Chapter 23 #3
“Mr. Denny hinted that Mr. Wickham’s expectations change with his audience,” she said.
Darcy resumed walking. “That has always been his method.”
“You say that as though every inconsistency proves the whole of your case.”
“No. I say it because I recognize what he is doing.”
“And you expect me to accept recognition as evidence.”
He looked at her. “What would satisfy you?”
“Facts that do not depend upon your judgment.”
“You heard one this morning.”
“I heard a tradesman repeat what Wickham said. I did not hear him say it.”
“Then you need him to confess.”
“I need enough to know whether I am condemning a dishonest man or joining a powerful one against someone who cannot answer him.”
Darcy’s face hardened, but he controlled his reply. “Wickham has been answering me for years, to people who know neither of us.”
Elizabeth regretted the phrasing, though not the caution behind it. “Kitty repeated another version of the living.”
He waited.
“She said you worked against him before your father died and denied him a living. Mary remembers that he first said he abandoned the church after your father’s death, when you refused him the living.”
Darcy’s mouth tightened. “He did not abandon the church because of that.”
“You see? That is the difficulty. You correct the conclusion and refuse the history.”
“I have told you that the history concerns matters I will not place before Meryton for entertainment.”
“I am not Meryton.”
“No.” His answer came without hesitation. “That is why I said this much.”
The words checked her. She did not mistake them for confidence, but neither could she dismiss what they implied.
Ahead, Kitty had stopped at the gate. Lydia was speaking to her, but Kitty looked toward the lane beyond the meadow.
Darcy followed Elizabeth’s gaze. “Has Wickham made promises to her?”
“None that she can repeat with certainty.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is all I know.”
“He will allow her to believe whatever secures her attention. If challenged, he will say he never promised her anything.”
Elizabeth thought of Kitty in the draper’s shop, defending a confidence that had made her feel chosen while exposing her to embarrassment.
“You describe what I am beginning to see,” she said.
Darcy’s expression changed. “Then why are we arguing?”
“Because seeing a fault in Wickham does not establish every charge you make against him.”
“I have not asked you to establish every charge.”
“You have asked me to distrust him.”
“Yes.”
“On evidence you still control.”
“Not all of it.” He looked toward Kitty. “Not any longer.”
They reached the gate. Bennet’s work was a gate indistinguishable from the old one except that it opened without lifting. Bingley praised it as though Bennet had redesigned the entrance to Pemberley. Bennet, who had joined them by another path, accepted the praise with a smile and a quick bow.
Kitty stood apart, and Elizabeth relaxed when Darcy did not approach her. He spoke instead to Bennet in a low voice. Her father listened, asked one question, and nodded.
On their return to the house, Elizabeth walked with Jane. Behind them, Lydia teased Bingley about the gate, while Mary explained why hinges required regular oiling. Darcy remained with Bennet.
“What did he say to you?” Elizabeth asked her father when they were alone later.
“He gave me the names of two men who may have accounts against Wickham and asked me not to use his name when I inquire.”
“Will you?”
“I sent a note to Colonel Forster.”
“And if the debts are real?”
“Then Wickham will settle them, surrender what he purchased, or explain himself to men less charmed by him than your sisters.”
Elizabeth looked toward the drawing-room door, remembering that Kitty had gone upstairs soon after the visitors left.
“Do you believe Mr. Darcy?”
Bennet considered her before answering. “I believe he has supplied information that we can test. That is more useful than asking whether I like the man who supplied it.”
She knew the rebuke was deserved.
That evening, Kitty came down late and refused supper. Lydia announced that Wickham had sent no message and was therefore either confined by Colonel Forster or amusing himself elsewhere. Kitty left the table before Mrs. Bennet could demand an explanation.
Mary watched her go. “Mr. Wickham may have told both accounts so often that he no longer remembers which one is true.”
“That is not charitable,” Jane replied.
“No. But it is possible.”
Elizabeth looked at Mary, then at the empty place beside Lydia.
Darcy’s warning still lacked the completeness she wanted. He remained too accustomed to deciding what others might know and too certain that his judgment should carry weight where his explanation did not. None of that had changed.
Wickham had, or her view of him was changing.
His charm no longer concealed every flaw.
A debt might have an explanation, a boast might mean less than it seemed, and memory might account for a story’s changing details.
Taken alone, each meant little. Together, they formed no proof, but they no longer allowed her the comfort of believing there was nothing to prove.