Page 41 of I am Jael (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
“Wickham!”
George groaned aloud, his hand on his throbbing head. Who was making such a horrible racket at this hour of the morning? The sun was barely peeping above the horizon and Wickham could still see a few bright stars!
The door flew open to reveal the familiar figure of Lieutenant Pratt, who roughly shook Wickham’s shoulder, “Get up or you will be late! The Colonel is a stickler for being on time!”
George rolled out of bed and staggered over to a cup of water, which he threw down quickly. He had not intended to stay up quite so late, but the gaming, while not fiscally successful, had been enjoyable and the ale at the local pub most palatable indeed.
“You have ten minutes to be at the town square,” the other man insisted, grabbing Wickham’s uniform and thrusting it at him.
Wickham, grumbling softly, threw on his clothing with less care than usual and, without so much as a crust of bread to sustain him, followed his companion out of doors and into the misty morning.
The resulting hours were tedious in the extreme, especially as the weather turned foul only two hours after sunrise.
Colonel Forster marched them up and down repeatedly in the relentless mizzle.
The tedium of it all was almost unendurable, and Wickham was nearly at the end of his patience when Colonel Forster finally dismissed the company.
He really must find a way to end this intolerable existence.
At least the rest of the day would be less tedious, as he had only to fulfill a few minor tasks as part of his duties.
Then he was free to return to bed for a long nap in preparation for drinking and gambling into the night.
/
When the dinner hour arrived, Wickham made his way to the Pig in the Poke, one of the local pubs. The common room was warm, and the smells emanating from the great oven in the kitchen made Wickham’s mouth water.
Lieutenant Denny, seated across from him, looked tired but satisfied.
Denny was a good friend; not sufficiently intelligent to be troublesome, but bright and enthusiastic enough to be enjoyable company.
Indeed, Wickham had already won quite a reasonable amount of money off Denny; his friend, being the second son of a landed gentleman, had a reasonable allowance from home and thus was ripe for plucking at the gaming tables.
The arrival of a buxom serving girl pulled both officers from their relaxed stupor. The girl deposited plates of food and drink for both men and then held out a hand.
“That’ll be two and six for each of you,” the woman explained with a flirtatious glance at George Wickham.
Wickham smiled back at her, making sure that his white teeth and handsome face were front and center in her vision, “I tell you, Sally, or is it Mary?”
“Sarah,” the girl replied, giggling.
“Sarah, such a lovely name for a lovely girl. Miss Sarah, I find myself a bit let in the pocket right now, but I’ll be paid in a few days. I hope you will not mind me running a tab until I receive my pay packet?” he finished with a wink.
“Of course, Mr ...?
“Wickham, Lieutenant George Wickham, very much at your service.” His eyes drifted over her form, and he thought it would be quite pleasant to seduce this young, pretty wench.
He had had his share of such women, and one more seemed a fine way to finish his evening.
Of course, she might require more than a little simple flattery, but he was quite certain that if not today, then soon, he could convince the girl to give up her virtue to a handsome and charming lieutenant.
Indeed, in his experience, it was not always necessary for a woman to agree to an assignation, so long as Wickham arranged the encounter appropriately.
There had been more than one young woman whom he had taken without her agreement.
What were women, after all, but to serve and please men in one way or another?
The girl giggled again, her red braids bouncing on her shoulders, and turned to collect Denny’s money. A moment later, she glided away in the direction of the kitchens.
Wickham took a deep draught of ale and glanced idly at Denny, “How were your duties today?”
“Well enough,” the other man stated, tackling his meat fervently. “The horses will require proper stables as the weather turns colder, and I’ve been assigned to work with the crew making arrangements. It’s good work.”
Wickham grumbled softly into his drink before taking another gulp. In his view, no work was good work. He was George Darcy’s godson. He deserved more than this life of working and striving to keep two pence together. If only he’d managed to wed Georgiana!
His ruminations were interrupted most unpleasantly.
“Mr. Wickham?” a deep voice demanded.
Wickham looked up, blinking into the face of a heavyset man wearing the garb of a publican.
“Yes, I’m Mr. Wickham,” he replied, sitting up expectantly. “How can I serve you?”
“You can pay your bill, Mr. Wickham,” the man said flatly. “There will be no tab for you at the Pig in the Poke.”
Wickham felt a stirring of anger, but was careful to keep his expression pleasant.
“I assure you, sir, that I pay my debts,” he began winningly.
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” the man interrupted without compunction. “Word is that you’ve left debts in the past, and some rich man paid them up for you. I’m not taking any chances with losing out on my hard earned coin, Mr. Wickham.”
“I’ll cover it,” Denny said quickly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the required amount. “Here.”
The man took the money without a word and strode away rapidly. The serving girl Sarah gave Wickham an apologetic look before quickly scurrying back to the kitchen.
Wickham muttered a few imprecations under his breath. This was catastrophic. He was used to having many months of freedom before local merchants became aware of his mounting debts. He had hardly been in Meryton for a week!
“What was that all about?” Denny demanded, his brow furrowed.
Wickham growled and took a bite of his potatoes. They were too heavily peppered, adding to his sense of injury.
“Miss Georgiana Darcy happened,” he bit out.
“Darcy? Related to the man who deprived you of the living?”
“His sister. We met in town only yesterday and she proceeded to defame me in front of the Bennet ladies and the bookshop owner. No doubt the man has spread lies about me to all the shopkeepers here.”
Denny whistled softly and shook his head, “That is not good. Still, as you say, we’ll be paid soon.”
Wickham did not bother to answer that. His pathetic pay as a member of the militia was not nearly enough to fund his expensive habits.
Most of the officers of the militia were the sons of landed gentlemen but with the continuing wars against the French, militia regiments were permitting individuals like Wickham to join up.
Indeed, this particular regiment was honored to have him in its service; he was, by far, the most handsome man in the company and he set off his red regimentals to perfection.
“I heard the whole family is snobbish,” Denny commented gloomily. “Rich and snobbish.”
Wickham took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He would pay Georgiana Darcy for her words; indeed, he would enjoy it. If Georgiana wanted to play with fire, she would find out that it can burn.
“Miss Darcy was pledged to marry me,” Wickham stated dramatically.
Denny set down his glass so hard that the liquid sloshed onto the scored wooden table, “No!”
He continued with a melancholy tone, “Yes. She loved me once, and I loved her. But that blasted brother of hers took her away and he has turned her against me, my one true love.”
It was altogether too easy to play the heartbroken lover.
He had done so many times to manipulate others, and took great pride in his ability to maintain an open honest face all the while.
Many of his conquests had been reeled in at least in part by some sad tale of woe.
This thought did cheer him a bit, especially as he thought of using some of his most successful lines on the serving girl.
It was good to remember triumph in times of difficulty.
“Take heart, Wickham,” Denny said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Perhaps at some level, she still loves you and hopes you will pursue her. I suppose she will be at the Bingley ball? Perhaps she will dance with you and you can work your considerable charms on her!”
“She is not out.”
“Is she so young?”
“Sixteen.”
Denny looked startled, “That is very young.”
Wickham pasted on an expression of sorrow, “We were not to marry immediately, of course. She was, as you say, youthful. But we grew up together and our hearts were entwined. I will go to my death grieving her loss.”
Wickham even managed to produce watery eyes. Not tears – that would make him look weak – but wetness enough to lend ironclad support to his words.
“All the same,” Denny murmured in a serious tone, “you may wish to avoid the Bingley ball. If Darcy takes it into his head to vilify you, it could be a problem.”
“I am not afraid of Darcy,” Wickham retorted with a show of indignation. “I doubt he would have the courage to look me in the eye after taking my living and breaking his sister’s heart.”
“Good for you, Wickham,” the other man said, lifting his glass of ale. “You’re a brave man.”
Wickham smiled even as he thought furiously. Colonel Forster always had unpleasant tasks that no one wanted done. He would ensure that he was assigned to some tedious job during the Bingley ball.
The truth was that Wickham was a little afraid of Darcy. Darcy could usually be managed but after the Ramsgate debacle, it would be wise not to push his luck. It would be best to let a few more months pass before he interacted directly with the master of Pemberley.
/
“Lizzy!”
Elizabeth looked up from the garden seat where she was hiding with a book.
It was a crisp, cold day and her hands were chilled, but it was pleasant to be outdoors.
Her family was currently hosting an irritating guest whom she wanted to avoid, and she was also weary of the endless discussions about the ball at Netherfield but a few days earlier.
The ball had indeed been most pleasant, and Jane and Mr. Bingley seemed to genuinely be on a path to happiness, but for as much as Elizabeth enjoyed dancing, she did not appreciate hearing her mother and sisters speak endlessly of Mr. Bingley or the red coated officers.
At least Mr. Wickham had not been present at the ball.
Mr. Darcy, to her astonishment, had asked her to dance, and then explained that Wickham was indeed a liar and a slanderer.
Lizzy shuddered slightly. She was ashamed at how easily she had been taken in by the Mr. Wickham’s smooth words and winsome smiles.
Mr. Darcy had insulted Elizabeth the first day they had met, at an assembly in Meryton.
The tall, haughty master of Pemberley had announced that Elizabeth was not “handsome enough to tempt me” and after that, she had been all too willing to believe Mr. Wickham’s slanderous words against the man.
Mr. Darcy had, without a doubt, been exceptionally rude to her but that did not mean she should have been so gullible.
“Lizzy!”
She looked up at her youngest two sisters, who were obviously returning from a walk to Meryton.
“Did you have a pleasant walk?”
“We did, and oh, we have such news!” Lydia cried out. “You will never believe what our Aunt Phillips told us about Mr. Wickham and Miss Darcy, sister of that cruel Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth felt a sudden lurch in her chest and she rose to her feet, “Mr. Wickham and Miss Darcy? What about them, Lydia?”
“Miss Darcy and Mr. Wickham were engaged, Lizzy!” Kitty cried out with excitement. “They were in love and were to be married, but Miss Darcy’s cruel, snobbish brother interfered and tore them apart. It’s so romantic!”
“I do not think it is romantic,” Lydia replied with a toss of her dark head. “If Miss Darcy is anything like her brother, she’s arrogant and proud. Mr. Wickham is far too handsome and charming a man to be tied to a woman like that, no matter how rich.”
“Perhaps he will fall in love with one of us!” Kitty suggested joyfully.
“With me, you mean. I’m far prettier than you …”
“You most certainly are not!”
Elizabeth stood in shock, barely hearing the all too common quarrel between her sisters. This was, she knew, catastrophic gossip about young Miss Darcy. Her reputation would be destroyed if this story was widely disseminated and believed.
Mr. Wickham was a despicable man, and likely the source of this most dangerous rumor. She could do little to stop the man, but Mr. Darcy and his cousin, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, were Miss Darcy’s relatives. She needed to warn them.