by Huw Thomas
Any religious occupation would thus have been completely incompatible with his chosen avocation. The pale Lady had explained it all with perfect clarity as she prompted him to apply to Pemberley for the sum of three thousand pounds in lieu of the promised living. It had seemed such a fortune at the time!
But now Wickham realised how niggardly the compensation had been, for wine and women were expensive and very often the cards ran against him unfairly. All too soon, his credit was extinguished. He found himself without the wherewithal to pay for his lodgings — indeed, with scarcely the means even to secure his next meal — and thus in something of a panic.
If only he were able to persuade some amongst his friends and associates to advance him the monies he needed to continue his activities, against the promise of his next win…
And so he did. Not long before, he would not even have imagined himself suggesting such a thing, let alone succeeding. Now, however, the requests seemed both natural and reasonable — both to Wickham, and to those who funded him. Was it not a kindness, after all, to give one’s friends the opportunity to be generous? Thus were Wickham’s difficulties resolved.
Once in a while, the cards treated him as well as his skill deserved; if one or another of his benefactors ever came across him on such an occasion and asked for repayment, Wickham was invariably willing to consider obliging them.
He continued to support himself in this manner for some time. His debts slowly grew, but so did the social circle of those prepared to underwrite them; and so Wickham came to feel that he was prospering.
Not knowing the name of Miss Darcy’s school, his only task was to prepare the ground for when the girl should be old enough to enter the establishment of Mrs Younge in Bloomsbury.
Wickham had never met this governess. All he knew was what his dead father had told him, together with a few half-remembered family stories from long ago: that the widow was an old and trusted friend who had been particularly close to Wickham’s own mother.
This connection gave Wickham a very convenient pretext under which to introduce himself to the lady in question. While their acquaintance was yet of brief duration, he had already ingratiated himself to the extent that she set greater store by his friendship, than she had by his late parents’.
Indeed, Wickham’s intimacy with Mrs Younge and her establishment became so great, that he could scarcely help being exposed to many opportunities for peronal gratification and monetary profit. It was only with difficulty that he resisted these temptations, not daring to poison the well from which the pale Lady required him to drink.
He was, however, able to suggest to Mrs Younge that the girls she was preparing for society might benefit from chaperoned contact with a well-bred gentleman such as himself, and though hesitant at first she was soon won over.
In such a manner he worked on the governess to make the unusual seem commonplace, and convention as something that could be turned on its head. Thus was Wickham frequently to be seen walking with a small group of young ladies, often escorting Mrs Younge herself but also encouraging the habit that she should walk slightly ahead, while he conversed quietly with one or another of her charges.
So Wickham waited in London, watched from afar by the pale Lady and guided by her occasional messages. After more than three years of this life, his debts had grown very great indeed — and his ability to find new sources of friendship and of funds, which had once appeared inexhaustible, seemed to be deserting him.
As luck would have it, it was around this time that he came to see that a life of sermon-making would be the very thing for him after all, and so he wrote to Pemberley requesting that his late godfather’s intentions should now be honoured.
To his dismay, Mr Darcy did not deign to reply by letter but was instead received by the friendly inn-keeper whom Wickham had given for his return address. This unexpected visit was reported to Wickham in highly discouraging terms, and persuaded him that further attempts at gentlemanly reconciliation would be useless.
It was with no small satisfaction, therefore, that some months later he received the following intelligence from Mrs Younge: that Miss Georgiana Darcy had finally enrolled at the establishment in Bloomsbury; and that the twin prizes of that young lady’s person and inheritance were now on the gaming table and could be his on the turn of a card.
X
Caroline Bingley took great pleasure in her family’s growing intimacy with Mr Darcy. On her first trip into Derbyshire along with Charles, Louisa and Mr Hurst (for so Caroline still named the vampyre hunting Doctor Adler, even in private) she had deemed Pemberley to be the finest house in England, and quite possibly in the world.
Nothing she had seen since then had changed her mind.
The long picture galleries with their painted evidence of good breeding had particularly delighted her. Four years later, these gilded collections still drew her gaze, showing as they did an illustrious lineage that was both foreign and fascinating to her.
Over the mantle-piece in one room — which had apparently been old Mr Darcy’s favourite retreat and was kept just as he had left it — hung a modest group of miniatures. Even this seemed enviable to Caroline, with its tiny portraits of Mr and Miss Darcy as well as of Mr Wickham. All the visitors studied this last miniature very closely, so that they might be fore-warned against the possibility of ever encountering that gentleman in town.
Mr Darcy’s character was just as pleasing as his property, and his young sister also proved to be charming (if reticent) on those occasions when she was present. Caroline looked forward with keen anticipation to the day when Miss Darcy should be done with schooling, which now continued at a certain London establishment where she had been sent to prepare for her presentation at the Court of Saint James.
With luck, Caroline reflected, the months her young acquaintance was to spend with this governess — whose identity and residence were kept secret at the insistence of Mr Hurst, even from himself — would help Miss Darcy overcome some of her shyness — not that a little shyness was amiss in so charming a young lady.
As often as the Bingleys and Hursts were at Pemberley, Mr Darcy travelled even more frequently to London. He stayed once or twice in Grosvenor Street, where Louisa and Mr Hurst made their home, but mostly he enjoyed the hospitality of the Bingley household at Cavendish Square.
Charles, in the meantime, had also fallen in love with Pemberley. He began to talk of the pleasure he would take from settling in a country residence of his own, and even of giving up his London establishment altogether.
Caroline approved highly of her brother’s first plan but less of his second, since their Cavendish Square address was enviably fashionable, as well as being filled with memories of her father. But she could not deny that their need for such extensive London quarters would be diminished once her brother found a suitable country estate.
She resigned herself to staying with the Hursts at Grosvenor Street on those occasions when they came up to town. She thought that might be seldom enough in any case, for Charles predicted that he would have no great desire to spend much time in London, once he became immersed in the delights of the fishing rod and the fowling piece — and the country dance, an entertainment of which he declared he could never get enough.
Charles and Mr Darcy were just returned, then, from a trip into Devonshire to inspect a property that had seemed suitable, and were back at Cavendish Square.
Mr Darcy had liked the place well enough, but Charles said that it fell too short of Pemberley, arguing that while he could never hope to match the grandeur of Mr Darcy’s home, he would still strive to come as close as possible to the perfection of it. Also, the location was far from ideal. A spot conveniently situated between London and Derbyshire, he said, would suit him best of all. And so his search continued.
Caroline often observed Mr Darcy during moments when she was certain his attention was engaged elsewhere, in the hope that he would not notice her interest. The morning after the return from Devons
hire, he was sitting at the breakfast table, perusing a note he had received with the morning post when she saw him start as if at some shocking news, and then rise to his feet.
“I must go,” he said. “I am sorry to depart in such haste, but it cannot be helped.” An instant later he strode from the dining room, shouting for his hat and riding cape, and issuing orders that his horse be fetched immediately from the nearby stable yard.
Charles called after him, “What can be the matter? Surely there is some assistance that I can render?”
“I must go to Georgiana,” was all the reply that Mr Darcy made.
Caroline met her brother’s gaze and perceived that he looked as bewildered as she felt. Then the moment was gone.
Charles set his cutlery aside, drained his tea cup, tore apart a bread roll into which he inserted a slice of gammon, wrapped it in a square of linen and thrust all into his pocket, and rose to follow his friend.
*
Charles Bingley had expected that Darcy would wait near the house while his horse was fetched. Instead, the street outside was empty under a threatening sky. Darcy was already some distance away, striding in the direction of Cavendish Street.
Bingley sprang down the flight of steps that led to his elevated front door and then broke into a run. His friend was making such good time that he did not catch up until shortly before Red Lion Yard with its inn and stables.
Darcy summoned a stable boy and ordered that his horse be made ready as swiftly as could be. Not wishing to be parted from his friend, Bingley added similar instructions; and so the two men paced up and down as they waited for their mounts to be saddled and led out into the cobbled yard.
Bingley took the opportunity to enquire once more what was the matter; Darcy’s response was terse, even by his usual standards. He communicated only that he must go to the establishment of a Mrs Younge — and after that, perhaps to Ramsgate.
The horses were soon ready. As the ostler led them across the stable yard, Bingley sought once more to satisfy his curiosity. “The letter that disturbed you so much was from some servant or helper you have set to keep watch over your sister, is it not so?”
Darcy swung himself up into the saddle. “It is from a person so unexpected that I can barely bring myself to believe the truth of it,” he said, “but still I must do so.”
“But who is this person?”
“It is my cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh.”
“I understood Miss de Bourgh to be still rather poorly after her trials.”
“That,” Darcy replied, “is why it is so unexpected. How could she be in a position to furnish me with such intelligence?”
“I see,” Bingley said — though he scarcely did.
“I should welcome your company, Bingley, and perhaps your help. Pray follow if you are willing.”
Darcy cantered out of Red Lion Yard and into Cavendish Street, without looking back.
Bingley mounted and set off in pursuit. As he caught up with Darcy, he said, “I trust that you do not forget that Miss Darcy’s precise whereabouts were to be kept private from all but you and Captain Fitzwilliam?”
“Things are no longer as they were; the secret is of no more consequence.” Darcy urged his horse into a canter. “As for Captain Fitzwilliam, I should perhaps mention that since you last saw him on that terrible evening at Pemberley, my cousin has found rapid promotion. His valour on the battlefield has earned him the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.”
“He is to be commended for making so notable an advance,” Bingley said.
“Indeed. His progress was previously rather slow, since beyond his first commission he chose to earn his way instead of purchasing it. It seems that preferment can be rapid in times of war.”
“Then please accept my congratulations on your cousin’s success, and convey them when next you communicate with the gentleman himself, along with my earnest hopes for their continuation. I dare say he will be a full Colonel at least, by the time old Boney has been beaten.”
Darcy took them along Oxford Street and then through Bloomsbury until at length they arrived at a tall, narrow house that Bingley surmised must be the establishment of Mrs Younge. Both men dismounted and Darcy handed his reins to Bingley. “I shall endeavour to keep my visit brief.”
“I shall remain here for just as long as your business takes,” Bingley assured him.
In the event, Bingley had scarcely time to finish the impromptu second breakfast he had carried in his pocket before Darcy hurried back out, grim-faced and a little pale.
“My sister is not here,” he said as he reclaimed the reins. Once they were both in the saddle, he handed Bingley a folded sheet of paper. “Since I am Georgiana’s guardian (along with my cousin) I have taken the liberty of drawing up this letter of attorney, so that if you come across her while I am engaged elsewhere, you can take her under your protection.”
Bingley was astounded.
“In accepting this unusual commission,” Darcy continued, “you would be rendering my family the greatest imaginable service. Will you favour us by undertaking it, Bingley?”
“I should be honoured.”
“Then I request that you accompany me as far as Dartford, there to engage a room at the coaching inn — The Bull, it is called. Ask, if you will, for one of the rooms overlooking the stable yard. They are meaner than the others but clean and sound, and better suited for the task I would have you perform until I return.”
“When do you expect that to be?” Bingley enquired.
“Regrettably, not until tomorrow at the earliest, for even if I find a good horse at every coaching inn, I shall hardly be able to ride from one end of Kent to the other and then return with my sister, all in a single day.” He paused. “I fear the time will go slowly for you, Bingley. I shall send a messenger as soon as I discover any news that might relieve you from your task.”
“But what is this task?” Bingley asked with great curiosity.
“To watch for Georgiana and to take her into your care if she arrives without me,” Darcy replied.
This answer did nothing except to increase Bingley’s puzzlement. “Do you consider it likely that Miss Darcy will find her way without you to an inn in Dartford?”
“To explain more fully: I wish you to scrutinise the passengers from every coach coming to The Bull from the Gravesend Road, which is the road that my sister must travel on her return. Thus we shall have a second chance of meeting her, should I be so unlucky as to miss her … though I pray it will not be so, and that you shall have little to do except to endure the tedium of watchfulness.”
“I assure you, it will be no hardship.”
“In former years I travelled frequently into Kent with my father,” Darcy said, “in order to visit various relations. The innkeeper at the Bull is an honest fellow and his stable master is most conscientious. I shall obtain a fresh mount there, and then press on with all possible speed.”
They rode for a while before he continued, “The innkeeper will be happy to furnish you with the times of the coaches; you must mention my name to him when you ask for his assistance, since I doubt I shall have the leisure for introductions.”
“It sounds quite straightforward,” Bingley said. “I am sure I shall manage perfectly well.”
Darcy hesitated. “I would trouble you for one more thing which I should perhaps have arranged before leaving London: would you be kind enough to send word to Miss Bingley to have a carriage driven to you in Dartford? If my sister is indeed in Ramsgate then we shall return from there by post coach, after which I believe it would be more convenient for us to travel through town in our own conveyance.”
Bingley agreed to this readily, and so they continued to Dartford.
It was coming on to rain quite hard when they rode into The Bull’s stable yard. The two friends sheltered under a lean-to while Darcy called for a fresh horse and ordered a swift meal of bread, cheese and ale to be brought to him. Once he had eaten this repast and washed it down, he climbed
into the saddle once more, touched the brim of his hat in a gesture of farewell, and set off along the glistening Gravesend Road.
XI
Bingley saw both horses stabled and then took a small room overlooking the inn’s courtyard, just as his friend had advised. While transacting this business, he also engaged a messenger to send word to Caroline that the carriage was required, and obtained a full account of the comings and goings of the Gravesend coaches.
The next arrival, he saw, was over an hour away and he took advantage of this respite by hurrying through the rain into some few of the nearby shops, where he remedied certain inconveniences occasioned by his lack of baggage — for he and Darcy had departed in such haste that they brought nothing but their horses and the clothes they stood up in.
He arrived back at the inn in good time to meet the coach, and observed discreetly as the passengers disembarked into a renewed downpour. Miss Darcy was not among them, nor was she to be seen inside the conveyance when Bingley splashed around it to look within.
He retreated back indoors, rubbing shoulders with several of the gentlemen on whom he had just been spying. The hungry travellers steamed before the fire and jostled for their cold collations and glasses of small beer. Bingley’s growling stomach reminded him of the brevity of his breakfast, and so he followed the example of the others and made a very passable midday meal.
More coaches came and went throughout the rainy afternoon, and Bingley was on hand to observe each of them, retiring to his room between each arrival in order to avoid that the liquid offerings of the tap room, combined with its steamy warmth, might leave him unfit to fulfil his obligations. It was not so much that he felt himself unable to resist such temptation, but rather that he preferred to avoid it. As it turned out his sobriety made no difference, for the travellers that day included very few young ladies at all, and of Miss Darcy there was no sign.
