by Jann Rowland
“Mr. Wickham did not make his claims to me, Lizzy,” said Jane, attempting to show Elizabeth’s mistake in a better light.
“It is kind of you to say it, Jane,” replied Elizabeth, putting a hand on her sister’s, “but I was completely at fault.”
Lady Anne’s eyes found her son. “Were you aware of Mr. Wickham’s presence in the neighborhood?”
“I was,” was Mr. Darcy’s short reply.
“And you did not warn the Bennets or any of Mr. Bingley’s other neighbors? What were you thinking?”
“It seems, I was not thinking at all,” replied Mr. Darcy, making no attempt to defend himself. “Miss Elizabeth, will you not share what your sister writes of Mr. Wickham?”
Though Lady Anne’s annoyance suggested the matter was not closed, she turned back to Elizabeth and waited for her to speak.
“It seems Mr. Wickham was paying court to a Miss Mary King who lives in the neighborhood. As I recollect, his interest started at Christmas.”
“If you recall, Lizzy,” interrupted Jane, “she had just inherited a fortune of ten thousand pounds.”
The unladylike snort given by Lady Anne spoke to her derision. “Oh, yes, Mr. Wickham’s ever-present lust for riches. I have little doubt ten thousand pounds would slip through his fingers in little time, and he would leave his wife destitute and alone.”
Elizabeth nodded—the pieces were all there, and Mr. Wickham had shown his true colors. More than once, if Elizabeth were to be honest with herself, though she did not wish to think on the matter at the moment.
“There was a general expectation of an engagement in the neighborhood. But it seems Miss King’s uncle became suspicious of Mr. Wickham and engaged a man to investigate him. Much of what Lydia writes on the subject is garbled and difficult to make out, but Mr. Wickham was found to be in debt with many reputable tradesmen in the town and had dallied with some of their daughters.
“Miss King’s uncle took the matter to Mr. Wickham’s commanding officer, who then had Mr. Wickham arrested. Mary King was then sent to Liverpool to the home of another relation and Mr. Wickham was court-martialled, stripped of his commission, and transported to prison.”
“Then it is little less than he deserves,” said Lady Anne. The way she glared across the table at her son suggested she dared him to argue.
“You will get no disagreement from me, Mother,” said Mr. Darcy. “It has been many years since I thought only the worst of Wickham.”
Lady Anne gave her son a curt nod. “Mr. Wickham was always a bad apple, though it was difficult for my husband to see it. Robert saw Mr. Wickham’s genial manners and his ability to charm at will.”
“Some of the blame must fall on my shoulders, Mother,” said Mr. Darcy. “I should have taken the matter of Mr. Wickham’s character to my father, but I did not. If I had, perhaps he might have turned out better than he did.”
The opinion Lady Anne espoused of the suggestion was once again on display with her retort: “I doubt it would have made any difference, William. You know Wickham played on my husband’s kindness and affected an innocence unbelievable in a child of five. If you had gone to your father, Wickham would have denied all and taken greater care to hide his debaucheries.”
“If you will pardon me,” said Elizabeth, feeling a little frustrated, but not at all certain she should ask, “but you have not yet said anything of Mr. Wickham’s particular sins. Though I know it is an impertinence, and your words on the subject have given me some suspicions, might I ask you to be more explicit?”
Though Mr. Darcy’s gaze was stern when he turned it on her, it soon softened. “It is not an impertinence, Miss Elizabeth, though you must understand that some of my account of him is not suitable for the ears of young gentlewomen.”
The significant look he directed at Georgiana was not missed by any of them, nor by Georgiana herself. While she huffed, Elizabeth knew his concern, though primarily for her, was directed at them all.
“I have no need to know of the more lurid details, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “Only what you can say in polite society.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, relieved. “Then you shall know what I can impart.”
The gentleman paused for a moment, introspective, idly fiddling with his fork before he continued speaking. “I suppose Wickham must have informed you he was reared at Pemberley and that we were friends as children. Given your comments during our dance at Netherfield, might I also assume he informed you of his version of the events surrounding my father’s will and the living at Kympton?”
“He did not mention the name,” said Elizabeth. “But, yes, that is correct.”
Shaking his head, Mr. Darcy said: “What makes Wickham’s lies so insidious is his ability to mix them with enough of the truth that they appear to be completely plausible. Wickham did grow to adulthood at Pemberley, and as there were few other boys my age on the estate, it is only natural we were firm friends. That was when we were young, for as we grew into young men, I found that Wickham changed from the happy boy I knew into one who cared for nothing but his own gratification. I cannot say when this change occurred, for it happened too gradually, but by the time we were at Eton together, I began to disassociate myself with him.”
“There is one point on which you are incorrect, William,” said Lady Anne. “Those tendencies were always a part of Wickham’s character. For my part, I suspect his mother, for the woman was a spendthrift, and taught her son to envy what he did not and could never have. Many were the times when I observed him looking on Pemberley with covetous eyes, and I remember, in particular, a time when you were perhaps thirteen when your father purchased a new horse for you. His jealousy was difficult to miss.”
Darcy nodded, not replying to his mother’s assertions. This was clearly a subject which they had discussed at some length.
“Regardless, by the time we were young men at Cambridge,” continued Mr. Darcy, “my opinion of him was very poor. Though I will not speak plainly of his vices, you may be certain they included gambling, leaving debts wherever he went, not to mention exploits with the ladies of which I cannot speak. Both in Cambridge and Lambton, I discharged his debts to protect the Darcy name. I still have the receipts if you wish to verify my account.”
“That is not necessary, Mr. Darcy,” said Jane a heartbeat before Elizabeth could say the same. “Your word is enough for both of us.”
Mr. Darcy nodded as Elizabeth softly voiced her agreement. “Of the living at Kympton, it is essential to understand that my father’s wish was not a bequest—it was, rather, an instruction for me to assist Wickham in his future profession. The living was mentioned as a suitable means for Wickham to support himself, but the bequest consisted of a thousand pounds.
“A further condition upon any young man receiving a living is, of course, the man’s willingness to attend a seminary and obtain his ordination.” When the Bennet sisters nodded, Mr. Darcy continued. “Some time after my father’s funeral, Wickham came to me to discuss the living. As my opinion of him by this time was very ill, I was relieved when he betrayed no interest in the living or the life of a parson. Instead, since he was not to benefit from the living, he proposed a more immediate pecuniary advantage. I agreed.”
“You were not required to do so,” said Lady Anne, her tone firm. “There was nothing in my husband’s will which required you to so much as lift a finger beyond giving him the thousand pounds Robert left to him.”
“I understand that, Mother,” said Mr. Darcy, his agreeable manner again suggesting they had discussed this before. “But the spirit of my father’s will meant I would not be fulfilling his desires if I gave Wickham his money and showed him to the borders of Pemberley. After some negotiating, in which Wickham asked for far more than was reasonable, we settled at an amount of three thousand pounds in exchange for his resigning all claim to the living. We signed a contract solemnizing this agreement.”
“Three thousand pounds?” gasped Jane.
“In addition to
the one thousand he received,” added Elizabeth, “he could have supported himself on that money for many years if used with prudence. As he arrived in Meryton with little, I must assume he did not use that money well.”
“Prudence has never been a part of George Wickham’s character,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Though I did not see Wickham for some time after, I received reports of his behavior from time to time. It was no shock to learn the money did not last long, for now being free to live a life of idleness and dissipation, Wickham threw himself into that lifestyle with little thought for the consequences. I hope, considering these facts, you will not blame me for refusing his entreaties when the incumbent retired from the living.”
“Mr. Wickham came to ask you for the living after he resigned it?” demanded Elizabeth. Jane was no less incredulous.
“There are few audacities beyond Wickham’s ability to rationalize,” said Mr. Darcy. “His abuse of me when I refused him was in direct proportion to the difficulty of his situation, and he no doubt abused me to all and sundry. The last time I saw him until meeting him on the street in Meryton was when he left Pemberley after his application, this time under guard and with the instruction ringing in his ears that he would be turned over to the magistrate and his outstanding debts called in if he dared to return.”
Though Jane did not appear to catch the emphasis of Mr. Darcy’s words, Elizabeth recognized it and guessing his reference turned to Georgiana, who nodded in response to Elizabeth’s questioning gaze.
“Yes, Elizabeth, you are correct.” Georgiana paused as Mr. Darcy sat back, content to leave this part of the account to his sister. “When I was young, Mr. Wickham used to play with me, and as I grew older, he plied me with the force of his charm, telling me how beautiful I was growing and what an accomplished woman I would be. After my father passed, Mr. Wickham approached me while at Pemberley discussing the living, again trying to charm me. Though I did not know why then, I know now.
“This past summer, Mother and I were in Ramsgate enjoying a month vacation. You will not be surprised to learn that Mr. Wickham met me there, seemingly by chance, and continued his campaign to charm me, even going so far as to tell me he loved me and wished to elope.”
Lady Anne huffed with disdain. “All that boy has ever loved is himself and whatever money he can extort from others.”
“By that time, William had already told me of Mr. Wickham’s character, so I was on my guard. But I will own that had I been only a little younger, I might have fallen prey to Mr. Wickham’s pretty words.”
“And yet I, a woman two years your senior, was drawn in as if I were a child.” Elizabeth shook her head, disgusted with herself. “I, who should know better, who have always accounted myself as being an excellent judge of character.”
“Do not blame yourself, Miss Elizabeth,” came the soothing voice of Mr. Darcy. “Wickham can be very convincing, and I gave you no reason to esteem my character.”
Elizabeth was not ready to release her self-condemnation, but Georgiana took up her tale again.
“Mr. Wickham has supreme confidence in his own charms. I played upon his vanity and gave him to believe I was taken in by his charm, inviting him to come to the house that evening to meet me and my mother.”
“And when he arrived, Thompson, one of our burliest footmen, met him at the door,” said Lady Anne with a laugh.
“Wickham has reason to fear Thompson, for the man has never liked him,” said Mr. Darcy, taking up the tale. “Thompson told Wickham in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome and that I had been called to Ramsgate, warning him of what would happen if he returned.”
“It surprised us when the housekeeper brought word that Mr. Wickham was demanding to see Georgiana,” said Lady Anne. “I would never have thought Mr. Wickham would show such courage in the face of an angry Mr. Thompson.”
“I still believe it was desperation,” said Mr. Darcy.
Lady Anne inclined her head and said: “That may very well explain it. Regardless, Georgiana and I went to confront him. Though his looks were nigh murderous, he was forced to abandon his scheme when Georgiana told him in no uncertain terms she knew everything of his character and would not elope with him.”
“You have my apologies for believing him so implicitly,” said Elizabeth. “Jane was much more perspicacious than I.”
Jane reached out and grasped Elizabeth’s hand in support, but Lady Anne said: “Were you not changed in your attitude toward Mr. Wickham when you came?”
Though Elizabeth had hoped they would not require her to explain further, she could do nothing but respond: “It was his words concerning you and Georgiana. He told me you were both proud and disagreeable, and as I had made your acquaintance—and had my aunt’s testimony to back up my own observations—I knew his words were calculated, rather than an honest opinion.”
“Do not concern yourself with offending me, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, seeing through to the heart of Elizabeth’s hesitance. “Though it is clear you believed Wickham’s tales of me and not of my mother and sister, it was my own fault.”
“It also appears you are past that,” said Lady Anne. “Thus, I suggest you do not allow such thoughts to plague you any further.” The lady then turned to her son. “Will you do anything concerning Mr. Wickham’s current situation?”
Mr. Darcy leaned back in his chair, considering the matter. “At present, I believe I shall do nothing, though I am certain I shall receive a letter from him asking for my intervention.”
A sniff was Lady Anne’s response. “No doubt he will be confident he can persuade you.”
The nod with which Mr. Darcy replied showed his agreement. “It may be best to use his debts in Meryton, coupled with the receipts I hold from Cambridge and Lambton, to see to his removal from England altogether. If I give him enough money to go to the Americas, I may be able to convince him it would be best to seek his fortune there.
“Then again,” said Mr. Darcy with a shake of his head, “it is possible he may succeed in returning. Thus, persuading the courts to sentence him to transportation to Botany Bay may be for the best.”
“We shall have my brother’s support if it comes to that,” said Lady Anne.
“I know, Mother. But I hardly believe it should be required.”
Lady Anne nodded. “Well, Mr. Wickham is neutralized for the moment, so we need not worry for him.” Her gaze then found Elizabeth. “I hope this has not been too distressing for you, my dear.”
“No,” replied Elizabeth. “I had already determined Mr. Wickham was untrustworthy. I am only ashamed he preyed on me with so little effort when I first met him.”
“Let us speak of it no more, Lizzy,” said Georgiana. “Mr. Wickham is not worth a jot of your sorrow.”
Deciding Georgiana was correct, Elizabeth gave her assent and turned the subject. For the rest of the meal, the company discussed their plans for the day and the ball on the morrow, the subject of Mr. Wickham now consigned to the dustbin of unlamented history. They stayed this way until the end of the meal, the company seeming more in harmony than Elizabeth had ever seen, even since her opinion of Mr. Darcy had begun to improve.
As they were beginning to consider rising from the breakfast table, the sound of swift footsteps reached them through the door and before anyone could rise, Anne burst through, followed by the housekeeper. She was in a state Elizabeth had never seen, her countenance flushed and worried, her eyes almost wild. She caught sight of Mr. Darcy, who had risen halfway from his chair.
“William, you must stop my mother!” exclaimed Anne before anyone could speak.
“What has she done now?” asked Mr. Darcy.
“It is not what she has done, it is what she is planning to do.”
The party waited for Anne to continue, when she appeared to wilt a little, which prompted Lady Anne to rise from her chair and escort Anne to it, calling for a restorative tea. “There, there, Anne, you are overwrought. Sit for a time and regain your strength.”
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Though Anne allowed her aunt to lead her to the table, she did not remain silent. “My errand cannot wait, for there is no time.” As she was seated, she looked across the table at William, who was watching her with no little concern. “Mama has written to the Times, asking them to publish a notice of our engagement.”
“What?” demanded Darcy, standing ramrod straight where he had been in the process of sitting again. “Is she mad?”
“She claims that since you will not oblige her, she will force your hand.”
The vein working in Mr. Darcy’s forehead spoke to his fury, but he controlled his anger, saying in a tight voice: “Anne, though I have spoken of this matter with others, and I suspect you have too, we have never spoken to each other. Do you wish to marry me?”
“No, I do not,” came Anne’s reply without a hint of a pause.
Elizabeth, who had been holding her breath unaccountably, let it out, though slowly, so she would not make a fool of herself.
“Then we agree,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Mother, if you will excuse me, I shall go to the offices of the Times at once. If they dare to print anything which does not come from my hand, I shall file suit against them to the full extent of the law.”
“Then you had best be about it, William,” said Lady Anne. “They will be eager to print anything about us and not at all inclined to wait.”
Mr. Darcy did not respond—instead, he bowed and strode from the room. In the aftermath of his going, Lady Anne turned to her namesake and addressed her.
“Did you walk here from your uncle’s house?”
“It is not far,” replied Anne, “and Mother would interfere if I called for the carriage.”
“She will be furious you thwarted her schemes.”
The grin which Anne returned was reminiscent of her more open cousin. “Why should she suspect me? I am the dutiful daughter who has always obeyed, even after I should have given her a piece of my mind. If I return to the house before I am missed, she will not suspect me, as she is engaged in celebrating her own cunning at present.”
