Chapter I #3
Of more immediate interest was how Mr. Wickham turned his attention on Miss Mary King, a young woman visiting an uncle who lived on the edge of Meryton society and occasionally joined their functions.
Rumor said that Miss King had inherited a fortune of ten thousand pounds of late, which may explain Mr. Wickham’s interest in her.
What to make of it was beyond her ability to understand.
Had she seen it on a previous occasion, she might have considered him prudent, but the new insights she had gained that evening of the potential shades in his character suggested more mercenary motivations.
Elizabeth’s early suspicion about Mr. Wickham’s character was tested further that evening in a way she could not have predicted.
Sir William was not content with a simple punch for the enjoyment of his guests; though he would tell no one what he added to the concoction, that it was present was never in question.
The locals accustomed to his parties knew to moderate their consumption; anyone who rarely attended might find himself in his cups, behaving in a way he normally would not.
The officers were, of course, foremost among this group, but having been in Meryton for almost two full months by that time and having experienced Sir William’s party in October, most remembered, taking care to partake but little.
Later, Elizabeth realized that Mr. Wickham had not been a member of the corps, and none of his fellows warned him.
Thus, by the time the night was waning, Mr. Wickham was showing signs of too much drink.
It was a curious matter, this business of drinking too much spirits, because it affected people in different ways.
Some grew despondent, some too happy, and some grew sleepy from too much drink.
Mr. Wickham, it appeared, suffered from an excess of drink by becoming far bolder than he ought to be.
As the evening progressed, Elizabeth discovered this side of Mr. Wickham’s character in a way that would affect her opinion of him far more than even her earlier revelations.
The first sign that anything was amiss was the officer’s slurred words when speaking in a group with his fellows.
Though Elizabeth was not near enough to overhear him, the expressions of those who were closer suggested disgust, and perhaps the realization that he was not as he portrayed himself to be.
While that might be attributed to an excess of drink, it was an uncomfortable truth that such things often revealed a person’s character rather than altered it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” slurred the man when she was walking by a little later, intent upon farewelling Charlotte before they departed for the evening. “How fortunate you have passed this way, for I have longed for your company.”
Elizabeth stopped and regarded him, wariness rising, though she had not learned to fear him. “It appears, Mr. Wickham, that you have sampled too much of Sir William’s punch.”
“Not at all. Only two or three cups, I assure you.”
Unable to claim a knowledge of how he had spent his evening, Elizabeth still looked at him with skepticism, having seen him without a cup in his hand only a few times the entire night.
“You know,” said he, stepping a little closer, “there is no woman in the room half so beautiful as you. Any man would count himself fortunate to receive your attention.”
“If you think that, I must assume you are blind, sir,” replied Elizabeth, keeping her tone even. “Jane is accounted the beauty of the neighborhood—I consider her so myself.”
Mr. Wickham threw a drunken glance at Jane, but his eyes found Elizabeth again far sooner than she liked. There was something altogether disquieting about the way he looked at her, something that suggested feelings more feral than simple admiration for a woman he found attractive.
“Tell me, Miss Elizabeth,” said he, stepping closer, “are you as passionate as you appear? With a skilled man, you might put those passions to the test. I could teach you far more than the milksops in this neighborhood ever could.”
Elizabeth gasped and glared at the man, but before she could put him in his place or raise a hand to slap him, another intervened.
“That is quite enough, Wickham,” said Mr. Hurst, stepping forward to insert himself between Elizabeth and the officer. “You have had too much to drink, sir. Get your fellows to take you back to camp.”
For a moment, his cheeks became the red of anger, but soon he shrugged and stumbled away, leaving Elizabeth alone with her unlikely protector. The gentleman turned to her as Mr. Wickham retreated.
“That was curious,” said Elizabeth. “I have never seen him conduct himself in such a manner.”
“Strong drink will often reveal the inner secrets of any man,” said Mr. Hurst. “And some men wear masks before the world. I doubt Wickham wanted to reveal himself to anyone present, but if I may suggest, I would say it is for the best that you remembered this and took care in his company.”
Then Mr. Hurst excused himself and walked away, leaving Elizabeth to contemplate his meaning.
When Mr. Hurst had spoken of Mr. Wickham earlier that evening, she had taken it as evidence that Mr. Darcy had not hesitated to share his version of his connection with Mr. Wickham.
Now, Elizabeth was not so certain she had been correct.
Perhaps it was best to stay wary around Mr. Wickham.