Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
With Lydia well in hand and Mr Bingley returned to Jane’s side, Elizabeth hastened towards the front entry. She was startled to see Mr Hill gesture wearily in the direction of the parlour. “The show is outside, miss, but the audience has assembled in here.”
Indeed, a group of her neighbours were gathered around an open sash window, murmuring amongst themselves as they listened to the heated voices of Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham on Longbourn’s front drive. As Elizabeth looked on in dismay, Maria Lucas leant near and whispered, “Mr Wickham is so very bad.”
Elizabeth moved swiftly back to Mr Hill, begging him to close the window, and stepped outside, desperate to warn Mr Darcy that his conversation with Mr Wickham was less than private. Both men turned to her. Even in the dim light she could see Mr Darcy’s angry, strained expression.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Mr Wickham bared his teeth in a wide grin, his hand on his chest in some unctuous attempt at sincerity as he stepped towards her. “How fortuitous you have joined us. You are perhaps the most intelligent lady in Meryton, one whose opinion I have long esteemed.”
“If my opinion is so valued that I can bring an end to your argument, I am happy to give it.”
Mr Darcy remained silent, glowering at Mr Wickham’s excessively familiar tone. His tension was palpable; she feared how much worse it would be if he knew others had heard his former friend’s incendiary accusation.
“Prepare yourself to be shocked.” Mr Wickham, now standing too close, pulled her attention back to him. “Darcy here, whom I know you have found to be officious, is suspected of things far more infamous than conceit.”
“We all have our faults, sir, and none of us may claim perfection.”
The lieutenant chuckled, foolishly mistaking her defence of Mr Darcy as a flirtation with him. “O-ho, but so much of you is perfection.”
“Wickham!”
Elizabeth avoided looking at her defender, fearful that Mr Wickham might suspect where her allegiance lay.
“I beg your pardon, madam,” crooned Mr Wickham. “I hope your sister, dear Miss Lydia, is recovered? I heard a scream, and understand she nearly fainted after looking through Darcy’s quizzing glass and seeing visions of a kind which could be induced solely by sorcery or witchcraft.”
“Lydia?” She laughed. “My youngest sister, who believes in wood fairies and the inherent goodness of any handsome male? A girl who has drunk far too much punch to tie her shoe ribbons?” Elizabeth promised herself she would make amends to Lydia and promote her intelligence in whatever way she could in the future, but at this moment, it was imperative she tease her for childish beliefs.
“It is the word of a juvenile that you, a grown man and an officer in the militia, put stock in?”
“I would believe the word of a child against the dubious character of a man such as Darcy.”
“Yet you deny support to your own children,” said Mr Darcy in a low, seething voice.
Elizabeth bit back astonishment as Mr Wickham’s unctuous, insistent voice rose again.
“Miss Elizabeth, if you doubt the glass is bewitched as your sister claimed, perhaps we should put it to a test. Let us see what Mr Bennet and Sir William think of it.” His bland smile could not conceal his agitation.
“My father is likely to agree with Lydia only to amuse himself and claim he sees the horns of the devil on you,” she replied. “And unfortunately, like many here, Sir William has enjoyed generous servings of my mother’s punch. Two less trustworthy arbiters could not be found.”
Mr Wickham looked upwards, as if the heavens would offer him aid, before importuning her yet again.
“’Tis unfortunate, but perhaps you will assist, for you are as fair a judge of character as can be found.
Darcy, would you permit Miss Elizabeth to peer through the glass and affirm the charge levelled against you? ”
Recognising the suggestion as the swiftest way to calm any suspicions, Elizabeth stepped towards Mr Darcy. “Sir, would you mind?”
He seemed to understand her intent and reached into his pocket.
Fearing the hateful Mr Wickman would snatch the glass from her if she remained too near him, Elizabeth took a few steps farther down the path.
She lifted it to her right eye, peering first at Longbourn, its windows filled with light, before turning it slightly to look at Mr Darcy, who, as he had before, emanated a steadying golden light.
Then, calmly, having mastered the power of the glass, she turned to Mr Wickham.
The light immediately dimmed, and his profile, once visible under the flickering lamp-posts, darkened, showing only a shadowy, murky figure; her stomach lurched as a bleak sensation assailed her senses, and she managed to turn quickly back to Mr Darcy, seeking and finding relief in the warm, benevolent force that surrounded him.
“Miss Elizabeth? What do you see?” cried Mr Wickham.
She lowered the glass, gripping it tightly with both hands. “Two men, a house, a night sky, and stars, sir. Nothing extraordinary, nothing that connotes the evils you mentioned and which my silliest sister teased of.”
“Let me have it and see for myself!”
Quickly she handed the glass to Mr Darcy.
He gave her hands a gentle squeeze before turning to Mr Wickham and saying, with a bitter chuckle, “I think not. Miss Elizabeth, whose opinion and intelligence we both esteem, has seen nothing out of the ordinary. I would not place it back in your thieving hands.”
“I told you I did not take it!” Mr Wickham bellowed. “Her sister did! The silly girl heard of its rubies and diamonds and was determined to have them!”
Loud gasps and a shout of ‘Liar!’ filled the air, alerting Elizabeth that they were no longer alone, with only horses for company.
Longbourn’s front door was open, and her father, Mr Bingley, Jane, Kitty, and most of the Lucases had stepped past the threshold.
Even in the shadowy moonlight, she could see the shock and disbelief on their faces.
Mr Darcy glanced over his shoulder, shook his head briefly, and turned back to address Mr Wickham.
“Miss Lydia is a child. The only criminal offence here was your goading her to steal the quizzing glass from me in hopes of lining your pockets by selling its jewels. The worth of the glass as a family heirloom and personal possession means nothing to you, nor does it shame you to persuade a young girl into abetting your scheme.”
Mr Darcy glanced at Mr Bennet and Mr Bingley, who now stood behind Mr Wickham. “Would that you sold the glass and used it to pay your debts to the merchants of Meryton and other villages, but there was no good intent in your actions or your accusations.”
“Hear, hear,” murmured the crowd.
Mr Wickham reared about, shouting, “Mr Bennet, take a look for yourself. There is something off about Darcy’s quizzing glass. Your own daughter—”
“Lydia? She is a dear girl, but quite silly, and far too young and vulnerable to be in company with a man who put ideas of sorcery in her head.”
Taking no heart from the older man’s amused expression, he turned back to rage at Mr Darcy. “I know how you rely on it, how your expression changes when you peer through it at me and others. It is what Miss Lydia saw! You heard her words, saw her expression! Miss Elizabeth is lying—”
Mr Bennet’s face darkened in fury, but it was Mr Darcy who stepped close to Mr Wickham, his hands fisted.
“How dare you slander Miss Elizabeth Bennet or her sister. You would be wise to refrain from speaking aloud their names or mine—or mentioning them in connexion with witchcraft, sorcery, or magic.”
Mr Wickham scowled. Elizabeth saw her father nod, his anger still evident. Mr Darcy glanced at her before addressing the gathered crowd.
“Like many gentlemen, including my father before me, I carry a quizzing glass. I have read books and papers by dimming candles for so long, I now rely on its lens to aid my vision. It allows me to read letters and maps more clearly, and sharpens my vision in dim light or at night. I am not afraid to be called a beau or a weak man who relies on assistance—rather, I am proud to be a man who is just and honourable.”
“As you are, Mr Darcy,” said Elizabeth, smiling at him. “As you are.”