Chapter Twenty-Two
Happy for all who knew the couple and their worth was the day, more than month after her seventeenth birthday, when Elizabeth Bennet left the house of her uncle and became Mrs. Darcy, after enduring a painfully long engagement (or so it seemed to the happy couple, though those who must establish themselves in the world before they can marry often suffer from much more prolonged periods of courtship).
The reader of this tale may easily imagine the joy with which Georgiana Darcy watched them say their vows in a London parish church, for her new sister had been as dear to her as a true sister for many years.
As one who was long familiar with Pemberley, and already known and beloved by the servants, Elizabeth Darcy entered the role of mistress with ease and pleasure.
Due to her blindness, there were matters upon which she had to depend upon the advice of Mrs. Reynolds more than Lady Anne had relied upon her housekeeper, Mrs. Peake.
But Elizabeth was an active woman, who placed herself at the heart of the community, and who was beloved by the tenants, and whose visits brought joy and laughter.
She was, without any doubt, a better ornament for the Darcy name and the glory of Pemberley than a wealthy heiress, or another daughter of an earl would have been.
For their honeymoon they visited the Peak District, where Darcy minutely described the view, the mountains, the beauty of it all.
Elizabeth was determined to forget nothing of that, and she was able to describe the features of the famed district with far more exactness than Darcy ever was, even though she had not directly seen them.
Those were happy weeks that would always be remembered by Darcy for their amorous delights, the joy of coming to know his dear wife in a yet deeper way, and the general happiness that surrounded everything in a rosy glow.
After they had been settled at Pemberley for a period of some months, almost enough to cause concern upon the matter, Elizabeth became with child and was delivered after nine months with a son who was healthy, screaming, the apple of his father’s eye, and the grape of his mother’s ear.
He was named Bennet, and he would prove to be a worthy heir to the Darcy name.
Though this gentleman was forced by circumstance to endure the great misfortune of being very advanced in middle age, almost old—for a man who has half-grown grandchildren is certainly not young—before he had mastery of his own estate.
Despite this inconsiderate refusal to die until he was quite elderly, Bennet was always on the most excellent terms with his father, and he never had cause to doubt that his father was proud of him and loved him even when he made mistakes.
After two more years, Elizabeth had another child, a girl who they named Anne after Mr. Darcy’s mother. Elizabeth was privately determined that if she had a second daughter, she would name her Jane for her own beloved sister.
In most matters Elizabeth was always exceedingly happy, and she never forgot to be grateful to Providence for the great joys that she experienced in her life. She never mourned her sight—she had received so much cause for happiness in her life, why would she mourn that which she could not have?
There was one matter, however, which always made Elizabeth deeply unhappy when her mind chanced upon it—which was several times a week. She still blamed herself for her sister’s marriage, and she could never think with tranquility upon it.
After the death in close succession of his patron and then his father, Mr. Wickham rapidly destroyed what credit he had in the neighborhood.
He never restrained his appetites. Over the course of time, it became clear to everyone that he despised men greater in consequence than himself, and that he equally despised those who were below him.
It became known by all that he had kept his mistress under his own roof, and that he did this chiefly to mock his wife.
When his oldest friend, Mr. Clarke, returned to Derbyshire with a wife who was a pretty girl and a minor heiress, Wickham seduced her before six months were out.
The argument upon the matter nearly led to a duel, and it was in the end Wickham’s fear of his friend’s gun that led him to make an abject apology when both parties had reached the dueling field.
That apology earned him no respect in the neighborhood, and he was generally viewed as a coward.
Wickham was known to have seduced the wives of at least two tradesmen, and the daughter of one of the tenants of the Greenstead lands.
However, despite these many dalliances, no one ever demanded that Wickham affiliate a child, and Mrs. Wickham’s neat form never swelled with child.
Over the years after his marriage, Wickham accumulated some thousands of pounds worth of debts of honor, and, as he had nothing of value which he had the right to sell, he was hounded when the annuity from Pemberley was paid, or when the coupons from her fortune were paid to Mrs. Wickham, by ‘friends’ asking him for what was owed.
Wickham naturally considered these debts of honor as having more significance to his standing as a gentleman than the debts to the merchants who brought food, clothes, and furniture to his house; those merchants in time ceased to offer him credit.
His house was cold, poorly victualed, and he only kept candles for nights when he entertained friends, which were infrequent.
They only had food to eat because Mr. Wickham allowed his tenants to bring eggs, meats, and bread in exchange for a reduction in their rents.
In this he was cheated, as the amount by which he let them reduce their rents was far in excess of the value of the food that they provided to Greenstead.
But Wickham always kept a manservant and a carriage with a groom. That was essential to his sense of self. His tailor also never needed to fear for payment.
Whenever he received money, he passed it to them instantly, so that no other creditor could claim it.
All other money went to Wickham’s gambling debts, which somehow, despite this, only grew.
Those friends of his who remained—that is, those confirmed bachelors who had no wife, dear mistress, or daughter that he could seduce—liked to play cards with him, as Wickham invariably over the course of a month lost more than he won.
These gentlemen considered Wickham’s income as their own, and the cost of drinking with him and laughing with him as he bitterly ranted about the vileness of women, the Darcy family, and the highness of prices, was modest in exchange for the confirmation that he would pay three fourths of his next quarterly installment to them.
Mr. Wickham’s approach to household expenses however proved clever in time.
Despite Mrs. Wickham’s efforts to keep her sister ignorant of the true situation, a month after she returned to Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy became informed of her sister’s circumstances.
Her sister had not purchased a new item of clothing since six months after her marriage—it had taken Wickham that long to reach the limits of his credit—there was no coal provided for the stoves in the winter, and there was only a single maid of all work to support her in keeping the house clean.
Submit Jones had been kept in the house for the first year and a half of Wickham’s marriage and given the title of ‘housekeeper’. But while she was there Wickham had insisted to her that she must never do any work but instead lounge about in the drawing room.
This young woman in time became so disgusted with Mr. Wickham that she left his employ and went to a city in a different county where her reputation was not well known to try to make a life in a better way.
After a period of some time, she married a widower who had success as a grocer, and they lived happily enough together.
Jane Wickham often did the work of a servant, washing dishes, laundering clothes, and preparing food—all tasks which she had received no training for. Wickham frequently threatened to beat her if the food was not prepared with better taste.
However, no matter how angry he was at the world, or even on occasion with Jane’s failures in housekeeping, he never touched her.
When he considered actually doing so, he flinched away from the action.
The more he looked upon her, and the calm way in which she dealt with every insult he gave, he became almost frightened of her.
He began to think of her as a saint, as a sacred thing.
As the sort of creature who ought not be defiled.
And as this happened, it became impossible for him to go to her as a husband to his wife.
A deep sense of his own worthlessness came to him whenever he tried.
She would let him exercise his rights, without any complaint. And he knew that she felt no affection for him. It became impossible.
Yet, though he could not take her, he still desired her desperately. He hated her. He wished to do her harm in the way that he had once wished to do Darcy harm.
He now thought of his childhood companion as ‘Mr. Darcy’, and Mr. Darcy and his wife were too far above him and too frightening for him to do anything against them.
It was solely because of Darcy that he had paid his first set of debts to tradesmen. Darcy would have him placed in debtor’s prison if he ever had a chance.
Mrs. Wickham was always held in the highest respect by all who knew her, for she acted as a Lady ought to.
She was always demure, always proper, and she always kept a calm countenance no matter what she suffered.
It must be admitted that there were some who were of a more romantic disposition who believed that her unwillingness to appear unhappy, no matter how her husband behaved, showed a lack of proper feeling.
Everyone agreed that she was angelically beautiful.
It was generally suspected that Mrs. Darcy had told her sister that they could arrange for her to safely live apart from her husband, but that Mrs. Wickham had refused.