be walking out with him.
The party of young people escaped into the chill daylight. The areas to which Mrs. Bennet directed them were reasonably sheltered from the strong breeze coming across the fallow fields but the front walk of Longbourn was not. Elizabeth shivered despite her pelisse, shawl and lined gloves.
“I believe you would be sheltered over near the wall,” observed Mr. Wickham, gesturing toward an out of the way corner of the park.
“I think I prefer to walk in the sun,” countered Elizabeth.
She considered walking after Jane, for the protection of her company, then realized that would put Bingley and Wickham face to face again and that she judged not to be wise.
Before she could chose a path a hoarse whisper came from the side of the house. Turning Elizabeth saw that Lydia had escaped her chambers again. The small girl was leaning out of the doorway leading from the garden in to the still-room. As Elizabeth turned Lydia ducked back out of sight. Shaking her head Elizabeth considered how to respond to this repeated disobedience. Before she could move or speak Mr. Wickham placed a hand under her elbow and leaned close.
“It would be best to pretend not to have seen her. She will not dare to enter the garden. Not with the risk of being seen from the window.”
He nodded toward the bay window of her father’s bookroom then started them walking, of course, in the same direction Jane and Bingley had taken. Not being able to think of a reason to go elsewhere Elizabeth strolled along. Darcy and Denny came into view, each on either side of Kitty. Elizabeth saw the exact moment that Kitty caught sight of Lydia. She started, looked worried, and then in response to some signal, abandoned the gentlemen to hurry back to the house.
