Page 11 of Disarmed

E lizabeth was glad to be out in the open air. She squeezed Jane’s arm and grinned at the blue sky as they strode towards Meryton, Kitty and Lydia chattering around them. The previous day had, quite frankly, been exhausting, and with any luck, the walk would clear her head of it.

The Bennets had arisen at the late hour that was customary after a ball to find Mr Collins with his bags packed and waiting for a hired conveyance to return him to Kent.

Given that he had been planning to stay until Saturday, his hosts had been much surprised.

Mrs Bennet had been fervent in her entreaties for him to change his mind and remain, at one point paying Elizabeth some most unusual compliments in a bid to persuade him.

This seemed to only serve to resolve the man further, however, and he almost recoiled in disgust when her mother suggested he should take a turn about the garden with her least favourite daughter before he left.

Mrs Bennet had been relentless in her lamentations and criticisms of Elizabeth for the remainder of the day.

After scolding her for a full hour for every real and imagined infraction possible that may have frightened off Mr Collins, her mother descended into wailing, sobbing, and complaining of pains in her head and chest. It was long after the dinner hour when she finally wore herself out, so she had blessedly still been sleeping when her daughters had left for Meryton.

Mr Collins’s change of heart had been most welcome to Elizabeth, of course, but she could not account for it.

The previous evening, he had been all solicitousness and had dropped several hints about their “future felicity”.

Perhaps he had been as disgusted as Mr Darcy by the behaviour of her family members at the ball and had decided it would be a degradation to align himself to them.

But had Mr Darcy’s manner been entirely disdainful? He had in fact shocked her with his ease on several occasions during the evening, not to mention his liveliness in conversation and his grace during their dances.

She had truly enjoyed their discussion at supper.

Whilst it seemed that he lacked the ability—or perhaps the patience—to engage in any more than the briefest small talk, he more than made up for it when discussing and debating deeper matters.

She had seen the scowl on his face when her mother was speaking, though, but she could not truly blame him; Mrs Bennet’s remarks had been mortifying.

She could not bear to look at him once Mary’s performance began, particularly given her father’s humiliating response to it.

Would her family never cease to embarrass her?

Interestingly, Lydia had behaved rather well.

Yes, she had flirted with officers, had probably drunk too much punch, and no doubt had offended several people, but compared with her usual antics, her actions had been rather tame.

Of course she had also danced with Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth was exceedingly puzzled by what she had observed between her youngest sister and the gentleman.

They had appeared to enjoy each other’s company—which was most perplexing!

—and she was certain she had observed Mr Darcy subtly curbing some of Lydia’s wilder behaviour.

A vile thought in the back of her mind warned her to be on her guard.

Some men were drawn to young, na?ve, and impressible girls—and not for any honourable reason—but surely Mr Darcy could not be among them.

Could he? No, his behaviour towards Lydia had been more like that of a brother.

In fact, she found that she had seen enough good in Mr Darcy in recent days that she hoped for further opportunities to converse with him.

Intelligent discourse was rare in the neighbourhood, and it was something she relished.

The sisters had just rounded the final bend in the road before the high street began, when Kitty let out a cry.

“Lydia! Look, it is Mr Wickham!”

Elizabeth smiled to see that it was indeed that gentleman.

He was standing in front of the butcher’s shop, and he raised a hand in response to Kitty’s frantic waving.

Whilst Elizabeth was pleased to see the handsome officer, his presence reminded her that she had not spared him a thought since the beginning of Tuesday’s ball.

Despite his proclamation that he would not, had he forgone the event to avoid the man he maintained had denied him a livelihood?

Strangely, after her conversations with Mr Darcy over the last few days, and after observing his behaviour at the ball, Mr Wickham’s tale of woe no longer seemed so likely.

As they approached, Elizabeth thought she could detect a slight wariness on Mr Wickham’s face when his gaze flickered to Lydia.

Her youngest sister had discomposed the officer greatly during his last call at Longbourn, likely out of jealousy for his attentions to Elizabeth, and he may well be concerned about a repetition of that behaviour.

It seemed his fears were for naught, though, as Lydia skipped up to him in her usual manner, loudly declaring her delight in seeing him and latching firmly on to his arm.

With Kitty on the other side, the three were soon chatting and giggling.

Elizabeth caught his eye, and he gave her a rueful smile.

He really was very patient and kind to indulge her excitable little sisters.

The party meandered through the town, stopping to comment on a particularly awful hat in one shop window and a truly tasteless gown in another, before halting outside Mrs Phillips’s house.

Their aunt must have been looking out for them, for she appeared at the door almost instantly, ushering them eagerly inside and insisting that Mr Wickham join them.

Led firmly to an armchair and a cup of tea thrust into her hands, Elizabeth found herself subjected to an inquisition by her aunt on the mysterious disappearance of Mr Collins.

Elizabeth should have known that the news would have reached her mother’s sister; she imagined an angry note had been penned by Mrs Bennet mere minutes after the vacant vicar had departed.

Mrs Phillips’s questions were pointed and direct, and Elizabeth was mortified to be interrogated in such a way, particularly in front of Mr Wickham.

Jane could do little more than bite her lip, her forehead creased and her fingers worrying the fabric of her skirts, sending Elizabeth little sympathetic smiles from time to time and trying, in vain, to introduce new subjects.

Fortunately, Mr Wickham seemed to be paying them scant attention.

Standing by the fireplace with Lydia and Kitty, he appeared to be enraptured by whatever Lydia was saying about the frankly ugly and crudely made collection of snuff boxes her uncle kept on a small table there.

A natural actress, her youngest sister was obviously weaving an hilarious tale of the illustrious origins of said boxes, most of which had actually been procured from pedlars for a penny or two.

Elizabeth was grateful to her for distracting the gentleman from her humiliation.

Her aunt’s attention finally moved to Jane, and another inquisition began on the future plans of Mr Bingley.

Whilst she felt a little guilty for her sister’s discomfort, Elizabeth was relieved that her own ordeal was over, and pleased when Mr Wickham finally detached himself from Lydia to come and sit next to her.

She smiled at him. “I hope my sister was not bothering you,” she said.

He smiled back. “Not at all. It is pleasant to spend time with someone so young and exuberant. I had no brothers or sisters of my own…” He paused, and his hand came up to fiddle with the hair at the back of his neck; it had been cut since she last saw him, Elizabeth observed.

“Of course, Miss Darcy was like a sister to me once…” he continued.

“And what kind of girl is Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth asked. “I understand from Miss Bingley that she is most accomplished.”

Mr Wickham grimaced a little as his hand continued to worry his neck.

“She was once a sweet and gentle creature, and most exceedingly attached to me,” he said.

“Since her father died, however…” He smiled sadly.

“With both parents gone, she has been raised by her brother in recent years and has grown very much like him, I am sorry to say. Very proud.”

Elizabeth noticed his hand fall from his collar at this last pronouncement and begin twisting a button on his coat. Talk of the Darcys certainly unsettled the man. She endeavoured to change the subject.

“I hear you were in London these last few days. Did your business there take up all your time, or were you able to enjoy the delights of town too?”

“I was sent on an errand by the colonel,” Mr Wickham replied. Then, leaning closer to her, he confided, “In all honesty, I accepted the commission to avoid meeting a certain person at a certain ball. I did not wish to be the cause of an unpleasant scene.”

Elizabeth was sorry that her attempt to speak about London had turned the conversation back to Mr Darcy again, and she tried a different line of questioning.

“I hear the colonel is to be married soon.”

“Indeed, he is! In just a few days’ time, in fact.

The lady is a similar age to your youngest sister, so I am sure they will become great friends.

” His eyes dropped to his lap. “Of course, Miss Darcy is also the same age as Miss Lydia, but I cannot imagine them finding anything in common. Where your sister is lively and amiable, Miss Darcy is reserved and aloof.”

He was scratching his neck again, and it occurred to Elizabeth that he had brought the uncomfortable subject on himself.

She had tried to move the conversation away from the Darcys, yet it had been Mr Wickham who had found a way to return to it each time.

Was it deliberate? She tried a subject with no connection to the family at all.

“I enjoyed a walk to my favourite place this morning. Oakham Mount. Have you happened to go there yet, Mr Wickham. It is the tallest hill in the area, and the views are unsurpassed.”

“I have not had that pleasure,” he replied. “In the part of Derbyshire in which I was raised, the land is more rugged, and the hills allow for views as far as the eye can see. It is amongst those peaks that I should be living now, of course.”

He looked away from her towards the window, his fingers rubbing his button again, and a suspicion crept over Elizabeth.

Was Mr Wickham deliberately introducing the subject to gain her sympathy?

Did he wish for her to feel sorry for him?

She was of course understanding of his plight, but did he wish for her to indulge his sorrow further?

To what end? And his description of the view from the peaks of Derbyshire did not tally with Mr Darcy’s.

It almost seemed as if he had made it up to suit his purpose.

She found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable.

She was considering how to respond when Jane stood abruptly. “Thank you, Aunt, for your hospitality, but we must leave now,” she said—a little tightly, in Elizabeth’s opinion. “My mother is expecting us.”

Mrs Phillips seemed a little put out but entreated them to call again soon and saw them to the door. They parted with Mr Wickham on the street; much to Elizabeth’s satisfaction, Lydia and Kitty commanded the man’s attention, paying him excessive compliments and begging him to call soon.

With a curtsey and a polite smile, Elizabeth was relieved to take her leave of him.