Knowing it was folly to betray any weakness to Wickham, Darcy kept any reaction from his face, though it cost him a considerable effort to do so. “I am acquainted with the lady. What of her?”
Wickham smirked unpleasantly at him. “I have reason to believe that her departure from Kent was not, as some might suppose, entirely voluntary.”
Darcy’s expression changed then, in a manner that would have discouraged any man less bent onhis purpose. “You will explain what you mean.”
“That she was sent away,” Wickham said, “and in such a manner as might, if properly represented, excite a degree of curiosity not altogether favourable to her.”
Darcy started despite himself, the composure he had maintained giving way for a moment before he could recover it. “This cannot be true,” he said; the steadiness of his tone did not fully conceal the force of the impression. “You will confine yourself to facts.”
“I have every intention of doing so. Miss Bennet, as I understand it, was dismissed abruptly. She did not remain to complete her visit. She did not even remain long enough to make proper arrangements for leaving. Indeed, she was sent off in such haste that she had no opportunity, I believe, of collecting her things before she went.”
Darcy’s attention sharpened into something like pain. “She wassentaway? Against her will? You are certain of this?”
“I would not repeat it if I were not.”
Darcy drew a breath, but did not permit himself to speak too soon. “Proceed.”
Wickham, encouraged by what he chose to interpret as alarm, settled more comfortably in his chair. “It is not difficult to imagine how suchcircumstances might be received. A young woman staying with relations is dismissed without warning and sent away almost immediately, and without even the common preparation which such a departure must naturally require. It is the sort of story that invites inquiry before it invites charity.”
“What inquiry?”
Wickham looked at him with a faint expression of amusement. “Any that may best answer the purpose of those who repeat it. Some might suppose she had given offence. Others, that her conduct had attracted a degree of notice which could not be overlooked. There are always minds willing to suspect more than they know.”
Darcy’s hand, resting on the table, tightened once and was still. “You will not proceed further in that vein.”
“On the contrary, I think I must, for the matter is not without delicacy. A story of this sort, once started, is not easily contained. It requires very little to give it life, and less still to preserve it. One hint produces another. A suggestion of impropriety may become, in the mouths of others, a certainty. A circumstance imperfectly understood may be repeated until it is received as established fact.”
Wickham paused, watching Darcy closely.
“It might be said,” he continued, “that she had attracted attention which she ought to haveavoided, or that something had been discovered at Rosings which could not be passed over in silence. One need not even specify the charge. Indeed, it is often better not to do so. Vagueness serves such matters far better than precision.”
Darcy’s eyes did not leave him. “You speak of slander with great familiarity.”
Wickham inclined his head slightly. “Only with the familiarity of observation. Society has always shown itself willing to improve on the truth.”
“And you propose to assist it.”
Wickham wagged his finger in reproof. “Not at all, Darcy, not at all! I merely propose to prevent the most tragic and irreparable damage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s good name — provided I am given a reason to remain silent.”
Though the words were expected, they were not less contemptible for being so. “What do you require?” Darcy asked in disgust.
Wickham smiled then, for the first time without disguise. “Nothing, I think, that can appear unreasonable to a man of your fortune. My situation is not what might be hoped. Certain obligations press upon me. With your assistance, they might be very easily removed.”
Darcy regarded him without speaking.
“If you choose to satisfy those claims,” Wickhamcontinued, “and perhaps give me a little something more for my trouble, I see no reason why Miss Elizabeth’s name need be exposed to any very disagreeable speculation. The whole business may remain where it is, and nothing further need be said.”
“You wish me to discharge your debts, and pay you into the bargain.”
“Yes, if you must say it so plainly.”
“And in return?”
“I remain silent.”
There was a pause, not from any wavering of purpose, but because Darcy had a great deal to consider and plan. Elizabeth’s safety and honour could not be left to chance.
Wickham, mistaking that silence for calculation favourable to himself, relaxed visibly. “I thought you would see the matter in its proper light in the end,” he said. “A lady’s reputation is a delicate thing. It has come to my attention that it was you who told the people of Meryton certain unfavourable things about me, and that you did it for Elizabeth Bennet. It is not like you to confide so much to a lady, Darcy. I knew you could not be indifferent to her.”
