Those thoughts were so disturbing that she had to move to another topic. Dwelling on that was likely to make her die ofeither shame at herself, or anger towards him, which would be a terrible inconvenience for the Wythes.
In the light of a new day, Mr Wickham’s account disturbed her, but she had to belatedly admit that perhaps Jane was right. It was likely she did not know all the particulars; and as little as Jane could encompass the idea, Mr Wickham could be lying or exaggerating.
Lizzy had no evidence to support him other than that he was agreeable and pleasant, while Mr Darcy tended toward offence. However, a closer examination of Mr Wickham’s manners added disturbing questions. If he was so well-mannered, why tell a complete stranger his personal business on the same day he met her? It was certainly not proper, and she had taken the bait like a tasty worm, merely because she was predisposed to dislike Mr Darcy. What would she have done if Mr Wickham slighted someone she liked, or was indifferent to? She tried replaying that first conversation in her mind, replacing every reference to Mr Darcy with Sir William or one of her Uncle Gardiner’s business associates, and she would have cut him off before the second sentence.
The realisation that she had taken part in yet another propriety violation sent her into a fresh shock, and she wondered if she should be having an impoliteness contest with Mr Darcy. She was not at all certain who would be the victor.
Mr Darcy was certainly capable of lies by omission. When she mentioned that Jane had been in town these four months, he had simply said he had not had the privilege of seeing her. That would have been the perfect time to add something like, ‘No, I did not see her, since I consider you, her, and the rest of your family unsuitable company and I was not up to suffering the degradation.’
In the end, neither gentleman’s manners truly withstood close scrutiny, nor even cursory inspection. That meant neitherhad any advantage in believability. Mr Darcy refused to disclose anything about Mr Wickham, but was that arrogance or politeness? A true gentleman did not spread tales about another without cause, but what could Mr Wickham’s cause be? She could not fathom one.
Her snort of derision at her own silliness earned her a curious look from Margaret and Mrs Wythe, but she merely nodded and did not elaborate. It was embarrassing enough bearing it in her own head.
The carriage arrived in good order at the village of Kympton, a mere fifteen miles from Pemberley, around dinner on Saturday. She was eager to be in the neighbourhood of the Darcy family, and anxious to pursue her inquiries. In a curious coincidence, they were to attend the parish Mr Wickham claimed was to be his living, so perhaps she could ask the incumbent about the two gentlemen in question. That would certainly be a way to learn the truth—if she could bring herself to ask such an impertinent question. She could not imagine doing so with a stranger, but shecouldimagine asking his wife.
They spent the afternoon wandering from shop to shop, and trying not to be too obvious, she asked subtle questions about the Darcys, with most people either giving them a good character or at least nothing bad.
Her first piece of genuine intelligence came from the bookseller. Margaret was not a great reader, but was, much like Kitty, a great devotee of the haberdashery, so the party separated, Elizabeth requesting the privilege of an hour in the bookshop. Though she would not impose on the Wythes to purchase books, she loved the scent of leather and paper, and it reminded her of her father’s library. Mr Wythe had business with a carrier in the village, and Mrs Wythe accompanied her daughter.
Elizabeth’s thoughts regarding her father were conflicted. She loved him dearly and always found comfort in his presence; yet she was forced to admit that he had utterly failed in the duty of securing his daughters' future. He left his wife to raise them—an arrangement which left much to be desired. They had little dowry, no formal education, and two-thirds possessed no manners. All in all, they had few prospects—yet he chose to assist them by ridicule, rather than instruction.
The realisation struck her right in the middle of the bookshop, and nearly forced her to a seat; she settled for a startled gasp as she saw her Grandfather Gardiner, or at least his ghost sitting in a chair in the corner.
Someday my girl, you will come to realise all the people you look up to are flawed. Some are more flawed than others, and you may be distressed to learn that the people you love and esteem most might just have more flaws than others.
The elderly owner of the bookshop asked solicitously, “Are you well, miss?”
“I thank you, sir. I am well,” she replied, mostly out of politeness.
She had not understood that remark when she was a young girl, but she certainly understood it now. Elizabeth wondered how many of her father’s flaws she had inadvertently adopted. She could name at least three from each parent, but since the owner appeared concerned, she decided to put those ruminations aside.
He was a grandfatherly man, with an old-fashioned wig and substantial whiskers. He seemed good-humoured, and quick to smile or laugh.
The shopkeeper noticed the volume she was examining. “Holding that book, you remind me very much of Miss Darcy. I ordered it at her request last autumn, but she has been from home longer than expected.”
Seizing the opportunity, Elizabeth asked, “I do not know Miss Darcy, but have heard of her. What sort of girl is she?”
The old bookseller, not immune to conversation, replied, “A very accomplished young lady, but somewhat shy, I believe. My sister is a maid at Pemberley and says she plays all day, sings like an angel, and has not uttered a single unkind word to anybody in the whole course of her life. Her brother absolutely dotes on her.”
“She sounds much like my elder sister, except for the brother, as we have none. You say Mr Darcy is an ideal elder brother?”
She had gone well beyond the bounds of propriety into gossip, but she had to find out something somewhere.
“I believe so. He is a good customer, and we talk occasionally. I do not believe there is a tradesman or tenant anywhere in his sphere who will not give him a good character. He looks after his sister very well and is possibly the most diligent master inDerbyshire. He is kind, courteous, and affable to the poor. He knows every tenant and tradesman within a dozen miles. He is attentive to the land, fair, and even-tempered. His tenants get help when the harvest fails, and their cottages are the best in the county. He even established a free school in Lambton. He has visited my shop all his life, so while I cannot claim to be intimate with his family, I have spoken to him often, and everyone here thinks well of him.”
Someone unconnected giving such a good reference was not to be disregarded. Elizabeth, for the first time since the mortification of his slight at the Meryton assembly all those months earlier, wondered: could her first impressions be entirely mistaken? Of course, the man was likely one of his best customers, but what was to be gained by praising the man to a stranger? No, it must be the truth!
The rest of Saturday afternoon in Kympton yielded much the same. Whether it was shopkeepers, friends of Mrs Wythe, or anybody else she met, her subtle or not-so-subtle requests met with nothing but approbation. Everyone gave him his due for being reserved and more than a little distant, but they assumed that just went along with the responsibilities he carried. Nowhere could she find the relief she might have felt at knowing others agreed with her own opinions. Worse yet, she doubtedevensheagreed with her own previous convictions. Could she reflect on their history and form a new understanding that reconciled her experience with what others said?
When she attended church on Sunday, she discovered, much to her disappointment, the vicar was away with his wife visiting his sister, so a curate delivered the sermon. He was amiable enough, but not from the area, and thus unable to provide intelligence or even local gossip.
Elizabeth grew uneasy with the number of questions she asked about the Darcys and reluctantly concluded that the limited bits she had learned must suffice for a time.
Axle
Wood splintered with a deafening screech as Jane Bennet fell to the floor of her uncle’s carriage, and the maid, Ellen Taylor, fell atop her. She struck her head on the door, though the blow injured her less than the noise frightened her. Outside, horses thrashed against the coachman’s calm voice trying to soothe them—then came the unexpected thunder of another horse as someone galloped past, only to halt abruptly. Through her confusion, a second man’s voice joined the effort to calm the animals.
In short order, the horses were docile, and Ellen clambered up, visibly shaken.
