The Lesson
The Lesson
The Netherfield party arrived late to an evening of light supper and cards at the Philips’ house.
Their tardiness was primarily due to Miss Bingley’s apparent belief that the way to a man’s heart was to annoy him by making him wait on her every engagement. As far as Darcy could tell, she believed being late showed her to be fashionable, where it actually just made people wonder if she could not afford good clocks or competent maids.
He barely managed to get his coat off before he was assaulted by the two youngest Bennet sisters, along with Miss Maria Lucas. Before he could even make proper greetings, the three began babbling incoherently. They spent most of their time arguing back and forth about who would get to ask the question, or give the gossip, or whatever they were trying to accomplish.
Darcy somewhat enjoyed the banter, for even though it was probably the silliest bit of dialogue he had been exposed to in ages (or at least since the previous evening in the Netherfield drawing room), he let it go on for a minute or two before finally holding his hand for order. It was enjoyable in the way listening to a litter of puppies practice howling was (in moderation), but enough was enough.
“Ladies, may I make a suggestion?” he asked, holding both hands behind his back. “Choose a number between one and ten. The closest to the number of fingers I am holding tells the tale.”
Miss Catherine won the chance to ask the question, which she did with alacrity (probably because Miss Lydia had no qualms about interrupting or cheating).
“We have heard the most shocking thing, and it must be true because he is an officer and must be a gentleman… and he has truth in his looks… but I cannot possibly believe it… and he seems so upstanding… and an officer would no t lie… and I cannot believe what he says… but how… what… how can he… but could you deny… and… well…”
Darcy raised his hand with more patience than he was really feeling, and suggested, “Miss Catherine, take a deep breath. Slow down, breathe , count to ten, and when you are calm, pray continue.”
She looked chagrined, and Miss Lydia started to jump in, but Darcy stared her down then looked encouragingly at Miss Catherine, who finally calmed down enough to ask, “Did you deny a man a living? I mean, I cannot believe it could possibly be true, but he—”
Darcy held his hand up to pause her and sighed in resignation. “Might the… ah… supposed-gentleman in question be Mr George Wickham?”
“Why yes!”
He sighed, reflecting that if it wasn’t for bad luck he’d have no luck at all. He started out fuming about his fate, but after a few moments’ reflection, he thought it might be more efficacious to quit whingeing and recognise the golden opportunity that had just been dumped in his lap and take advantage of the situation. He had been giving considerable thought to how to slightly improve the younger Bennet sisters for weeks, and this seemed too good an opportunity to waste.
“That man has been the bane of my existence for years . I cannot tell you the worst things about him, but I will tell you what I can, and then I shall tell your fathers the rest. They will decide how much to share with you. Is that agreeable?”
The ladies looked frustrated by the restrictions, while Darcy gave some thought to how close to the edge of propriety he was willing to skirt to teach the lesson. He decided to start with the easy part.
“I suppose he told you my father was the best of men… he stood as godfather… we played together as boys… he treated him like another son… sent him to school and Cambridge—that sort of thing?”
“Yes,” the three answered breathlessly .
“He probably asserted I was jealous of my father’s attention to him. If he was feeling particularly plucky, he might even have speculated my father liked him better than me, since I am such a stick in the mud.”
The ladies frowned at the precision of his assertions, completely unable to conceive of the amiable Mr Darcy as a stick in the mud. In the end, their minds could not go so far, so they just nodded in lieu of saying something silly.
“At that point, I assume he told you I denied him a living that my father left in his will.”
The three gasped, and Darcy thought about just telling them the real story, but then decided it might be his best chance to teach them a lesson.
“Have you spoken to your uncle about it? He is an attorney, after all, so he should be an expert on wills.”
“No,” they all said, looking slightly chagrined.
“You may do so later, but for the moment, let us do an experiment that you may find instructive.”
“All right,” they agreed rather unenthusiastically, probably disdaining the idea of instruction on principle.
“You said there was—what was the phrase—truth in his looks. Suppose you heard the same story in a letter from someone you did not know, or someone like Mr Chamberlain gave you the same tale? What would you think?” he asked, picking the most untrustworthy looking officer in the militia (though he knew no evil of the man).
Miss Lydia surprised him by asking a good question. “In that scenario, would we know you well?”
“I have been uncharacteristically amiable this trip for a few reasons, so let us assume you are acquainted with me, but do not know me well.”
They thought a few minutes and Miss Maria ventured, “I suppose we would not really know, would we?”
“That is correct! To your credit, you came to the source with your questions, but if you did not know me well, or perhaps did not even like me, how could you proceed? ”
They chewed that over a bit, though the idea of disliking Mr Darcy was nearly impossible to fathom.
Miss Catherine finally said, “I suppose we should look for holes in the story or ask someone we trust for advice.”
“EXCELLENT!” Darcy said quite happily, since it was possibly the most sensible thing he had ever heard from the girl, who seemed like she might not be beyond amendment.
The three beamed in pleasure as if they had all come up with the answer themselves.
“Try to think of some questions you might ask,” he suggested gently.
Miss Lydia volunteered, “The man looks older than my cousin, Mr Collins. He is not exactly a fount of wisdom or even sensible, and he has no connexions, yet he has a living while Mr Wickham, despite the education your father bestowed, and his connexions to your family, is not even a curate and might not even have taken orders.”
“Good observation,” Darcy asserted. “I can tell you he should have finished university five years ago, and a lieutenant in the militia makes less in a year than your cousin does in a quarter just from marrying and burying.”
“How is it that he is just a lieutenant, less than a week into his career, after five years?” Miss Maria asked in some confusion.
“Another excellent question.”
Getting into the spirit of things, Kitty asked, “Longbourn is entailed, and even though my father is indolent but very well educated, he says he can do nothing about it. How would you disregard your father’s will, when my father cannot even thwart his great-grandfather’s, even at the risk of his family becoming destitute?”
“How would you think?” he asked gently.
She shrugged. “Only if you were very dishonourable.”
“That could be a motive, but not sufficient to accomplish the task. What else would be required? ”
She thought a minute, and finally suggested sheepishly, “Your father and his solicitor would both have to be incompetent or indolent.”
“EXACTLY!”
Getting to the heart of the matter, Darcy said gravely, “There are things I cannot tell you without your father’s being vexed with me, but pray allow me this one lesson. What do you think the rules of propriety are for? If you are planning to say they are to keep you from having fun, think again.”
It took some time before Kitty ventured, “To protect us?”
“That is it exactly,” he replied gently. “More specifically, they protect you from the George Wickhams of the world , who are unfortunately as common as rats . ”
The three gasped, so Darcy continued. “He is the most gifted and prolific liar I ever met. He can convince anyone of anything. He even fooled my father for years, and I can assure you George Darcy was no green boy. Had I followed my usual pattern, I would have caused offense as I usually do. You probably would have believed him because he would have seemed more credible than me.”
The three stared in confusion, trying and failing to picture a world where Mr Darcy was unlikable or untrustworthy.
Miss Lydia finally asked, “What could he possibly want? We barely have a farthing to rub together between the three of us.”
Darcy sighed. “He will run up credit with shopkeepers he has no intention of paying, he is a poor gambler so will accrue debts of honour, and at the risk of inciting your fathers’ ire, I will simply hint that there are things that should be deferred until marriage, that a man like him would like to enjoy without the inconvenience or expense of a wife and children. He will promise anything to have his way, leaving his victims to suffer the consequences.”
The three gasped, and he supposed he had gone quite a bit past the propriety line, but he did not precisely regret doing so. It was not as if Mr Bennet or Sir William had done their jobs any better or worse than he had with his sister. At least Georgiana’s troubles were being put to good use.
With an evil grin, he asked, “Could you sneak me into the room behind him with, oh, let us say, Mrs Philips, Bennet, or Lucas, sworn to silence—and then get him to repeat the story, or maybe even embellish it?”
“Of course,” Miss Lydia asserted, as if she could not conceive of failing at such a simple task.
Darcy actually kind of liked the three young ladies. They were nickninnies for certain, but they had good hearts if they could get past their present awkwardness without being importuned by the Wickhams of the world. Miss Lydia was obviously the worst of the lot, but given sufficient encouragement, he thought she might make something of herself… eventually.
The rest of the evening went much better than he expected or even hoped. Wickham related the story with relish, not realizing Darcy was not only in the neighbourhood, but standing a yard behind.
When Darcy challenged him on the three-thousand pounds he received at his own request, offered to show a receipt with his signature, and then asked how he managed to spend four-thousand pounds as a single man to end up poor as a rat, Mrs Bennet nearly fainted.
It took some time before Darcy realized she had staked out the officers as matrimonial targets, and he later had to explain their financial positions to the poor woman, who had no idea how poorly soldiers’ wives lived. Once she understood that an officer’s wife would be worse off than a footman or tenant farmer’s, she became much less enthusiastic about the men.
On that subject, Darcy also found the easiest way to tell the young ladies about Wickham’s seductions without breaking propriety was far easier than he thought. He just told Mrs Philips, and the deed was done.
Within the day, everyone in Meryton knew Wickham was a lying, cheating knave, his local debts had been bought by Darcy, and Wickham had accepted a position in a penal battalion in lieu of spending the rest of his (short) life rotting away in debtor’s prison.
He tried to smear Georgiana’s name on the way out, but nobody believed him, and Colonel Forster added five lashes to his before-deployment punishment for embarrassing him by making up such wild tales. The man was gone within the week and never heard from again.
That evening started a change for the three ladies. After a few stories from Darcy to Mr Bennet and Sir William, they had to admit that their younger daughters had lost the plot, and it was their responsibility to bring them into the fold.
The ladies slowly became, through proper attention and management, less irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid.
By the time they married several years later, Darcy quite liked all of them.