“It was,” agreed Elizabeth. “Then you understand my reservations as it pertains to Mr. Wickham. You may understandbetter if I tell you that Mr. Wickham claimed he would never expose Mr. Darcy because of the respect he held for Mr. Darcy’s father.”
“And yet,” said Chamberlayne, “he has been speaking on the subject without cessation these past months.”
“Since Mr. Darcy left the neighborhood.”
Comprehension dawned; Mr. Chamberlayne regarded her as if he had not made the connection before. “That is true.”
“Then tell me this, Mr. Chamberlayne,” said Elizabeth, driving the point home. “What sort of man reveals personal matters to a woman of whom he knows nothing, claims he will not speak of it further, then waits until the subject of his criticism departs before he spreads the story far and wide?”
“A man with no good intentions, to be certain,” breathed Chamberlayne, appearing poleaxed by what he had heard. Then he fixed a curious look on Elizabeth. “Then your opinion of Mr. Darcy has improved?”
“Mr. Darcy is still the same proud, disagreeable man—I neither speak to praise him, nor do I claim to understand the particulars of what passed between them. What I do know is this—Mr. Wickham has taken every opportunity to defame Mr. Darcy, but only after he left the neighborhood. When I referenced the matter at the ball at Netherfield in November, Mr. Darcy declined to respond, not even to defend himself. Which man, then, is the more prudent?”
Chamberlayne again fell silent, observing her. Then he nodded, as if he had reached a conclusion. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, for you have given me much on which to think. Do you know anything else about Wickham?”
This was the tricky part—Elizabeth did not want to speak out of turn and destroy the work she had done to corner Mr. Wickham in his own lies. But she also did not think she could allow the opportunity to pass. After a moment’s thought, sheresponded in a way that would make the most impact on Mr. Chamberlayne.
“Nothing of any substance. When I was in Kent, I heard a suggestion that Mr. Wickham had a fondness for the gaming tables, but I did not ask.”
Whether Mr. Chamberlayne was fond of gambling, Elizabeth could not say, but he understood the thrust of her comment at once.
“That is interesting, Miss Elizabeth. Thank you for this information, for it is of great use.”
A few moments later, the officers cited a need to return to their barracks and excused themselves. The Bennet sisters formed into a group again and turned their attention back to the shops. Perhaps it should not surprise her, but as they entered the haberdasher, Kitty held back to speak to Elizabeth.
“Were you speaking to Chamberlayne about Wickham?”
Though Elizabeth did not think Kitty’s familiarity in naming the two officers was quite appropriate, she ignored it. “We spoke of Mr. Wickham. When Mr. Chamberlayne asked about Mr. Denny’s comment, I explained that I do not know Mr. Wickham well and spoke of his initial communication about the living to me. He connected the rest of it himself.”
Kitty nodded. “Do you suppose Mr. Wickham will take this opportunity of regimental business to leave?”
Pleased that Kitty had seen the possibility herself, Elizabeth said: “I cannot say. If he feels threatened, he will have no compunction at all about leaving. Deserting, even from the militia, is a serious matter—I do not think Mr. Wickham would risk it unless he thought he had no other choice, but I do not know.”
Making a face, Kitty nodded. “It may be best if he left now, but I would prefer he suffer the consequences of his destructive conduct.”
“So would I, Kitty,” said Elizabeth, putting an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “So would I.”
Hearing Lydia’s voice calling out for Kitty, the two sisters shared a grin and then entered the shop. For the moment, Elizabeth did not mean to worry about Mr. Wickham and what he might do. The information she had spread was gaining momentum of its own. Elizabeth meant to sit back and watch, and hope that Mr. Wickham would not escape.
Chapter VI
Mr. Wickham’s absence in those days was a boon. Not in the way one might expect, for Elizabeth made few comments about the officers’ past—she had already said what needed to be said, and she did not want to say too much for fear of appearing as one who had vengeance in mind. Word of Mr. Wickham’s faults was making its way around the community by that time, so there was little need to create waves with her hand when the tide was already turning.
The chief benefit of Mr. Wickham’s absence was the steady spread of the truth—unchecked, unchallenged, and beyond any effort he might have made to stay its progress. Elizabeth could not have arranged matters better had she drawn up her forces for battle and routed the enemy with all the precision of the Iron Duke.
The only fly in the ointment of the apothecary was Lydia. The girl had taken it into her head to speak in Mr. Wickham’s defense, the comments she once made about the officers—their gentlemanly comportment and her pleasure in their company—she now directed in Mr. Wickham’s defense. What made the girl even more insufferable were the sly glances she directed at Elizabeth, as if she were restoring Mr. Wickham’s reputation with her pithy comments.
“Oh, Mr. Wickham is so handsome and good!” exclaimed she on more than one occasion. “Why, I have never seen one so excellent as he, and so gentlemanly too. Is there a man in all of England who more exemplifies what a gentleman should be?”
Elizabeth listened to this and offered the obvious response. “That is curious, Lydia, for Mr. Wickham is not a gentleman.”
Though Lydia glared at her, Elizabeth cared nothing for her sister’s silliness. “Mr. Wickham is the son of a steward—he did not hide it himself. The difference between a gentleman and a steward’s son is as wide as a chasm, do you not agree?”
“You disapprove of him because of his origins?” spat Lydia.
“Not at all,” replied Elizabeth, unconcerned with her sister’s pique. “A man should be judged by his actions, not his upbringing, the face he shows to the world, or his firm jaw, wavy hair, or any other feature he cannot control. The way he behaves is the true measure of a man.”
Similar exchanges happened several times in those days, leaving Lydia seething and Elizabeth unconcerned. By the looks she received from those listening, she knew she had scored a significant point. Not everyone was as shallow as Lydia, for their neighbors could look beyond simple physical attributes. Though she could not be certain, Elizabeth suspected that Lydia’s comments were doing nothing more than displaying to the company how little they knew about Mr. Wickham, how false the mask he donned, as easily as he settled his red coat across his shoulders.
