Chapter Twenty-Four

Elizabeth and her sisters, along with Mr. Collins, arrived at her Aunt and Uncle Phillips’ house for a dinner party two day after meeting the new Colonel. They had been busy days, filled with meetings and patrols, with only limited time for familial obligations. She had been happy to be gone from the house and its visitor. Mr. Collins had made plain, if not explicit, his intention to marry a daughter of the family to make amends for the iniquity of inheriting the estate.

At first his attentions towards Jane were quite evident. But later, after a quick word about Jane’s presumptive match with Mr. Bingley from their mother Elizabeth assumed, he turned his attentions towards her. Unfortunately for Mr. Collins, Elizabeth shared her father’s opinion of the man. He was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been little assisted by either education or society. Plainly put, her cousin was absurd. He had made his interest perfectly clear during a family trip to Meryton the previous day. The sojourn led to an encounter with Mr. Bingley, which made both him and Jane happy, but was otherwise a painful reminder of what a permanent connection to the rector might entail. It was also during the trip that their cousin was invited to the dinner party, which, after some consideration of the likely opinions of his patroness, Lady Catherine, on the matter, he decided to attend.

It turned out that both the local society of Meryton and the militia officers were represented equally at the soirée. Elizabeth was satisfied leaving Mr. Collins in the company of their hostess. She could already hear him trying to compliment her Aunt by comparing her furnishings and decorations unfavorably to Rosings, the home of Lady Catherine. Knowing what she did of the two interlocutors, she assumed that, at some point, a condition of mutual satisfaction, if not real understanding, would be reached. But she felt no need to stand and wait for the event to occur. Instead, she steered a course through the crowd to her dear friend Charlotte Lucas.

Charlotte had been acting as an assistant to her while working with the militia patrols. For the most part, they were occupied as guides, helping the patrols find the obscure and out of the way locations in the area. Charlotte had inherited some portion of her father’s near invulnerability, though not the accompanying strength or malleability. Her impenetrable skin meant she was at significantly less risk should her patrol be ambushed. And her father had taught her enough about firearms to make it safe for her to carry one if needed. “Charlotte, how was the patrol with Chamberlayne?”

“Uneventful. Which, I suppose is better than some alternatives. How is your cousin’s visit progressing? He seems a pleasant enough man.”

“He is a gracious guest, and most complimentary. Though I think he is somewhat concerned with the situation in which we all find ourselves. When Father suggested he might join in one of the patrols to meet his future neighbors and familiarize himself with the area, Mr. Collins suggested he might offer Mr. James assistance in seeing to the increased pastoral needs of the parish. He felt it might have much the same introductory effect and would be a better use of his talents.”

“It is very generous of him to offer, Lizzy. He owes nothing to the neighborhood.”

“You’re correct of course,” Elizabeth sighed. “It’s just that …”

“Miss Bennet?” a smooth voice interrupted their conversation. Both ladies turned to find Mr. Wickham, in his fine regimentals, calling for her attention. At first Elizabeth was put out at his presumption, but as he continued, her mood shifted to a more receptive mode. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt. But I was wondering if I might impose upon you for a moment of your time.”

“Mr. Wickham, do you know my dear friend Miss Charlotte Lucas, Sir William’s eldest.”

The handsome militiaman bowed. “I had the honor of making her acquaintance just this afternoon. Perhaps we might retire to the settee.” Again, Elizabeth had a flash of annoyance at his slighting Charlotte, but it quickly faded. Her friend nodded to her as the officer led her away.

“Again I beg your pardon.” He sat next to her on the seat, close enough for their dialogue to be most intimate. “I wished to speak to you about Mr. Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes. May I inquire how long Mr. Darcy had been staying in the area?”

“About a month,” said Elizabeth. “He has been visiting his friend Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park.” Unwilling to let the subject drop and interested in provoking the fellow to provide more information on their prior relationship, she decided to play on the fact that most of the militia were from the same county as Mr. Darcy. “He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.”

“Yes,” replied Wickham. “His estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. 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 in a particular manner from my infancy.”

Elizabeth could not but look surprised.

“You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting the other evening.”

A shadow of recollection fell over his face. “His father, Miss Bennet, 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 of his father. While my childhood friend’s behavior towards me has been scandalous; I believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.” His expression became less contemplative. “Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy? “

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“I am somewhat acquainted with the gentleman,” she temporized. “I would be very interested in hearing the opinions of someone with such an extended connection.”

“I have no right to give my opinion,” said Wickham. “I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and to well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial.”

“Yet I feel you have something about the man that you wish to share.”

“You have perhaps noticed how passionate Mr. Darcy may be about matters of the responsibilities of the gifted, and their role in society.”

“I have heard him speak on the matter. His views might be considered orthodox, I believe.”

“It would certainly seem so, at first,” He looked into her eyes and his voice seemed to seep in to her mind. “But I’d imagine, if you think back most carefully, you will recall him making statements that might hint at a more un-orthodox viewpoint …”

Elizabeth found phrases spoken by Mr. Darcy that might be considered in such a light … There are gentlemen that make me think that mere possession of a gift is not a good enough reason to have a voice in government … It’s how you help your fellow man with whatever gifts, or other abilities, you have … He is exactly the sort of man for whom gifts alone are not enough to justify the title of gentleman …

“I can see from your eyes that you know of which I speak.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. She unconsciously mirrored his actions, bring them almost into physical contact.

“Though his father, my godfather, was a most upright and traditional man, it was rumored at Cambridge that Mr. Darcy had rebelled against his progenitor’s most proper strictures. It was even said he had fallen under the spell of a group of freethinkers and Ordinaries. It was widely claimed he had become almost a radical himself. I, of course, never believed it of him. But on occasion, over the years, even I have heard him make statements that have forced me to reconsider that stance.”

“Surely you are not suggesting that Mr. Darcy is somehow involved in the attacks.”

“Of course not,” His voice soothed her. How could she think that of the obviously sincere man in front of her? it seemed to ask. “It is just ill-luck on his part. A pitiable coincidence that these heinous attacks started so soon after his arrival in the area. Although, if things do go badly for him, he will have a hard time explaining that.”

“I see what you mean,” Elizabeth acknowledged.

Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighborhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter especially, with gentle but very intelligible gallantry.

“It was the prospect of constant society, and good society,” he added, “which was my chief inducement to enter the Derbyshire militia. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. 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. As my godfather, he was 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!” cried Elizabeth, with a fair simulation of offended sensibilities. “But how could that be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did not you seek legal redress?”

“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 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. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, but it was given to another man. I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of Darcy, to Darcy, perhaps too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me.”

“This is quite shocking!”

“It is, but you will never hear it from me. Until I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose the son.”

The blatant illogic and untruthfulness of the statement seemed to pierce the spell of credibility that the Lieutenant’s silver tongue had cast during their conversation. Elizabeth could suddenly see the inconsistencies and hypocrisies in the man’s tale of persecution. She reached out with her gift. The sense that made her an auger, one that could detect the presence and nature of another’s gift, allowed her to see that Wickham’s gift rested in his voice and mind. He possessed a preternatural charm. He could sense how best to sway people with his words. And those that hear him would be much more likely to be convinced of the merit and truthfulness of his special utterances. A most subtle and diabolical gift, she thought, if given to the wrong person. And she firmly believed this scoundrel to be the sort of person that would use such a gift in the most despicable ways.

The whist party, which had held Mr. Collins attention so effectively for the early part of the evening soon afterwards broke up, the players dispersing around the rest of the party, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham. The usual inquiries as to his success at the game were made by the former. It had not been very great; he had lost every point. But when Elizabeth began to express her concern for his losses, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance, that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged she would not make herself uneasy.

“I know very well, cousin,” said he, “that when persons sit down to a card table, they must take their chance of these things. Happily, I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters.”

Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice, “Is your relation very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh?”

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” she replied, “has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly 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 until 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.”

“Is he that Mr. Darcy?” asked Mr. Collins. “I should introduce myself, just so I may assure him of the health and welfare of his Aunt and betrothed. He’s not here tonight, is he?”

This information made Elizabeth uneasy, as she was near certain of the warmth of her feelings for the man. If he were already engaged elsewhere, it might explain his reticence to acknowledge his obvious attraction to her. Vain and useless indeed would be all her affection for him, if he were already destined for another.