Page 38 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn

Meryton

The sun was high in the sky, no longer slanting in through the mean little window, when George Wickham woke with a languid stretch and a yawn.

Life was going well for him – light duties, plenty of time for cards and assemblies, the respect his red coat afforded him, trusting shopkeepers, and besotted ladies hanging on his every word and eyeing his handsome face and fine form with deep admiration.

He had a mild headache from the previous night; he had stayed up late gambling with his fellow officers.

The ale had flowed freely, but the cards had been against him.

He did not care – he was certain his luck would turn tonight, for that was how his life ever was.

Providence always smiled upon him sooner or later.

A bowl of water was already in place beneath the tiny spotted mirror, and Wickham took especial care in shaving. The neatness of his appearance was crucial to the success of his winsome ways, as it helped him look more the part of the gentleman.

The clock was striking noon as he descended the stairs, and he decided to go to the Pig in the Poke to break his fast. The streets were not busy today, and he saw no acquaintance as he walked the short way to the inn.

This was as well, to his mind; he had little interest in making himself agreeable before he had eaten.

The establishment was no busier than the street had been, inhabited only by a few yokels yawning and scratching.

Wickham chose a seat near the front windows, in hopes that perhaps some ladies would walk by in the next minutes.

He would especially enjoy seeing the Misses Bennet, who were undeniably the loveliest of the local gentlewomen.

Steps approached, and he looked up with a bright smile, expecting one of the serving wenches.

Instead, it was the proprietor, who was looking at him with a narrow scowl, and who spoke before the lieutenant could.

“Lieutenant Wickham,” he said gruffly. “All accounts must be paid in full before you will be served again.”

Shock and unpleasant surprise settled cold in Wickham’s stomach, but he bent a charming look on the man. “Come now, sir, surely that is not necessary,” he coaxed. “I am a gentleman, and I honor my debts.”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” the innkeeper said darkly. “You’ll pay up, or you’ll be leavin’.”

Wickham drew himself up, coolly offended. “I do not usually carry my money on my person, my good sir,” he said haughtily .

Expression flat, the innkeeper pointed towards the door. “Get out.”

Wickham glanced about. The yokels were gaping openly, and a gaggle of women were peeking curiously around the kitchen door and listening wide-eyed, the comely Sally foremost among them. Wickham’s rage prickled along with humiliation; he had been planning to seduce the handsome barmaid into his bed.

Swallowing his fury, he rose, the picture of graceful poise, and suffused his tone with patient disappointment. “As you require, sir,” he said with an air of forgiving martyrdom, and he stepped out the door into the street.

He wandered aimlessly through the street, brow furrowed deeply in thought.

Who was spreading these harmful rumors? His immediate thought was Darcy, but all of Meryton knew that the Darcys and Fitzwilliam had departed to London some days previously.

Had, perhaps, Darcy left a note to be disseminated after his departure?

That seemed unusually conniving for the usually blunt man.

A flash of movement down the street caught his eye, and his spirits lifted. Kitty Bennet and Maria Lucas were approaching, tailed by a footman. He spread his most charming smile across his face and bowed elaborately to the two young women .

Both of them looked away, dropping their eyes to the dust beneath their feet and hurrying to the other side of the street. The footman moved even closer to them, glaring at Wickham as the group passed him.

Wickham watched them go in wide-eyed dismay. What rumors had spread, and how far?!

He was broken from his musings by swift footsteps. A private ran up and saluted. “Mr. Wickham, sir! Colonel Forster wishes to see you, sir!”

Wickham gathered himself. “Yes, of course,” he said and briskly set off towards headquarters. The guard at the door barely glanced at him as he passed inside, and he went straight to his commanding officer’s office, knocked and entered at the behest of the voice inside.

He straightened to attention before the desk. “Sir.”

“Sit down, Mr. Wickham,” Colonel Forster ordered. The colonel’s desk was plain but sturdy and piled with various papers.

“Yes, sir,” Wickham said, adopting an open expression of obedience and good humor. He took the proffered seat and waited patiently.

The colonel eyed him with what seemed to be a degree of confusion before saying, “Mr. Wickham, I received a visit two hours ago from Sir William Lucas and Mr. Bennet of Longbourn. The conversation was not a pleasant one, as it focused entirely on your character as an officer and a gentleman. According to both men, you have a history of running up debts and leaving the area without paying them. Is this true, Mr. Wickham?”

“Mr. Bennet?” Wickham repeated. “I thought Mr. Bennet had died recently.” He knew the situation, of course, but needed time to think.

“Mr. Josiah Bennet,” the colonel retorted. “He is half-brother of the deceased Mr. Thomas Bennet, and now master of the estate of Longbourn.”

“Well, sir,” Wickham said, gesturing with his hands, “I truly do not understand what they are talking about. I have never even met the younger Mr. Bennet, and Sir William and I have spoken perhaps twice.”

“It does not matter how well you know these gentlemen,” Forster said sternly. “The question is whether they speak the truth regarding your propensity for running up debts. Is it true?”

Wickham hesitated. This explained the behavior of Mr. Simpson, the proprietor of the Pig in the Poke.

Obviously rumors abounded that Wickham did not pay his debts.

He could deny it, of course, but would anyone believe him?

Moreover, Darcy did hold hundreds of pounds of debt receipts from Lambton and …

“I gather, from your expression and silence, that these accusations are indeed true,” Forster said, and his tone was one of contempt.

“I am hardly the first gentleman to run up debts, sir,” Wickham protested. “It is not an unusual thing!”

“Not among the aristocracy and wealthy gentry, perhaps, but you are neither, and we both know it. Come, sir, you must realize how very serious this matter is! We have been welcomed into Meryton with open arms, and I will not have my officers preying on the population. This is unacceptable, Lieutenant. I order you to pay your current debts immediately.”

Wickham took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, of course, sir. I do apologize. I, well, in London it is quite common to have substantial accounts, but I see that here in Meryton, the situation could well be misconstrued. In any case, I will pay immediately.”

Forster stared at him intently. “Good. You have the means to pay off the debts?”

“Yes, sir,” Wickham lied.

“Very good. You are dismissed.”

Wickham rose to his feet and managed a neat salute, took a step toward the door, and then turned back with a congenial expression on his face. “Sir, do I have permission to journey to Town to my bank? I fear I have no banking accommodations closer than London.”

“Of course,” Forster said absently, already focused on a pile of paperwork. “You have three days leave to pay up all your debts. Oh, and Wickham?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do not give in to temptation in this matter again; if you cannot stay free from indebtedness, you need to rein in your expenditures.”

Wickham felt a flash of irritation but managed to keep his voice calm. “Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant exited, and Colonel Forster sighed with relief that the matter had been settled so easily.

He was sympathetic to Sir William Lucas’s concerns, of course.

A shopkeeper or alehouse owner would be greatly harmed if every officer in the regiment departed without paying his debts.

But Forster was confident that he understood Lieutenant Wickham well.

The young man had been raised on a great estate and championed by his godfather, the master of the estate in question.

Naturally, Wickham had grown used to a more privileged lifestyle than was his due.

The current Mr. Darcy had, perhaps, tried to impress on Wickham that he could not live lavishly, but given that the two men were roughly the same age, the message had probably not come across well .

Forster, nearly forty years of age, had vastly more experience with life than either Darcy or Wickham. He was confident that the young lieutenant would alter his ways appropriately after this little talk.

He turned back to his stacks of paperwork.

/

Longbourn

The door to the drawing room opened, and Charlotte Bennet entered the room, waddled over, and sat down, groaning softly, on the padded wingbacked chair by the fire. Elizabeth, who had been sketching on a notepad, looked up with alarm and asked, “Are you well, Charlotte?”

“I am well enough,” her aunt said and grimaced as she shifted position. “I think perhaps this little one will be arriving soon.”

Elizabeth hesitated and then asked, “Are you nervous?”

“Not particularly, no. Samuel’s labor was long but without complication, and the local midwife is pleased with my situation. I am also happy to have my mother living nearby.”

Elizabeth smiled at this, though a little sadly.

She frankly doubted that her own mother would be of particular use when one of her daughters was ready to deliver a child, but perhaps she was wrong about that.

If nothing else, Mrs. Bennet had successfully birthed five children of her own.

Perhaps she would be a comfort and a source of valuable information.

“What are you sketching?” Charlotte asked.