Chapter 11 #3
Elizabeth put down her teacup and regarded him closely, intrigued by this incomplete fragment of his life story.
“You surprise me, Mr Wickham. With Lord Grantchester, Lord Keeble and Mr Bingley all vouching for Mr Darcy’s good character and friendship, I had thought all gentlemen of his acquaintance shared the same opinion. ”
“Perhaps all gentlemen with titles or wealth,” George Wickham suggested with a self-deprecating little gesture of his hand. “I can claim neither, and therefore neither can I claim Mr Darcy’s friendship, despite our early antecedents.”
Mr Wickham’s words seeming to vindicate Elizabeth’s own judgement of Mr Darcy.
She nodded in sympathetic understanding.
“You may well be right,” she said. “Mr Darcy has made it quite clear that he does not approve of my sister’s betrothal to Lord Grantchester, and it can only be on account of such prejudices as these. ”
“I completely recognise the man you describe,” responded Mr Wickham, with a sigh, before dropping back into the lowest and most confidential tones.
“For your sister’s sake, I hope Darcy’s influence with Lord Grantchester is less than with some others of his acquaintance.
For it was through such influence that he ruined my life. ”
“Ruined your life?” Elizabeth gasped in astonishment and horror. “How so?”
For the next ten minutes, George Wickham laid out the full story of his boyhood in the Darcy household and his shared terms at school and then university with Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The cracks had begun to appear with old Mr Darcy’s failing health, and jealousy of Wickham’s good-standing with his foster father had caused arguments and then a rift.
Old Mr Darcy’s will would have left a valuable living to Mr Wickham, who would happily have entered the church, as his patron intended for him. Young Mr Darcy, however, had given the living to another man and left his former foster-brother to fend for himself in the world.
“How very cruel and wrong!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “He ought to have been condemned by all that knew him for such unchristian behaviour.”
“You would be amazed at how easily society’s principles are blunted by rank and money,” returned Mr Wickham. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t, Miss Elizabeth, possessing a sharper mind than many young ladies.”
“So, no one condemned him, and no one defended you? It is too bad, Mr Wickham.”
“That is not the worst of it, either,” George Wickham added darkly. “Not long ago, there was a chance for me to marry well. A young heiress…well, she loved me. She would have been my wife by now if Darcy had not talked her out of it, likely filling her head with his lies.”
“That is terrible, Mr Wickham. To blight your fortunes not once but twice, and without reason. Mr Darcy has wronged you badly.”
“Likely he thinks my lack of rank and fortune reason enough for his interventions,” Mr Wickham replied with a shrug and a sigh of forbearance. “Well, what can I do but carry on as best I can? At least I still had friends enough to get this commission in the militia.”
The master of Pemberley was fast assuming monstrous proportions in Elizabeth’s head. She fumed inwardly at his injustice, now not only on Jane’s behalf but Mr Wickham’s, too. She was about to vent some further wrath at his wrongdoing when Charlotte Lucas appeared at her elbow, arm in arm with Jane.
At the same moment, Mrs Philips called out for whist players, sending a particular plea to Mr Wickham to complete a second table of four.
“Do excuse me, ladies,” he said with a bow and a smile. “One must always obey one’s hostess.”
“That poor man,” Elizabeth murmured as George Wickham walked away.
Charlotte and Jane both looked blankly at her.
“Mr Wickham seems to like cards as well as the other officers,” Charlotte commented. “Maybe even more so, if young Mr Denny is to be taken seriously, which I am not sure he is.”
The three young women laughed a little, and Charlotte helped herself and Jane to tea.
“I did not mean that,” Elizabeth explained. “Mr Wickham has just told me the most dreadful story that confirms all my worst thinking about Mr Darcy. I do not know how I will ever manage to be civil to him again.”
“Why? What did Mr Wickham say?” Charlotte asked at once.
Jane looked dubious, and Elizabeth suspected that if Charlotte had not been so eager to know more, her older sister would have chastised her for gossiping and perhaps even refused to listen further.
As factually as she could, Elizabeth summarised George Wickham’s treatment at the hands of Fitzwilliam Darcy. To her mild indignation, neither Charlotte nor Jane seemed to share her level of outrage.
“I do not think you need take Mr Wickham’s side so completely, Lizzy, even if he does look so well in his red-coat,” Charlotte said somewhat slyly, her words causing Elizabeth’s cheeks to heat.
“I am not Lydia, to have my head turned by a red coat, thank you, Charlotte!” Elizabeth protested. “Mr Wickham is certainly an amiable young man, but I have met handsomer men in my time, and not lost my reason over them.”
Mr Darcy himself, for example, was more handsome than Mr Wickham, although also far less amiable or engaging. Oh, why must she keep thinking of that dreadful man?!
“It may be that the whole thing has been some dreadful misunderstanding,” Jane offered.
“These things do happen often with wills. Do you remember how Sir Arthur Cambourn’s sons argued over the stables and horses for so many years?
Uncle Philips always said that if Sir Arthur had written his intentions more clearly in his will, it might all have been avoided. ”
“Very true, Jane,” Charlotte agreed. “In any case, Mr Darcy is of ten times Mr Wickham’s consequence. If I were you, Lizzy, I should leave any argument between them alone. It is none of your concern, after all.”
Elizabeth felt briefly mutinous. She had no intention of spreading the story more widely, but still she longed to throw this new example of injustice in Mr Darcy’s face and make him suffer for it. Then she saw Jane’s pained expression.
“For my sake, do let it alone, Lizzy,” Jane pleaded. “Lord Grantchester has great affection for Mr Darcy, remember.”
Her self-righteous indignation dying down, Elizabeth sighed and nodded. “Very well. I was not going to tell anyone else but you two, in any case,” she said. “He did not say so, but I am sure that Mr Wickham only told me in confidence.”
Again, Charlotte’s eyes flickered with amused disbelief, glancing over to where George Wickham now sat at the card table with Mrs Philips, their heads very close together in conversation while Mr Carter dealt the cards.
“Mr Wickham tells a lot of things in confidence,” Charlotte observed with an amused smile.
“I suppose it is hard not to confide one’s grievances when one feels them so strongly,” Elizabeth retorted, still slightly put out by the reception of her revelations about Mr Darcy.
Charlotte’s smile developed a hint of contrition. “I’m sorry, Lizzy. I shall not tease you any more. Tell me, how goes your mother’s matchmaking? Mine was quite in despair at Mr Bingley’s departure.”
“Our mother lives in hope of Mr Bingley’s return,” Elizabeth replied more cheerfully, glad to set their disagreement aside. “She also lives in hope of marrying off one of our sisters to Mr Collins.”
“Really?” Charlotte questioned critically, studying their cousin, who was also now seated among the card players and holding his cards in a most foolish open-handed fashion. “A clergyman? Lydia and Kitty…Hmmm. I suppose perhaps Mary…”
“Mr Collins is Father’s heir,” Jane added. “Elizabeth and I suppose that Longbourn is the only reason Mother takes any interest in Mr Collins at all.”
“Lydia and Kitty have none,” Elizabeth confirmed. “As you say, Charlotte, perhaps Mary, although Mr Collins pays her no attention.”
“How very interesting,” Charlotte mused. To Elizabeth’s surprise, she left them not much later and strolled over to watch the whist players. Charlotte had never been much interested in cards, but perhaps she intended to improve her game.