Chapter V #3
“It is the truth,” replied Elizabeth. “Mr. Wickham came to Meryton in November, spent a few weeks in company when I saw him frequently, then he turned his attention to Miss King, and I have seen nothing of him except for once before I went to Kent, and once after I returned. With such a paucity of interaction, do you suppose I know everything about him?”
“No,” said Mr. Chamberlayne, “I would not expect it.”
“Furthermore,” said Elizabeth, knowing she had his complete attention, “all I know about Mr. Wickham comes from the man himself. Tell me, are you better acquainted with him?”
“I am not,” said Mr. Chamberlayne, a slow nod accompanying his statement. “Before he joined the corps, I had never heard of him. Denny had a previous acquaintance, but I do not think it was substantial.”
“That is my point.”
With a nod, Mr. Chamberlayne said, as if in jest: “To own the truth, Wickham does not speak of himself much.”
“He does not,” agreed another officer, a Mr. Smith, who stood nearby, “but you must own that he speaks of Mr. Darcy a great deal!”
Then the man turned back to his conversation with several other neighborhood ladies who had joined them, while Mr. Chamberlayne turned his attention back to Elizabeth. For a moment, he said nothing, thinking on what he heard, but when he spoke, his comment heartened Elizabeth.
“That is no less than the truth. Tell me, Miss Elizabeth—do you know about Wickham’s charges against Mr. Darcy?”
“I learned of them before anyone else in the community,” said Elizabeth, deciding the absolute truth would serve her best in this instance. “If you recall the card party at my Aunt Philips’s house in November, Mr. Wickham told me about his disagreement with Mr. Darcy then.”
Chamberlayne’s eyes widened. “That was only days after you made his acquaintance.”
“It was,” agreed Elizabeth. “Then you understand my reservations as it pertains to Mr. Wickham. You may understand better 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, she responded 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.