“Some time or other hewillbe—but it shall not be byme. I cannot dishonour the memory of his father by exposinghim.”
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them. Never did she question the fact he was doing precisely what he swore he would never do. She paused to consider the lieutenant’s words. “But what can have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?”
“A thorough, determined dislike of me! 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. 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 which was often given me.”
“I had not considered Mr Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him. I had not thought him to be so evil and dishonourable. I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this.” Elizabeth paused. “Now that I think on this, Idoremember his boasting one day, at Netherfield Park, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful.” While she said the last, the voice of her conscience screamed: ‘That is what you do as well!’ but she ignored it.
“I will not trust myself on the subject,” averred Wickham. “I can hardly be just to him.”
Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, “To treat in such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!” She thought, ‘A young man, too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable and honest.’ Rather she added, “Also, one too who had probably been 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 in which your uncle, Mr Phillips, appears to do so much credit. He gave up the practise of law to be of use to the late Mr Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley estate. 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, 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 abominable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr Darcy has not made him unjust to you! If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest—for dishonesty I must call it.”
“You have the right of it,” responded Wickham. “For 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 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 repugnant, improper pride as his 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, andfilialpride—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 Darcy name, 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.”
Although she knew that much of what Mr Wickham ascribed to pride, were actually virtues, Elizabeth chose to ignore that inconvenient fact. “What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?”
He shook his head. “I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. She is too much like her brother though—very, very proud and disagreeable. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and 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 superintends her education.”
“I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr Bingley! How can Mr Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr Bingley?”
“Not at all,” averred Wickham.
“He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man, who has been unofficially courting my eldest sister.” Elizabeth smiled and looked at where Jane was sitting as she mentioned her. She turned back to the handsome man. “Mr Bingley cannot know what Mr Darcy is.”
“Probably not; but Mr Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want for abilities. He can be a conversablecompanion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are his equals, or betters, in rank, he is a very different man from what he is to those below his circle. His pride never deserts him, but with members of the first circles he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable—allowing something for fortune and figure.”
Feeling so much outrage at the ills Mr Darcy had visited on the head of the poor officer, Elizabeth completely missed what Mr Wickham said about rank. Mr Bingley was wealthy to be sure, but the son of a tradesman.
“Earlier, when we first met, you mentioned that you once knew Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Is she as much of a termagant as I suspect her to be?” Elizabeth changed the subject.
“She is. She is also Darcy’s aunt, his late mother’s older sister. She has one ill-tempered, homely, and sickly daughter who is the future Mrs Darcy,” Wickham grinned.
“In that case, they deserve each other,” Elizabeth smiled.
The card party began breaking up, so Wickham stood and bowed over Elizabeth’s hand causing her to blush. Soon he and his fellow officers took their leave. Elizabeth realised she had not been in company with Jane or Charlotte at all, but she could not repine how she had spent her visit to her aunt’s, as she had learnt much to reinforce her bad opinion of the dastardly Mr Darcy.
Being the last guests present, the Bennets prepared to take their leave. Mr Collins took his station between his cousin Mary and Mrs Phillips. The latter enquired as to his success in cards. It had not been good; he had not won a single point. When the hostess expressed her regret he had lost, Collins assured her with much earnest gravity and pomposity it was not of the least importance, as the sum of money was a mere trifle, and begged she would not make herself uneasy.
Her cousin’s performance that night was the final straw which decided Mary against him.
Chapter 17
When she related all Mr Wickham told her that night before they went to sleep, Elizabeth had thought Jane would agree with her. She could not be happy with Jane’s reaction.
“Lizzy! How is it you who question everything, took Mr Wickham’s tale at face value?” Jane asked after Elizabeth had repeated the gist of what she had been told. “Were you so hurt by Mr Darcy’s words that you accept this as truth without knowing the other side of the story?”
“Mr Wickham would not lie to me, I saw honesty in his looks,” Elizabeth insisted.
“And I am not accusing him of prevaricating,” Jane returned. “All I am saying is that until you hear from Mr Darcy on this subject, you cannot be sure. I ask you not to repeat this as it could sour things between Mr Bingley and me.” Jane placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Please Lizzy, for me, hold your tongue on this subject, unless you discuss it with Mr Darcy, which as you refuse to speak to him, may be difficult.”
Everything her Janey stated was correct, she had only heard from one of the principals. She knew it would be unfair to decide everything without speaking to Mr Darcy, and that was a quandary. She did not want to speak to him, but even if she did, how was she to broach such a subject? Would she walk up to him and ask him if he had ignored his father’s wishes and blasted Mr Wickham’s prospects? Of one thing she was sure, she would do nothing to harm Janey, and she recognised if she was the one spreading what she had been told, it could cause Mr Bingley to withdraw.
