Georgiana laughed. “Yes, and I am very glad you are here. Oh, George… Mr. Wickham suggested that he could assist me with the accounts. B-but Fitzwilliam said I should tell no one of the loan and the reason why he was in Ireland.”
“Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “I shall retire and refresh myself, Miss Darcy. But later, you must tell me all of that gentleman. I find it a little improper that he should be visiting—with Mr. Darcy being away—even though you are chaperoned by Mrs. Younge.”
* * *
Elizabeth found she needed to rest before going down to dinner, which was to be served at five o’clock—country hours—a welcome respite from the later dinner times of Town: often seven o’clock or, increasingly common, nine o’clock, the habit of those who thought taking breakfast at noon was fashionable.
Her room was handsome; the furniture certainly appropriate to the Darcy fortune, and was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine—though somewhat out-of-date when compared to the modern apartments of Mayfair and other fashionable parts of London. Likely, little had changed since Georgiana’s mother, Lady Anne, had decorated the house. Tilly, bless her cheerful heart, had already hung her gowns in the dressing room and unpacked the remainder of her luggage.
The journey north had been a welcome interlude that eased the transition from London to Derbyshire, but Elizabeth still found herself quite astonished by her new position: no longer merely Lady Jersey’s secretary, but in all but name, mistress of Pemberley. She resolved, though, to do nothing that might encroach upon Georgiana's rightful place at the head of the household.
Her mind turned to Mrs. Younge, the companion of whom she knew nothing. Lady Jersey never seemed to be without intelligence regarding her acquaintances and clients of the bank; thus, Elizabeth, having just now received a message from the bank’s agent in Derby, decided she would write to him, seeking an account of Mrs. Younge and the mysterious Mr. Wickham, who, in her very brief acquaintance, had seemed far too familiar with Miss Darcy.
She sat at the desk by the window, the afternoon sun slanting in across the polished wood, warming her hands as she reached for her writing case. Pemberley’s lawns stretched beyond, deer grazing at the edge of the park, and for a moment Elizabeth allowed herself to enjoy the serenity of the scene. Then she dipped her pen and began her letter—guarded, as always, but firm in her inquiries.
“Pray do advise,” she wrote, “on the character and history of Mrs. Younge, late of Bakewell in Derbyshire, and if possible, any intelligence regarding a Mr. George Wickham, who appears tohave some familiarity with the Darcy family. Discretion, as ever, is appreciated.”
Sealing the letter, she called for Tilly to see it delivered to the post. Oh dear! Her sister Jane would be mortified that, after only a fleeting acquaintance, Elizabeth had taken it upon herself to enquire into Mrs. Younge’s and Mr. Wickham’s characters. Jane always assumed the best in everyone, often to the point of naivety. Yet Elizabeth’s experience in London with Child & Co. had made her realise that duplicity and deceit were commonplace, more often than benevolence and charity, particularly when fortunes were involved.
* * *
Elizabeth was taken aback when she entered the drawing room, prior to the company going in to dinner. Mr. Wickham, whom she had assumed would have long departed, was standing with Mrs. Younge, engaged in close conversation. They started when Elizabeth entered; the lady recovered her composure first, offering Elizabeth a polite smile.
"Mrs. Elizabeth," she murmured, inclining her head. Wickham, for his part, bowed with exaggerated courtesy, his eyes flickering with a glint of mischief.
"How fortunate that you should join us," he said smoothly. "Mrs. Younge and I were only just reminiscing about old acquaintances in Derbyshire. Such a small world, is it not?"
Elizabeth met his gaze, unwilling to betray the unease that fluttered in her chest. "Indeed, Mr. Wickham. Though I often find that the world is not so small as one might wish."
Wickham's smile faltered for the briefest moment, but Mrs. Younge interjected before he could reply. "We were only speaking of Miss Darcy's remarkable progress on the piano-forte," she said. "She possesses such refinement—and so much promise for one so young."
“I have heard her perform in London,” replied Elizabeth, a little puzzled by the inconsistency between Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham. “Lady Matlock possesses a Broadwood piano-forte of exquisite tone and action. Certainly, I will enjoy hearing her play here at Pemberley. But we were speaking of Derbyshire—are you also from the county, Mr. Wickham? I was told that Mrs. Younge is from Bakewell—quite near, I believe?”
Although it was impolite to do so, Elizabeth had asked Winthrop for some intelligence of Mrs. Younge—she spoke with a Derbyshire accent, rather than that of London or other of the home counties. Mr. Wickham’s accent was that of a man of some education; he possessed a fine countenance, a good figure, and a very pleasing address. Elizabeth would have taken him for a man of consequence except that his coat was rather coarse—somewhat shabby—and his cravat loosely tied, certainly not by a manservant.
Mr. Wickham smirked. “I have a long association with Pemberley—indeed, the old Mr. Darcy, God bless him, was my godfather, and it was through his sponsorship that I attended school and Cambridge.”
“Did you read law, sir?” asked Elizabeth. “For there are few other professions available to a university man.”
“Oh, the clergy, as well,” replied the gentleman, his expression turning serious. “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, but my godfather’s son felt I should not have it.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes—the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant toprovide for me amply and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere. I must admit, there was some justice in doing so.”
“Good heavens!” cried Elizabeth—the narrative was proving excessively diverting—“but how could that be?—How could his will be disregarded?—Why did you not seek legal redress?”
“The law is a strange beast, and may not have sided with me. The Prerogative Court could not have doubted the intention, but Darcy chose to doubt it—though, in truth, he was likely right to do so.”
Elizabeth knew that Mr. Darcy was a man of honour—excessively so. Who was Mr. Wickham to speak disparagingly of his absent host in his very home, to a stranger of so little acquaintance? She had thought him overly familiar with Miss Darcy, but his excessive nearness to Mrs. Younge was far too close for propriety. Mrs. Younge was a member of the household and should be treated with respect, but certainly not familiarity.
At that moment, Miss Darcy entered the room to take them in to dinner. As principal guest, Elizabeth took one arm of Mr. Wickham, Miss Darcy the other; Mrs. Younge came behind. The table had been set for four, with Elizabeth opposite Miss Darcy, Mr. Wickham to her left, and Mrs. Younge to the right of Miss Darcy.
The conversation began speaking of general topics: the county, the nearby town of Lambton, the neighbourhood, and the local society. Elizabeth agreed that she was highly pleased by all that she had seen.
“Are you to stay long in Derbyshire?” enquired Mr. Wickham. “You must find a great change from London. Do you not miss the bustle of the city?”
“My visit is somewhat indeterminate,” Elizabeth replied. “Lady Matlock thought that Miss Darcy may be lacking inamusement—as you say, the country is vastly different from Town. There, we both very much enjoyed the museums and galleries, particularly when accompanied by Miss Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Are you acquainted with the man? For I recall he spent much of his youth at Pemberley, with Masson Hill, his father’s seat, being only a short distance away?”
