“I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this. The picture you paint is of one who should be despised by his fellow creatures in general, one who descends to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as you have portrayed here.”
After a few minutes’ reflection, however, she continued, “Idoremember his saying one day that he has an unforgiving temper. His disposition, according to you, must be dreadful.”
“I will not trust myself on the subject,” replied Wickham; “I can hardly be just to him.”
Elizabeth was again deep in thought. To herself she said, ‘You are a young man whose very countenance may be mistaken for your being amiable. I can see you try and use your charm to makepeople blind to your lies.’ She contented herself with, “It seems from what you have said you were his companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!”
“We were born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest part of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care.Myfather began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr. Phillips, appears to do so much credit to—but he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father’s active superintendence of his estates, and when, immediately before my father’s death, Mr. Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me. I am convinced he felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude tohim, as of his affection to myself.”
“How strange!” cried Elizabeth. ‘How dishonest and abominable! I wonder at your pride in your ability to spin a yarn that you think me simple enough to believe this story. As of yet, I cannot discern your motives for telling me this tale of woe, but I am sure most of it is dissembling—for dishonesty I must call it.’
“Itiswonderful,” Wickham continued, “for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me there were stronger impulses even than pride.”
“Can such abominable pride you accuse him of ever have 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, andfilialpride—for he is very proud of what his father was—has done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Darcys of Pemberley, is a powerful motive. He has alsobrotherlypride, which, withsomebrotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers.”
“What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?”
Wickham shook his head in supposed sadness. “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; and I 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 superintends her education.”
“I am astonished, based on your description of him, at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and I really believe is truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man as you described? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?”
“Not at all,” Wickham stated before thinking. He ignored the fact he had met the man at Cambridge.
“He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. Surely he would not be friends with Mr. Darcy if he is as bad as you have indicated.” She shook her head sadly. ‘Mr. Bingley’s roots are in trade, so if anything you said about Mr. Darcy was true, he would not befriend the son of a tradesman!’
“Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want for abilities. He can be a conversable companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable—allowing something for fortune and figure.”
Before Wickham could spin more of his yarn, Bennet stood and cleared his throat. Wickham turned a little white not knowing how long Miss Elizabeth’s father had been near him, hoping he had not heard the whole of what he had told her. If what he said reached Darcy’s ears…
“I-I must away. Honour and duty call.” Wickham stood, gave a perfunctory bow, and took off as fast as he was able.
“We will talk about this work of fiction on the morrow,” Bennet told his daughter. “The card party is almost at its end, help me call the attention of your mother and sisters and we will make for home.”
Ten minutes later, the Bennets were on the way home. On arriving they could hear Lydia’s caterwauling emanating from the window of the cellar.
Chapter 17
“What on earth is that ungodly racket my youngest is making?” Bennet demanded on entering his house.
“Lydia attempted to escape from the house, Papa,” Kitty shared.
“It was as we expected,” Bennet looked to his wife.
“Oh Thomas, I am so sorry,” Fanny bemoaned. “She is so ungovernable because I never took the time to correct her behaviour, and in fact, to my shame, I encouraged it.”
“Fanny, the blame rests with both of us, but knowing that will not correct the here and now,” Bennet assured his wife. He turned to the Hills. “Please tell us what occurred.”
“We feigned sleep like you suggested, Master,” Mrs. Hill began.
“Miss Lydia called our names a few times and then she tried to convince Miss Kitty to join her in going to Meryton to see the officers,” Mr. Hill continued.
“Much to Lydia’s distaste, I refused Papa. Life has been so much more pleasant since I have been behaving as I should,” Kitty related. “She tried to cajole me, but after a few minutes gave up as she was worried the Hills would awaken. I told her it was unwise to disobey you and Mama in that way, but she ignored me. She collected her outerwear and then slipped out of the kitchen door.”
“That is where Jim was stationed,” Mrs. Hill told. “We knew Miss Lydia had been recovered when we heard her screaming for Jim to release her or she would sack him.”
“Like you instructed, she was locked in the cellar, and there, as you heard when you arrived home, she remains,” Hill completed the recitation.
