Page 13 of What Comes Between Cousins

T HE RAIN BEGAN THE day after the visit of the Netherfield gentlemen to Longbourn. November was often a time when the weather could be fickle, a time when Elizabeth attempted be out of doors to store up as much of the serenity of nature as she could for the winter months when she was largely confined to the house. This year, however, it was more of an imposition than ever, largely because of the Bennets’ visitor, who was quickly wearing out his welcome.

With the rain falling as it was, turning the landscape around them into a sodden mess, the Bennet girls were confined to the house. If the promise of amusement had not been there to prop up flagging spirits and calm short tempers, they might not have survived. As it was, they spent much of their time preparing for the ball: dresses were pressed, wraps prepared, and the little extra effects which enhanced a lady’s appearance were considered, chosen, discarded, and, occasionally, fought over. But in the end, Elizabeth believed the sisters were all happy with what they would be wearing.

“Are you certain this dress is appropriate?” asked Mary, proving that her previous severe opinions of proper dress and adornment were not completely abandoned.

“Of course, Mary,” replied Kitty. Her tone was offhand, prompting pursed lips from Mary, though she decided not to reply. Kitty had always had a good eye for what colors and styles suited them, and she had taken to assisting Mary with a certain zeal which Mary did not always know how to take.

“That style suits you marvelously, and I dare say the dress looks better on you than it ever did on Lizzy.”

“Thank you,” said Mary, mollified by Kitty’s praise.

“I told you it would,” added Elizabeth. “When the gentlemen at the ball see you, they will line up to dance with you. Perhaps father should hire a few footmen to stand about you looking menacing at those who will surely vie for your hand. Otherwise, he will have a devil of a time keeping them all away.”

Mary swatted at Elizabeth, who ducked out of the way, while Jane and Kitty laughed. Only Lydia was not present—she could not be trusted to keep her remarks kind, especially where it concerned Mary, and she deemed it all a tedious waste of time anyway. Elizabeth was happy to dispense with Lydia’s company, for she truly was a thoughtless girl much of the time.

The dress Mary was to wear was one of Elizabeth’s old dresses, but she had never felt that it flattered her, and as it was purchased when Elizabeth was in the middle of a growth spurt, she had only worn it two or three times. Mary, who was a little smaller of stature and form than Elizabeth, fit into the dress as if it were made for her. In a certain sense, it seemed like it had, for the pale yellow suited her much better than it ever had Elizabeth.

“Then I suppose I shall wear it,” said Mary. Though she affected an unconcerned attitude, Elizabeth could see that she was excited. Most of Mary’s dresses in the past had been of somewhat dull colors, as she felt that was demure and proper. It had taken much coaxing to induce Mary to see that she could dress in a more flattering style and still be a proper young woman.

It was in pursuits such as these that they spent their time during those days—that and avoiding Mr. Collins wherever possible. In the confines of a house the size of Longbourn, they were not always able to stay away from the man. As such, Elizabeth would often retreat to her room when she was feeling particularly vexed with him.

“Cousin Elizabeth,” he would say to her whenever he had the chance, “I think we have much of which to speak. There are many things I would share with you concerning my home, which, I flatter myself, you shall see before long.”

“You do flatter yourself,” said Elizabeth on one of these occasions, prompting the parson’s mouth to fall open. “I cannot imagine how I would possibly see the parsonage in Kent, for I know no one else there. Do you mean to invite my family to stay with you?”

“There is not enough room in the parsonage for all your family.”

“Then there is little chance of my ever seeing it.”

Mr. Collins gaped for several moments, but then a sly smile came over his face. “I believe you are misunderstanding my meaning, Cousin. I have no intention of inviting your family to Kent. I merely suggest that you will see the parsonage before too much longer.”

“In that case, Mr. Collins, I understand your meaning perfectly.” Mr. Collins beamed. “I simply tell you that I disagree with you. For such a reason as you suggest, I will never visit the parsonage.”

“But, Cousin, you cannot mean it!”

“I cannot?” asked Elizabeth, completely uncaring of the parson’s consternation. “I assure you that I can, sir.”

Then Mr. Collins’s countenance turned grim. “I suppose you hold out hope you can impose upon Mr. Darcy or Lord Chesterfield? That shall never happen, I assure you.”

“I cannot say what my future holds, Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth, unwilling to debate with the man. “But I can assuredly state without equivocation that I shall never view your parsonage as my home.”

With those final words, Elizabeth spun on her heel and removed herself from the parson’s presence. Even sitting in her room for hours with nothing to do was better than enduring Mr. Collins’s silliness!

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O N THE THIRD DAY, THE rain slackened and, for a short time, it ceased altogether. The clouds remained threatening, however, and Elizabeth reluctantly determined that not only would the paths of the estate be too muddy, but it would also start raining again before long.

All was not lost, however, for though it seemed unlikely, Longbourn was the recipient of several visitors. When Lydia and Kitty saw the red coats of the visiting officers, they squealed and scurried to greet them, welcoming them to their father’s house. Elizabeth was also happy to see them until the smirking visage of Mr. Wickham came into sight.

“Miss Elizabeth, I believe?” greeted Mr. Wickham. “How do you do?”

It was only Elizabeth’s innate sense of polite behavior which allowed her to respond. “Very well, Mr. Wickham. I thank you for asking.”

The officers entered in and soon Mrs. Bennet had sent for tea and cakes, and conversations began all over the room. Mr. Wickham, though he could not have missed Elizabeth’s disinclination for his company, seemed to fix upon her as the target of his civility. Elizabeth could easily have dispensed with the man’s presence.

“I thank you for your gracious welcome, Miss Elizabeth,” said he, his smile seeming designed to charm. “Though I have not yet had the opportunity to taste much of society here in Meryton, it seems to me that you are all very welcoming.”

For some reason, Elizabeth did not appreciate the way Mr. Wickham said the word “taste,” but she ignored it in favor of fending the man off.

“I believe we all take pride in our hospitality, Mr. Wickham.”

“That much is clear. Is there something you can tell me about your neighbors? I am new to the neighborhood, after all.”

Elizabeth directed a disarming smile at him. “I am certain it would be best if you were to meet them and make your own judgment, Mr. Wickham. My perception is mine alone, and it may not meet yours. Regardless, I am certain others can tell you more about themselves than I can.”

Though he regarded her, his expression even, Elizabeth had the distinct impression he was not happy with her answer. Of course, she was aware of what he was truly asking, though the man seemed to think he had been subtle.

“Then I shall do that.” Mr. Wickham paused and then continued: “I am curious, however, as to the Netherfield party. I understand that Mr. Darcy and Lord Chesterfield have been in residence for some weeks now?”

“They have,” was all Elizabeth would say.

“And do you know if they mean to stay long?”

“Come now, Mr. Wickham. You cannot expect me to have any knowledge of the plans of men such as Mr. Darcy and Lord Chesterfield.”

“You are correct, of course,” said Mr. Wickham with what Elizabeth thought was a false joviality. “I am afraid I made the wrong assumption in light of what I saw the first day we met of your interactions with them. It seemed to me like you were quite friendly with them.”

“I am friendly with them, but only in the manner of an acquaintance. If you insinuate any other connection, then I must disabuse you of that notion, sir.”

“That is not necessary, Miss Elizabeth, for I mean nothing more than I said.”

Elizabeth nodded at the man and, seeing Mary out of the corner of her eye, used that as a reason to excuse herself from his company. She went to the sofa on which sat her sister, knowing that Mr. Wickham was watching her as she walked away, feeling an unaccountable itching between her shoulders where she thought his eyes rested.

“Are you well, Elizabeth?” asked Mary.

“I am,” replied Elizabeth, speaking softly to her sister. “But I wonder if we should not call Papa.”

Mary directed a pointed look at Elizabeth. “Did Mr. Wickham say anything improper to you?”

“No. But he was very interested in my friendship with certain gentlemen of our acquaintance, even going so far as to ask if I knew their plans.”

The look Mary bestowed on the militia officer was one which could not help but make a man uncomfortable. Mr. Wickham, however, was surveying the room and did not see it. Soon, however, he seemed to note that Mrs. Bennet was not being attended by any of the officers, and he made his way thither.

“Mrs. Bennet,” said he, bowing low before her. “I wish to thank you for your hospitality, madam. You have much of which to be proud, for I have rarely seen such welcome as I have experienced here in Hertfordshire.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wickham,” said the Bennet matron, apparently forgetting, for the moment, the warning they had received concerning this man. “This is a friendly neighborhood, I am sure. We are happy to have the officers here, for it gives us a much greater variety of society.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Wickham with a laugh. “I suppose it does.”

They carried on a conversation for some few moments, Elizabeth and Mary listening carefully, though at times they were also obliged to speak with other officers who approached. Most of Mr. Wickham’s words with Mrs. Bennet seemed to be of a banal nature. But then they changed when he was able to bring it around to the subject about which he had previously importuned Elizabeth.

“And they are so elegant, fashionable, and far friendlier than I ever would have expected from anyone of such an exalted station.” Mrs. Bennet favored the militia officer with a surprising amount of restraint. “Netherfield Park has sat empty for so long that we have longed to have someone in residence. We are fortunate, indeed, that those who have taken the lease are so amiable and have fit so well with our society.”

“It is interesting that you say so, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Wickham. “I know nothing of this Mr. Bingley, and I have heard that Lord Chesterfield is an amiable man. But I know no one who would call Darcy ‘amiable.’ Our circle of friends is quite similar, and though there are some who will give him a good name, adjectives used to describe him are usually in the nature of ‘reticent,’ ‘taciturn,’ or even ‘proud.’”

Mrs. Bennet regarded Mr. Wickham. “I doubt there is anyone here who would use such words to describe Mr. Darcy, sir. We know who our friends are, and Mr. Darcy, though he has not been here long, has earned that appellation.”

“Of course.” Mr. Wickham’s reply was both expansive and magnanimous. “Darcy is well able to please where he wishes, of course. When it is worth his while.”

Elizabeth almost gasped at the blatant innuendo in Mr. Wickham’s statement, but Mrs. Bennet only watched him, for once her countenance unreadable. Mr. Wickham took this as a sign for him to continue to speak.

“Darcy, you see, has been known to me for many years. I grew up in the same house with him and was favored by his father, my patron. I owe much to Mr. Robert Darcy and have always striven to uphold his memory with honor and respect. His son, however, is cut from a different cloth, somehow becoming prideful and arrogant, dismissive of those below his station. I have felt the hard edge of his contempt on more than one occasion.”

Mr. Wickham stopped short, and he seemed to become more than a little embarrassed. “I am sorry, Mrs. Bennet; I should not speak in such a fashion.”

“No, you should not,” replied Mrs. Bennet quietly.

It appeared that Mr. Wickham did not even hear Mrs. Bennet’s words. “I become so incensed at the wrongs I have suffered from the present Mr. Darcy that I forget myself. I have vowed not to speak ill of the son, for I cannot forget the father and all he has done for me.”

“Then it seems you have failed in that resolve,” said Mrs. Bennet.

For a moment Mr. Wickham was taken aback, but he quickly recovered. “It appears I have.” His countenance was mournful. “I am sorry, Mrs. Bennet. When I think of what lies between us, the benefits designed for me which have been withheld, my good judgment escapes me, and my indignation takes over.”

“It is clear that your indignation does take over, sir,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But as I said before, I suggest you temper your outrage, for it will not be well received in this neighborhood. Mr. Darcy is well respected in Meryton. He was a little quiet when he was first in company, but he has proven himself to be a good and amiable man who has become like one of us. Let us hear no more of Mr. Darcy.”

Mr. Wickham feigned astonishment. “I cannot be more surprised to hear you say such things, Mrs. Bennet. Darcy is many things, but amiable is not one of them. Furthermore, if you only knew the extent of his actions toward others not of his station, I am certain you would judge differently.”

“Mr. Wickham, do you consider my family to be of Mr. Darcy’s station?”

This unexpectedly astute question surprised Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth found herself no less shocked, and when she looked over at Mary, she found her sister in similar straits.

“I think your family is all that is good, Mrs. Bennet,” replied Mr. Wickham. “There is no deficiency in any of you.”

“That is not what I asked, Mr. Wickham, and you well know it.”

Again Mr. Wickham goggled at Mrs. Bennet. For her part, the Bennet matron watched him placidly. Elizabeth thought, however, she detected more than a hint of steel in her mother’s gaze.

“The fact of the matter, Mr. Wickham,” said Mrs. Bennet when Mr. Wickham did not speak again, “is that Mr. Darcy inhabits a higher sphere than the Bennets of Hertfordshire can boast. My husband’s family has had stewardship over this land for many generations, but we have never been rich or important. Mr. Darcy, however, possesses connections to the peerage, an old and respected family name, and great wealth, from what I understand. Would you not agree?”

“I would,” replied Mr. Wickham. It seemed to Elizabeth the man was having difficulty holding his amiable countenance.

“Then I cannot understand what you mean when you say that Mr. Darcy looks down on those of a lower station. We have already established that my family is below his in society and consequence. And yet, I have seen none of these tendencies you describe. He has always been friendly and affable to my daughters and me, as well as to Mr. Bennet.”

“Perhaps he has,” said Mr. Wickham, clearly attempting to salvage the situation. “But you are also gentlefolk, and that must carry some weight. For those such as I, it is a different situation. Tell me, do you think a man should withhold advantages designated for another due to nothing more than jealousy?”

“No, Mr. Wickham, I do not. And I doubt Mr. Darcy would either.”

“But—”

“No more, Mr. Wickham!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Wickham fell silent, but his countenance was overset by a sullen frown. “As I said, we will hear nothing against Mr. Darcy. If you feel you have been misused, then you must appeal to those who are in a position to obtain justice for you.”

“It is not that easy, Mrs. Bennet,” replied Mr. Wickham. “Darcy is a powerful man, while I am merely the son of his father’s steward.”

“Perhaps it is as you say. But even the son of a former steward—which, I might add, is information you conveniently forgot to mention earlier—must have the ability to appeal to the law for what is rightly his.”

Mr. Wickham’s cheeks bloomed, but Mrs. Bennet took no notice. “For the final time, you will keep your grievances to yourself. I will not have you importuning my girls with them nor spreading them throughout the neighborhood, little good though that will do you. Now, I do not wish to call for my husband to ensure you are removed from my house. Please, desist in your attempts to defame Mr. Darcy. You will not find any sympathy here.”

So saying, Mrs. Bennet rose and crossed the room, joining a conversation her youngest daughters were having with a pair of officers. Mr. Wickham glanced about surreptitiously, paling when he noted that Elizabeth and Mary were close enough to have heard everything said between himself and their mother. With a scowl, he rose and stalked to a corner of the room where he stood in aggrieved silence.

“Was that truly our mother?” asked Mary, eyes wide in surprise.

“It seems to be so.” Elizabeth stopped and paused. “She seems to have become a little less flighty since Mr. Bingley focused his efforts on Jane.”

“And perhaps Mr. Darcy’s attentiveness to you?”

Elizabeth turned and regarded her sister, noting that Mary was not teasing or jesting—she seemed to be completely serious.

“Perhaps, though I do not know much of that yet. Could it be that she has been so frightened of the entail for so long that it has altered her behavior?”

“It is possible,” allowed Mary. “If so, I hope she will be more proper if we are able to find husbands.”

“I hope so too, Mary,” replied Elizabeth.

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R ARE WAS THE OCCASION when Wickham had found his manners and ability to charm women of all ages insufficient to ensure he was believed, especially when it involved vapid wives who possessed little sense. On the contrary, such women he could usually charm with little trouble. In fact, many such women he had been able to take to his bed—or hers—it truly did not matter to him. Mrs. Bennet was one he would likely not bother with, for though she was still a handsome woman, she was the kind who would drive him to Bedlam before he could take his pleasure from her.

Her daughters, however, were another story. Wickham had been all over England, and rarely had he seen a family of such comely daughters. It was true the youngest were silly and would compete with their mother for the title of most vexing, but the eldest girls were exquisite and ripe for the plucking. Even the middle girl, who was not the equal of the others, would be worth a roll in the hay, in Wickham’s estimation.

They should be his for the taking. Except they were not. With difficulty, Wickham refrained from grinding his teeth in frustration. How had he had the poor fortune to come to the exact location which housed that prig Darcy and his equally detestable cousin? Wickham could hardly fathom it. When he had seen the two men in Meryton, he considered refusing the commission and leaving the area. But he was out of money and needed a place to hide from his creditors—Meryton was as good as any place for such an endeavor.

What he truly wished to do was sell the blasted commission and use the money he gained to start anew in the New World. Surely there were opportunities for an enterprising man to make his fortune with the colonists. The situation in England had become too hot for his tastes. Since there were men one did not cross seeking payment from him, flight seemed the best option. It was for that reason he did not attempt to sell the commission—it might bring attention to him. And that, he could not risk.

So he was stuck in this town, and he well knew his stay would not be a pleasant one. Not with Darcy and Fitzwilliam in residence. The fact that he had already been called into the colonel’s office and told he would not be allowed credit would curtail his usual activities drastically. And he had no doubt Darcy had already told the Bennets about him if the mother’s reaction was any indication. Without a doubt, it would be heard throughout the neighborhood before long.

Wickham burned for vengeance before he left the dust of this insignificant town behind. He had thought to attempt to make off with Darcy’s sister and claim her dowry, but that scheme had fallen through when Darcy had not hired his accomplice, Mrs. Younge. But the matter was not forgotten—Wickham owed Darcy for all the misery the other man had caused him. And this time, he was not willing to accept the expedience of escape before vengeance.

Certain something would present itself, Wickham watched the Bennet sisters as they spoke with his fellow officers, noting who seemed to favor whom, the mannerisms and personalities of the girls. Miss Elizabeth, he thought, had been particularly favored by both men—what a delicious irony it would be if they came to blows over her! Perhaps she was the one who would provide the means for his revenge. If only it was Darcy who was paying attention to her, then ruining her would be just the thing. It was unfortunate that she was already wary of him. Then again, any one of her sisters would do. Surely the youngest girls, being silly and ignorant, would not know they were being used until it was too late.

As Wickham watched the room, he noticed a large, heavyset man standing to the side, looking out over the party. By the cast of his countenance, Wickham could see he was unhappy with what he was seeing. In particular, it seemed he was watching Miss Elizabeth, though at times he would also glare at Miss Lydia.

Pondering whether this man might lead him to his vengeance, Wickham made his way around the room. As he drew closer, he realized it was the parson to whom the Bennet sisters had introduced him on the street the first day they had met. What was his name? Clovis? Connor? No, Collins! Yes, that was it.

“How do you do today, sir?”

When Mr. Collins turned to Wickham and eyed him with distaste, it was all Wickham could do not to widen his eyes in surprise. He did not think he had offended the parson.

“I have no desire to speak to you, Mr. Wickham. I heard what you were saying of Mr. Darcy. I will not deal with a man who defames my patroness’s nephews in such a manner.”

Wickham’s mind worked quickly. Patroness? Aunt? That would be either Lady Susan Fitzwilliam or Lady Catherine de Bourgh—Darcy had no relations from his father’s side closer than a great uncle. No, not the countess, for Fitzwilliam was her son, not her nephew. Wickham suppressed a grin—Lady Catherine was a termagant, it was true, but she was also a silly woman, thinking far more highly of her own abilities than she had any right. That would make it easier.

“I am sorry, Mr. Collins, was it?” When the parson gave him a stiff nod, Wickham continued: “I am afraid you have completely misunderstood my purpose. The grievance between myself and Mr. Darcy is entirely my fault, and I own it without disguise. But having been brought up among the family, I find that their concerns are necessarily my concerns. Lady Catherine, in particular, has always been a favorite, though her ladyship does not know me well.”

It was apparent that Wickham could have chosen no better approach than to praise the stupid man’s equally senseless patroness. “She is the most perfect example of all that is good,” agreed Mr. Collins. He watched Wickham, his eyes still betraying a hint of suspicion. “And necessarily, any family of hers must be of the highest character and nobility. I am convinced Mr. Darcy has not misbehaved in whatever lies between you.”

“As I have already stated, Mr. Collins,” said Wickham smoothly. “I must own that I am curious, however. I have noted your . . . less than friendly looks at Miss Elizabeth. She impressed me as an intelligent, lively girl. Might I ask after your dispute with her?”

A scowl settled over the parson’s countenance, and his eyes once again found Miss Elizabeth where she stood across the room, speaking with Carter. The liveliness in her eyes was a magnet to Wickham, and he wondered what would be seen within them if she was in the throes of ecstasy.

“She will not cease her attempts to distract Mr. Darcy,” said the parson shortly.

“Oh?” asked Wickham, keeping his tone casual. “If you will forgive my saying so, I believe Darcy could use a little distraction. He is so fixed on his duty to the exclusion of all else that I sometimes wonder if he has time to live.”

Mr. Collins shook his head vigorously. “In this matter, Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy’s duty must be his primary concern.”

“What matter would this be?”

“Why the expectation of marriage between Mr. Darcy and the fair flower who is his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh.”

Wickham almost lost his composure. Miss de Bourgh was many things, but fair? A flower ? Many adjectives came to mind to describe her, but those two were well, well down the list. Wickham had given some consideration to attempting to elope with Miss de Bourgh as a means of gaining her wealth, but he had immediately discarded the idea. She met every criterion—rich, sickly, listless, would no doubt not even notice his activities, even should he carry on under her very nose. But Lady Catherine was a serious impediment to any such plan, for Wickham was certain her ladyship would make his life a living hell should he succeed in marrying her cross, sickly little daughter.

“It is a matter which has occupied my mistress’s mind.” Mr. Collins had continued speaking while Wickham was attempting to suppress his disgust. “It is the wish of every member of their family, and a splendid match it will be. Why, Mr. Darcy might even become the wealthiest man in England, should their two estates be joined together.”

“You suspect him of wishing to escape his duty?” asked Wickham.

“Of course not!” snapped Mr. Collins. “I am certain Mr. Darcy means to abide by his aunt and late mother’s wishes.”

“Then I do not understand the problem, Mr. Collins.”

The parson waved his hand ineffectually in Miss Elizabeth’s direction. “It is clear my cousin’s daughters mean to do everything in their power to distract him. I cannot allow it to happen. I must prevent their scheming!”

Privately, Wickham thought Darcy would be as little affected by a pretty woman as a stick. But it seemed to Wickham that fate had smiled upon him this day. Here was a chance for a little fun and retribution before he quit this insignificant town.

“Then, Mr. Collins, what you must do is distract the Miss Bennets before they can distract Darcy.”

“But how can I do that?” wailed Mr. Collins. “My cousin’s wife informs me that she intends Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia for Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Darcy. I am but one man—how can I prevent both?”

“You could start by informing me of all the details,” replied Wickham, annoyed with the stupid man. “It is clear you cannot woo two women. But we are two men, and it seems to me that we match the Bennet sisters in question quite perfectly.”

Mr. Collins turned wide eyes on Wickham. “You would assist?”

“As I said, Mr. Collins, I have been at fault in the matter between Darcy and myself, but his family’s concerns are my own. If I assist in this matter, then perhaps I expunge some small part of my guilt for what has come between us.”

The parson’s eyes lit up, and he began to thank Wickham profusely for his assistance. Wickham did not need his thanks. He needed the man to play his part and not ruin Wickham’s plans. With a little luck, he might gain some revenge and even pluck a few Bennet sisters at the same time.