Page 23 of What Comes Between Cousins
M ANY YEARS BEFORE, when Bennet had been a young man, there had been another regiment of militia encamped at Meryton for the winter. As he had been a young man at the time, he had not truly paid much attention to the officers of the militia. He had been acquainted with some, but his interest had been modest; his position as heir to Longbourn had meant he had never had to think of joining the army, and at the time he had been more interested in hunting, his beloved books, and the society of pretty young ladies.
But that did not mean he was not cognizant of some of the goings on when the regiment had been in residence. Most of the men had been good sorts, though perhaps not the cream of English society, and in many ways not the equal of the men of the regulars. But acceptable nonetheless. But even then, there had been those who were not to be trusted, and when the regiment had departed, there had been rumors of unpaid debts, of young women of whom the men had taken advantage, of debaucheries and gambling. Such stories were often embellished in the telling, but there was enough of a grain of truth in such tales to make a prudent man cautious.
Mr. Bennet considered himself a prudent man, though he was aware that many would call him slothful, satirical, or uncaring. He had often laughed at his youngest daughters and his wife, made sportive comments of their excesses, and enjoyed their sometimes poor behavior. His was not laudable behavior, but he had often rationalized that it was the best a man, disappointed by life and stuck with a companion for whom he had little respect could do. The fact that Mrs. Bennet, in recent weeks, seemed to have calmed and returned to more of the woman he had married did not miss his attention. But still, he did not think he would have acted any differently with respect to Mr. Wickham than he had determined now, even if his wife had remained the silly creature she had been for the past decade and a half.
Thus, he made his way to Netherfield the morning after the Robinson dinner party, intent upon seeing the gentlemen he knew could exert control over the detestable Mr. Wickham. He was correct about one thing—so long as Wickham had not caused any problems in Meryton, his colonel could do nothing about him. Mr. Darcy most certainly could, and unless Bennet missed his guess, he would do something if Bennet presented the facts in the appropriate manner.
“Mr. Bennet!” greeted Mr. Bingley when Bennet was shown into the other man’s study. Bennet had not expected to see the gentleman, for his intelligence suggested it would be another day before Mr. Bingley returned. “Welcome to Netherfield!”
“Mr. Bingley,” replied Mr. Bennet. “I had not expected to see you, sir.”
“I finished my business in a timelier manner than I had thought. Eager as I was to return to Hertfordshire, I decided to set out yesterday afternoon, and arrived just in time for dinner.”
“Your enthusiasm will be marked by certain parties, I am certain.”
In fact, though Bennet’s words were sportive, he was pleased for Jane’s sake. He knew there had been some question posed by the man’s sister as to whether he would return. But Miss Bingley’s actions reeked with desperation, and Bennet had never doubted the certainty of Mr. Bingley’s return.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Mr. Bingley. “I intend to call on your family today if I have your approval.”
“You are welcome to visit at any time, Mr. Bingley,” replied Bennet. “But at present, I must ask for your assistance. I wish to speak with the viscount and Mr. Darcy. Might I trouble you to have them summoned here?”
A frown settled over Mr. Bingley’s face, but he agreed readily enough. “Of course, of course. I shall see to it immediately.”
He rang the bell, instructing that the two gentlemen be summoned when the butler appeared. While they waited, they exchanged some few words. Mr. Bingley was in a talkative mood that morning and waxed poetic, only avoiding mention of Bennet’s eldest daughter by the barest of margins, his admiration was clear and the subject of his thoughts no less so. For Bennet’s part, he had little attention for any matter other than his errand, and even being presented with Mr. Bingley’s easy nature, with whom he could make sport with little effort, did not tempt him to cleverness.
When, at length, the two gentlemen entered, Bennet had no attention left to spare for Mr. Bingley, and he lost no time in advising them of the reason for his visit.
“So you see,” concluded he when he had informed them of the events of the previous evening, “I am concerned by the actions of this Mr. Wickham. While the man tries to hide behind the veneer of civility, I see little but a man who wishes to cause as much havoc as he possibly can.”
“It is difficult to understand how your neighbors can still include him in their invitations,” said Mr. Darcy. “I have given them enough to be wary of him.”
Bennet snorted. “You have told me enough to make me give pause. But the Robinsons, for example, have no daughters to protect. And some of my other neighbors either think the stories are exaggerated or that they are well able to protect their womenfolk. Either way, though most do shun Mr. Wickham, there are always a few who will court danger.”
“I should have excluded him from the invitation to my ball,” said Bingley, apparently distressed at his oversight. “Perhaps the gentlemen of the neighborhood have been lulled into a false sense of security because he was present then.”
“You give them too much credit, Mr. Bingley,” replied Bennet. “Either way, I am concerned about this man’s current actions. Though he has kept away from my daughters as I demanded, I have seen him watching them on the few occasions when they have been in company. That first day at my estate, he seemed intent on wooing my youngest. Since I put a stop to that, he seems to have lost all interest in her. Now it is Lizzy on whom he seems to have fixed his attention. I will not have any of my girls hurt by Mr. Wickham. I have come today to ask you to take a direct hand against him. The colonel can do nothing at present, for Mr. Wickham has not done anything to warrant censure. But I am certain you gentlemen can, and I would ask you not to wait until he has made his move.”
It was clear that neither gentleman was amused by this new news of Mr. Wickham’s perfidy. But it was Mr. Darcy who seemed to be the most offended, and the most determined to do something concerning the matter. It was as Bennet had thought. While he was not excited to lose Elizabeth to a man who lived three days distant from Hertfordshire, Bennet was at least happy that she would be cherished as she deserved.
“You have my word, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy, confirming Bennet’s suspicions about who would be likely to take decisive action. “Mr. Wickham will be brought to heel. I will not allow him to prey on your family when it is in my power to stop him.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” replied Bennet. The relief he felt at Mr. Darcy’s agreement was enough to make his joints weak from the release of stress.
“I shall go to the colonel and speak with Wickham myself. I have the means to see to his good behavior, and I will not hesitate to use it.”
They spoke for some moments about what Mr. Darcy expected to accomplish when they went to visit the colonel. Satisfied that the man was sincere in his determination, Bennet soon excused himself to return to Longbourn, confident that everything which could be done was being done.
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W HEN DARCY AND FITZWILLIAM arrived at the militia headquarters, they found that Wickham had already been called in to account for his misdeeds. The short ride into the town from Netherfield had been characterized by silence between the two cousins, not to mention a sense of ill-usage and bruised feelings. It was so different from anything Darcy had ever known with Fitzwilliam before—rarely had anything come between them. He supposed, with a sour grimace, that if anything was to do so, it would be a woman.
That it was the first woman Darcy had ever found who provoked his interest made the conflict between them particularly galling. Had she not responded to him, he might have quit the field and allowed his cousin to go to it. But Darcy was certain his heart had spoken to hers. She was not indifferent to him. It was because of this that Darcy would not step aside for his cousin—his happiness was at stake in a manner he did not think Fitzwilliam quite understood.
When they were shown into the colonel’s office by a junior officer, it was to the sound of Forster berating the very officer they had come to threaten.
“I do not know what you were thinking when you threatened the girl in such a way, but men under my command do not behave in such a manner! I have half a mind to let you rot in the stockade.”
“I was not aware that approaching a young lady and speaking with her was grounds for court-martial.”
“It is when the lady’s father has expressly forbidden you from speaking with his daughters! Did that patron of yours not drum good behavior and manners into your thick head?”
“All my father’s—and Wickham’s—efforts were for naught,” said Darcy as he entered the office. “He is, unfortunately, of a vile character. I lost hope in his redemption many years ago.”
The colonel turned to face them, though Wickham, standing at attention with his back to them, did not. “I suppose I should not be surprised to see you here today, Mr. Darcy, Lord Chesterfield, though I am curious as to the source of your information. I, myself, just learned of his actions this morning when one of my officers saw fit to inform me of them.”
“The lady’s father,” replied Darcy. He stepped into the room, shaking the colonel’s hand, though there was little of friendship in it. It was a facet of Wickham’s character that he was prone to driving others’ apart by the force of his disgusting habits. “He came to us this morning, begging us to do something about your wayward officer.”
Colonel Forster grunted and turned back to Wickham, who still had not moved. “Perhaps it is just as well. It seems that little I say has any effect on him.”
Darcy, with Fitzwilliam following, entered the room fully and stepped around Wickham, noting the man’s eyes following him. His usual disgust and revulsion shone in their depths, but in behind Darcy sensed fear. Wickham had never been the bravest specimen, often fleeing at the first sign of trouble. That he had stayed in Meryton this long was a sign either of his desperation or his desire for revenge, whatever that meant.
“Well, Wickham?” said Darcy. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing to you ,” spat Wickham.
“That is your first mistake. You do understand that I hold power over you, do you not?”
“You know nothing. I have done nothing wrong. Shall I be flogged for speaking to a young lady at a society event?”
“I am warning you, Wickham,” snarled the colonel, putting himself directly before Wickham, “if you affect the welcome of this regiment in Meryton you will pay for it. You were told directly to leave the man’s daughters alone—I had it from Carter as soon as you were thrown unceremoniously from Mr. Bennet’s estate.”
“I was not thrown from the estate.”
“Perhaps Mr. Bennet did not have his footmen deposit you by the side of the road, but he informed you never to return.”
“And I have not.”
“Yet you spoke with his daughter last night, and from what I have heard, some of the language you used was rife with innuendo!”
“Denny knows not of what he speaks.” The sneer on Wickham’s countenance spoke volumes as to his opinion of the other man. “I merely attempted to defend myself against the vile slander which has been leveled against me.”
“You have not been slandered, Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam. “There is no slander when the account is naught but the truth.”
Wickham glared at Fitzwilliam, but in the end, he chose not to respond.
“He seems to have developed a modicum of restraint,” said Darcy. “That is, indeed, a surprise. He has never possessed any such virtue in the past.”
“I possess more virtues than you will allow,” snarled Wickham. “Perhaps if you would give me my due, I would surprise you.”
“Do not bring up that tire old grievance with the living,” said Fitzwilliam. “Your signature on the contract relieves you of all claim to the living and you know it.”
“But the amount I was paid for it was nothing more than a pittance. I know not how Darcy here thinks he has met the spirit of his father’s will with such miserly behavior.”
“Did you not agree to it, resigning all future claim to the living?”
“I knew I would receive nothing if I did not accept.”
“You are a fool, Wickham. The amount I gave you was worth ten years of that living, and you squandered it in less than two.”
Wickham glared at Darcy, but there was little he could say. Darcy’s words were nothing more than the truth.”
“Now, you will stay away from the Bennet ladies or you will pay the price.”
A snort escaped Wickham’s lips. “I have done nothing to warrant any reprisal in Meryton. You say I approached a young woman without her father’s consent? That is not a punishable offense. If you do not believe me, you may question the shopkeepers or any of the fathers in the neighborhood. You can do nothing to me.”
Darcy smiled at his one-time childhood friend, though it was void of any mirth. “That has always been the trouble with you, Wickham. You think that the past is done and forgotten. You are aware that I still hold your debt receipts in both Lambton and Cambridge, are you not?”
“Of course, he has forgotten,” said Fitzwilliam when Wickham’s scowl deepened. “It is Wickham’s custom to forget that which he does not like. He would not be Wickham if he remembered such insignificant details.”
“Then I shall remind him.”
Darcy stepped forward and put himself directly in front of his erstwhile friend. A stray thought entered his mind, that while Wickham had been the taller between them in their youth, now Darcy stood at least two inches taller. This disparity in height apparently did not cow Wickham, however, for he regarded Darcy, pure poison in his gaze.
“I cannot say what you are planning, but I know you well enough to know there is some scheme turning in your mind. I care not what it is. From this moment forward, you will leave the Bennet ladies strictly alone. If you so much as greet one of them while passing on the street, I will know, and I will call your debts in.”
“Without proof?”
“It is easy enough for me to have the receipts sent from Pemberley. They will be here in less than a week. If I call them in, you will likely never leave Marshalsea. This is the last warning I will give.”
With one final glare at Wickham and a nod at the man’s commanding officer, Darcy turned and left the room. He had a letter to write to his steward, one which had best be composed as soon as possible.
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G EORGE WICKHAM HAD rarely been more furious in his life. After the bastard Darcy had left, Forster had seen fit to ring a fine peal over him for a further twenty minutes. Wickham went away with the man’s voice echoing in his ears, knowing that his time in Meryton was coming to a close. He needed to leave and he needed to do it quickly. The only question which remained was whether he could exact revenge on Darcy before he departed.
Fearing him to be a flight risk, Forster had decreed he was not allowed near the horse pens and was to be watched at all times. It was nothing, however, to slip his watchers and make his way to the edge of town for an important meeting. Or, rather, it was important to Wickham if he was to have vengeance, for it served little purpose otherwise.
“You are late. I was forced to wait here for more than fifteen minutes. Lady Catherine does not tolerate tardiness.”
The whining of the bird-witted parson set Wickham’s teeth on edge, and he came very close to telling the fool just what he thought of him. Then the image of Darcy prevented from having the lovely Miss Elizabeth entered Wickham’s mind, and he managed to hold his temper.
“I had some duties which could not be delayed, Mr. Collins. I came as soon as I could.”
The parson sniffed and looked around, a shiftiness in his manner which almost set Wickham to laughter. The tall beanstalk, dressed head to toe in his clerical suit could hardly think to be inconspicuous. “Let us speak and be done with this, so I may return to my rooms. The weather is not fit for standing outside.”
“Very well,” replied Wickham. “What says your patroness?”
“Lady Catherine demands that Mr. Darcy’s interest in my cousin be ended by any means necessary.”
Wickham stroked his chin, affecting deep thought. “And how does she propose we go about doing this? Both you and I have been barred from Longbourn.” The parson’s eyes narrowed, his countenance furious over being denied his future home. Wickham ignored his anger. “Has she any notions about how this may be accomplished?”
“It is not for Lady Catherine to condescend to consider such matters. She has commanded, and we are to obey—she cares not how we accomplish her designs.”
He had expected nothing more from Lady Catherine, though her fiction of being above the fray was amusing. “As I said, it can be done. Is Lady Catherine prepared to compensate us according to the risk we will be taking? Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Darcy are not men to be crossed lightly.”
A look of distaste came over Mr. Collins’s features. “Our reward is the privilege of serving Lady Catherine.”
“I am sure it is. But you have the benefit of a fine living and a parsonage to return to when this is over. Darcy will not appreciate my interference in this matter and will be out for blood.”
Mr. Collins glared at him, suspicion alive in his gaze. “I thought you claimed a close friendship with Mr. Darcy.”
“I do,” replied Wickham, not missing a beat. “But it is clear he is infatuated with the chit. It will take some time before reason reasserts itself, and while he is angry, I would prefer not to be nearby.”
“Then you may rest easy, for you will be compensated accordingly.”
“Compensated accordingly in Lady Catherine’s words means little,” said Wickham, caring little if Collins heard the sarcasm in his tone. He produced a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to the parson. “This is what I want. I will meet you again tomorrow to confirm Lady Catherine’s agreement.”
Mr. Collins looked at the paper and his eyes bulged. Wickham only laughed. “Remind her that it is a small price to pay to ensure her nephew is not sullied by an inferior woman.
“And Collins,” continued Wickham, prompting the other man to glance up from the paper he held, “I find myself . . . eager to resign my commission and leave this place, and I must do so before long.”
“Why?” was the man’s blunt question.
“The reason is immaterial. You should inform Lady Catherine, however, that if she takes too long to consider my price, I will be forced to depart. She will then need to find someone else to accomplish her goals.”
“Perhaps she should do so anyway. This,” Mr. Collins waved at the paper in his hand, “is little more than extortion.”
“I am merely aware of how valuable my services are,” replied Wickham with aplomb. “I know Darcy. I know how he thinks. I know what it will take to induce him to release his infatuation with your cousin. If your patroness thinks she can find someone else who has these advantages, then she is welcome to ask him instead.
“I will wait until she comes to a decision, of course. But you should remind her that I will not wait long.”
And Wickham turned and left, hurrying back toward headquarters. With any luck, his tails would not even know that he had given them the slip. A glance back as he strode away revealed that Collins watched him for several moments before he too turned and departed. Wickham was not concerned that Lady Catherine would not pay. She was an impatient lady, one who would leap at the chance to have her wishes carried out as expeditiously as possible. Wickham would do the deed, see Darcy’s dreams extinguished, and be gone, all before the man even knew he had been assaulted. It was time Wickham left these shores, along with all that money Lady Catherine would give him for ruining the Bennet girl.