Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner Page 5

  “I do understand your feelings,” said the officer. “Even a pleasant man in pain can be a difficult guest.”

  Lydia laughed. “There is nothing pleasant about Mr. Darcy, I can tell you.”

  “The story about town is that he was thrown from his horse because he was overtaken by drink. I hope that is not true. It would be very shocking if it were,” Mr. Wickham said carefully.

  “Oh no, it was not drink but our cat!” Lydia explained.

  Elizabeth, wanting to get back to the subject of interest, said, “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 than myself, for I have been connected with his family from my infancy.” He sighed. “You may well be surprised at such an assertion after seeing the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

  “As much as I ever wish to be,” cried Elizabeth heatedly. “I spent four days at Netherfield with him prior to his accident, and I think him very disagreeable.”

  “I think him not at all handsome!” Lydia declared.

  “I have no right to give my opinion,” said Wickham, “as to his being agreeable or handsome 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.”

  Lydia laughed again. “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 wonder,” said Mr. Wickham, “whether he is likely to be in this county much longer.”

  “That is up to his physician, I am afraid,” said Elizabeth. “I hope your plans in favor of the ——shire 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 stay away.” He smiled. “Which should not be difficult, given the present circumstances.”

  Mr. Wickham then spoke of Derbyshire. “His father was one of the best men that ever breathed and the truest friend I ever had. I could forgive Mr. Darcy anything and everything but disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.

  “You see, the church ought to have been my profession. I was brought up for the church, and I should by this time have been in possession of a most valuable living had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now. The late Mr. Darcy bequeathed to me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather and excessively attached to me, but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.”

  “Good heavens!” cried Lydia. “While a red coat suits you exceedingly well and I should hate to see you in black, I am sorry you lost the living!”

  Elizabeth asked, “But how could that be? How could the late Mr. Darcy’s will be disregarded? Why did not you seek legal redress?”

  Mr. Wickham shrugged his shoulders. “There was an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from the law. The living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and it was given to another man. I cannot accuse myself of having done anything untoward to deserve to lose it, but I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him and to him too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is that we are very different sorts of men, and he hates me.”

  “This is quite shocking!” said Elizabeth

  “He deserves to be publicly disgraced!” was Lydia’s opinion.

  Mr. Wickham shook his head slowly. “Some time or other he will be, but it shall not be by me. Until I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him.”

  “But what,” said Elizabeth, “could have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?”

  “A thorough, determined dislike of me,” said Mr. Wickham in a matter-of-fact manner. “A dislike 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, but his father’s uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood — the sort of preference that was often given me.”

  “I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this,” Elizabeth reflected, “but 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.”

  “Even though his singing voice is quite nice,” Lydia allowed.

  “I will not trust myself on either subject,” replied Wickham, “I can hardly be just to him. But I can state that almost all his actions may be traced to pride, and pride has often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behavior to me, there were stronger impulses even than pride.”

  “Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?” demanded Elizabeth.

  “Yes, it has often led him to be liberal and generous — to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, relieve the poor, and mind his singing master. Filial pride has done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House — these are a powerful motive. Why, when I was a boy, I lost the principal part in the annual Christmas pageant to Darcy, even though my voice was universally hailed as excellent. I am sure to this day there was skullduggery about.

  “He has also brotherly pride, and some brotherly affection makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister. You will hear him generally cried as the most attentive and best of brothers.”

  “What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?” asked Lydia.

  He shook his head. “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 — very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing and extremely fond of me. I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father’s death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her and oversees her education.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I am astonished at Mr. Darcy’s intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley, who seems to be good humor itself, and is, I believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?”

  “Not at all.”

  “He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man,” said Elizabeth, but Lydia had another opinion.

  “He is a bore, but he loves Jane, so we tolerate him.”

  “Lydia!” cried her sister.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Collins was loudly describing to Mrs. Philips the very grand chimneypieces to be found at Rosings Park. Mr. Wickham’s attention was caught, and after observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation was 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 your houseguest.”

  “Yes, that is our understanding.”

  Lydia said, “But we never heard of her existence until the day before yesterday.”

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

  The verification of Mr. Collins’s 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 Mr. Darcy if h
e were already destined for another.

  “Mr. Collins speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter, but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship, I have lately come to suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman.”

  “I believe her to be both in a great degree,” replied Wickham. “I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever, but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune — part from her authoritative manner and the rest from the pride of her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should have an understanding of the first class.”

  Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account, and she and Lydia continued talking with Mr. Wickham with mutual satisfaction until supper gave the rest of the ladies their share of the officer’s attentions.

  When the party was done, Elizabeth went away with her head full of thoughts of Mr. Wickham. She could think of nothing all the way home but the gentleman and what he had told her, but there was no time for her even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins was ever silent. Lydia talked incessantly of Mr. Wickham. Mr. Collins described the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Philips, protested that he did not in the least regard his losses at whist, enumerated all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly expressed his fear that he crowded his cousins before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.

  All quietly departed above stairs, and Elizabeth did not know whether she was relieved or disappointed that there was no repeat of the concert from the night before.

  Chapter 4

  RAIN BEGAN FALLING THE day after the Philipses’ party, an unfortunate circumstance for Elizabeth as she had much to ponder, and nothing was more appropriate for contemplation than a long walk in the countryside. Dispirited, she trudged downstairs and had her breakfast, one eye on the window. Her vigil had no effect on the weather; the cold November rain would stop and start but would not cease long enough to suit Elizabeth’s purposes.

  If she could not deliberate, she would discuss, and after breakfast, she made her way into her father’s book room. There she found Mr. Bennet engrossed in a biography of Julius Caesar. He put aside his study of Caesar’s Gallic campaign — he was planning his own “rout of a barbarian or two,” he said with a twinkle in his eye — and gave over his full attention to Elizabeth. Before she was fully settled in her favorite chair, they were joined by Jane. She, too, sought a discussion with her father.

  Elizabeth frowned. The night before, after her return from the party, she had tried to talk with her dearest sister about Mr. Wickham’s revelations, but to her surprise, Jane would not believe a word of it. She had spent time with Mr. Darcy, Jane said sharply — sharply for her — and “no friend of Mr. Bingley could act in so callous a manner,” she declared. She allowed that there might be some misunderstanding between the two gentlemen, but if given the choice of believing the testimony of either man, she would stand by Mr. Darcy. With that, she ended the conversation and remained adamant, regardless of Elizabeth’s protests.

  Now the rare argument was to start again. It pained Elizabeth to disagree with Jane, but she felt her father should know Mr. Wickham’s tale. She gave a brief accounting of Mr. Wickham’s grievances, and Mr. Bennet listening attentively.

  “Interesting,” was his comment before turning to Jane. “You do not seem to agree with Lizzy.”

  Jane continued her uncharacteristic behavior. “I cannot, Father. I am sure that Mr. Wickham truly believes that he has been harmed by Mr. Darcy, but in my dealings with the gentleman, I have found Mr. Darcy to be honorable and thoughtful.”

  “Thoughtful?” cried Elizabeth.

  “Yes,” said Jane. “Just yesterday, I helped Mr. Darcy write a very kind letter to his sister. It was apparent to me that he is much attached to her.”

  Elizabeth almost sighed. She had known for years that Jane was the most tenderhearted person, always thinking the best of everyone, but this was a bit much. Of course, Mr. Darcy would send a letter to his sister! But that did not speak to Mr. Darcy’s sensibilities at all. Besides, Mr. Wickham had names, proofs — there was truth to his looks.

  Mr. Bennet grunted. “Yes, and I posted it. I hope this will not lead to a flood of letters from London; my pocketbook may not survive. This circumstance will cost me more than I feared.”

  “Father!” cried Jane. “You must not jest so! I am certain that Miss Darcy would be concerned over her brother’s health.”

  “Of course, of course. I can afford a few letters. It seems this Mr. Wickham has called our guest’s character into question. Now we all know that Mr. Darcy is a proud, unpleasant sort of man, used to getting his own way” — Mr. Bennet uttered this last with a trace of bitterness — “but this indictment is very serious. We should keep it in mind. However, true or not, it does not change the present circumstances. The fact of the matter is that Mr. Darcy will be in residence at Longbourn for some time. It would be best to keep this intelligence to ourselves and refrain from inviting Mr. Wickham to Longbourn whilst Mr. Darcy is here. Are we agreed?”

  Elizabeth colored. “Lydia was with me when I spoke to Mr. Wickham.”

  Mr. Bennet groaned. “Then the story will be all over Hertfordshire by week’s end. Well, there is nothing for it.”

  “There is,” said Jane. “We could hear Mr. Darcy’s side of the story.”

  “What? Walk right in and demand to know whether Mr. Darcy disregarded the terms of his father’s will? Jane, you know better than that!”

  Jane was not chastised by her father’s reprimand. “There are other, more proper ways. For example, we could let Mr. Darcy know that Mr. Wickham is airing grievances against him. I think it would be a kindness, and it would give Mr. Darcy the chance to defend himself before his reputation is ruined with all our neighbors.”

  Elizabeth thought it was too late for that. Her father had a different objection.

  “Well, we cannot do it now. Mr. Macmillan and Mr. Jones are with him at present. They arrived just as I sat down for breakfast.” He darkened. “I suppose I ought to warn Cook to put out more food.”

  Suddenly, there came a commotion at Longbourn’s front door. Mr. Bennet arose in annoyance. “Who could be coming here in such weather? I had best see to it.” However, before another step could be taken, Mrs. Hill threw open the door to the book room.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Darcy to see Mr. Darcy, sir.”

  Elizabeth flew to her feet. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s identity was a mystery, but Miss Darcy could only be Mr. Darcy’s proud sister! Her eyes darted to Jane, but she appeared as astonished as the rest.

  “I do not understand,” Jane said. “Mr. Darcy’s letter could not have reached her yet.”

  The three left the book room instantly and beheld the visitors in the hall. Colonel Fitzwilliam, wearing civilian clothes, was a man of about thirty years of age with a grim countenance but, in person and address, was most truly a gentleman, particularly in the manner with which he assisted the young lady beside him. This had to be Miss Darcy. Tall and larger proportioned than Elizabeth, her figure was one of womanly grace. She was less handsome than her brother and obviously agitated. The colonel espied them and walked forward with a respectful, yet earnest manner.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam at your service, sir,” he said to Mr. Bennet. “Allow me to present my cousin and ward, Miss Darcy. We are relations of Mr. Darcy. We are sorry to burst upon you like this, with no warning or introduction, but we have received the most distressing express and hurried to Hertfordshire to see with our own eyes Mr. Darcy’s condition. I trust you will forgive us.”

  Mr. Bennet assured the colonel of their welcome while Elizabeth watched Miss Darcy closely. The lady had said not a word. Her eyes were red, and her body was shaking. Elizabeth’s heart went out to the
girl, and she and Jane moved quickly to comfort her.

  After a hurried introduction, Miss Darcy finally managed, “Tell me, is my brother well? Please say that he is!”

  The raw pain and fear in that simple statement almost overwhelmed Elizabeth. On close inspection of her face and voice, Miss Darcy proved to be younger than her figure suggested, and there was good sense reflected in her face. Elizabeth would have thought the girl’s manners perfectly unassuming and gentle were she not so concerned over her brother.

  “He is being well cared for, Miss Darcy, never fear. Father, let us take our guests to Mr. Darcy without delay.”

  Mr. Bennet agreed, and in short order, the little party was at the parlor door. Elizabeth espied a grimace come over her father’s face as he suffered to knock on a door in his own house. It went unnoticed by the others, however, and all other thoughts disappeared as Bartholomew opened the door, and Mr. Darcy’s relations rushed to enter before the valet could announce them. The Bennets followed at a more sedate pace, and Elizabeth’s tender heart was captivated at the sight of a sobbing Miss Darcy half on the bed, embracing her brother, and an ashen-faced Colonel Fitzwilliam standing close by.

  The sound of her father’s voice alerted Elizabeth that the physician and the apothecary were still in attendance. The noise had attracted others, and Mrs. Bennet, the remaining Bennet girls, and Mr. Collins soon crowded about the open doorway. Mr. Macmillan voiced his concerned over the growing spectacle and requested Mr. Bennet’s assistance in clearing the hallway. The opinion was shared by another gentleman in the sickroom.

  “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth — your assistance, please,” said Mr. Darcy. To his sister he gently requested, “Please, sweeting, go with these ladies and rest. You must not overdo. I shall be here when you have recovered.”

  “But, I would not leave you!” she cried pitifully.

  Lovingly yet firmly, he replied, “I am going nowhere, Georgiana. Please do as I ask. These ladies will see to your comfort.”

  She glanced at Elizabeth and Jane, her tear-filled eyes wide with question and anxiety. “Are these the kind ladies you wrote of from Netherfield?”