by Nicky Roth
“Your hat? No. But you know, my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, always says in an ordered household everything can be found in the nick of time.”
“Lady Catherine?” Darcy asked startled. How typical of her to engage such a man!
“De Bourgh, Sir. Yes. You may have heard of her. She is a most illustrious person you must know, the sister of the Earl...”
“Of Matlock. Yes, I am well aware of that. So you are the new parson at Hunsford then, after Reverend Harris’ death?”
“I was not aware you were acquainted with Lady Catherine, Sir.”
“She is my aunt. And if you could please send for a maid to get me my hat, I would be very much obliged. I would like to return back home.”
This declaration brought a new onslaught of compliments and senseless remarks, but at last Fitzwilliam Darcy got his hat and was finally on his way to Netherfield.
Chapter 4
♥♥♥
Quietly closing the door behind herself, Elizabeth Bennet leaned against it and cried for a few more moments before reason returned and she began to evaluate what she had just heard. It was hard to grasp what had been said, and even harder to get hold off of what had been implied. Could it really be that Mr. Wickham could have told her the untruth? Lying about his misfortunes? If she were honest it seemed quite possible. He had been very charming in his attentions to her and she had been flattered by this. Suddenly it did not only seem possible but oddly plausible even. What man would go around bragging so about his misfortunes to people he had only just met?
Then again, she thought, raising her chin defiantly, she knew people well and had good judgement and Mr. Wickham had looked truthful and trustworthy while he spoke, and had behaved so very different from Mr. Darcy, who decidedly was not a pleasant man at all. He was haughty and impolite and thought himself above each and everybody of their small circle.
But a disagreeable man did not make a bad one, while an agreeable man did not necessarily make a good one, that much she knew.
Sitting down in front of her dressing table she stared into the mirror atop it, losing herself in deep contemplation, and starting right at the beginning thought about the first time she had met either man.
‘Tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me’, had been Mr. Darcy’s words. The very words he had spoken rather harshly, and which had stung her despite laughing them off. This surely was not a good start to any acquaintance. But what if he was right? She was not as beautiful as Jane, her mouth was a bit too wide, her chin too pointy and her eyebrows were asymmetrical. She was happy with her figure, even though it was far less graceful than her sister’s, but her hair was stubborn at the best of times, having her struggle every single morning till she managed to make it look decent. Well, brutal honesty was decidedly less amiable than even an insincere compliment, there was no denying it.
Mr. Wickham on the other hand had complimented her right from the start. Now that she thought about it, she found it odd that even though Jane was the more beautiful he had never paid her any attentions at all, even before he had been aware of Mr. Bingley’s interest. Could it be that he had singled her out because she was not as pretty as her older sister and thus would be more receptive to his flattery? From a prudential point of view it did not seem unlikely. And it had worked very well, too, if she was honest with herself.
Propping her chin up on her entwined hands she kept on glancing into the reflecting surface, as reflection was what she needed in this instance, heart and head battling within her. In the end she had to admit that even though she still did not like Mr. Darcy very much, that if he had one fault aside from his haughtiness and pride, it was his unrestrained straightforwardness. He did not flatter, he did not indulge, but he was honest. This realisation ultimately led to the conclusion that, if that was the case, what he had said about Wickham must be the truth. George Wickham was a liar, a gambler and an idler, a man not to be trusted no matter how charming he was and how amiable she thought him to be. The thought was not a pleasant one.
How long she had sat like that she did not know, but it must have been a considerable amount of time. Elizabeth was woken from her reverie by a shrill squeal which she recognised as her mother’s. Concerned, as it was so much louder and shriller than it normally was - which in itself had to say something, she hurried downstairs only to find a group of people assembled in the entrance hall of her family home once again.
“Oh Jane! Jane, what a happy woman you will be!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “So well married! Five thousand a year!”
This could only mean one thing. - Mr. Bingley had proposed.
The man himself stood by their father’s side looking embarrassed but happy, and her sister Jane was positively beaming, appearing even more like an angel than she normally did. Pushing her disturbing thoughts aside for the moment, Elizabeth Bennet rushed downstairs and joined in the general cheer.
Mr. Bingley left shortly after as the rain, though not stopping, had at least ceased somewhat and he seemed quite eager to get back to Netherfield to share his good news. Though for some reason Elizabeth doubted his sisters would take it as such. Once more her thoughts turned towards Mr. Darcy. Did he know about his friend’s intentions? She was quite sure he did and it surprised her that he seemed to support his friend in his suit. What a vexing man! As soon as one thought to have made him out he had to turn around and show yet another side of him. Vexing, vexing man!
“Well Jane?” Elizabeth spoke to her sister when her family was sitting down for dinner, “Tell me everything about it.”
Jane smiled, her cornflower blue eyes lighting up.
“Lizzy, he has proposed, can you believe it? He loves me truly and dearly he says, and that in marrying him I would make him the happiest of men ever to have walked the earth. It is like a dream, a fairy tale! I can hardly believe it myself.”
“I could pinch you, so you would know it is not a dream.” Lizzy offered, her dark eyes lighting up once again as her sister’s joy banished all gloomy thoughts for the moment.
“It is not a dream, I know. And still I wonder how I deserve so much happiness. If only there was a man like that for you, Elizabeth. A man who loves and cherishes you as much as my Mr. Bingley does love and cherish me.”
“Dearest Jane, to be loved and cherished in such a way means one deserves it. And you certainly do. I, on the other hand, am far too bold and too impertinent to be entitled to such merry prospects. No, I will have to make do with becoming an old spinster and be content looking after your ten children, pestering them about their lessons and to sit straight.”
Jane only laughed at this declaration, while her mother, as usually was the case, did not catch the humour in her tone of voice cried out, spoon half-way to her mouth: “How can you say such a thing, Miss Lizzy? If only you would not always insist on being so very clever in front of the men and instead be more demure, you would be very well able to catch a husband. You might not be as pretty as Jane nor as good humoured as Lydia, but if you tried being agreeable you could no doubt find a man willing enough to take you as his wife.”
At such a speech from Mrs. Bennet the laugh tucked at the corners of her mouth, and it took Elizabeth some effort not to spill soup all over herself. Casting a conspiratorial glance at her father she saw her own amusement mirrored in his eyes, though he was too engaged in a rather one sided conversation with Mr. Collins, to make a remark. Meaning Mr. Collins spoke ceaselessly, while his cousin and host merely pretended to pay attention.
When at last Mr. Collins had decided to eat what he had dished up for himself, Mr. Bennet however did begin to speak: “There is an issue that has come to my attention and that I would like to lay before you. It seems there is a young man who, a few days ago, has taken a commission in Colonel Forester’s regiment.”
“Oh, you are speaking of Mr. Wickham, surely!” exclaimed his youngest daughter.
“Yes, that is the very man. Now this gentleman it seems, is not to be trusted. Mr. Bin
gley has informed me, when he has asked his permission for the hand of my eldest daughter,” here his eyes darted over to Jane and a small smile spread across his face where before it had been quite serious, “that he is in the habit of gambling and leaving behind debts before he disappears. And he seems to have also ruined more than one young lady with his charming ways and courteous manners.”
At the last remark Mr. Bennet looked intently at his two youngest daughters, who in return stared at him wide eyed and open mouthed.
“One should not speak badly of a fellow creature, Cousin, Lady Cath...”
“You are right of course, Mr. Collins,” this remark was impatiently interrupted, “one should not speak badly of a fellow creature. But since Mr. Bingley offered me proof of the man’s infamous behaviour should I require it, I dare say to speak the truth can hardly be deemed as speaking badly about a person. And aside, one day you might be in my position, Cousin, and would you not also warn your daughters of any evil that could befall them?”
“If your daughters had been brought up in the way I intend to bring up my children, under the proper guidance of a clergyman such as I, I doubt they will need such a warning.” Collins replied, his mouth full of potatoes. “Lady Cathe...”
“Yes, yes, I know! Lady Catherine de Bourgh would offer you advice and consolation and at any rate, under her watchful eyes no man would dare approach the daughters of her parson.”
It was a sign of how much Mr. Bennet had been irritated by his cousin over the last couple of days, that he did not venture to be more polite. But as it was, William Collins had a knack of making himself disagreeable by simply opening his lips and saying something utterly foolish, and Elizabeth could not help thinking, that if she had the choice of conversation between Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy, she would decidedly prefer to speak to the latter. At least he had a brain between his ears.
“By the way, this afternoon and quite by chance I found out the most wonderful thing...” their visitor carried on, undeterred by the whispers around him as what their father had said slowly but surely sank in. “… - One of the gentlemen visiting us this afternoon is a nephew of my noble patroness.”
In their minds each of the Bennet family members, apart from perhaps patient Jane and pious Mary, added: “Lady Catherine de Bourgh...”, but no one ventured to remark on it.
“Actually a nephew! And as he is such, he is of course cousin to Miss Anne de Bourgh, and I happen to know from Mrs. Jenkinson, who is her former governess and who still lives at Rosings as Lady Catherine’s companion, that Miss de Bourgh is engaged to her cousin. So you see, he is the very man who one day will inherit Rosings through his most amiable wife.”
This day, Elizabeth thought to herself, was full of surprises indeed. Not only was Mr. Wickham a scoundrel, and after her father’s speech she now had to take it as the truth, but her sister was engaged and so apparently was Mr. Darcy.
“Poor Miss Bingley!” she muttered under her breath, thinking of the woman’s desperate attempts in becoming Mrs. Darcy. If Mr. Darcy really was spoken for she would not stand a chance, though judging by the man’s treatment of her she never had had one in the first place. And after all, a Miss Anne de Bourgh could hardly be any worse than a Caroline Bingley, even though her mother sounded more than just slightly formidable.
“Lizzy,” Jane said softly as they lay in Elizabeth’s bed to talk some more in privacy.
“Yes?”
“Why has Mr. Darcy left so hurriedly this afternoon? Mr. Bingley was quite disconcerted, you know.”
Sighing Elizabeth related the whole story to her sister, admitting at the end of it that perhaps she should have heard him out.
“To think that he even admitted it would sound as if he intended to slight Wickham. You know, one more thing occurred to me during dinner. Mr. Wickham told me the whole time that he could never speak badly of a Darcy because of his regard for the old Mr. Darcy, and yet, he has done so the whole time. He spoke horribly about Mr. Darcy and slightingly about his younger sister also, on more than one occasion. Can I really be this blind, Jane?”
Smiling as serenely as always Jane answered: “We all thought he was good and amiable, Lizzy, not just you. And he has such an appearance of goodness about him that more experienced people than you or I have fallen into his trap. I would not worry about it so.”
“It is just that I wonder if I might have misjudged Mr. Darcy as well.”
“Would that be of any importance, Lizzy?”
Chapter 5
♥♥♥
It had been a week full of excitement. Excitement for various reasons. There were the invitations for the ball that had needed to be written and then delivered. And after that naturally, there had been the other preparations for the ball, as Caroline was determined to impress her country neighbours with real London elegance and splendour, neither of which they could possibly encounter in a place like Meryton. After all, they should know they dealt with people of more consequence than themselves, people of fashion, style and taste.
As another part of her preparations for the ball Caroline Bingley had made sure that all the officers were included in the invite, and she personally paid them a visit to put much stress on the importance of the young men’s attendance: ‘As there were ever so many ladies sitting down’. She had met with the elusive Mr. Wickham, or Lieutenant Wickham as he was now, and there was little doubt he would do charmingly to ensnare Miss Eliza. A few Pounds in advance had already made him very complying, and with the prospect of earning double of what he had already received she could be sure he would do his best. Oh, what fun it would be to see that little country chit lose her good graces with Mr. Darcy!
With great amusement she had recounted her encounter with George Wickham several times in the last few days, happy with the result and her own connivance.
‘I heard there is a Mr. Wickham here, who has recently joined your regiment, Colonel.’ she had enquired after issuing the invitation to the officers, claiming: ‘You know he is a family friend of ours.’
‘Now is he indeed?’ Colonel Forester had smiled, standing by the window to watch his soldiers gather in the yard below his office. ‘He never said so. But then, he does not speak much about his past. I see he has just come back. Perhaps you would like to speak to him then? I am sure he will be happy to see a familiar face.’
At that Caroline had smiled brightly and with an overly polite curtsy had left the room and walked over to the man the Colonel had, unbeknown to him, indicated. Not that there had been any need to. Lieutenant George Wickham in his red coat was a dashing figure, and to describe him merely as handsome was nothing but a blatant understatement. He was almost as tall as Darcy, and his figure was equally elegant yet somewhat daintier. He had dark, almost black hair and the bluest eyes she had ever seen on a human being. His features were perfectly even, as if they had been crafted by an ancient master, his skin was almost as smooth as her own, safe for a small scar on the left side of his chin, which lend him somewhat of a rakish air. And if that was not already enough, when he smiled the most charming dimple appeared on his cheek. And he smiled often, presumably knowing well about the effect it had on the ladies. Even Caroline Bingley was not completely immune to his charms. Shame he was just a nobody.
‘Mr. Wickham?’ she had approached the baffled looking man.
At which he had warily answered:‘Yes?’
Of course, he was a scoundrel. No wonder he seemed constantly on his guard.
‘I have just come to invite the regiment to my brother’s ball.’
If anything he had appeared even more baffled by this statement.
‘I have a little appointment for you, that I am sure you cannot resist.’
‘May I enquire with whom I have the pleasure?’ the dashing officer had at last asked. ‘As you seem to know me, but I am afraid I have not the pleasure of recalling you, Madam.’
‘But of course you would not recall me, Mr. Wickham, as we have never met before. However, we
happen to have a common acquaintance.’ Caroline had smiled sweetly.
‘Ah...’
‘Actually two. One is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.’
‘And the other?’
‘Oh, never mind. It is Miss Bennet I am concerned about in this very instance. You know, she has an unwanted admirer, and I have it on good authority that she has taken a liking to you. Hence I would greatly appreciate it if you could take her under your wing, so to say. During the ball I mean. She is such a dear friend, I would even be willing to compensate you for your troubles.’
That he did not decline this straight away was a good sign. She had no use for a scrupulous gentleman.
‘Would you?’ the lieutenant had at last asked, his face showing an expression of amusement and interest bordering greed.
‘Yes, let us say four hundred Pounds? Two hundred now, and the rest once you have fulfilled your assignment.’
‘Hm, Miss Elizabeth must be a very dear friend then.’ he had smirked. ‘Be honest Madam, she is your rival.’
‘A Miss Elizabeth Bennet could never be my rival, Mr. Wickham! But if I can be honest with you, I rather have her out of the way. Will you do it?’
‘So Darcy has lost his heart to a country chit? Interesting. Yes, Miss Bingley, which I presume is your name, I dare say we do have a deal.’ he had stretched out his hand and she had taken it with a look of triumph on her features.
The remembrance of this conversation still made her smile with malicious glee.
So Caroline’s hours had been spend most efficiently, as time and time again she had thought over her plan, had spoken to her sister and had made sure none of their party thought too highly of the Bennet’s and their connections, all the while completely ignoring the happy look on her brother’s face that always turned somewhat nettled when she made yet another attempt to belittle them. Sometimes she wondered what had happened a few days ago when Mr. Darcy had so early, unexpectedly and clearly livid returned from Longbourn without his friend, while her brother had returned much later and looking all the more happy. Charles could not possibly have made Miss Bennet an offer, could he? And Mr. Darcy? Had he made an offer to Miss Elizabeth and failed? This disturbing thought she pushed to the back of her mind as fast and far as she could. No, Mr. Darcy would never do such a thing. On the contrary even. Nowadays he seemed to smiled at her on occasion, glancing up from his book or a letter he was reading, and yet there was always a somewhat distant expression on his face when he did look at her. Odd!
