Autumn had nearly cooled into winter. Few leaves still hung onto their branchy perches, and Elizabeth found a sharp beauty in this season. She loved the changing of the times, the sight of the wrens and blackbirds who remained through the winter. A robin flapped and settled on a branch to sing loudly. The cows lowed in the fields, and all the earth had slowed down, filling with the still and quiet that characterized winter.
In town, however, the human world continued on almost as it always did, affected much less by the advancing season than the natural world around them. People hurried to and fro in their autumn coats and cloaks. A master blacksmith in his open building pointed with his small hammer to the strikers holding their large hammers where to hit the plow he was working upon. Wagons rolled up and down the turnpike from London.
Carriages rushed up to the inn to change horses and then hurried off afterwards.
Meryton was by no means a large place, but even a market town of a mere thousand persons generated a great deal of traffic at all times of the year.
Upon arriving in town and making their way down the main boulevard to Mrs. Philips’s house, they found Kitty and Lydia speaking to two gentlemen, one of whom was an officer who had just gone to London, and the other an extremely handsome gentleman with an excellent air who Elizabeth had never seen before.
They were introduced to the new gentleman by Lydia’s enthusiasm. “This is Mr. Wickham, he is to join the militia!”
Hands were shaken around, and the man spoke with a great deal of friendliness and smiles. After a little, he began to particularly speak to Elizabeth.
Mr. Wickham’s conversation was pleasant, and the way that he oddly seemed to prefer her to Lydia or Kitty, while confusing was flattering.
Then the sound of another pair of horses. Mr. Darcy riding next to Mr. Bingley came into view. Instantly Elizabeth’s attention towards Mr. Wickham was dropped in favor of a far more compelling object. Fine white buckskin breeches, a fine top hat, a green riding coat, and an excellent seat upon his horse.
Upon seeing her, Darcy turned towards Elizabeth with a small smile, and he rode up to them.
And then he started when he saw Mr. Wickham. His face went pale with anger. The two gentlemen stared at each other. Wickham looked flushed, and he then doffed his hat.
Mr. Darcy turned his horse around and immediately rode away, leaving Bingley rather nonplused. After inquiring after Jane’s health and giving them all an invitation to his ball, Bingley shrugged and rode off after his friend saying, “I do wonder what is bothering him.”
After the way that Mr. Wickham had looked at her this morning, Elizabeth dressed with a particular attention to breaking up her figure, and to colors which would make her skin appear too sallow. She also packed the little pistol into her reticule, which was something that she almost never actually did.
Once she had seen that Mr. Darcy disliked him, Mr. Wickham’s gaze and conversation made Elizabeth feel uncomfortable.
It was not impossible for a gentleman to have earned Mr. Darcy’s sharp displeasure and yet be of a decent character. Elizabeth would have happily staked her stash of pocket money and a great many books upon the opposite.
Despite this, when Mr. Wickham entered the room, and every woman in the room turned to look upon that favored man, Elizabeth was by no means unhappy to perceive herself , or at least her table, to be favored by him in turn. Even though she had no desire for his attentions, she had a strong curiosity to know about his connection with Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth was seated by Mrs. Bennet for whist with Lady Lucas as a third. Mr. Wickham completed their table.
At first the common pleasantries were spoken. Mr. Wickham was happy to make the acquaintance of them all and to claim a longstanding friendship—since this morning—with Elizabeth.
All were pleased by his way of speaking, and Elizabeth blushed, though she wished to conceal it.
In a like way the conversation continued for the first quarter of an hour. Then between rounds Elizabeth was sent to fetch a piece of melted cheese on toast along with a glass of wine. Lady Lucas added a request for her own glass of punch, and with a little difficulty Elizabeth managed to fetch the cheese from the kitchen, and the beverages from the table.
At her return she found Mr. Wickham making inquiry about how Mr. Darcy was thought of in the neighborhood.
Mrs. Bennet replied, “No one likes him at all. He insulted my Lydia terribly on his first evening here. He danced with her in apology, but he was not sincere in his apology. I know because he barely spoke a word to her since, and he has not asked anyone else to a dance.”
There had not been a ball since, and Mr. Darcy had asked Elizabeth to dance at Lucas Lodge. In any case he had been wholly willing to dance with her when Sir William made the suggestion.
Never had Elizabeth been happier for her foresight in knowing better than to accept that offer than right now.
Mr. Wickham now appealed to Lady Lucas for her thoughts upon Mr. Darcy, and she agreed with Mrs. Bennet. “He does not speak much. My vanity has not been offended by him, like my friends, but he thinks himself too good for us. He was most curt with my husband when Sir William asked him politely about if he was often at St. James. And he never speaks much to anyone. He has paid no attention to any of my daughters. I cannot say that any of us like him. I imagine that his temper must be bad.”
Elizabeth felt a tightness in her guts. She could not look up, but she saw Mr. Wickham’s satisfied air from the edge of her eyes, and Mrs. Bennet’s hint of a smile.
With some difficulty Elizabeth said, “You both rather misunderstand the gentleman. He is shy, but—”
“Hush, girl,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Shy? A gentleman with ten thousand a year! I would laugh if I thought that true. Depend upon it. He is only terribly vain—do not listen to Lizzy. No one likes him. Not even Miss Lizzy. She only delights in being contrary. Mr. Bennet taught her to always argue with everyone. He is perpetually contrary. He will disagree with anyone speaking sense, merely for the sake of being disagreeable.”
Elizabeth thought that Mrs. Bennet misunderstood her husband as well. And Elizabeth felt no urge to defend Mr. Bennet. That would be ridiculous, he was after all Mrs. Bennet’s husband. Why did she need to defend Mr. Darcy?
During the next round the conversation dwelled on the nature of the neighborhood and how many families it included. Lady Lucas and Mrs. Bennet spent a fierce five minutes arguing over the exact number. There were three families about whom they differed as to whether they were high enough to be part of “the neighborhood”. They discussed the weather, the roads, the state of the millinery shops, and how they were both too distant from London and too close.
Ordinary things, and nothing to relieve Elizabeth’s curiosity about Mr. Wickham’s connection to Mr. Darcy.
She supposed that she would have to relieve her curiosity by directly entreating that Mr. Darcy himself for information when next they met. And she would, of course, need to hope that he held the business to not require privacy.
Shortly before the time came for supper to be laid out on the buffet tables, Mr. Wickham returned to the subject of Mr. Darcy: “But about Mr. Darcy, did you say anything about how long that gentleman is likely to remain in the neighborhood?”
“I do not know,” Mrs. Bennet said. “He is Mr. Bingley’s particular friend, and none of us are likely to be privy to his comings or goings—Lizzy, did they speak about the subject said during the time you and Jane spent at Netherfield?”
“No, ma’am. Not that I remember hearing. I did gain the impression that Mr. Darcy definitely intended to return to his own house before Christmas.”
That was a sad thought.
“I do hope,” Lady Lucas said to Mr. Wickham, “that your presence in the neighborhood will not be affected by Mr. Darcy’s plans. There never are enough handsome young men at the balls for all of the girls.”
Elizabeth thought this likely to be not quite correct. The militia had arrived after the last full assembly. They already provided officers enough that even she might expect a partner for any set that she wished to dance. Perhaps the key term in what Lady Lucas said was handsome .
There certainly could never be enough handsome young men. Especially as Mr. Darcy was not likely to dance many sets at Bingley’s ball.
“I have always observed that to be true.” Wickham agreed with Lady Lucas’s observation. “Not one ball in ten has enough young men. And there are always so many fine young women. This neighborhood is very well supplied with beauties.” Mr. Wickham looked pointedly towards a table where two of Mrs. Bennet’s daughters sat along with Charlotte Lucas. “But as for Mr. Darcy, it makes no difference to me whether he comes or goes. It is for him to leave if he wishes to avoid me. My conscience is always clear! I have no reason to fear meeting him.”
Fearing that the chance would be missed by the two older women, Elizabeth asked, “What is the nature of your connection to Mr. Darcy?”
What followed was a story of a will being ignored, of a man who had every right to preferment being punished, and of a shocking lack of honor, filial piety, and even kindness upon the part of Mr. Darcy.
To hear this tale left Elizabeth shocked and confused. At first she felt a horror at thinking that a man who she admired and thought very well of could do such a thing.
No, no. She would not believe it.
But perhaps she merely did not wish to believe it.
Elizabeth tried, with a frown that made her barely able to attend to her cards, to pay close attention to Wickham’s words, and to compare what he said to what she knew to be true. To judge the general probability of his statements. In a word, she tried to think of it all as Mr. Bennet would.
It did not fit.
Mr. Darcy had shown Elizabeth many kind attentions, even though she had no consequence at all. Perhaps if he had only been kind to her, she would wonder if the unsavory motivations that Mr. Bennet had worried about were the cause.
But Elizabeth had seen him many times act with an unceasing kindness and consideration for the wellbeing, time, and feelings of the servants.
When the whist party broke up, Mr. Collins told Mrs. Bennet how the beneficence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh meant that he was in such a position that he need not fear losing the few shillings which he had lost this evening.
When Mr. Collins returned to his conversation with Mary, Mr. Wickham informed them all that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters, and that Mr. Darcy was to be married to Anne de Bourgh.
Elizabeth felt herself go pale and still.
She hoped she was not observed. Her chest was suddenly tight. The edges of her eyes were going tight.
You must not cry .
She could not even take in and let out deep breaths.
Lord, but she was stupid.
There was no reason that Elizabeth should be surprised that he was engaged to his cousin. He had never pretended to be able to court her, and he never would have.
She knew. Knew, knew, knew.
Any connection between them had always been impossible. This in no way made it more impossible than it had been before she heard. She knew . She had never imagined anything could happen between them. She had never hoped.
Why was she on the verge of tears?
It would be just as stupid if a private gentleman made himself unhappy over Princess Caroline’s engagement.
It was only with half an ear that Elizabeth heard Mr. Wickham describe another family scandal that touched on Lady Catherine.
After the decease of her husband, Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s mother had married again, and thus Sir Lewis’s half-brother was the famed Earl of Rochester, who fifteen years ago had murdered his wife and daughter. This gentleman had escaped all prosecution by convincing the inquest that they had fled.
“The whole family stood by him,” Mr. Wickham explained, “and Sir Lewis himself was the chief investigator. Mr. Darcy is close friends with Lord Rochester’s son—Viscount Hartley was the child of the earl’s first wife. I am certain that Mr. Darcy knows the truth of the matter, but he does not care to offend those of his connections who are more highly placed than him. But then that is the way of the world. Those with very great titles and power can do what they wish, whilst the interests of a poor man such as myself can be blasted forever by a few intemperate words and the jealousy of an unhappy son.”
“I remember that story of Lord Rochester and his wife.” Lady Lucas said, “It was from before Sir William made his speech before the king. Mrs. Bennet, was it not in the same year that Mr. Bennet brought Elizabeth to live with you?”
“Lord! Remembering anything from so many years ago? But Lizzy came to us in the year after Lydia was born. Lydia could not yet crawl when Mr. Bennet brought yet another child for me to care for. You can very easily imagine how I yelled at him. All his concern should have been for our daughters. And he had said nothing about bringing a child home when he’d left. He rode off by horse and returned a few days later in a post-chaise with a girl without any warning to me.”
Elizabeth had heard this story many times.
Fifteen years had not been enough to make Mrs. Bennet cease to complain. She added, “And Mr. Bennet says Elizabeth does not cost us very much, but I know she does. It was only a few months after that a footman left, and Mr. Bennet would not let me hire another one, on account of the expense. He said it was not about Elizabeth, but I know it must have been.”
The story still always interested her. Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Bennet had even known that she existed when he set out. But it also would have been very like Mr. Bennet to know that he was retrieving a child who he would present as a fait accompli .
“Even though I dislike Mr. Darcy very much, I am shocked,” Mrs. Bennet returned to another pleasant subject of conversation, and she smiled to show that it was a delighted sort of shock, “to hear that he is connected with something so awful as wife and child murder.”
A very thin sort of connection indeed . That was just the half-brother of an uncle by marriage.
“Mr. Darcy is a man who has let his consequence make him believe he must care for nothing but his own interest, and the grandeur of his connections,” Mr. Wickham said widely. “I dare say he is right that he need fear for nothing from any man. As for myself, though he ought to be denounced, I could never do so. Not until I can forget his father, I can never expose him .”
“You are defaming him now .” Elizabeth vibrated. She had not realized that she would speak. “I have seen Mr. Darcy’s behavior. I have lived in the same house as him for nearly a week. He never shows anything but kindness, honor and respect for those who are in a dependent position. He would not act with cruelty to a man that his father had particularly recommended to him.”
“Ah, I wish that were so.” Mr. Wickham sighed. “That would have been much to my benefit. But he has presented to you a different appearance than the truth of his character.”
“Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest, and the world had a reddish haze, “you are the one who presents an appearance of goodness while not having the substance. I have seen nothing good of you, and a great deal good of Mr. Darcy.”
“Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “It is not your place to argue with Mr. Wickham. You are shaming me. Cease this nonsense.”
“I think,” Mr. Wickham sneered, “that the young miss has an infatuation for the great gentleman. Mrs. Bennet, I’d beseech you to keep a close eye upon her, she may only be your husband’s ward, but this way of speaking of Mr. Darcy, it makes me fear that she might—I cannot say aloud what I fear, but you must fear the same. Such a thing would shame your family and hurt the situation of your daughters. I fear that I cannot speak well of Mr. Darcy’s morals. There is nothing specific I can accuse him of, that is to say, those specific things that I might accuse him of cannot be spoken of in the presence of ladies. But there are things which I know for a positive fact that he has done, beyond his mistreatment of myself, which would make me hesitate to allow any daughter of my own to be on terms of intimacy with him.”
“I believe you to be a liar,” Elizabeth said. “I will not let you speak in this way about my friend.”
“Lizzy! Cease to run on.” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, “I have already told you once to be silent.”
At this moment Elizabeth could not feel the fear she usually had of Mrs. Bennet. It was almost as though even that, being afraid of her, was a role that she had taken on, and which could be abandoned if she had a more important matter to pursue. But looking at Wickham, and seeing how he looked at her, she was very aware of the gun in her reticule, and how many seconds it would take to load that gun.
Mrs. Bennet stood and gestured for Elizabeth to follow her.
She was supposed to be terrified. She tried to make herself feel terrified, but it did not work. But then she remembered the fists falling. The shout, “I should kill the bastard child.” It had happened in a plushily appointed drawing room.
At last Elizabeth felt terrified of Mrs. Bennet again.
As soon as they stepped into the empty hallway, Mrs. Bennet dragged her next to the door that went into her sister’s rooms and grabbed her nose pinching it between her fingers like she would when Elizabeth was a young child.
Elizabeth let her. The memory reminded her of what could happen if she angered her guardian.
Mrs. Bennet shook Elizabeth’s head back and forth. “Lizzy, what are you about?”
When Elizabeth could not say anything through the tightness in her throat, Mrs. Bennet said, “You shall never speak against me again. Gratitude alone must make you know better than that. That kindly Mr. Wickham simply told us an entertaining story, and you shamed me for the sake of a man who nobody likes.”
Can you not see the obvious inconsistencies in what he said? He is making a fool of you .
Elizabeth now had no bravery to say anything. She touched the silver locket lying on her chest. That made her feel better, as though she had her real mother near her.
Mrs. Bennet then grabbed Elizabeth’s nose once more and shook her.
Elizabeth let her.
“I begin to worry that you are infatuated with that awful Mr. Darcy. Do you mean to shame me before everyone with him? I promise that Mr. Bennet will never help you in any way again if you do so. No matter how fond he is of you, he would not, and I would not let him.”
“Of course I would not.” Such fantasies had crossed her mind. But he was to be married. And he would never ask her. If Mr. Darcy did make such a dishonorable offer, she would owe Mr. Wickham a sincere apology.
“I have never been so astonished by you,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Lizzy, never, ever, ever contradict me. Do you hear? Swear that you will never contradict me. And apologize to me for shaming me.”
When Elizabeth did not immediately reply, Mrs. Bennet grabbed her face to make her look up into her eyes. “Now.”
“Forgive me for embarrassing you, madam. And I’ll not contradict you again.”
Mrs. Bennet stared into Elizabeth’s eyes for a long time before she let go of her face.