Elizabeth was careful to remain vague. She shared a comment here and an idea there, never enough to spell out what she knew without disguise, but enough to allow her neighbors to connect the pieces of the picture she was painting. As much as she could, she also chose her neighbors who were most disposed to gossip to receive her comments, knowing it was the best way for news to travel about the community.
During a morning visit several days later, she made her most blatant comments yet. The Harringtons were a family that livedon an estate to Meryton’s southwest, the mother’s fondness for gossip was only exceeded by her daughters. Pen and Hattie Harrington were more properly friends of Lydia and Kitty, being more of an age with them, but Elizabeth had always had good, if distant, relations with them.
“How was your visit with Charlotte?” asked Pen that morning.
It was the perfect opening, and one Elizabeth had used to her advantage more than once since her return.
“Very interesting,” replied Elizabeth. “Charlotte appears happy in her situation. I dare say she has settled into life as a parson’s wife with tolerable ease.”
Pen made a face. “I am happy for her, but I cannot understand her acceptance of Mr. Collins. The man trod on my toes three times during the ball at Netherfield.”
“I have no greater fondness for him,” laughed Elizabeth.
Given Mrs. Bennet’s inability to hold her tongue, the proposal she had received from Mr. Collins was known throughout the neighborhood. Most, especially the young ladies with thoughts of romance dancing in their minds, commended her for refusing such an unappealing suitor. Pen was no different, laughing with Elizabeth at once. This was when Elizabeth set her plan into motion.
“Mr. Collins was not the only diverting figure in Kent. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, his patroness, was a most amusing subject of study.”
“Oh?” asked Pen, thoughtful. “Do I recall correctly that Lady Catherine is Mr. Darcy’s aunt?”
“I see you learned of that, too,” said Elizabeth.
“It was unavoidable.” Pen shook her head. “Mr. Collins informed anyone who would listen.”
“Mr. Darcy was also in Kent while I was there.”
Pen appeared surprised. “You saw Mr. Darcy again?”
“I did. Mr. Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, visited their aunt at Easter. The gentlemen stayed for three weeks.”
“That must have been a trial,” laughed Pen. “As I recall, you did not get on at all with Mr. Darcy.”
Silently thanking Pen for the opening she provided, Elizabeth nodded. “Mr. Darcy and I often disagreed when he was in Hertfordshire, but I saw a different side of him in Kent.”
Intrigued, Pen said: “That is astonishing, Lizzy. You were quite set against him in the autumn.”
“Perhaps I was,” agreed Elizabeth, falling back on the same account she had given her family. “But Mr. Darcy, when you come to know him a little better, becomes a different man. I do not say that he is any more agreeable, rather that I understood him better when I saw him in company with his family.”
“That is curious,” said Pen, searching Elizabeth’s eyes for falsehood. “According to Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy is among the worst of men.”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to regard Pen. “What do you know about Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy?”
“What everyone in the neighborhood knows,” replied Pen with a shrug. “Mr. Darcy is the wealthy man who blasted Mr. Wickham’s prospects in direct contravention of his father’s wishes.”
This was the first material evidence Elizabeth had ever received of Mr. Wickham’s actions to spread the story about the neighborhood. Until Mr. Darcy had departed from Meryton, Elizabeth was certain she was the only one who knew the tale. Though she had heard whispers about it, she had never asked, and no one else had ever informed her of what they heard.
For a moment, Elizabeth considered how best to answer. In keeping with her determination not to relate anything in detail, she did not wish to betray what Mr. Darcy had told her about thebusiness between himself and Mr. Wickham. More subtlety was required.
“That is interesting, Pen,” said Elizabeth, “for I heard that story myself. The curious part is that Mr. Wickham told it to me, while in the next breath he claimed he would never defame Mr. Darcy out of respect for his father.”
Pen’s eyes widened. The Harrington sisters were not the most discerning, their characters more like Lydia than Elizabeth, but she knew they were not bereft of understanding.
“What is most curious, Elizabeth, is that I know of several others to whom Mr. Wickham has related the tale of Mr. Darcy’s supposed betrayal.”
“It appears Mr. Wickham has less reverence for his patron than he suggests.”
Pen nodded, but when she did not reply, Elizabeth continued.
“Please do not suppose that I am saying anything about Mr. Wickham. However, it strikes me that Mr. Wickham has been free with his denunciation after he said he would not speak of it, while Mr. Darcy said nothing, even when I asked him about it at the ball.”
