The Goodness of Men

by Anngela Schroeder

  “True.” He nodded, his eyes leaving hers. “George Wickham has always had a silver tongue. But was I so appalling? My character so much in question? I beg you, please, speak plainly.”

  She was unsure of how much to reveal. How much to say to keep their tenuous friendship intact but decided the truth was what he deserved. “I had not known you more than a month when I decided all the claims that Mr. Wickham made against you held merit.”

  “But why?”

  “It was your arrogance, sir, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. Forgive me, but you did not dance one dance at the assembly, you refused to speak to any of the towns people, and in a crowded ball room…openly pronounced me merely tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt you.”

  “Miss Elizabeth—”

  “I know I am no beauty,” she continued, “but to have it so directly claimed, in a public place where my friends and family could hear…”

  “I am ashamed of what I said,” he replied, his contrition great. “I do not deserve your esteem.”

  “And yet, you are earning it.” The darkness added to the intimacy of the moment. She continued to whisper which lent an eerie echo in the chamber. “I admit freely, these last days have taught me I was wrong in my prejudice towards you. I placed too much trust in Mr. Wickham’s opinion, and I am ashamed of my misjudgment. That my pride blinded my notice of your true character.”

  “And I, Miss Elizabeth, am ashamed of the lie which has for so long burned in your heart. You are not merely tolerable, and for quite some time, you have more than tempted me.” The light had all but faded from the room, and the only sound was her breathing and the drops of water splashing into the pool. “I hope you can forgive my arrogance and conceit?”

  “Only if you can forgive my unbending pride,” she said quietly.

  “It has already been forgiven.”

  “As have your transgressions.”

  “But not forgotten?” he asked, a tenderness in his voice.

  “Almost, sir.”

  He reached for her hand, just as the candle sputtered its last and they were plunged into darkness. Their party’s lanterns in the other chamber reached them but the distant glow only offered the direction.

  Her breathing increased as she felt him raise her gloved hand to his lips. “Do not be afraid, Miss Elizabeth. I will see you safely to our destination.”

  Of that I have no doubt, Mr. Darcy.

  He carefully moved her towards the light and away from this room where so many demons stirred.

  Darcy kicked his heals into Ulysses’ flanks and thundered across the Derbyshire countryside on his way to Pemberley. He reined up his steed after a long run and rested at the top of a bluff looking out across his beloved Derbyshire. Thoughts of Elizabeth flitted through his mind like moths at sunset. She has softened towards me. What I overheard between Elizabeth and her aunt can no longer be true. She knows my regard. A satisfied breath escaped him and he raised his chin to the sun until another thought interfered. Wickham!

  “That she would have esteemed him over me.” The man who has done nothing but ruin my life since we were young. Yet, I cannot blame her. Through my rudeness, Wickham gained an ally. Elizabeth Bennet is not a woman who places any significance on wealth or status. She is a treasure. Besides, even my father, the best man I knew, was taken in by Wickham’s lies throughout his lifetime.

  He shook his head and pulled at the reins. “Come, Ulysses. We must hie to Pemberley and bury ourselves in business for a fortnight. For if we do not, old friend,” he said, patting his horse’s mane, “I fear, my heart will not endure the separation!”

  Elizabeth had been bothered. Bothered and disappointed that Mr. Darcy had left to return to Pemberley. He had taken leave of her, much as he had of everyone else. True, he had bowed over her hand, and lingered a little longer than usual, but it was still not enough. She was befuddled. I miss his presence. I miss his strength—the obvious protection he offered without needing to voice a word.

  There was no anticipation when they stopped to rest the horses that she would see him either laughing with Mr. Turner or catching him glancing at her. I will not be in his presence for two weeks. It was true that much had been alluded between them in the caves but she was still at a loss.

  It had been past six o’clock when they had returned to Chenowith, and she had two hours to rest and dress for dinner. If only I could solve this puzzle. She removed her spencer and went up to her bed chamber, fatigued from the long trip of the day. I am still at a loss as to what is the basis of his hatred of Wickham, though. True, I no longer believe Mr. Wickham possess the sterling character he proclaims nor do I trust him. However, Mr. Darcy’s depth of loathing confounds me. Should there not be some goodness in all men? She chuckled at her own thoughts and sighed. “I am beginning to sound too much like Jane!” she said to the empty room.

  She called on Sarah to remove her stays, then lay down on her bed trying to make sense of what happened that morning in the cave.

  “He is maddening!” she mumbled to herself, noticing the first sign of rain drops splattering at the window panes.

  She rolled over, frustration oozing from her, and fluffed her pillows again and again to no avail. Why is he so set to disapprove of Mr. Wickham? He did offer to help guide Lydia in Brighton. Granted, I did not truly wish for his assistance, and he offered it most insistently. She chewed at her bottom lip. Is their contempt for each other solely based on jealousy? Might both of them be to blame? I, too, would be as angry as Mr. Wickham if after years at university to study the church, something occurred and my living was denied or revoked or…well, I am uncertain what else could have happened!

  She huffed in exasperation, looking over at the door to his chambers which she knew were now empty. Years at University to study the church… If my living had been denied me…

  She sat up in bed, wide-eyed. “What would you have done, Lizzy Bennet, if your living had been denied you?” As realization washed over her, she whispered to the empty room. “I would have found another living. I would have utilized the connections I had made at University with good men of character to ensure I had a position befitting my station and education…”

  She curled up in her bed and looked out the window as the rain streamed down the glass while deeper misgivings took root in her heart.

  Dinner had been more of a trial than she expected. The food, although certainly delicious, had no flavor, and she counted the ticks of the clock, waiting to be excused to the music room. With Mr. Darcy gone, there was no spark for her, nothing to look forward to. Her only interest was counting the days until they would leave for Pemberley.

  “You are very dull tonight, Lizzy,” her aunt Madeline said as they stood. “Is all well?”

  “Yes, indeed, Aunt. It has only been an adventurous day, and I am fatigued.”

  “Is that all? It is not the loss of Mr. Darcy’s company?” she whispered to her. Elizabeth could only respond with a weak smile.

  “Well, he did say he was looking forward to our arrival at Pemberley in two weeks. I am certain we will have an enjoyable visit, and you will be in awe of Pemberley.”

  “Have you ever been there?” she asked, sitting down in the music room and Mrs. Gardiner taking the seat beside her.

  “Shortly after we moved to Lambton, when I was about seventeen, the Darcy’s had a large festival for their tenants. One of my friends from school invited me to go, and it was the most enjoyable moment I can remember in my youth.”

  “Did you meet Mr. Darcy?”

  “Oh, no. He was away at school then. I remember hearing the family had suffered some sort of tragedy involving the oldest son the year before and this was the first social occasion since.”

  “Oldest son?” Elizabeth asked, spinning around to look at her. “Mr. Darcy had a brother?”

  “Yes, he did. I am not familiar with the particulars of the story because he died before I moved to the village. And no one wanted to
speak of it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Mrs. Darcy was devastated, as all mothers would be, but shortly thereafter, she was with child again. She delivered Miss Darcy but died soon after the birth. There was a black cloud over Pemberley and Lambton for a long time.”

  “And Mr. Wickham? Were you familiar with him as well?”

  “No, not at all. He was at school with the younger Mr. Darcy. Then I met your uncle and married before they both returned home to Pemberley to live. I saw them both during school holidays in the village but never met them. We lived in very different circles, you see. I have heard of Mr. Wickham by reputation, though, but believe all men deserve a chance to rectify their past mistakes. And, according to you, dear girl, he has.”

  “Past mistakes?” she asked, swallowing her fear. “What mistakes?”

  “Oh, let us not speak of such things which a young lady need not worry about. Some men are wild in their youth but change as responsibility takes hold of their lives.”

  Lizzy knew not how to respond to such a statement and remained quiet with her thoughts. They were sitting in this attitude while Mrs. Anderson was playing the Baldwin grand, and Mr. Turner was reading a book, when there was a knock at the door.

  “Sir?” Mrs. Green, asked waiting at the entry. “Pardon the interruption, but a carriage has arrived, and the footmen said it is Mr. Anderson’s young cousin come early.”

  “Let her come!” Mrs. Anderson said, standing and walking to the door. The entire party followed her to the hallway, and the door was opened by the butler. In walked a young lady, her belly swollen great with child.

  A cry escaped both Elizabeth and Mrs. Green’s mouth, and an oath was heard coming from Mr. Turner, as the butler announced, “Mrs. George Wickham.”

  Chapter 9

  July 13, 1812

  Elizabeth looked at the young lady sitting across the room from her. She was young to be sure, no more than Lydia’s age. Upon Mrs. Margaret Wickham’s arrival, a letter had been written to Lydia and sent express, warning her to be on guard around Mr. Wickham. How could he be both a dead husband and with Lydia in Brighton?

  Mrs. Wickham. Her red mop of curls poked out from beneath her widow’s cap and the black gown was becoming too snug around her midsection. The song she played on the piano bathed the room in a somber mood.

  She had arrived four days before but following the physician’s orders had not come down from her room until that morning. Elizabeth had chosen a book from the library and had come upon her in the music room, quite by surprise, having believed it was Mrs. Anderson playing the melancholy tune.

  “Forgive me. I do not wish to interrupt your solitude, Mrs. Wickham. Excuse me.” Elizabeth turned to go, only to be stopped by a hesitant voice.

  “Please, stay. I would welcome the company.”

  Elizabeth sat down on the chair by the piano.

  “Pray, forgive me.” There was a catch in her throat and a small tear trickled down her cheek before she wiped it away. Mrs. Wickham sniffed before slowly smiling. “You would believe that after six months, the grief would be felt less.” She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I have been so often alone lately, I believe I have forgotten how to behave in company.”

  The young woman got up from the piano bench and made her way to the settee. Her steps were labored but there was a strength in her.

  “Miss Bennet?” Mrs. Wickham interrupted her thoughts. “Do tell me about yourself. I have craved company these last weeks.”

  “Of course,” Elizabeth said. “I come from a family with five daughters, so you can imagine companionship is never missed. My father owns a small estate, Longbourn in Hertfordshire, and I have been lucky to travel with my aunt and uncle, the Gardiners. Unfortunately, an emergency in my uncle’s warehouses forced him to return to London early.”

  “Oh, I have always wished to go to London.”

  “And one day you shall. There is the theatre, the opera, Vauxhall Gardens, Hyde Park. There is no end to activities of enjoyment.”

  “That is how I imagined it. My husband was to take me there when he returned from the continent.” Her eyes lowered, before gazing out the window.

  “May I ask how you met? Or does it bring you pain to speak of him?” Elizabeth patted Mrs. Wickham’s hand.

  “It brings me comfort to think about him. When I speak of him, it is as if he is not gone.” She rested her hands in her lap and continued. “My father passed two years ago, and my dear mother joined him last November. I was left under the guardianship of my father’s business partner.

  “A Mrs. Younge was recommended to him as a companion, and she shortly came to live with me in my home. She was all that was kind and good, and when her brother came to visit for St. Andrew’s Day before departing to a new post on the continent, we fell madly in love.”

  It cannot be Mr. Wickham, can it? He did go to Cornwall for training in late November of last year…

  “It is still unbelievable to me, but we married by special license with the approval of my guardian within the week.”

  Elizabeth’s surprise must have said all in her countenance.

  “I see your astonishment. It sounds unlikely, I know, as if from a novel. You must believe me—we were so in love. We had a month of happiness, and he spoke of resigning his commission, but then he was promoted to colonel. And with that opportunity, added responsibility.”

  “A colonel? He must have been devoted to our country.”

  “He was,” she said with pride. “And, although I was upset, he explained what an honor it was, and how hard he had worked for this new rank.” Her voice faltered, and she spoke through her tears. “He said he wanted me to be proud of him from having come from nothing and accomplished so much.”

  Elizabeth looked at her quizzically, before she continued. “You see, my husband was a wonderful man, who had been mistreated in his life time.”

  An uneasiness crept up her neck.

  “George was originally from Derbyshire. His father was the steward of an estate called Pemberley. Do you know it?”

  Her mouth was dry and she was sick for the tale she knew was to come.

  “My husband was the godson of Mr. Darcy, the elder, who upon his death promised my husband extensive property in the north and a small property in Italy.” Her face took on a dreamy expression, as she continued. “He used to tell me about Rome and Florence, and although I was afraid to leave England, I knew I only needed my husband by my side.”

  Elizabeth could only nod her head at such a tale.

  “However, after the death of Mr. Darcy, his son refused to honor his father’s wishes. He removed my dear Wickham from all records of the home and refused him his inheritance of twenty thousand pounds.”

  Elizabeth gasped. The amount of money was extraordinary but she was more horrified as the truth was revealed. How could he have married this girl for her dowry and left her and his child? And how can she believe he has been killed?

  “He left for the continent in January. In March, I received a letter from one of his comrades, a Captain Carter, that he had perished in battle, and Captain Denny also wrote that he spoke of me until he drew his last breath.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. “You see, Miss Bennet, my marriage might not have been of some duration, but the short time that we had was filled with love.”

  Elizabeth was too stunned to speak. She did not know how to reply, or what to make of this story. She wanted more than anything to believe it was a different George Wickham, but she knew there was no way it could be anyone else. And that Carter and Denny were also involved in the deception!

  “And, did your husband know of the babe?”

  “No, he did not. After he departed, Mrs. Younge left as well. A distant cousin became ill. I did not know the ways of womanhood, and it was not until my maid explained did I understand I was with child.

  “My father’s partner died in a carriage accident”—Elizabeth’s b
rows raised in disbelief—“yes, I know. The losses I have suffered this year have been staggering—and another business acquaintance encouraged me to contact Mr. Anderson and his family.”

  “Pray forgive me for prying, but did you not have your inheritance to live on?”

  “You see, my father was worried about mercenary men, and therefore put in a stipulation that after the marriage, the bulk of the money is unavailable for the first year of marriage. After that time, it can only be removed by my husband or myself. As George is now…deceased, I had hoped to ask Mr. Anderson to act as my guardian and assist me with my inheritance. And I found that Mr. Anderson is out of the country and had removed his wife here to the North. I was fortunate to find Mrs. Anderson here.”

  “I am certain he will when he returns. And if he does not, Mr. Turner will.”

  She was quiet for a minute, then said, “I had also contemplated contacting Mr. Darcy. He and George were once like brothers. I am hopeful that with the circumstances, he would see it in his heart to forgive whatever past indiscretion he claims George has committed against him. For the sake of our child.”

  “Yes, well…”

  “Mrs. Anderson said we are to go to Pemberley in less than two weeks for his sister’s birthday, and the invitation has been extended to include me.”

  “I believe it has, but do you think...”

  “I am still in mourning but have a greater purpose than lamenting the loss of my husband.” She straightened her shoulders back and looked at Elizabeth. “Do you know Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Would you say he is considered a kind man?”

  “I do believe some would say that, yes.”

  “Do you think he is forgiving?” Mrs. Wickham asked, anger and helplessness in her voice.

  Elizabeth looked at the young woman and thought about her conversation with the man only a few days before in the caverns, and felt her own anxiety pique. “I do hope he is, Mrs. Wickham. I truly hope he is.”