CHAPTER 11 #4
The brevity of the answer admitted no possibility of intimacy. Wickham, however, possessed too much social experience to retreat before cold civility alone.
“I had imagined Derbyshire might reclaim you entirely, sir,” he returned with an ease which several nearby listeners seemed already prepared to admire.
Mr. Bennet, perceiving perhaps more quickly than Wickham anticipated both the intention beneath the pleasantry and the increasing attention gathering around them, quietly entered the conversation before Darcy answered again.
“Meryton society,” Mr. Bennet said mildly, “is always ready to admire a new gentleman, though experience has occasionally taught us the wisdom of waiting a little before deciding how long the admiration ought to last.”
Wickham turned toward him at once with ready charm.
“Mr. Bennet, I believe? How remarkably fortunate to meet you again. I am in Meryton now for only four days, but I have frequently heard Hertfordshire described as fortunate in possessing your wit.”
“My wit, sir,” Mr. Bennet replied, “has survived chiefly because the neighbourhood is kind enough not to examine it very carefully.”
The answer produced sufficient laughter amongst those nearest them to soften, for a moment, the sharper edge beneath the exchange.
Yet Elizabeth, who watched Wickham more attentively now than ever before, became increasingly persuaded that he had not entered the assembly merely from vanity or curiosity.
There existed beneath his composure a species of impatience difficult to disguise entirely, as though he had reasons for impatience which even composure could not entirely conceal.
Mr. Bennet then turned with easy civility toward the gentleman beside him.
“Permit me to present Sir William Lucas, Mr. Wickham. Sir William’s knowledge of Hertfordshire society is so extensive that no gentleman remains a stranger within it for very long.”
Sir William bowed with ceremonial satisfaction.
“I do not believe we have previously had the pleasure of meeting in Hertfordshire, Mr. Wickham. Are you lately arrived in the county?”
“Only within the last few days, sir,” Wickham answered with graceful readiness. “Military obligations have detained me elsewhere longer than inclination would have preferred, though hearing of tonight’s assembly persuaded me that Meryton society deserved at least one attempt at reacquaintance.”
“And very lively society it has become,” Sir William added enthusiastically. “Netherfield occupied at last, new acquaintances everywhere, and every prospect of the county flourishing beyond its former importance.”
At this Wickham’s eyes moved very slightly toward the farther end of the room, thoughtful rather than careless.
“Yes,” Wickham said after a moment, “I perceive Hertfordshire does not leave strangers unobserved for very long. And now, if you will excuse me, I believe there are too many young ladies at present abandoned to the mercy of the wall. A young officer ought not willingly disappoint so large a portion of the assembly.”
And with a smile which aspired considerably more to triumph than ease, he bowed and withdrew toward another circle of conversation where his attentions were likely to receive a warmer welcome.
The remark itself might easily have passed unnoticed among so much surrounding conversation; yet something in the tone with which it was delivered caused Elizabeth immediately to understand its intention.
Wickham had come prepared to disturb, to accuse, to do harm to those he considered guilty for his fail.
Darcy, meanwhile, could not persuade himself that Wickham’s appearance at the Meryton assembly had been accidental.
The man seldom moved without some immediate object in view; and the events at Rosings, joined to his disappointment regarding the Hunsford living, had supplied motives for resentment which Wickham was neither generous enough to forgive nor prudent enough entirely to conceal.
That he should appear suddenly in the very room where his own growing attachment to Elizabeth could scarcely remain unnoticed could scarcely be attributed to coincidence alone.
Darcy had long since ceased believing Wickham harmless merely because strangers found him agreeable within the first hour of acquaintance.
What most disturbed him now was not Wickham’s presence itself, but the uncertainty of his intention; for experience had taught him that Wickham rarely entered society merely to observe it, and never willingly abandoned an opportunity of turning admiration, curiosity, or misunderstanding to his own advantage.
It was not Wickham’s style to accuse openly.
Such imprudence would have ruined him at once.
Instead he probably intended to proceed as he always had: through implication, suggestion, and those carefully measured observations which permit listeners to persuade themselves that conclusions are entirely their own.
Elizabeth saw the change almost immediately in his expression, though none but the observant would likely have distinguished it.
Whatever patience Mr. Darcy might once have exercised toward Wickham from reluctance to expose old family matters had hardened now into something far less yielding; and if he still remained outwardly calm, it was the calmness of a man who had ceased underestimating the danger of silence.
***
After rather more than an hour had passed, during which the gaiety of the assembly appeared only to increase, the first uneasy whispers at last began reaching Mr. Bennet from different quarters of the room, and in forms sufficiently various to render contradiction almost impossible.
Had only one absurd story circulated, it might easily have been dismissed as common foolishness; but when every group of matrons and attendees seemed to produce some new variation, the matter gradually assumed a more serious complexion.
Mrs. Phillips was the first to approach him. Having looked repeatedly about her beforehand with all the secrecy of a woman exceedingly anxious to be overheard while pretending the contrary, she at last drew near enough to lower her voice dramatically.
“My dear brother, I scarcely know whether I ought to repeat such things at all, for I am sure I never encourage scandal; but really the stories now circulating through the room are too extraordinary to remain entirely unnoticed.”
“Then Heaven forbid they should suffer so cruel a fate,” Mr. Bennet replied calmly. “What has society destroyed this evening besides the supper?”
Mrs. Phillips shook her head impatiently.
“You do not understand me. The most shocking accounts are being repeated concerning Mr. Darcy. One lady has just assured me that he is nearly ruined already, and that his great estate in Derbyshire was very nearly lost at cards amongst fashionable gentlemen in London.”
“Pemberley lost at whist?” said Mr. Bennet. “I confess the stakes rise considerably above my own habits of gaming.”
“And that is not even the worst of it,” continued Mrs. Phillips eagerly.
“Another person declared the whole Darcy family enriched themselves years ago through lawsuits and dishonest claims against neighbouring families. Indeed, one begins to wonder whether half Derbyshire has not been robbed merely to furnish Mr. Darcy’s dining-room. ”
“An alarming reflection,” returned Mr. Bennet.
“I shall never again admire a well-furnished estate without suspecting burglary on a grand scale. Do not worry; it is all pure gossip. Whenever a new gentleman appears in another county, suddenly a few omniscient clairvoyants stand ready to provide the most certain intelligence concerning him.”
Mrs. Phillips, dissatisfied by such insufficient alarm, leaned still closer.
“And there are other stories besides. Several people are already speaking of Lizzy. They say she has been seen with Mr. Darcy repeatedly in London and at Rosings, and now dances with him publicly here as though the whole attachment were already settled.”
Mr. Bennet’s expression altered slightly at this, though his voice remained composed.
“Society improves rapidly and invents even faster,” he observed. “Before the evening began, I did not know my daughter possessed sufficient consequence to compromise herself simultaneously in three counties. Such malicious gossip ought to be addressed the moment it begins to spread. Who—”
Mrs. Phillips would willingly have continued much longer, but Lady Lucas now approached with an air less excitable though considerably more serious.
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said she cautiously, “I should regret exceedingly contributing to any idle misunderstanding, yet I think it proper you should know that several gentlemen appear lately to have entertained very unfavourable opinions concerning Mr. Darcy’s affairs.”
“Indeed?”
“There are reports,” Lady Lucas continued in a lowered voice, “that his circumstances are not entirely what society has imagined them. One hears also that Mr. Bingley himself possesses very little fortune independent of assistance privately supplied through Mr. Darcy.”
“Then Netherfield must prove a remarkably economical establishment,” Mr. Bennet replied. “I had imagined it required rather more expense to maintain. It is all nonsense, Lady Lucas. I hardly know whether to attribute such inventions to malice, envy, or mere stupidity.”
Lady Lucas attempted a faint smile, though concern still predominated.
“I do not myself pretend to credit such things fully; yet they are repeated with increasing confidence throughout the room. I heard the same absurdities from several different groups.”
Before Mr. Bennet could answer, Mary Bennet appeared beside them with visible discomfort.
“Papa,” she said quietly, “I fear there is a great deal of improper conversation taking place amongst several ladies near the card tables.”