Chapter IV #2
“I told you once that I would not avoid Darcy,” asserted Mr. Wickham, a light shining in the depths of his eyes that she did not quite like as he regarded her.
“The business that took me to town was legitimate—had it not arisen, I should have been happy to present myself at the ball and dare all Darcy’s displeasure. ”
“That is understandable,” replied Elizabeth, “though perhaps it is well the occasion proved impossible. Mr. Bingley is an innocent in the matter—I would not have liked to see him made uncomfortable in his home.”
“Yes, you are correct.” Mr. Wickham’s gaze softened, and a faint sense of .
. . Elizabeth could only call it satisfaction, hovered about him.
“It would not give me a moment’s concern to see Darcy made uncomfortable, for the man goes about leaving others in distress.
Yet, you are correct that such scenes as might have arisen would have done no one any credit. ”
“It is good you see that,” said Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was certain from the way he looked at her that Mr. Wickham was waiting for her to say more—he appeared disappointed when she did not oblige.
“I understand that Darcy left soon after the ball.”
“A few days,” confirmed Elizabeth.
“That is no surprise.” Mr. Wickham appeared all too knowing. “A neighborhood such as this would never fit his sense of superiority—to own the truth, I am surprised that he stayed so long as he did.”
“Mr. Darcy was here at Mr. Bingley’s request. When Mr. Bingley returned to London, Mr. Darcy had no further need to stay.”
“I suspect it was much more than that, though you are correct.” Mr. Wickham paused to consider his next words. “Tell me, Miss Elizabeth—what do your neighbors think of Darcy now?”
“The same as they did when he was in residence, I should imagine,” replied Elizabeth, wondering why he would ask.
This time, the man’s scrutiny made her uncomfortable.
“That is curious, for I might have thought his reputation would worsen, if nothing else, because of his sudden departure. Then there is the matter of his offenses against me—that would be enough to prejudice everyone in the neighborhood against him.”
Shocked, Elizabeth stared at him, wondering about his meaning. “Mr. Wickham, are you suggesting that you expected me to speak of Mr. Darcy’s offenses against you to my neighbors? You informed me in confidence—I would never gossip about such sensitive matters.”
Far from what Elizabeth expected—that he would deny it or hasten to assure her that he meant no such thing, Mr. Wickham appeared no less than disappointed. A moment later, he brightened.
“No, of course not, Miss Elizabeth. You are far too upright to act in such a manner. Now that he is gone, however, I suppose there is no reason to refrain. Should Darcy return, your neighbors should be armed against him—if I can assist in this small way, I shall not hesitate.”
The pious way he spoke and the insincere timbre in his voice added to the shocks of the past few moments. But Elizabeth had no opportunity to respond, for another voice interrupted their tête-à-tête a moment later, and he was not amused.
“It is no surprise you would act to sink Darcy’s character when he is no longer present to defend himself. The coward that you are, I know you would do nothing to provoke him when he is standing before you.”
Mr. Wickham stiffened at the sound of the voice, color draining from his face.
As he turned, Elizabeth looked past him to see Colonel Fitzwilliam standing nearby, Jane on his arm, an expression of thunderous anger and disgust clear for all the room to see.
The murmur of conversation fell in their immediate vicinity as those in Sir William’s house noticed the confrontation and turned to gawk.
“F-Fitzwilliam!” stammered Mr. Wickham. “W-What a s-surprise it is to see you!”
The colonel showed him a grin that was all teeth, one that would have sent a feral dog scurrying for its life.
With a quiet word, Jane disengaged from Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arm and moved around Mr. Wickham, setting herself by Elizabeth’s side, taking the position of a protector.
Mr. Wickham did not notice—his full attention was on Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“A surprise it must be,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, nothing of his usual geniality in his voice. “If you knew anything of my presence, I am convinced you would have run and not stopped until you could not go any further. Tell me, Wickham—why are you here?”
Mr. Wickham’s spine stiffened for an instant, and Elizabeth saw his ugly sneer. “Is it not clear that I have joined the local regiment?”
“Yes, Wickham, I can see the red coat, disgraced though it is, upon your shoulders. What I cannot fathom is why you, a man who lives without restraint, would see fit to join the militia of all things. Only the army would be a poorer choice for one such as you.”
“You know nothing of me,” said Mr. Wickham, his anger rising. “Other than what Darcy has told you.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s responding smile was a thin, shriveled sort of thing.
“Oh, I know plenty about you, Wickham. I know you are a wastrel and a philanderer, that you only leave a place when you have gotten as much from it as you can. I suspect that if I were to approach the merchants in town, I would discover that you already have more debt than you can pay.”
If Elizabeth had not been looking for it, she might have missed Mr. Wickham’s slight grimace and the way he looked about uneasily.
On instinct, Elizabeth found Jane’s hand, and she clutched it, drawing support from her dearest sister.
Jane, she suspected, already knew something of this, for she was acting in a fashion most unlike her usual angelic self, her cool, almost severe expression fixed on Mr. Wickham.
“Now,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, his tone firm and final, “here is how it will be, Wickham. Though I know your need to defame Darcy is ingrained, you will say nothing of him. You will stay away from the ladies, and you will not accumulate any debt in the town. If you cannot abide by these strictures, it will go ill with you.”
Elizabeth saw Mr. Wickham’s wince when Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke of the merchants, and she knew at once that every charge, every accusation was the truth.
Somehow, Mr. Wickham had duped Elizabeth, had fed her pretty stories designed to mislead, and she had believed them like a credulous little girl.
Colonel Forster approached as the confrontation continued, his expression showing that he was not amused.
Elizabeth had always thought the colonel was a good man, though he was no disciplinarian.
What he would do when confronted by a man accused .
. . of what Elizabeth could not say, but she did not think he would ignore it.
“Colonel,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, standing up straight. “I am Anthony Fitzwilliam, second son of the Earl of Matlock and a colonel of the dragoons. Mr. Darcy, who recently stayed in this neighborhood, is my cousin.”
Though Colonel Forster eyed him for a moment, he bowed a moment later. Elizabeth understood the reason for the colonel to drop his name and connections—certain names carried weight in their society, meaning Colonel Forster would understand that Colonel Fitzwilliam was not just spreading tales.
“Unlike Wickham here,” Colonel Fitzwilliam gestured at Mr. Wickham, who was staring in uncomprehending silence, “I will not spread stories where anyone can overhear. If you are amenable, I shall visit you tomorrow and lay the matter before you.”
For several long moments, Colonel Forster considered this, then he nodded. “Very well, I will expect you.”
“Colonel,” said Mr. Wickham, desperation coloring his features, “I would advise you not to listen to this man. Darcy has long wished to destroy me—his cousin is no less than his confederate.”
“That is enough, Lieutenant,” replied Colonel Forster. “You may defend yourself when the time comes. For now, I think it is best that you avoid him and keep to yourself.”
Mr. Wickham stared at his commanding officer, then he turned and strode from the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam, seeing this, went to his counterpart, and though she could not hear what he said, the effects were obvious at once.
“Carter,” barked the colonel after conferring for a few moments. “Return to camp and see that Wickham is confined. There is some danger he may decamp.”
The captain saluted and beckoned to a pair of lieutenants, who departed.
A murmur of conversation rose around them again, though Colonel Fitzwilliam and Colonel Forster appeared not to notice it.
The conference Colonel Fitzwilliam had proposed for the morrow happened in a corner of the room in hushed voices, Colonel Forster’s mien growing more forbidding by the moment.
When they finished speaking, Colonel Forster nodded once and departed, which did not escape the notice of those in the room.
While this was all taking place, Elizabeth stood with Jane, wondering what had just happened.
Colonel Fitzwilliam joined them a moment later.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he, sitting near, “I apologize for that scene, but it was necessary. There was need for haste—Wickham is not the sort of man one treats lightly.”
“He told me that Mr. Darcy had offended him,” blurted Elizabeth, aware that her usual composure had deserted her. “Mr. Darcy refused to give him a living and blasted his prospects.”
The colonel’s returning smile was not accusatory, though Elizabeth would have understood it, given her comments about his cousin’s character.
“Wickham’s greatest strength is his ability to induce others to believe him. Believe me, Miss Elizabeth—you are not the first, and I doubt you will be the last.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam paused, then added: “If we move quickly, perhaps we can ensure he does no more damage.”
By this time, the Bennet family had gathered around them, Mr. Bennet appearing grave, Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia shocked, while Mary wore her usual judgmental air like a cloak.
“The man is a libertine?” asked Mr. Bennet.
“Among other things,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “He gambles, he defrauds, and his behavior toward ladies is reprehensible.”
“Is he truly so bad as this?” demanded Lydia, an incredulous note in her voice.
“As bad and worse,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“But he is so handsome!” wailed Kitty. “How can such a man be so depraved?”
“There is nothing more dangerous than a man without scruples coupled with pleasing manners and a handsome mien,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, not unkindly.
“You should take this as a lesson; you cannot judge any man by the face he presents to the world. Until he proves himself worthy, you should never trust any man unknown to you.”
“Is there danger to my girls?” asked Mrs. Bennet.
The colonel turned to regard her. “I think we have defanged the snake, Mrs. Bennet. Should he flee before Colonel Forster can prevent him, the army does not take kindly to deserters. At some time or another, Wickham will suffer the consequences of his actions.”
Mr. Bennet sighed. “Then there is nothing more to be done tonight. With any luck, the colonel will prevent his escape—even if he does manage it, he will be in no position to do any further damage in the neighborhood.”
“I agree.”
Then Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to Elizabeth. “I will own that I am curious about one thing. Wickham came to Meryton in November, and to the best of my knowledge, Darcy was still in residence at Netherfield. Did Darcy know he was here?”
“He did,” said Elizabeth, taking control of her frayed nerves.
“We met Mr. Wickham on the street in Meryton a few days before the ball at Netherfield. Mr. Darcy saw Mr. Wickham, then turned his horse and rode away. Even then, I could see there was something between them, though it appears I did not have the wit to see who the instigator was.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression softened. “I do not blame you, Miss Elizabeth, for Wickham is a practiced deceiver. Did Darcy say nothing about him? Did he say nothing to any of you?”
“At the ball,” ventured Elizabeth, feeling diffident, “Mr. Darcy suggested that Mr. Wickham made friends but could not keep them.”
Mr. Bennet’s snort of disdain spoke eloquently to his feelings on the subject. “If he thought that was sufficient, I must revise my opinion of his capabilities.”
“With that, I cannot disagree,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
That he was not pleased with Mr. Darcy was clear. What he meant to do about it was less so, though Elizabeth did not suppose he would remain silent.
“The question is,” said Mr. Bennet, “why he did not see fit to extend a warning. If this Wickham has been a millstone around your cousin’s neck, I understand why he would not wish to deal with him.
But at least, he could have provided a warning that would put us on our guard.
I have five daughters I must protect; my interest in this matter is greater than anyone else in the neighborhood. ”
Mrs. Bennet gasped as she understood the import of her husband’s words, but Colonel Fitzwilliam did not gainsay him.
“Please understand that I do not defend my cousin, but Darcy ignores Wickham’s existence when he can.
I have advised him for years to take action against him—perhaps I may induce him to do so now. ”
“Even despite his betrayal of Mr. Darcy’s family?” asked Jane.
Though Elizabeth did not know to what Jane referred, she understood at once that Colonel Fitzwilliam must have told her something about the specifics of Mr. Wickham’s offenses against Mr. Darcy’s family.
Curious though she was, Elizabeth knew it was not proper to inquire, and Mr. Bennet’s glare told his youngest daughters that they had best not pry either.
“Even that,” agreed Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I can say nothing of my cousin’s failure to act in this instance but be certain that I mean to discover it.”
The family separated soon after, the younger sisters to their whispering friends, Mrs. Bennet to the other clucking hens of the neighborhood, while Mr. Bennet was soon in earnest conversation with Sir William.
Elizabeth, feeling lightheaded, kept to Jane’s company for the rest of the evening, and the colonel, sensing her discomposure, did not begrudge her sister’s attention.