Mr. Wickham stared at Mary for a moment.
“Mr. Darcy is a powerful man. He circulated certain rumours about my character, which unfortunately damaged my reputation. I found it impossible to find a living, which is why I eventually abandoned my dream and purchased a commission,” Mr. Wickham said haltingly.
“He accused you of being a scoundrel? Surely there are many in the country who would see a man so clearly eager to give his life to worship, and would realize that the rumours were wrong.”
Mr. Wickham was silent for a long moment, apparently thinking.
“He accused me of witchcraft,” Mr. Wickham said finally, causing both Bennet sisters to gasp audibly. “Though not illegal, no man who is known to practice the old ways could be seen as a suitable leader of the faith.”
“That is a heavy accusation, sir. Why would he say such a thing?” Mary said sharply. Elizabeth bit back a smile — though she had been reticent to have Mary privy to the conversation, she was proving exceedingly useful at pulling details from their new friend. Mr. Wickham sensed it too, and seemed reticent to speak. Though Elizabeth would normally have endeavored to soothe the man’s discomfort, she was desperately eager to hear his tale, and thus stayed uncharacteristically silent.
“It is a long story, Miss Mary. You are aware, I presume, that Mr. Darcy has a younger sister?” Mary shook her head, but Elizabeth nodded.
“I have heard her spoken of very warmly by Mr. Darcy and his friends,” Elizabeth said, breaking her silence. Mr. Wickham creased his brow.
“She is indeed an accomplished young lady, but I worry she is following her brother’s example of arrogance and pride. She is very young, you see, not yet sixteen. Having grown up at Pemberley, and being a close friend of her brother’s, I spent much time with Georgiana in her youth, and she was very fond of me. I looked on her like the little sister I never had,” Mr. Wickham paused his story and turned to the sisters, who were both staring at him with eagerness for his story.
“I was not in Derbyshire very much during my university years, and when I returned, Georgiana was delighted. We grew very close, and I came to realize in time that she had fallen in love with me.”
Elizabeth and Mary gasped at the same time.
“Did you love her back?” Mary asked, surprising Elizabeth. Mr. Wickham tilted his head.
“In my own way, yes. But you see, she has led a sheltered life, and I was one of the few men she knew who was not a direct relation.” Mr. Wickham trailed off and stared into the distance for a time before continuing.
“I did not feel it was right to pursue the match. She was much too young to make such a decision, and having never experienced the world, I did not want her trapped in a marriage with the first man she met. Not to mention that, as a Darcy, she was used to a very specific style of life and level of comfort that I could never hope to give her as a parson’s wife.”
“Did you tell her this?” Elizabeth asked. “Was she very upset?” Mr. Wickham nodded.
“I did. I told her that I did not think she would be happy in that life, and that she was still too young to fully grasp all that she would be giving up. I tried to be gentle, but she was crushed. Can you blame her? Who of us who has felt the pain of first love has escaped truly unscathed?”
“What happened? Wouldn’t Mr. Darcy be happy that you did not pursue the match? Or was he angry that you had rejected his sister?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly breathless.
“One would think,” Mr. Wickham answered. “But he was enraged when he discovered what happened, and, though I did not want to think it at the time, I cannot help but think that Georgiana was not honest in her explanation of the events. Darcy accused me of using witchcraft to ensnare his sister’s heart as a way to her fortune, and cast me out.”
The party stopped outside the wall of Longbourn’s garden as Mr. Wickham’s story concluded, and it hung heavy in the air between the three of them, swirling as visible as their warm breath in the cold air.
“Thank you for accompanying us, Mr. Wickham. It has been a most illuminating walk,” Mary said, curtseying to Mr. Wickham and reaching over to take Elizabeth’s basket. Giving her older sister a hard, meaningful look, Mary disappeared around the wall to the garden.
“Would you like to come for tea?” Elizabeth asked, looking toward the house after her sister. Mr. Wickham hesitated for a moment.
“Truly, I would, but to be very honest I am not sure how much more conversation I can handle about Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” he said at last with a grin. Elizabeth nodded.
“Indeed, sir, I understand your meaning,” Elizabeth said, laughing. She paused for a moment, and then turned toward him, slightly anxious. “Mr. Wickham, in regard to your earlier statement, please know that there is no apology necessary. After hearing more, and comparing it to my own observations, I cannot help but feel you are in the right. Your position has not decreased in my eyes, I assure you, and I thank you for your patience. You have been very open, even though I have no right to such knowledge.”
Mr. Wickham smiled widely, reached for Elizabeth’s hand and, drawing it to him, kissed her lightly on the back of her hand and causing a flush to fill Elizabeth’s face.
“Miss Elizabeth, I thank you. But if I may say one more thing….” he trailed off, suddenly looking unsure.
“Speak, Mr. Wickham. We are friends; you have no need for hesitancy with me, I assure you,” she urged. His face turned serious, and he looked around, as if ensuring they were alone.
“I will not press you further on the incident from the other day, but I must be very clear on this point: Mr. Darcy despises magic. He does not trust those who practice it, and does not understand it. You must be careful.”
Elizabeth stared at him, her eyebrow arched in confusion.
“But sir, on many occasions Mr. Darcy has broached the subject of magic with me, and I have always thought it to be out of curiosity, not spite,” Elizabeth protested. But Mr. Wickham shook his head.
“Trust me. I know the man as I would know a brother. He fears those who practice. Has he never expressed his opinions on the subject to you?”
Elizabeth bit her lip as she thought back to their strange conversation on Oakham mount. “It is my opinion that magic is often used as a crutch by those seeking an easy solution, and is often practiced by individuals who are naive and unaware of its true nature,” he had told her. But he had not seemed angry or accusatory when he said it. Was he attempting to determine if she was a witch? Did he suspect her?
Mr. Wickham watched her silently, observing as she mulled over his words, and pressed onward.
“Miss Elizabeth, I assure you, if he could, he would bring back the witch trials. You must promise me to never give Mr. Darcy even the faintest reason to suspect you, or I fear you would greatly regret it.”
With that, Mr. Wickham bobbed his head and set off down the road. Elizabeth was still standing just outside the garden when Mr. Collins found her, lost in thought.
“Cousin Elizabeth! I have been hoping to see you. It is such a beautiful day, and you are so fond of walking; would you care for a stroll with me? I have something I wish to discuss,” Mr. Collins said. A jolt of dread passed through her. Was this the moment? Was he going to propose now? Of all times? She nodded her acceptance and allowed her cousin to take her arm and steer her into Longbourn’s garden, and they walked in silence for a time, which confused Elizabeth greatly, as it was utterly out of character for her cousin.
“May I ask you about Cousin Jane? When I arrived, your mother told me that she was to be engaged, but I… well, if I may be blunt, I do not see a love between her and that gentleman, Mr. Bingley. She does not appear to favor him. Is this true?” Elizabeth stared at her cousin for a long moment, marveling at how quickly he had managed to get to his point. It was highly unusual.
“Mr. Collins, I believe you deserve honesty. May I be open with you, as you have been with me?” She held her breath, knowing that Jane would be incredibly angry with her
if she ever found out about this. But she couldn't lie to the man, not if he was to be her husband one day. And she could not consign Jane to such a fate! No, not when she had the possibility of true love.
“Indeed, sir, I believe mama may have led you wrong. Jane has no fixed plans to be engaged, though there is a tenderness between her and Mr. Bingley. They are quite attached to each other, but if I may be honest, Jane is holding herself back and pushing Mr. Bingley away.”
Mr. Collins looked at her in surprise.
“But why? Is there something wrong with the gentleman? I have endeavored on occasion to observe him, and will admit that he seems a pleasant man, if not sometimes lacking in seriousness.”
“No, there is nothing wrong. But I believe Jane rather fears allowing herself to love someone she may not have,” Elizabeth said lightly. Mr. Collins looked at her blankly.
“Sir… it is no secret that you have had matrimony in mind upon visiting us at Longbourn. Jane is both the oldest and most beautiful of us, and, should another offer be made — especially one that would be so generous in aiding her family — she would not say no.”
Mr. Collins was silent for many moments, and at last Elizabeth slowed her pace, realizing for the first time that her cousin was panting slightly in an attempt to keep up with her brisk, anxious strides.
“Thank you for being open with me cousin. I truly appreciate it. Your concern for your sister does you credit, and you have given me much to think about. I believe I will return to the house now. Thank you for walking with me.”
Mr. Collins walked toward the house, then stopped and turned back to her. “And truly, she would not say no? Do you all have such deep feelings of familial responsibility?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Indeed, sir; she would. We all would.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, praying that she had not given the man motivation to turn his addresses to Jane now, knowing she would accept. Elizabeth would rather cast a spell to banish him than see that happen.
Something had to be done. She had no way of knowing what Mr. Collins’ plans were, but Jane! Infuriating, stubborn, sacrificing Jane! With every day she pushed Mr. Bingley further and further away, and Elizabeth feared he would be lost soon. She could see the pain and dejection in his eyes as Jane regularly slighted him for Mr. Collins, and more than once at night Elizabeth was sure she felt the bed shake under the weight of Jane’s tears.
If things continued this way, Elizabeth was sure that both Jane and Mr. Bingley would be consigned to misery. One of them had to act, to be bold and let their feelings show. They just needed courage and reassurance, and a belief in their feelings that could not be doubted. And Elizabeth was going to give them that. And with this decision, the strangeness between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham was pushed from her mind as a far more important, all consuming plan began to form.
XI
Charles Bingley was possessed. It was the only explanation that Mr. Darcy could find to explain the man’s behavior. He wandered around Netherfield like a ghost, never staying still for long, constantly sighing and looking down at the floor. The only time the man ever came to life was when he prepared for his now daily visit to Longbourn.
Darcy had gone with him at first, but had long since abandoned the venture. It was too infuriating to watch his friend sit there and humiliate himself as he mooned after a woman who gave him no attention. He had watched the two closely, and was convinced that Bingley felt far more deeply for the lady than she felt for him.
Bingley returned from these visits dejected, and soon continued his ever moving path through the halls.
“All I can think about is her,” Bingley had said one afternoon when Darcy had tried to lure him into a game of billiards. “For goodness sake, I see her when I go to sleep!”
Darcy had seen Bingley act like a lovesick puppy before, but never to this degree, and it was becoming more and more difficult to restrain the suspicion forming in the back of his mind that Bingley was not only a man possessed, but a man enchanted.
The morning before the ball dawned, and Bingley seemed on the verge of emotional collapse as Darcy took his seat at the breakfast table. Mr. Hurst had come and gone, and the ladies were still asleep, leaving Bingley and Darcy to their customary privacy.
“I just don’t understand what she sees in that man,” Bingley said for the fifth time that week as he stared into his coffee.
“I just don’t see what she sees in you,” Darcy muttered back as he took a sip of his own. Bingley’s head jerked upwards as he stared at his friend.
“By God, what is that supposed to mean?” Bingley practically shouted, hurt evident in his expression. Darcy put his cup down on the table with a sigh and leaned in.
“I have studied the woman, Bingley, and I admit I can find no signs of attraction. No hint of love, nothing. She is polite and cordial, yes, but it is difficult to even find signs of a friendship between you. Do you speak with each other? Rarely. Do you share open opinions, unclouded by how they will be perceived? Have you seen any display of great emotion from her, ever?”
Bingley was quiet for a long moment.
“Before he came, I thought we were growing close. We spoke with each other openly like you said, and… I had reasons to believe she felt for me,” Bingley said, his voice quiet.
“Are these reasons strong enough to carry you through whatever tide has turned? I do not know what occurred between you, but you were acquainted with the lady for a very short amount of time. I must confess I cannot understand what has driven you to form such a deep and apparently one sided affection.”
Though he privately suspected the eldest Bennet of using a combination of witchcraft and female allurements to cause his friend to love her, Darcy was uncomfortable expressing such a thought to Bingley. He knew there was the possibility that he was wrong, but he also knew that Bingley likely would not believe him.
“There was a moment, when she was ill here. I…” Bingley trailed off. “I have never felt so fully connected to another person, so drawn to them.” Darcy arched an eyebrow at his friend.
“I thought you did not see Miss Bennet was she was ill,” Darcy said, his tone serious. Bingley flushed slightly, and glanced around the room.
“Bingley, what happened?” Darcy didn’t mean for his voice to sound so commanding, but a suspicion was forming in his mind.
“It was early one morning, the day after her fever turned for the worse. I woke up and I just .knew I had to be with her. I don’t think you can understand that, Darcy. You’ve never been in love. I simply awoke, and it was like she was calling my name, asking me to come to her side.”
If Darcy had the ability to control the weather in that moment, he would have been a stormcloud.
“Then what did you do?”
Bingley was looking increasingly sheepish.
“I went to her side. It was entirely improper and completely ungentlemanly, I know. It can never be known outside of this room; I am convinced that the lady does not even know, she was so delusional with her fever. But when I entered, she was calling my name. I could hear her, she was thinking of me.”
Bingley’s embarrassment had faded away to a soft glow of contentment, and a far-away look crossed over his face as he thought back to that morning. Across from him, Darcy was glowering.
“Bingley, I can remain silent no more. I am highly convinced that the rumors we have heard since arriving in Hertfordshire are true, and that Miss Bennet is a witch. I have observed both of you closely, and this only confirms a growing suspicion I have had for many weeks. I believe she is attempting to entrap you through witchcraft,” Darcy barked out finally.
Bingley’s spoon clattered to the table as he stared at his friend.
“That is impossible. You scolded Caroline for indulging in such rumors. And we both know that no amount of magic can fabricate love; and truly, that is what I feel.”
“What do you know of magic?” Darcy barked out with a laugh. “Before we came to Her
tfordshire, you did not even believe it existed.”
Bingley’s glow from the moment before was gone.
“What I feel is not a fabrication or allure, Darcy. It is true. You could have no idea. Miss Bennet is not the kind of woman to use schemes or tricks; I have no fear that she is trying to entrap me. I only fear that she does not want me.”
“And if she did want you, would you marry her?” Darcy asked, his forehead still wrinkled in annoyance. He had not realized that Bingley felt so assured of his own emotions.
“Yes,” his friend answered without hesitation. “Immediately. She has enchanted me, it is true. But she has used no tricks or magic to do so.”
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 10
