CHAPTER 6
The rain persisted against the tall windows of the library at Rosings, its steady and unbroken rhythm lending an oppressive stillness to the room, as though the world beyond had withdrawn from notice and left the house to its own uneasy quiet.
Anne de Bourgh remained standing near the shelves without attending to them, while Fitzwilliam Darcy moved slowly across the carpet, his composure preserved in form, though not without visible effort.
“Anne, I must understand what has altered here since my last visit, for your summons was unexpected, and your manner convinces me that something more than ordinary inconvenience has disturbed the order of this house.”
“Oh, Cousin Fitzwilliam, I would not have called you without sufficient cause, yet I find it difficult to begin, for what I have observed is not a single occurrence, but a succession of changes, each slight when taken alone, yet together forming something wholly unlike the order to which I have always been accustomed here.”
“Then begin where you are able, Anne, and do not concern yourself with arrangement, for I would rather hear your account imperfectly ordered than see you hesitate when the matter itself appears to weigh so strongly upon you,” Darcy replied.
“It concerns Mr. Wickham, who has established himself here with a readiness that surprised us all, and who, in a very short time, has gained such favour with my mother that his presence is no longer occasional, but expected, and even preferred.”
“I see,” Mr. Darcy said. “I have just learned that he has secured the living at Hunsford, yet I cannot consider his proximity to Rosings as entirely accidental, however it may be represented.”
“He is received at all hours, and with a distinction which has increased rather than diminished since his arrival, Cousin, so that my mother speaks of him with a confidence that admits neither question nor reserve.” Miss de Bourgh shrugged.
“Mother appears to rely upon his judgement in matters where she once consulted no one. Such a degree of influence, acquired so rapidly, must be supported by a manner particularly suited to her expectations, for mother is not easily guided unless she believes herself to lead, and he must therefore possess some skill in reconciling submission with direction.”
Darcy nodded briefly, and urged his cousin, with a short gesture, to continue.
“Mr. Wickham is attentive in a way that leaves no space for contradiction, and agreeable in a manner that anticipates rather than responds, so that nothing is opposed, nothing delayed, and everything appears to confirm her opinions, which I think she finds more gratifying than open deference, though perhaps less safe. That kind of conduct is often mistaken for sincerity where it spares the trouble of reflection, and I cannot be surprised that it should recommend him strongly where it meets with no resistance from habit or inclination.”
Mr. Darcy frowned slightly.
“The new vicar has not confined himself to matters of mere civility,” Miss de Bourgh continued, with a composure that scarcely concealed her displeasure.
She steadied her voice, though her fingers tightened upon the back of the chair, as if the admission cost her more than she was willing to betray, “for he has begun to interfere in the management of the household, addressing the servants as though he possessed authority over them, correcting their conduct, and even issuing directions neither sanctioned by my mother nor conveyed in her name.”
“He gives orders to your mother’s servants, Anne? And they submit to it without resistance, or has anyone presumed to oppose him in the exercise of such authority?”
Darcy frowned almost imperceptibly, his tone controlled, yet carrying a weight that admitted no trivial answer.
“If he presumes so far as to govern where he is only received, then he exceeds not merely propriety but prudence; for such conduct must, if continued, be either resisted or, once established, corrected only with difficulty,” Anne said.
She spoke more quickly now, as though once begun, restraint was harder to recover.
“He requested permission to alter the parsonage, and spoke of it as though it were already his domain, and he conducts himself here with a confidence that suggests he considers Rosings not merely a place he visits, but one in which he has a share of authority.”
Anne’s gaze rose at last, resting upon Darcy’s countenance as though seeking confirmation rather than dispute.
“Was such a request granted outright, or encouraged, Cousin?” Darcy asked, his voice lowering slightly, his attention sharpening, as though the answer would determine more than the question expressed.
“Mr. Wickham has not been content with altering arrangements, but has also spoken against those who were formerly trusted, particularly Mrs. Jenkinson, whose influence he represented as injurious, until my mother was persuaded to dismiss her, though I could perceive no fault in her conduct.”
At the name, her composure faltered for a moment, and she looked aside, unwilling to dwell upon it openly.
“You see, Cousin, Wickham did not merely obtain favour, but contrived to direct it, which is a far more serious advantage, for it allowed him to remove one influence only to replace it with another more suited to his purpose.”
Anne’s tone grew quieter, yet more resolved, as though certainty had replaced hesitation.
“On the very next day, and without prior notice, a Mrs. Younge was introduced in her place, and it is evident that she was brought by him, for she attends more to his direction than to mine, and appears to consider herself accountable to him rather than to the authority of this house.”
“You said that Mrs. Younge was introduced immediately, and you are persuaded that she acts under his direction rather than your mother’s, or has she given any sign of independence in her conduct?
” Darcy inclined his head slightly, the question precise, but not indifferent.
“If that substitution was made so promptly and so entirely, it cannot be accidental, Anne. That suggests a design which goes beyond convenience, for it places near you a person whose first allegiance is not to your comfort but to his interest.”
“Wickham has addressed me with a freedom which I cannot but consider improper, calling me a spoiled child, and dismissing my concerns as though they were of no consequence, and has thus contrived to weaken what little authority I might otherwise possess.”
The words came more slowly, and for the first time there was a faint colour in her cheeks.
“Did Wickham speak to you in that manner openly, and without correction? Such conduct ought not to remain without consequence.”
Darcy’s voice, though still composed, carried an unmistakable edge.
“There is more which I scarcely know how to repeat, for I would not willingly give weight to what may yet be only suspicion, yet I have questioned those who spoke, and they have assured me, with a seriousness I could not mistake, that he spends many nights in Mrs. Younge’s rooms.”
Her voice lowered, and for a moment she seemed to regret having begun at all.
“Did you examine these reports yourself, Anne?” Darcy did not move, but his attention was fixed upon her with a steadiness that admitted no evasion.
“There are also servants who say that he visits my mother secretly at night, and I would not repeat such a report lightly, yet I required them to confirm it with the utmost seriousness, and they persisted without variation, and with no apparent motive for deceit that I could discover.”
The last words were scarcely above a whisper, yet they carried more force than any that had preceded them.
“Then the matter cannot be dismissed, Anne, for if such reports are false they must be stopped, and if they are true they must be answered, and in either case they require immediate attention rather than silence.”
Anne sighed softly, and her hands trembled with a helplessness she no longer sought to conceal, as though every avenue of escape had closed before she could give it voice.
Darcy’s voice, though low, was now entirely decided, and whatever hesitation had attended his earlier questions had wholly disappeared.
“That is an allegation which, if unfounded, is dangerous to repeat, and if true, more dangerous still to neglect, for it touches not only his character but the dignity and safety of this house, and must therefore be considered with the greatest caution and without delay.”
He spoke without raising his voice, yet the firmness of his tone left no doubt that the matter had already assumed, in his mind, the weight of something not to be postponed.
“I would not have believed it upon first hearing, yet I found no contradiction in their statements, and no sign of invention in their manner, and I cannot persuade myself that they would hazard so grave a report without some foundation, however imperfect.”
She looked at him now, as if the burden of belief required confirmation, or at least permission, to be sustained.
“You have done right to inform me, Anne, for even uncertainty, when supported by circumstance, must not be disregarded, and I cannot allow such a situation to continue without making every effort to understand its extent and origin before it is too late.”
There was a brief pause at the end, not of hesitation, but of resolve settling into certainty.
“What is to be done, then, Cousin, for I do not think my mother would receive any warning against him, and I am uncertain whether speaking further would not only increase her confidence in him, and diminish what little weight my opinion retains.”
Her voice lowered slightly, as though even the question itself might be overheard by the very influence she feared.