Chapter 25 #2
Wickham, mistaking that silence for calculation favourable to himself, relaxed visibly.
“I thought you would see the matter in its proper light in the end,” he said.
“A lady’s reputation is a delicate thing.
It has come to my attention that it was you who told the people of Meryton certain unfavourable things about me, and that you did it for Elizabeth Bennet.
It is not like you to confide so much to a lady, Darcy.
I knew you could not be indifferent to her. ”
Darcy spoke at last. “I will do as you ask.”
Wickham’s satisfaction showed itself at once in his whole manner. “I was confident you would take the wiser course.”
Darcy continued as if he had not heard him. “I will purchase every debt you have contracted, and I will do so without delay.”
Wickham leaned forward. “You are very good.”
“I am not yet finished speaking,” Darcy said coolly. “When your debts are secured, they will be mine.”
A slight wariness came into Wickham’s face. “Naturally.”
“And if I hear your name again in connection with Miss Bennet, in any form, in any place, or by any report whatever, I will call them in immediately.”
For the first time, Wickham’s composure failed him outright. “You would not.”
“I would.”
Darcy’s voice did not rise, nor was there any need that it should.
The certainty of his manner made denial impossible.
“You know very well what such an action would produce. You know the consequences, and you know I can enforce them. If I hear from you again, if I so much receive a letter from you, if I am told that you have spoken where you ought to have been silent, or even if I hear so much as the ghost of a rumour connected to Miss Bennet’s good name, I will act without further warning, and you will spend the remainder of your life in a debtor’s prison. ”
Wickham stared at him, attempting to recover some portion of his former ease and finding none. “This is a harsh revenge, Darcy.”
“No, Wickham. This is justice. You mistake it because you have not encountered it before.”
Wickham’s expression shifted again, the last remains of confidence giving way to something harder and more desperate. “You cannot mean to make prison the penalty for every misunderstanding.”
“There is no misunderstanding between us. You came here to trade on a lady’s innocence.
I am merely ensuring that you will not attempt it twice.
” He let the words settle before continuing.
“You will leave this place. You will remove yourself from every society in which Miss Bennet’s name might be introduced.
You will not speak of her, write of her, hint at her, or permit others to connect her with scandal.
If you do, the consequences will be entirely your own. ”
Wickham tried one last time to recover ground. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“It is no bargain, Wickham,” Darcy told him. “I have merely informed you of what will happen next. If you had not brought me information of considerable value with this hideous attempt at blackmail, I would be harsher still.”
Wickham rose at last, not with his former air of careless civility, but with the constrained formality of a man who sees that he has overreached himself and can neither retreat with grace nor advance with safety.
He made some slight effort at a concluding politeness, but Darcy, who had no wish to prolong the interview one moment longer than required, gave him none in return.
When he had gone, Darcy remained where he was.
For a few moments he did not move at all, his thoughts occupied not by Wickham himself, but by what the interview had revealed to him.
Elizabeth had not chosen to go, had not accepted a bribe or thought better of a marriage without the benefit of his connections.
She had been sent away by his aunt without the slightest consideration for her comfort, or even for her reputation.
Darcy ground his teeth in fury, divided evenly between Lady Catherine and himself.
That Elizabeth should have been dismissed in such a manner, deprived even of the common preparation due to any guest, and exposed to such treatment under his aunt’s authority, was a circumstance he had not imagined.
He had believed Lady Catherine capable of interference, of violence in language, of every degree of arrogance and opposition.
He had not understood until now the full extent to which her conduct had gone.
And Elizabeth had borne it all with no appeal to him. The thought struck him with greater force than anything Wickham had said.
She had submitted to humiliation rather than produce further disturbance.
She had returned home with no attempt to make her suffering a claim on him.
She had neither written nor complained, and while he, in his selfish uncertainty, had permitted doubt to stand where trust ought to have remained, she had acted with the same propriety and steadiness which had first distinguished her in his esteem.
He had been entirely wrong. Darcy bowed his head under the weight of that realisation. What he had once believed of her was true. What he had feared was false. He had allowed uncertainty to distort what should never have been questioned, and the recollection did not sit lightly with him.
Lady Catherine was worse than he had imagined. Elizabeth was everything he had thought her to be. More, perhaps, than he had deserved to hope.
Darcy rose at last, his mind no longer suspended between hesitation and doubt.
The course before him was not yet fully arranged, but his direction was clear.
He would leave London immediately, sparing only enough time to inform his household of what he did.
Whatever explanation was due, whatever reparation could still be made, whatever hope remained to him must be sought without delay.
If Elizabeth could ever forgive him, he must beg it of her at once.