Into Hertfordshire (16 page)

“What!”

“Just so. And again, these are the
least
of his transgressions, as I know them. He had managed to consume four thousands in less than five years, in a life of the foulest pursuits imaginable, and now had the effrontery to represent to me that he wished to take orders and become the quiet country clergyman. You may imagine my reply to this entreaty.”

“As if you could give over the care of Pemberley’s dependents to such a man!”

“Indeed. But I underestimated him; during the course of this last year he sought his revenge by making a very serious effort to embroil the Darcy name in a shockingly dishonourable affair. I cannot say the particulars, save that it was foiled only by a most fortunate turn of luck. It would have made him rich, but it would have brought disgrace upon us that generations could not expunge.”

“Good Lord! The blackguard! After all your family had done for him! But how could he have managed such a thing?”

“Through his lies. I tell you, Bingley, he is mendacity itself; he will lie even when the truth would serve. I have never encountered another creature that could come within miles of him for the depth and breadth of his lies. And in telling them, he has the air of a saint; the more incredible the tale, the more compellingly he tells it. For most people, my father included, the very fact that his claims are so nearly incredible ensures belief: the sheer audacity of his lies makes it seem impossible that they could be other than the absolute truth.”

“Was he always like this?” Bingley wished to know.

“That is what strains my understanding to the limit, Bingley, challenges every thing I would wish to believe about my fellow man: for yes, he
was
always thus. Before he knew care, before he knew want—I do believe he was this way from the cradle. There is nothing in his history to excuse him. That an animal such as he, parading about disguised as a man, can pass for a civilised being, casts into doubt all I have believed about virtue’s necessary and inevitable triumph over evil.”

“Why did you not have him taken in charge?”

“There is another example of his unqualified malevolence; in so doing I should have had to expose innocent people to misconstructions of the most damaging nature. He planned it all so that he took no appreciable risks himself, using others’ reputations as his shield.”

They rode on for some distance. Bingley broke their silence: “But, come, Darcy; we know that Evil does walk abroad to-day, as it ever has. We must not allow it to gain ascendancy over us. Surely it is our part, our duty, to stand up to it and move on.” Darcy looked seriously at his friend and nodded solemnly without speaking. He did not say that he had been trying to stand up to this particular evil all his life, and had failed on every occasion.

Chapter Eighteen

Darcy spent the rest of the day in his chambers. Those who consistently deny their emotions are ill-prepared to deal with them when once they have broken free, and his encounter with Wickham had shaken him deeply; he felt unequal to company, but neither could he find ease in solitude. His one comfort was that, with Wickham here, Georgiana must be safe from him. Not that he could imagine that she was in any danger from her feelings for him, not at this late date, but it had occurred to him early on that Wickham might attempt to blackmail her on the strength of their planned elopement. He had, of course, left instructions of the most exigent nature that Wickham never be allowed on his lands again, but Wickham was resourceful; there was no telling what allies he might have still in Pemberley. He took out her last letter, and found some comfort in his turn by the improvement he observed there; it did not occur to him to realise that their rôles were now reversed: that she was now become the source of solace in
his
need.

Darcy awoke the next day still disturbed in his mind, and spent the better part of it brooding before the fire in his own chambers; the weather was cold and he did not wish to ride, and he still felt unfit for company. He had Perkins convey his apologies to his friends. He tried on various occasions to divert himself with a book, but could last no more than a few pages before casting it aside in frustration. He thought back over his long association with Wickham, trying yet again to find some explanation, some
raison d’être,
that might excuse such a being’s existence. As a philosopher and man of reason he felt compelled to seek such an excuse; it was not possible that God and Nature could suffer to exist a creature so wholly negative in character; there must be
something
to justify his life, and also, perhaps, a reason why he should have been sent to burden Darcy’s. But he was, he had to admit to himself, too prejudiced to think dispassionately on the subject; Wickham had too often and too easily emerged victorious over him, in his attempts to dislodge him from that place in his father’s regard which he so little deserved, for Darcy to be able to set aside his temper and consider the problem rationally.

Darcy was also deeply disturbed by his loss of decorum on Tuesday’s meeting. To have his anger on display for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and, indeed, the entire village to see, and to know how Wickham revelled in being able to goad him into a loss of self-possession, mortified and angered him by turns. The frustrations and doubts he had felt as a young man—seeing his father taken in, yet powerless to convince him of Wickham’s faults—came back again and again to plague his thoughts; he feared to see that same patient yet disappointed look in Elizabeth’s eyes. Only the perusal of his sister’s letter brought him any peace, and he turned to it repeatedly through the many sombre hours of the day.

On Thursday morning he felt himself sufficiently recovered, and, indeed, obliged by the demands of merest civility, to venture downstairs to breakfast. He was the first down, as usual, but he soon was joined by his friend and Miss Bingley; the Hursts rarely appeared before the rest had finished their breakfast and set out on the day’s activities. Bingley treated him with kind forbearance, and must have given his sister some idea of what had occurred, as she was more solicitous than ever to his needs.

The two of them, he soon found, were setting out early that morning to personally deliver a number of invitations to the ball. The bulk of the invitations were to go out in the morning post, but issuing invitations to the more prominent members of local society was to be performed in person. On this occasion, in contrast to certain other occasions in the past, Darcy was minded to approve the simple enthusiasms and open, heartfelt cordiality of his friend; his uncomplicated goodness shone like a beacon against the malignant duplicity of Wickham.

After they had taken themselves off, Darcy indulged himself in another cup of coffee, shaking off the last residue of emotion from his two days’ sober introspection. The morning post arrived while he was still at table, and in it he was pleased to find another letter from his sister; he turned to it with a welcome sense of relief. She had written it on the prior Sunday, and it dealt with his observations on Miss Bingley and her jealousy towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet; he found great interest in what she had to say about Miss Bingley. Her description of her matrimonial intentions and outlook, her desire to make a “conquest” and her “pragmatic” view of men, sent a shock of amazement into him, and he suddenly felt that he had been altogether unaware of how dangerously close to the precipice he had been so carelessly wandering. He was astounded that his sister could harbour such knowledge, and exceedingly gratified by her sound advice. He determined to redouble his vigilance in future.

His coffee finished, he drifted into the library with the idea of finding something to read; the relief of thinking about something other than Wickham had given him a renewed sense of purpose, and a need of intellectual exercise. While he was going over the shelves, which, while nothing to Pemberley’s collection, held certain volumes that his did not—including some early editions of Rabelais’ work, with some very lively woodcuts—he was alarmed by the arrival of a footman to deliver an express from Pemberley. Darcy tore it open the moment the door was closed, fearful that some ill had befallen Georgiana—Wickham was first in his thoughts—but the letter’s opening sentence gave him relief. The second, however, confused him: that Georgiana should write him express about a ball was singular in the extreme. Whatever was she thinking?

On reading the entire letter, however, he became more troubled than confused. Her earnestly expressed desire, that he should stay to the ball and dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, tugged at his own wishes. He had thought, on more than one occasion, what pleasure it would give him to take Elizabeth’s hand for a set, and more recently had prided himself on his willing sacrifice of that pleasure for her sake. But now Georgiana was most solemnly entreating him to abandon that position for
her
sake; whose interests were to take precedence? At first his inclinations followed his wishes, and he felt that he might stay to take her hand at Bingley’s ball. But, when he delved more deeply into the matter, he had to ask himself, not who would benefit by such a scheme, but who would suffer the more. His sister’s wishes were, he felt, ill-formed and not well founded, while his decision not to distinguish Miss Elizabeth Bennet was founded on the secure tenets of probity and honour. To raise any expectation in her would violate both; therefore the wisest and best course remained the same: he must not show her any particular regard. Georgiana would understand, he assured himself, when he explained it to her fully. In the next moment, however, he reminded himself of the solemn promise he had given her, and which she had invoked, to do anything in his power to improve her spirits. How was such a conflict to be resolved?

He returned to the shelves of books, still troubled in his mind with the many particulars of the past several days; he settled at last on Montaigne’s
Essais
, but, after trying one or two different essays, he found the ambiguity of the author’s too-human tolerance of man’s foibles did not suit his need for clarity at the moment; he hesitated over Hume’s
Treatise
, but that author’s view that reason was subservient to one’s passions seemed too much a defence for Wickham. He therefore went back to the Renaissance for More’s
Utopia
; the simplicity and harmony More had imagined was what he wanted to soothe his sensibilities. He rang for another coffee, and settled himself into a deep chair with his book.

He passed an hour or two in this pursuit, occasionally lifting his thoughts back to the issue of the ball, but to little effect. He was still thus engaged when Bingley appeared in search of him. “Darcy?” his voice sounded at the door.

“Bingley! Welcome back. Have you secured a grand attendance for your ball?”

But, entering, his friend had no smiles for him on this occasion. “Darcy, I have something to tell you,” said he, his manner subdued.

“What is it, Bingley? Is all well?”

“I cannot tell. I…I saw that fellow, the one you… Darcy, he has joined the regiment. He is one of Forster’s officers. I saw him after I delivered the invitation to Colonel Forster.”

“He will stay on in Meryton, then.” said Darcy.

“He will. And, I say, Darcy, I issued a general invitation to all the officers, not knowing…. He will be at the ball.” Bingley peered anxiously at his friend. “I did not know what best I should do. I had already spoken to Colonel Forster; would you have me exclude him from the invitation?”

Darcy hesitated, his desire to injure Wickham at odds with his need to protect his sister’s character. With a grimace of distaste he answered, “No. Colonel Forster could hardly pass over such an exclusion without enquiry as to the reason, and I can give none of substance without naming those innocents I mentioned. And, as you have said, we must stand up to Evil, not run from it. No, I can face him down, if it comes to that, but I doubt it will; he is, for all his audacity, a coward at heart. He will avoid my presence; he will not attend, knowing that I should be there.” He spoke with more confidence than he felt; looking at Bingley with a wry expression he added, “If, however, I am mistaken on this point, I shall look to you, my friend, to help keep my neck out of the gallows’ noose, and be so good as to remove any weapons that might be lying about.” He spoke lightly, but a harsh and earnest truth could be felt behind his words.

“As you would have it, Darcy,” Bingley assured him sincerely. “Only tell me if you change your mind.”

Darcy nodded absently, and Bingley, after a serious look at his friend, quit the room. Wickham in the village for the winter—this put things in a very different light; he could not leave Netherfield until Elizabeth had been put on her guard; the injury Wickham could do her far outweighed that which he might do, in requesting her hand for a dance. The image of Wickham standing at her side leapt up before him, and he felt all the danger to her of Wickham’s continued residence in such proximity; they could not help but be thrown in each other’s way. But, when he considered how such a communication was to be accomplished, he was perplexed. The same objection to informing Colonel Forster must also apply here; he did not see how he might convince Elizabeth of Wickham’s true character without compromising Georgiana. Elizabeth would not, could not, listen to such a representation without demanding to know his authority, and this he could not give; and to attempt to put her on her guard without the necessary details might have entirely the opposite effect: such a seemingly unwarranted attack might serve to raise her interest in Wickham, rather than diminish it, as it had done with his father.

He considered giving her the bare facts of the case without names, and merely asking her to trust him for its veracity; but then he reminded himself that this was Wickham he was dealing with; he knew from years of experience that Wickham’s lies sounded better than his truths—even to his own father. Unless he wished to stay there at Netherfield all winter to counteract Wickham’s lies, he must do better than this. His options appeared to be rather limited. The full truth, and ask for her secrecy? Unthinkable. If it once got loose within her family, her mother and younger sisters would have it spread from Dover to Derby inside three days. No, he told himself, there must be a better way; of what use was the intellect, if not for just such a problem as this? He must somehow protect both Georgiana and Elizabeth; the ball was on Tuesday: five days and a half to find the answer. He looked around him at works representing the collected wisdom of the ages, stacked in sedate and stately rows around the walls of Bingley’s library, and was confident of success.