Chapter Two The next day, Mr Bennet bestirred himself so far as to order Mr Collins and all of his daughters out of the house. Lydia and Catherine, already setting out for Meryton and their aunt, shrugged and declared they could tolerate Jane and Lizzy easily enough, and even endure Mary if they must. Elizabeth opened her mouth, then shut it again. If Lydia could be governed by anyone, it was certainly not her - she been so much with the Gardiners in recent years that her sister regarded her as little more than a rival beauty crossed with a particularly tiresome governess. Yet nobody had much influence over her now - only their father, who refused to exercise it. When he dies - “- Miss Elizabeth Bennet - ” Elizabeth started. They had reached Meryton, and one of the officers - Mr Denny - was introducing them to another young man. “May I have the honour of introducing to your acquaintance a very old friend - Mr Wickham.” The civilities performed, they returned to doing what they each did best. Lydia flirted, and Kitty imitated her; Mary scowled disapprovingly; Jane bestowed radiant smiles; Mr Denny simpered; - and Mr Wickham made a little polite love to them all. Elizabeth stood back, a little, and observed it all. Mr Wickham had beauty, to be sure, flawless features and an elegant figure, but that was not where his peculiar charm lay. - Darcy had that much, and height into the bargain, and nobody would call him charming. No, it was air, and countenance, that warm, smiling, open friendliness combined with an evident fascination in whoever he talked to. He made an art of being agreeable. His character decided, Elizabeth returned to her previous thoughts, nodding and smiling at appropriate moments. For the first time in her life, she wondered what would happen to them, afterward. Were it not for Mr Bennet’s parsimony, her mother would have driven them into debt years ago. If she could not live within their present income, how would she survive on a tenth of it? “ - don’t you think, Lizzy?” “I am sure he will,” said she, absently. Two hundred a-year. Of course, it could be much worse; they did have the Gardiners, who would do what they could. They might take Elizabeth herself in, as they had done so many times before, but - to be nothing more than Mr Gardiner’s penniless niece! - She, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of a gentleman! Still, it was better than the alternative, she thought, with a brief sidewise glance at Mr Collins. Mary might be prevailed upon to accept him, but even if he had shown any interest in her - which he certainly had not - she did not think it would be a happy marriage. No woman of sense or feeling could be content with such a man. Besides, Elizabeth thought practically, Mr Gardiner never stopped bringing home new friends. She was much more likely to meet someone acceptable in London. Jane, of course - she thought fondly - need not worry over any of this. Her future was all but settled. “Mr Bingley!” cried Jane, her left cheek dimpling as two horsemen rode towards them. Elizabeth glanced up. Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy were staring at one another in horrified recognition. The former turned a dull greyish white; the latter coloured furiously, his eyes blazing. Mr Bingley seemed only bewildered. Then Wickham nodded, and after a moment, Darcy deigned to return the greeting, almost as if he had forgotten how. Bingley, always gentlemanly, explained that they were about to call at Longbourn, to ask after Miss Bennet’s health, and - Darcy’s expression changed, and he dismounted, his friend gladly following suit. Much to her amusement, they both attached themselves to Jane’s side - then, after barely thirty seconds, Darcy left them to their own devices and determinedly engaged Elizabeth in conversation. He asked after her health, her mother’s and sisters’ - and, with rather more sincere concern, her father’s. He asked if she often walked to Meryton, if she enjoyed the walk, if Miss Bennet usually accompanied her, if she liked the bonnet in the next window. Elizabeth felt no particular desire to speak with Mr Wickham, but it certainly would have impossible had she wished it - Darcy monopolised her entirely until their new acquaintance took his leave. Then, he seemed content to relapse into his usual silence, so Elizabeth amused herself by making minute enquiries after his furniture. “My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has a very grand chimneypiece,” said Darcy, his mouth twitching, “but I - ” Mr Collins gave a sort of screeching gasp. He had been introduced to Darcy, but apparently had been as oblivious of the connection as Elizabeth herself. “Mr Darcy!” he said shrilly. Elizabeth winced. Although she had always enjoyed her cousin’s absurdity before, somehow she no longer felt any desire to see Mr Collins expose his deficiencies - not to Darcy. “Mr Darcy, I have not words to express my apologies. I am shockingly remiss, but I had no idea that I - that we all! - are being honoured by the presence of a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” Darcy stared. “Moreover, I have the great pleasure of informing you that Lady Catherine was in excellent health last se’ennight.” “Forgive me, sir,” said Darcy in some bemusement, “but how are you acquainted with my aunt?” Elizabeth hastily interjected, “Mr Collins was recently recommended to Lady Catherine’s notice, sir, and received the living of Hunsford from her.” Darcy, to nobody’s great surprise, had no chance to reply. Mr Collins seized the opportunity to sing Lady Catherine’s praises for the next half-hour. “Why, she has condescended to advise me not only on parish matters, Mr Darcy, but on my beehive, the garden, even the furnishing of the parsonage-house. - All unasked-for, too! Her graciousness knows no bounds!” “I am so well convinced of my aunt’s discernment,” said Darcy, smiling at an astonished Elizabeth, “as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily.” “Well, upon my word, sir, that is a very handsome thought - very handsome indeed!” * * * * * “Are you much acquainted with Mr Darcy?” For quite the first time in her life, Elizabeth wished the attentions of the most agreeable young man in the room on somebody else. She had no objection to Mr Wickham, none at all - she simply had no attention to spare for a flirtation, no matter how captivating the gentleman. “No,” said Elizabeth, “I would not say that.” How could she, when he showed different colours at every turn? Certainly, he betrayed the cold arrogance she had once considered his only quality - yet, now she caught the flashes of kindness and brilliance and dry wit just as easily. She was too preoccupied to see a hint of disappointment cross Mr Wickham’s face. “Yet he has been here a month?” Elizabeth laughed. “Perhaps I do not express myself well. Mr Darcy and I are certainly not strangers. We have spent four days in the same house. It is just that he is so odd a mixture, of - of quick parts, sarcastic humour, and unbending reserve that I feel I hardly know him. However, I am persuaded that, in essentials, he is a very good sort of man.” “I believe your opinion of him is widely shared,” said Mr Wickham. “I have no right to give mine; it is impossible to be impartial.” “Indeed!” “Yet, in all honesty, my disappointments at his hands are my own fault. I have a warm, unguarded temper and - and I hope you will not think too ill of me, Miss Bennet, but I confess I have not always lived as I should. Darcy is a man of such uncompromising integrity that he can neither understand nor forgive the vices and follies of others.” “I do remember his speaking one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper,” Elizabeth said cautiously. Mr Wickham managed a small smile. “His father, the late Mr Darcy, was one of the best men who ever breathed, - more than that, he was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. He brought me up at his own expence, and even bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. Unfortunately, I always knew the church was to be my profession.” “Unfortunately?” “I was terribly spoilt, I am afraid - with no need to earn any privileges, I felt myself entitled to them, born for expence and enjoyment. Darcy, of course, has always been a model of virtue - irritated as he was by the preference which was often given me, it has probably served him better in the end. “Regardless, what others might consider the casual errors of youth, he believed proof of a depraved character. Perhaps they were; I certainly was not worthy to be a clergyman then, and nothing could change his mind afterwards. He chose to give me a small sum in lieu of the living.” “Oh!” “You must not think too badly of him, Miss Bennet. He knew me only as a vicious young scapegrace, and obeyed the rigours of his own conscience; in return, I treated him infamously. The things I said! It is wonderful that he can still bear to look at me.” Elizabeth felt briefly tempted to believe everything was as he presented it. She wanted to - it would be so pleasant, so flattering, and yet - “I am not quite satisfied with Mr Darcy’s conduct in this affair,” said she. “I should think his pride, at least, would lead him to act more generously towards you, whatever you may have done years before.” “His pride has often been his best friend,” Mr Wickham allowed. “It has often led him to be liberal and generous, - to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. Among his equals in consequence, he is just, sincere, rational, honourable, even a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his while. However, there are stronger impulses than pride.” “I do not believe I have heard such a panegyric from his friends,” said Elizabeth. “You are remarkably generous, sir.” Mr Wickham quickly disclaimed the compliment. With tears standing in his eyes, he said, “It grieves me to the soul that we should now meet on such painful terms, but I verily believe I could forgive him everything, not merely on his own account, but my godfather’s. Till I can forget Mr Darcy, I can never defy or expose his son.” He looked handsomer than ever as he said it. Elizabeth stared. What was she to Mr Wickham? What did he know of her? She would like to think he perceived something in her, something which made her worthy of such detailed confidences, but she knew he could not. She was a perfect stranger. For all he knew, she might as well have been as discreet as the town crier. For all he knew, he was in the very act of defying and exposing the son to a young lady who would carry his tale to every corner of Meryton. Undoubtedly he hoped she would. What a perfectly ridiculous story, she thought, looking at Mr Wickham anew. A handsome face and affected, ingratiating, rather appallingly ill-bred manners - there was nothing more to him. What a perfectly ridiculous little man. * * * * * While Mr Bennet’s cousin and daughters enjoyed Mrs Phillips’ hospitality, he sat quietly at home and lost another game of chess to Mr Darcy. “I have spoken to my wife,” he said, watching the younger man re-set the board. Darcy paused. “Indeed?” “Perhaps I should say that I have attempted to. The stupidity with which she is favoured by nature always makes it rather a futile endeavour, however much her ignorance and folly usually contribute to my amusement.” “That is hardly the sort of happiness which a man, in general, would wish to owe to his wife,” Darcy replied. “I am a philosopher, young man; I derive benefit from such sources of entertainment as are given.” Darcy remained silent. He considered Mr Bennet a weak man, negligent as a father, indecorous as a husband, and thoroughly disapproved of him on both grounds. Nevertheless, he rather liked him; certainly he did not hate him. He now knew that it was Mrs Bennet who had perpetuated the primary deception, insisting that Jane and Elizabeth were orphaned sisters she had saved from drowning. It was half-true; Elizabeth did fall into the pond, and would have died, as the Fitzwilliams always believed she had, but for Mrs Bennet. I daresay she thought Jane her reward, Mr Bennet had told him, almost as dazed as Darcy himself. She meant to leave Lizzy there; I was the one - I would not let her. I was fond of Lizzy from the first. “Speaking of whom,” said Mr Bennet, “she still insists - at some length - that both girls were orphans.” “She is lying,” Darcy snapped. “My mother died over four years later, and my father in 1788 - both of them convinced to the end that Jane and Elizabeth would be returned to us. Even in his will, Mr Darcy spoke of his younger children; my cousin and I were appointed guardians to them all.” “Your cousin?” “My mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” At Mr Bennet’s expression, Darcy reminded him, “Mr Bennet, I am but seven-and-twenty. Six years ago, when my father made his last will, I had not been of age a month. My sister Georgiana was nine.” “I see.” “Fitzwilliam must be told,” said Darcy abruptly. “However, for Jane and Elizabeth’s sakes, I will convince him to remain silent until they know of it themselves.” Mr Bennet smiled. “You seem very certain of your powers of persuasion.” “I am.” Darcy’s eyes hardened. “In return, I demand that a certain gentleman is barred from this house.” “Does this gentleman have a name?” “George Wickham,” Darcy said. “He is my father’s godson, and arrived in Meryton yesterday. He will no doubt come prepared with a tale of his many misfortunes at my hands - he always does. You must keep him away from Jane and Elizabeth. I insist upon it.” Mr Bennet’s eyebrows shot up. “Is there a reason for such precautions?” “He is not to be trusted,” Darcy said, his pale cheeks flushing. “I hope you understand, Mr Bennet, that I will not allow him near any of my sisters, no matter what the cost - and if you have half the sense I believe you do, you will be glad of the excuse to keep him from your own daughters, as well.” “How extraordinary,” said Mr Bennet. “I seem to have taken up residence in a novel. Enter wicked Wickham, the dashing but nefarious villain of the piece, scourge of virtuous maidens and honest tradesmen. I don’t suppose he is the son of a lord? There really should be a duplicitous lord somewhere, or at least a baronet.” “His father,” said Darcy, “was steward of the Pemberley estates.” “The son of a servant? Even better. I shall be quite happy to play the disapproving father for such a specimen.” He peered at the chessboard. “Will you play black or white, sir?” Darcy laughed. “White,” he said firmly. |