I stood at the window and faced my entire history with George Wickham: son of my father’s estimable steward, singled out for my father’s sponsorship, educated alongside me, and poised to rise into settled gentility.It is a mystery that one person can be lifted up by such a benefice and another ruined by it.Wickham developed all the tastes of a wealthy, independent man with the attendant vices and pleasures but without the governing principles to check him, much less the necessary resources. He believed those resources could be had from inducing my sister to elope with him.
***
Elizabeth and Mrs. Jennings had dinner on trays that evening in their little parlor as was usual for them. This was just as well since they would not know that my sister took a tray in her room, Mrs. Annesley had dinner with Mrs. Reynolds, and I picked at a plate in my study. We were entirely upended, and I was unable to pretend otherwise. The servants would have to think what they would.
In the morning, I asked for Georgiana, and she came to me in a state of pale reserve. Telltale shadows under her eyes, and her tightly clasped hands gave her away. She was close to frozen with distress.
“Are you well, love?” I asked gently. I came around from my desk, helped her to a chair, and sat next to her.
“Yes, of course,” she said in the forlorn voice of a child who is the opposite of well.
“You were shocked to have that man’s name brought up so abruptly,” I offered.
She looked up at me almost sharply. “How could she know him? How could it be that Elizabeth has heard the nameGeorge Wickham? Does she know what I have done?”
“Listen to me, dearest. The unhappy truth is that he was stationed in Meryton, and I met him when I visited Netherfield Park. Yes, yes. I know it is a cruel joke of fate that would place him there, and I felt it then no less than you do now. My presence must have served to discourage him from some disclosures at least, for I do not believe he ever mentioned you.”
“Oh, thank God!” She let out a breath.
“But if Arneson goes to Hertfordshire to force him to pay his debt, and if the matter is concluded in the usual way—that is, they meet on the field of honor, which I strongly doubt, or Arneson has him taken to trial for theft—he may well play his best card.”
Georgiana sat still as a stone for a painfully prolonged moment. “I see,” she said in a distant voice. “But what would he gain from ruining me?”
“He would not hesitate to spite us if he can. If he is injured or his own prospects are ruined, he may find comfort in wounding us by spreading his lies. Such is his nature.”
We sat in silence for a moment before I spoke again. “There is nothing in this we cannot bear, Georgiana. If there is talk, then so be it. I am your ever-faithful brother, Richard is your constant champion, and time and distance are our friends.”
“And if Elizabeth hears…”
“Do you trust her so little? Think of it. She gave up Wickham’s whereabouts without a moment’s consideration. Shemustbelieve he is a reprobate; otherwise, she would have sheltered him. She isyourfriend, not his, and I would lay odds she is loyal to a fault. Would not you?”
At last Georgiana’s face thawed from icy shock, and she dissolved into the relief of tears. I pulled my chair close enough that she could lean on my shoulder and encouraged her to have a long, comfortable cry.
When she had squeezed herself dry of her feelings, she thanked me most affectingly and sat up. “I suppose I am free now,” she said in a small voice of wonder.
“I feel it, too. We cannot live in fear of what Wickham might say of you. Whatever happens, you didnotelope with him, and there will be no marriage to give him the fortune he craves. It is very likely that he will either run away and never be heard from again, or he will be made to pay for his career of misdeeds.”
“Should I tell her?”
“Only at a moment that feels natural to you. Now—while she is waiting for her uncle to arrive—might not be that moment, but you will know. There is a very strong chance that nothing will come of this except that we are no longer under his power. Arneson may not even make good on his threats to pursue the man, or Wickham might abscond from yet another obligation to pay up. Either way, Miss Bennet may have done us a service and a very great one at that.”
Had it not been morning, I might have had a generous pour of brandy after that grim conversation. The preceding twenty-four hours had been wrenching, and I was confused besides. Wickham may not have compromised my sister with gossip while in Hertfordshire, but he had been busy painting me as the cause of all his troubles. The last I could recall was Elizabeth Bennet raging at me for supposed slights against the poor man. What in the world had happened in that quarter? I wondered whether I would ever know.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The weather was typical for that time of year, but I went to the stables and the kennel, to the steward’s office, and to speak to Mrs. Reynolds. I periodically visited her in her room to ask after the general condition of the house and determine what she might need to address any concerns. She would much rather die than ask for anything, but it was a ritual that paid dividends. She never failed to receive me with a warmth that was perhaps beyond what any other housekeeper would demonstrate to a master, but she had known me since I was a child, and I indulged her fondness since I secretly relied upon the security of her maternal goodwill.
“How is Mrs. Jennings today?” I asked as our conference drew to a close.
“Not very well, sir. She is in low spirits as I understand it—the poor lady.”
This sent me directly upstairs to see what I could do for—well,notfor Mrs. Jennings.
When I was admitted entrance, Elizabeth’s hair was slightly undone as she knelt in front of her great-aunt, lightly trying to rally her, and I wondered how long she had been working to entice the widow out of her sulks.
“Come, come, Auntie. Will you not at least look out the window? We might see a pheasant! Would that not be wonderful?”
It was not often the lady was not in a complacent, malleable state. But it had struck me of late that she was increasingly forgetful, and that day, she looked unmistakably cross, shrinking pointedly away from her relation as though she were being forced by a stranger to swallow a bitter medicine.
