Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (11 page)

Wickham.

The man’s name was as distasteful to Darcy as the most rotten of fish. He watched as the object of his distaste crossed the street some distance away. The Bennets were no longer with him, but the shock of seeing the sisters with that particular man left him a little cold. He had been determining not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth when he had detected Mr. Wickham next to her. He did not miss Elizabeth’s smile, but could not determine if the look was caused merely by her usual playfulness, or if it had been something special for their new acquaintance. Either way, the jealousy he felt was not welcomed.

The urge to warn her of the man’s villainous nature warred with propriety, which the honor of his family name dictated he follow. Wickham was a scoundrel of the worst kind, though the truth of it was not widely known throughout the countryside, or even in London for that matter. Darcy had been careful to make sure the story was never told beyond those directly involved, nor would he be the one to speak of it now. To say what he knew of the man would be to bring dishonor to someone very dear to him. He refused to even think of the details of it lest he be spurred to anger. With the detestable man so close, it was hard not to run him down with his horse.

Reining his horse away from the man, he rode through the streets a little faster than was prudent. Bingley, undoubtedly surprised by the swift departure was soon behind him, racing beyond the buildings into the wide prairie that would lead them back to Netherfield. He wished the air hitting upon his face and chest could blow away the desires that plagued his flesh. Thinking of Elizabeth with Wickham, with any man, caused his chest to tighten and his anger to rise. He wanted to strike something, to beat his fist till the pain overtook any inkling of passion. More than this, he wanted to find Elizabeth; to pull her onto his horse, and ride away with her to some hidden alcove where they would not be discovered. There he would make love to her; claiming her so she could not go to another man; banishing the demons inside him; killing the sensations of longing that now rendered his brain feeble and his limbs weak.

He could not deny it. She had infected him like some disease, and there was only one cure for it. It was a cure he could not bring himself to take.

As they walked home, Mr. Collins expressed his gratification by admiring Mrs. Philips’s manners and politeness. He protested that, except for Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman; for she had not only received him with the utmost civility, but even pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her before. Lydia and Kitty were pleased to discuss the subject with him as they were highly anticipating the event.

Elizabeth walked with Jane behind the others, content to let them wander far ahead, and related to that sister what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen. Though Jane would have defended either or both, had they appeared to be in the wrong, she could no more explain such behavior than her sister. It was on the strangest of circumstances that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy should happen to ride by on their way back to Netherfield, though it was by no means a direct route which the two men took.

Upon seeing Jane, Bingley changed course and instantly offered to accompany them home since their own escort had gone on ahead. Jane agreed that he should join them for part of the distance, at least till such a point that it was prudent for him to turn home. She would not hear of him going out of his way on their behalf. Elizabeth hid her smile at Bingley’s transparent excuse and Jane’s ignorance of it. The ladies hardly needed a chaperone for such a short walk, one they had taken often. As he came down off his horse, leading it by the reins, he walked next to Jane. Elizabeth fell a few steps behind, letting her sister have her moment.

Mr. Darcy was slower to dismount, and rode near her for several paces. Elizabeth, who did not pride herself a fine horse-woman, inched away from the large animal. Upon seeing this, the gentleman swung down and placed himself between her and the beast.

“You do not have a fondness for horses?” he asked.

“I do not have a dislike of them. I am as fond of them as any domesticated animal.” The horse neighed and snorted, as if responding to her words. She chuckled, leaning forward a small degree to look at the animal. “Though, I will profess I prefer walking to horseback. Perhaps this is because I have not had many occasions to ride.”

After speaking with Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth found Darcy’s long periods of silence disconcerting. Between these quiet spells, she endeavored to draw him into conversation. She commented on the brightness of the day, to which he agreed it was, indeed, bright. Next, she mentioned the very large breadth of his horse, to which he said it was not so very different than other animals in his stables. After a few more failed attempts, she gave up and determined to enjoy the pleasure of a walk despite her brusque company.

As they neared the place where they had agreed to part ways, Elizabeth turned to take her leave of Mr. Darcy. Before she could speak, he said, “I should like to take you riding. Bingley has a horse that would suit you very well. It had a good temperament and all ladies should know something of riding. Walking will not always be prudent.”

“I know how to ride,” Elizabeth said, surprised by the unexpected offer. “I did not mean to imply I did not. I simply prefer to walk.”

At that moment, they reached Jane and Bingley. Darcy did not pursue the proposition as he swung back on his horse. And, as the men rode away, Elizabeth did not know what to make of the offer. Dismissing it, she instead prompted Jane to tell her everything Bingley had said to her so they could examine what transpired word for word.

A
S NO OBJECTION WAS MADE to the young people’s engagement with their aunt, and all Mr. Collins’s scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton. The girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing room, that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle’s invitation and was in the house.

When they had all taken their seats, Mr. Collins was at leisure to look around and admire, and he was so struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast parlor at Rosings. It was a comparison that did not at first convey much gratification, but when Mrs. Philips understood from him what Rosings was, and who was its proprietor — when she had listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherine’s drawing rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison with the housekeeper’s room.

In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and the improvements it was receiving, he was happily employed until the gentlemen joined them. He found in Mrs. Philips a very attentive listener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she heard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbors as soon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin, and who had nothing to do but to wish for an instrument, and examine their own indifferent imitations of china on the mantelpiece, the interval of waiting appeared very long. However, it was over at last as the gentlemen did approach. When Mr. Wickham walked into the room, Elizabeth felt all her admiration of him had been quite reasonable. The officers were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party. Mr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk; as they were superior to the broad-faced, stuffy uncle Philips, breathing port wine, who followed them into the room.

Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself. She felt none of the frustrations that her unnerving attraction to Mr. Darcy seemed to stir within her. With Mr. Wickham, she was completely at ease to like the agreeable man, and did not doubt that he found her pleasant in return; for a woman always has some inkling when she is liked by the opposite sex, even if she should never reveal such understandings to the gentleman in question. The delightful manner in which Mr. Wickham immediately fell into conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker.

With such rivals for the notice of the ladies as Mr. Wickham and the officers, Mr. Collins seemed to sink into insignificance. To the young ladies he certainly was nothing, but he had a kind listener in Mrs. Philips, and was by her watchfulness, most abundantly supplied with coffee and muffin. When the card tables were placed, he had the opportunity of obliging her in turn, by sitting down to whist.

“I know little of the game at present,” said he, “but I shall be glad to improve myself, for in my situation in life —” Mrs. Philips was very glad for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.

Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight he was received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there seemed danger of Lydia’s engrossing him entirely, for she was a most determined talker, but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets, she soon grew too interested in the game, too eager in making bets and exclaiming after prizes to have attention for anyone in particular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to be told — the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She dared not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity, however, was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.

“About a month,” said Elizabeth. Then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, “He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Wickham. “His estate there is a noble one. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself, for I have been connected with his family from my infancy.”

Elizabeth could not hide her surprise. Mr. Wickham hardly seemed the type to form close connections to the likes of Mr. Darcy or his family, not that the former was unworthy but that the latter was too self-important.

“You may well be surprised at such an assertion, Miss Bennet, after seeing the cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you acquainted with Mr. Darcy.”

“As much as I ever wish to be,” said Elizabeth very warmly. “I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very disagreeable.”

“I have no right to give my opinion as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general astonish — and perhaps you should not express it so strongly any-where else. Here you are in your own family.”

“Upon my word, I say no more here than I might say in any house in the neighborhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favorably spoken of by anyone.”

“I cannot pretend to be sorry,” said Wickham, after a short interruption, “that he or any man should not be estimated beyond what they deserve, but with him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen.”

“I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man.” The strength of her opinions was greatly affected by the pleasantness by which Wickham’s delivered his.

Wickham answered, “I wonder whether he is likely to be in this country much longer.”

“I do not know, but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans will not be affected by his being in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, no! It is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him beyond what I might proclaim before all the world. I have a sense of great ill-usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behavior to myself has been scandalous, but I verily believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.”

Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all her heart, but the delicacy of it prevented further inquiry.

Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighborhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had seen.

“It was the prospect of constant, good society,” he added, “which was my chief inducement, for I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me further by his account of their present quarters, and the very excellent acquaintances Meryton had procured. Society is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession — I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes. The late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it, but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.”

“Good heavens!” whispered Elizabeth, “but how could that be? How could his will be disregarded.”

“There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honor could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it — or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence — in short anything or nothing. The livelihood became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man. No less certain is it that I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, we are very different sort of men, and he hates me.”

“This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”

“Some time or other he will be — but it shall not be by me. I must honor the memory of his father.”

Elizabeth respected him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them. Though she would have never guessed so horrible an action from Mr. Darcy, she could scarcely disbelieve the obvious good-nature of Mr. Wickham. Had Mr. Darcy been in attendance she might have confronted him with it. For his absence, she was grateful.

“But what,” said she, after a pause, “would induce him to behave so cruelly.”

“A dislike of me, which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better.”

“I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this,” Elizabeth said. After a few minutes’ reflection, she continued, “I do remember his boasting one day at Netherfield of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful.”

“I will not trust myself on the subject,” replied Wickham. “We were born in the same parish. The greatest part of our youth was passed together. My father left his previous profession to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate friend, and did receive a voluntary promise from Mr. Darcy on his deathbed that I would be provided for.”

“How strange.”

“The actions of the younger Mr. Darcy can be traced to pride, and pride has often been his best friend.”

“Can such abominable pride have ever done him good.”

“Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride, and filial pride — for he is very proud of what his father was — have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also brotherly pride, which, with some brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister.”

“What sort of girl is Miss Darcy.”

“She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me. I have devoted hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now.”

After many pauses and of other subjects, Elizabeth could not help reverting once more to the first, saying, “I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley. Do you know Mr. Bingley.”

“Not at all.”

“He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is.”

“Probably not, but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not lack abilities. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous.”

The whist party soon afterwards broke up, and the players gathered round the other table. Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Philips. The usual inquiries as to his success were made by the latter. It had not been very great for he had lost every point, but when Mrs. Philips began to express her concern, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance.

“I know very well, madam,” said he, “that when persons sit down to a card table, they must take their chances, and happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. Thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters.”

Mr. Wickham’s attention was caught. After observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation was intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” she replied, “has lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he has not known her long.”

“You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters, consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy.”

“No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine’s connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday.”

“Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.”

This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless her affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were already self-destined for another.