by Riana Everly
“Do you flatter me, Mr. Wickham? The last time we spoke, you were to be married to Miss King.”
The officer sighed dramatically. Oh, how good he would be on the stage, Lizzy thought. He had all the beauty and mannerisms of an actor. “Alas, that was not to be. My dear Miss King’s uncle refused our union and took her to live with him at Liverpool. I confess, my heart was not quite broken, although my disappointment was great. And yet, I find I am quite recovered now. And so I find myself in London on a short leave from my duties to finalise the arrangements of the dissolution of our engagement with my solicitor. I expect to be here some days as he deals with these outstanding and rather dull details.”
Needing to hear something of the truth from the man himself, Elizabeth asked sharply, “Should you have enjoyed such work yourself, Mr. Wickham? I recall someone once telling me you had chosen to pursue the law rather than the pulpit.” She fluttered her eyes innocently at him. “I cannot recall from whom.”
Mr. Wickham’s face turned white. “Did you, perhaps, see Mr. Darcy whilst you were in Kent?”
A genuine smile now crept over Elizabeth’s face. “Indeed I did. He and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, were both visiting their aunt. Do you know the colonel?”
Mr. Wickham looked at once surprised, displeased, and alarmed; but with a moment’s recollection and a returning smile, replied that he had formerly seen him often; and after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour.
“He is a most charming man, of excellent manners and most a pleasant disposition. He is quite unlike his cousin is some ways.”
Wickham concurred. Then, with an air of indifference, he added, “How long did you say that he was at Rosings?”
“Nearly three weeks. We saw him quite often—almost every day, I believe. He and Mr. Darcy were frequent visitors to the parsonage, when we were not invited to dine or take tea at Rosings.”
“The colonel’s manners are very different from his cousin’s.”
“Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance.” Elizabeth watched Mr. Wickham very carefully to gauge his reaction to this statement. He did not disappoint her.
“Indeed!” cried he with a look which did not escape her. “And pray may I ask—?” but checking himself, he added in a gayer tone, “Is it in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add ought of civility to his ordinary style? for I dare not hope,” he continued in a lower and more serious tone, “that he is improved in essentials.”
Ah, thought Elizabeth. Now it is he who is hoping to learn something from me. With the most pleasant and innocent smile she could manage, she replied, “Oh, no! In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was.”
Whilst she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning. There must have been something in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, as she added, “When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that either his mind or manners were in a state of improvement, but that from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood.”
Wickham’s alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated look; for a few moments he was silent; till, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the gentlest of accents, “You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right. And yet…” he drew his watch from its pocket with an elaborate show, “I find I must depart if I am to make my appointment on time. It was a pleasure meeting you here like this, Miss Elizabeth. Now I must bid you adieu.”
And they parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.
No sooner had Mr. Wickham disappeared down a winding path leading out of the park, than Mr. Darcy emerged from behind a nearby shrub. “Elizabeth, are you well?” he asked with greater alarm than the situation required.
Following Mr. Darcy’s stare at Wickham’s retreating back, Elizabeth perceived that Darcy had observed the interaction. “I was not happy to see him, Mr. Darcy, but as you see, I am quite well. He has no power to disconcert me.”
Mr. Darcy closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. “I am most relieved to hear that, Elizabeth. I observed him walking towards you, but I did not dare to show myself. I thought it might provoke an unwelcome scene. Did he say anything to upset you? Your face shows signs of tension and displeasure. Your eyebrows are drawn in slightly and from the look of your mouth, you are chewing your bottom lip. As much as you attempted to maintain a neutral demeanour in his unwelcome presence, I am now sufficiently attuned to your expressions that I realised you were not at ease.”
The concern in his voice was touching, and she felt all that aforementioned tension drain out of her brow as she grinned at him. “You are the most adept student a teacher might wish for, Mr. Darcy. You are correct on all counts and I thank you for you solicitousness at my well-being.” She gestured to the bench beside her, where he sat once more. “In truth, though, I hope I did not reveal too much. Seeing him here infuriated me, as I recalled his lies and slanderous words, and I intimated that I knew, perhaps, more than he might have wished me to know. I also suggested that you and I were on far better terms than we were when Mr. Wickham last saw us together in Hertfordshire. Something makes me wonder if that was a mistake.”
“Perhaps, Elizabeth, but what can the man do now? He can slander me all he likes. Those who are inclined to dislike me shall do so regardless, but what possible words could cause anyone to think ill of you? However, you are correct that he was hiding something as well, possibly thinking of something to further gain his revenge upon me, after I spoiled his plans last summer to elope with my sister. His face…” Mr. Darcy drew out of his coat pocket a corded velvet sack, about four inches in length and three across. Removing the items from the sack, he quickly fitted them together, much like a flute, and presented Elizabeth with the resulting item, a strangely bent tube no more than a foot in length. Elizabeth accepted the offered item, and quickly realised what it was.
“A periscope! I did not know you had your own, and so much smaller than what the boys made!”
“This was given to me by the glass master who creates many of the lenses I purchase. It is not very useful for most practical applications, being rather too small, but I thought it might be of use today with the boys. Although I did admonish the lads to respect others’ privacy whilst engaging in their game, I admit to using it to observe Mr. Wickham’s face whilst he spoke with you. I am disconcerted. As you know, I have perfect recall.” She nodded, and at her invitation, he continued, “I have recently discovered something interesting. When I recall a specific occasion, I find I am able to replay in my mind not only the words used and the circumstances of the event, but I can also hear in my mind the tones of voice used, as well as the expressions that happened upon the various people’s faces. It is like I am at the theatre, watching a performance. Every nuance is perfectly clear to me, as if it were happening at the moment.
“More interesting,” he continued, “is that such nuances of which I was quite oblivious before are now more open to me. I find that, with my new abilities to analyse and interpret facial expressions, which you have taught me so well, I can revisit those incidents from my past and retroactively decipher what others were feeling.
“Whilst you were speaking with Wickham, I recalled several of our past encounters, most specifically ones in which I now know he had some nefarious schemes in mind. I analysed his facial contortions from those past events, and I believe that, in concert with your lessons on reading expression, I have found certain tics that he exhibits at those times. There is a half-smile, on one side of his face, that suggests he is devising such a devious or ill-considered plan, as well as a tilt to his head and a peculiar motion with his lower
jaw and lip. As I recalled these past events, and as I watched him just these few moments ago, I noticed many of those same mannerisms.
“He is adept at schooling his features, as any habitual liar must be, but from what I have learned of late, his face does not betray deceit in the usual ways. Rather, these mannerisms are all quite benign and fleeting, at least to one who does not make a study of them. Since I have never commented upon them before, he must believe I am still blind to these things—or rather, I was blind! He cannot know of what I have learned, nor should he imagine you to have any such knowledge of his habits. You did not tell him of our exercises, I trust.”
Elizabeth shook her head in alarm. “That, sir, is something I should never divulge to anyone not of your closest circle, and even then, only at your direction.”
“I trust you, Elizabeth, believe me. But just now, when you were speaking to him, you must have said something that upset his equilibrium, if only for a moment. That moment was enough for his true thoughts to appear upon his face. I saw those same mannerisms. He has begun to think of some plans to cause further mischief, I am certain of it. I can only hope we discover what they are before he does anyone harm.”
It was only a few short minutes after this pronouncement that the first whoops of joy were heard from the boys. Samuel was the first to appear, waving his periscope like a conqueror’s sword, and holding his trophy high in the air with the other hand. “I found it, I found it! This is Robert’s object. See—he wrote his name upon it with chalk! I found it some several minutes ago and have been waiting for Robert to discover my own. Oh, that was so much fun!” He turned back expectantly as his friend came running after him.
“Sammy, here it is! Is this your name in Ancient Greek? Whatever did you use to write it? Did you use a knife? Oh, Sammy, you did! You carved your name in Ancient Greek upon a stone! What if some archaeologist from the British Museum had found it? He would have rewritten all the histories, proclaiming that the Greeks were in London, and that they had sons named Samuel Gardiner! Oh, what fun that would have been!”
Elizabeth could not help but be cheered by Robert’s irrepressible good humour and was thankful once again that he had chosen her quiet cousin as his friend. Almost immediately, the boys both launched into detailed descriptions of where and how they had discovered their clues. At length Robert ceased his part of the conversation and asked with some concern, “Is everything well, Miss Elizabeth? You look somewhat upset. Did something happen whilst we were searching to disconcert you?”
Elizabeth began to reassure the youth, when Sammy interjected, “It must have been that man.”
“That man?” Mr. Darcy asked. Like Elizabeth, he appeared both alarmed and intrigued at what young Samuel might have observed.
“The man that sat with Cousin Lizzy for seventeen minutes and eight seconds and spoke with her.” He then proceeded to give a most accurate description of Mr. Wickham, from the colour and shape of his eyes to the number and location of scuff marks on his boots. How strange, Elizabeth reckoned for the thousandth time, that her young cousin could be so perceptive of these physical details, whilst so unaware of her own discomfort during the course of the conversation.
“When did you notice this man?” she asked gently.
“I found Robert’s object quite a bit sooner than he discovered my own, and I was thinking to come here and rest with you, but as I walked near, I heard the man call your name and sit with you. I thought it would be more interesting to observe through my periscope than intrude on your tête-à-tête, and so I did just that!” He beamed proudly at his decision, and then, horrified, asked, “Did I do wrong? Oh, should I not have acted thus? Forgive me, Cousin Lizzy! I forgot my manners in my schemes.”
“No, you acted rightly, Sammy,” she assured him, “for Mr. Wickham had matters to discuss that were intended for my ears alone.” Not wishing the conversation to veer towards Mr. Wickham and his questionable intentions, she redirected the discussion back to the hunt. “Now, tell me more about your game. How did you find your clues? Robert, I see you wish to speak. Pray, I am most interested in hearing it.” And thus, the boys jabbered away thus through the afternoon and through dinner, until at last Robert’s parents sent for him.
But always, at the back of her mind, was Mr. Darcy’s dire warning of the troubles brewing in Mr. Wickham’s head.
Chapter Nineteen
Letters from Jane
Dearest Lizzy,
How lovely it is to be home, in my own accustomed house, with my familiar bed and my giggling sisters, and yes, even Mama! It is hard to believe that a full week has passed since we arrived home, for it feels at once as if I only just arrived, and as if I never left at all!
Oh, Lizzy, I cannot hold this in any longer! You were right—we had not been home two days when Mr. Bingley came to call! He claimed he came to invite Papa to hunt with him the following day, but when Mama invited him to stay for tea, he accepted almost at once, and then he stayed through the noon meal and into the afternoon, returning home only for dinner, for he had an appointment that he could not change. And then, yes, he was back the very next day after the hunt, when he did stay for dinner, and the day after that.
We have had time alone, when Mary leaves to find a new book, or when Mama forgets her embroidery upstairs, or when we are out walking, and he has requested an official courtship. Oh, Lizzy, I am so happy! I shall only be happier should he, at last, offer for me, and I do believe he shall. He told me that he wishes only to assure me of his regard and faithfulness. He blames himself entirely for what transpired last autumn, although he has confessed Mr. Darcy’s and his sisters’ roles in convincing him to leave. He said he would never have left had he believed that I cared for him. Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November, he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent would have prevented his coming down again! I could hardly fault him, for I know that I am often too reserved for many people, and if he made a little mistake, it is to the credit of his modesty.
Oh Lizzy, if only I could see you this happy!
Elizabeth sat back in the comfortable chair in the parlour as she read Jane’s letter. “Good news, Lizzy?” her aunt asked from her escritoire by the window.
“The best, Aunt. Mr. Bingley has returned to Netherfield and is courting Jane. I imagine it shan’t be long before they announce an engagement. Perhaps this ill adventure has taught them that they must talk openly with one another. But Jane is happier than she has been these many months, and I am delighted for her. But there is more. By your leave, I shall leave you to your own correspondence and read what else she has to tell me.”
Jane’s letter concluded in similar happy tones, with only a few lines near the end that raised the mildest bit of concern. Lydia was indeed to go to Brighton when the militia encamped there for the summer, as the special friend of Mrs. Forster, under the guardianship of the latter’s husband, the regiment’s colonel. Elizabeth had written a series of letters to her father, vague entreaties in which she dared spell out no particular details but which begged him to put an end to this scheme. These, it seemed, had all gone unheeded; she had represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia’s general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home.
With what attention he had read her words, she never knew, but his reply, as conveyed through Jane’s letter, was final: Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances.
“If he were aware,” sighed Elizabeth to herself, “of the very great disadvantage to us all, which must arise from the public notice of Lydia’s unguarded and imprudent manner; nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure he would judge differently in
the affair.”
Jane’s letter concluded with a somewhat more sanguine thought on the affair, as her father had affixed a short note of his own to settle the matter.
We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to any body.
We can only hope, thought Elizabeth, that he is correct.
∞∞∞
My Dearest Jane,
I knew he would come! I told you as much, did I not? I am so very happy for you, my Jane, and shall be even more so when Mr. Bingley makes you his wife. I do not think I shall have to wait so very long for that happy event!
In this vein, Elizabeth penned her reply to her beloved sister. She waxed enthusiastic about Mr. Bingley’s return, the great fortune of his sisters not accompanying him on this trip (how fortunate that he expressed to them that he was merely returning to Netherfield to hunt), and the great benefit to Meryton’s society now that the young gentleman had returned. She also wrote most enthusiastically of the experiment in the park with Samuel and Robert and their hand-built periscopes. She described the devices in detail, set out how they functioned, and outlined the nature of the game. She did not mention her encounter with Mr. Wickham, not wishing to bring any dark clouds into Jane’s newly sunny world. Jane must be allowed to enjoy the first days of her courtship with Mr. Bingley unencumbered with news of the vile officer.
