CHAPTER 1 #3
Mr. Yates, unused to such familiarity, remained momentarily at a loss, while Wickham, recovering himself with equal speed, dismissed him with a lighter tone and prepared to attend upon her ladyship without delay.
***
An hour later, in the dining room at Rosings, Wickham found himself seated next to Lady Catherine, a distinction less accidental than it appeared.
The arrangement had been permitted with readiness, he being the newest arrival in Kent among those present at table—Mr. Langworth, the mayor of Westerham, Mr. Gill, the notary, and Dr. Watkins.
Opposite him sat Miss Anne de Bourgh, whose delicate figure and pallor bespoke a constitution unequal to society, though her eyes, when raised, retained a quiet and observant curiosity, attended by Mrs. Jenkinson, whose vigilance suggested long practice in the management of a gentle charge.
As the new vicar, Mr. Wickham was determined to establish himself not merely as acceptable, but as advantageous.
His attention, therefore, was not indiscriminately distributed; it returned, with studied regularity, to Lady Catherine, whose favour alone could give permanence to his present success.
He listened with deference, interposing only where it might best serve to confirm her opinion of his judgement, and, when required, introduced such recollections of his time at Cambridge as might recommend his education without displaying it too openly.
“Undoubtedly, your Ladyship,” Wickham said, accepting the attention of the servant with proper acknowledgment, “it is a singular distinction to be permitted to serve under your patronage.”
“Your sense of the distinction does you credit, Mr. Wickham,” Lady Catherine replied, setting down her cup with composure.
“But gratitude, however properly expressed, is of little consequence unless it be supported by conduct. I expect regularity, attention, and a proper understanding of your obligations.”
“I should endeavour to fall short in none of them, your Ladyship,” the new vicar returned, with a gravity that admitted neither haste nor exaggeration.
“Indeed, I have already begun to acquaint myself with the present condition of the parish, and to consider such measures as may be introduced without inconvenience. I had hoped, with your permission, to submit a few preliminary observations for your consideration.”
Lady Catherine regarded him. “At what time?”
“If it should suit your engagements, I might wait upon your Ladyship tomorrow at noon.”
“That will not be necessary,” she replied. “Have the papers sent to me this evening. I will examine them myself.”
“Your Ladyship anticipates my wishes,” Wickham said, bowing his head slightly.
The exchange, though brief, had not been without its consequence. He had secured not only her attention, but her immediate interest; and interest, once engaged, was seldom dismissed without further inquiry.
He did not, however, allow himself any outward indication of satisfaction. Restraint, he had already found, was more persuasive than eagerness.
As the evening advanced, conversation extended itself among the company, though seldom beyond the direction Lady Catherine chose to impose upon it.
Wickham contributed sparingly, yet with sufficient readiness to avoid the appearance of reserve, and observed, with quiet attention, the manner in which each present accommodated themselves to her authority.
It was a society easily governed; the advantage lay with the person who best understood its rules.
When at last he withdrew from the table, he did so with proper decorum, and, having gained the corridor, sought out one of the household servants.
“I must request your assistance,” he said, in a tone of easy civility that neither presumed nor deferred excessively. “Her Ladyship has expressed a wish to examine certain papers which are at present in my study. If they might be conveyed to Rosings without delay, I should be obliged.”
“Certainly, sir,” the servant replied.
“You will find Mr. Yates at the parsonage; he will direct you to them.”
The man withdrew at once, and Wickham, left alone, did not immediately follow. Instead, he paused, his expression composed, his thoughts proceeding with greater animation than his manner betrayed.
The arrangement had been prepared with care.
Among the documents to be delivered, one paper—seemingly mislaid, yet placed with sufficient deliberation—would present itself to a more attentive reader.
Its contents, couched in terms of gratitude and admiration, yet without direct application, might, if perused under the right impression, invite a conclusion not wholly inconsistent with his present advantage.
He did not rely upon chance; he relied upon inclination. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not a woman to overlook what concerned her, nor to resist what appeared to confirm her consequence.
If curiosity were once engaged, the rest might follow of its own accord.
With that reflection, Wickham resumed his composure entirely, and returned to the house, prepared to meet whatever effect his design might produce.
***
That evening, withdrawn into the privacy of her chambers, Lady Catherine de Bourgh settled into a deeply cushioned armchair by the fire, her brow slightly furrowed as she examined the parish documents that had been delivered to her.
The steady light of the hearth cast a shifting glow across the room, softening, without diminishing, the habitual firmness of her expression.
She proceeded with method, turning each page with deliberate attention, noting figures, names, and arrangements with a precision that admitted neither haste nor distraction.
It was not, however, long before her eye was arrested by a sheet whose placement, though apparently incidental, invited a second consideration.
“Boundless love and admiration,” Lady Catherine read aloud, her voice lower now, less assured than before. Her fingers paused upon the page, lingering where the hand had traced its course with a degree of care not wholly consistent with official correspondence.
A moment passed. The phrase, though general in its expression, did not remain without application. She continued.
At first, her attention was critical, even guarded; yet the tone of the letter—earnest without extravagance, respectful without abasement—did not immediately offend her judgement.
It spoke not in the language of common flattery, but with a certain restraint which, if not wholly sincere, was at least more artfully composed than most.
Lady Catherine turned the page, her composure not entirely unaltered. The reverse bore lines set in a hurried but legible hand, their form unmistakably that of verse. The alteration in style, rather than provoking suspicion, served—by its very irregularity—to lessen it. She read:
For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
I’ll never love thee more.
I either fear my fate too much,
Or my deserts are small,
That puts it not unto the touch
To win or lose it all.
The lady did not immediately lay the paper aside. The lines, though not addressed, seemed capable of direction; and once admitted, the possibility was not easily dismissed.
A faint colour rose in her cheeks, less from embarrassment than from a sensation she did not care to define too precisely.
That such sentiments should be entertained in her regard was, on reflection, not wholly improbable.
Lady Catherine was not accustomed to undervaluing her own consequence; nor was she inclined, in this instance, to do so.
Yet she was not without caution. The circumstance was unusual, and required to be understood before it might be credited.
That a man so newly introduced should venture upon such expressions might, in another, have been deemed presumption.
In Mr. Wickham, however—whose manner had been marked by propriety, whose address had neither exceeded nor fallen short of what was due—such a sentiment might be interpreted differently.
Her thoughts turned, not without significance, to the recommendation she had earlier examined, in which Mr. Darcy’s judgement had been expressed with uncommon clarity.
Such an opinion, rarely bestowed and never lightly given, had been favourable to Mr. Wickham—decidedly so.
Her nephew had observed in the gentleman proposed for the rectory qualities of steadiness and promise; and, if these were indeed present, they might account for a regard less the result of impulse than of a just appreciation of merit.
Darcy was not, she knew, a man to be influenced by appearances alone. That others might be so affected was neither surprising nor, in itself, objectionable.
Lady Catherine folded the paper at last, though not with the indifference she had first brought to it, and placed it aside among the remaining documents.
The matter, she resolved, required clarification—but not, perhaps, immediate contradiction. Tomorrow would afford the opportunity.
And Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who preferred to judge upon certainty rather than conjecture, would be fully prepared to determine whether what had been suggested might, in fact, be sustained.
***
The following afternoon, Mr. Wickham presented himself at Rosings in consequence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s request, being prepared to give an account of the parish now entrusted to his care.
Perfectly at ease in his manner, yet attentive to every alteration in her ladyship’s countenance, he spoke of his intended arrangements with a measured confidence, outlining charitable designs, improvements in order, and such regulations as might, with time and proper support, render the living more respectable.