Chapter 16 #2
“Yes, Georgiana said as much. No, it is my place to apologise, for I had not thought to importune you and Miss Darcy. While my apology is long overdue, it is not the primary purpose for which we should speak.”
Elizabeth nodded, her manner suggesting that Wickham should continue.
“As you are no doubt aware, I am the son of a very respectable man, my late father, Mr. Wickham, who was for many years the head steward responsible for all of the Pemberley estate—as Mr. Baxter is now. His excellent conduct in the discharge of his trust inclined the late Mr. Darcy to be of service to him, and upon me, his godson, his kindness was liberally bestowed.”
The letter from Child’s agent had said the same.
“Mr. Darcy supported me at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. It was most important assistance, because my own father was always poor from the extravagance of my mother, and was unable to give me a gentleman’s education.” Wickham reddened, looking away across the colourful blooms.
“My condolences, sir, on your father’s passing. Does your mother reside in the neighbourhood?”
“She has moved to Bakewell, to live with her family’s relatives.
I visit whenever I can, for it is an easy distance from Lambton.
It is unfortunate, but I am not welcomed by the family, who had intended that I marry into it—that I wed my cousin.
But I have not the means to make an offer.
Perhaps I get ahead of myself—the cousin is Mrs. Younge. ”
It all made sense, thought Elizabeth, that Mr. Wickham should have such an easy familiarity with the lady. Perhaps that is the reason why both she and Georgiana had not thought it improper for Mr. Wickham to stay overnight at Pemberley, he being a relative of Miss Darcy’s companion.
“Do you think, Mr. Wickham, that it is proper to stay in a house where your cousin is companion to a young lady, not yet come out in society? And that cousin, a lady you were intended for?” Elizabeth’s tone was cordial, yet she could not hide the sharpness behind her words.
Wickham coloured once again. “I… we had not thought of it. You are correct, ma’am, it was very poorly done.”
“Pray continue, sir. I do not wish you grovelling amongst the rose beds. I have had my fill of grovelling from Mr. Collins, my cousin from Kent. But I distract you—“
“I admit my time at school, and also at Cambridge, was not to my advantage. At school, I fell in with a bad lot, for none of my crowd were in the least scholarly, unlike Darcy, who found the study of Latin and Greek much to his liking, as well as fencing and rowing. For myself, such study was wasted, as my mind is not suited to the classics.”
“Non scholae sed vitae discimus—we do not learn for school, but for life,” murmured Elizabeth, who had found the study of Latin in her father’s library enjoyable—she was not required to endure the endless memorisation and recitation required of students at school.
A privilege—so few—of being a woman; her father had always encouraged her to read without the rigid discipline of the classroom.
“Cambridge was a farce,” continued Wickham, “and after but two terms, with no aptitude for mathematics or philosophy, I idled away my time. Darcy, who was an excellent student, naturally thought my life was one of dissipation, for he saw me mostly at leisure. I must admit, to my shame, that I was very comfortable with the easy Cyprian commerce to be found in the town.”
Wickham paused. “My apologies, ma’am.”
“I am aware, Mr. Wickham, of the behaviour of young men. I cannot condone it, but neither do I pretend affront. Pray continue.”
“As I did not attend the lectures, I found myself free to partake of my own interests. Cambridgeshire, being adjacent to Norfolk, led me naturally to enquire into the Norfolk four-course rotation in agriculture, which had yet to be implemented in Derbyshire.”
“I would never have thought! You are a farmer, Mr. Wickham?” exclaimed Elizabeth, truly surprised by the turn of the conversation.
“Indeed not, for I have no land. Though I have been able to study under Arthur Young, the famed agriculturist, for a little time.”
“But you spoke of being intended for the church, that Mr. Darcy had bequeathed you a valuable living? You speak in contradictions, sir.”
“That was my folly. For though I accrued ten terms at Cambridge, sufficient to gain my degree, I failed my ordination examination by the bishop. You have guessed it—my knowledge of Latin and the scriptures was completely inadequate; if you will, barely existent. Though we did have an excellent discussion about whether clover should be sown with barley in the rotation.”
They came to the end of the path, and turned back towards the house. Unconsciously, Elizabeth took Mr. Wickham’s arm. “You received a legacy from Mr. Darcy’s will, did you not?”
“Indeed, it was one thousand pounds, a very generous amount. Further, the will stated that the living at Kympton might be mine. I had not taken orders, but could have been awarded the living, though not leading services. Darcy would not countenance my becoming rector, for the tithe income was barely sufficient to keep a man, and most of it would have gone towards maintaining the church which was in poor repair—indeed, it was likely that the responsibility would leave me out of pocket. However, the will was exceedingly generous, for in lieu of the living, I was granted a three-thousand-pound portfolio of stocks and shares. It was well known that old Mr. Darcy invested in such. I assume he thought their value would grow over time, and the dividends provide me a steady income, similar to that of a clergyman.”
“Three thousand pounds! A very respectable sum.”
“Were it the case! Unfortunately, the Darcy solicitors, Asquith, Badeley and Chaffers of London, searched but were unable to locate the share certificates. It was reckoned that old Mr. Darcy must have forgotten they had been sold, or some such. From a detailed reading of the will, they concluded I was unable to receive a cash legacy in lieu of the shares. Without the actual certificates, the shares could not be valued, or indeed, ownership established. I cannot repine, for one thousand pounds was more than I had anticipated—it was my inability to force my mind to memorise Latin declensions that had resolved me against taking orders.”
“You tell a strange tale, Mr. Wickham. For my first thoughts were that you had been deprived of the living by an action of the present Mr. Darcy. Whereas, in truth, it was your own inaction which deprived you of it.”
“Indeed, ma’am. You have the right of it.”
“And the thousand pounds, might I enquire of it?”
“Invested in consols, at the four percents. I am a cautious man, Mrs. Elizabeth, and would rather receive a sure ten pounds a quarter than a higher sum with risk of losing all.”
Near to the house, they encountered Georgiana, who looked at them with some puzzlement. She flushed and was about to turn away when Elizabeth, seeing distress etched on her face, called out to her.
“Forgive us, Georgiana, Mr. Wickham wished to apprise me of a little of his history, and his association with Pemberley. I am returning to the house, for I must attend Lady Catherine. I shall tell Mrs. Younge that Mr. Wickham is here, and perhaps you both could walk with Mr. Wickham to the lake, for I am sure our stroll in the rose garden, brief as it was, has not fatigued him too much. But he has very much angered me, for he should not have come to Pemberley—and now must also be quarantined.”
Georgiana paused. “Oh, Elizabeth, I thought you were seeking some privacy.” Her face lightened.
“Indeed, I would be pleased to walk, if Mr. Wickham would indulge myself and Mrs. Younge. It will be exceedingly pleasant to take the air. Certainly, I shall chastise him for coming. But he is very welcome, nevertheless.”
* * *
Once returned to the study, Elizabeth sent a maid to attend Lady Catherine, then scanned the report on Wickham and Mrs. Younge.
There was nothing to contradict Wickham’s narrative.
She was intrigued, though, for surely Darcy knew the contents of the will and would have unearthed documents pertaining to the missing shares during his search of the house.
Pemberley’s records were now orderly, with the more important ones placed in the strongroom, safe from fire and theft.
She quickly located the will, written on vellum and placed alongside those of the Darcy forebears, going back multiple generations. Unusually, it was written in Latin.
Elizabeth read the terms and bequests, which were listed as an addendum to the main text.
There were many of these—almost all the servants were mentioned by name, with bequests as little as a guinea.
Mr. Wickham had been bequeathed the living at Kympton, as he had said.
In lieu of taking orders, he was to be given title to shares to the value of three thousand pounds.
Clearly, the will had been translated from an earlier draft, likely by some clerk trained to copy but not to understand.
The shares were recorded as being in the name of Societas Canalis Regii.
Elizabeth had fluency in Latin; she could understand the meaning without translating first to English, but the translation chilled her—The Royal Canal Company.
Those shares rightly belonged to Mr. Wickham, not Darcy.
All of them, the original stock and those issued over time—partly paid.
Certainly, Darcy, when reading the will some five years earlier, had not made the connection.
She would write to the solicitors, Asquith, Badeley, and Chaffers.
There was a legal quagmire here that could swallow up Child & Co.
, Darcy, Wickham, and Pemberley. Ownership extended well beyond the shares.
Was Darcy entitled to the return of the ￡184,500 on completion of the canal?
Did it belong to Mr. Wickham? Did it belong to Child’s? Truly, she did not know.
* * *