Chapter V
Debate the matter though they did, Elizabeth and Jane could not agree on Mr. Hurst’s meaning. Though Jane argued his suggestion that Mr. Bingley might return at a moment’s notice was tantamount to a declaration that he might be the catalyst for that return, Elizabeth was not so certain.
“Mr. Hurst has never given any sign that he has any interest in meddling in Mr. Bingley’s affairs.”
“Perhaps not,” insisted Jane. “Yet his words on the subject show another side of the gentleman. I do not know what he means to do, but his advice seems like a warning to me—if I go to London, I may miss Mr. Bingley’s return.”
“Dear Jane!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “You would not miss it at all; once our mother hears of such a return, she will demand you come back from London at once!”
Jane laughed. “Yes, that is a near likeness of our mother, indeed!”
“Then what shall you do?”
After a moment of pondering the situation, Jane replied. “I do not know yet. Tonight, I shall decide. Until then, the possibility still exists that Mr. Bingley might return, does it not?”
Elizabeth refrained from responding, amused as she was by this evidence of her sister’s trusting nature.
If Elizabeth was honest with herself, she wanted Jane to go to London, and it was not because she thought the chances of her seeing him there were great.
Rather, with her mother’s constant attention on the subject, fueled by Mr. Hurst’s return to the neighborhood, Elizabeth thought her sister would find more peace by going to London, and the risk, in her mind, was minimal.
Even if Mr. Bingley should come back and Jane be in London, her mother would ensure Jane arrived by the next morning, waiting for Mr. Bingley to come to Longbourn in her best gown.
As for Mrs. Bennet, she had overheard something of Mr. Hurst’s conversation with Elizabeth and Jane and was now convinced that Mr. Bingley would return and would not hear of Jane going to London.
In private, Mr. Bennet assured Jane he would support her should she choose to go, though he did not restrain his wit on the occasion.
“Hurst is not the most scintillating man I have ever known, but I believe he is solid.” Mr. Bennet winked at his eldest daughter. “If he has intimated that his brother will return, I would propose that he knows something about Mr. Bingley and the situation that we do not.”
Mr. Bennet’s smile was warm—warmer than any he bestowed upon the rest of his family. “Do not lose hope, Jane, for I suspect that all will be well in the end.”
Jane nodded her gratitude, but she did not respond.
As that day was the last day they were to be in the company of the Gardiners, the Bennet sisters wished to spend as much of their time with them as they could.
That morning, even Lydia, who was not much inclined to such things, was in the company of the children, playing with them.
She was eager to do so—until a group of officers called at Longbourn; then she had no interest in the children.
Who could compete with those intrepid men in scarlet?
The sisters returned to the sitting-room upon receiving their mother’s summons, and they entered to see a group of five, among whom was the now-detestable Mr. Wickham. Mrs. Bennet, it seemed, was not at all pleased by his appearance.
“What does he mean by coming here now?” hissed she to Elizabeth.
Mrs. Bennet had a habit of speaking as if she were whispering state secrets, yet in a tone loud enough to be heard on the other side of the room.
Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth noted, had heard her mother’s demand, yet he was not in the least put out by her question.
He seemed to wear it as a badge of honor while standing among the other officers gathered about Kitty and Lydia.
If Lydia was not speaking to Mr. Wickham, she was far too close for Elizabeth’s liking.
“There has been no opportunity to inform Mr. Wickham that he is not welcome, Mama,” replied Elizabeth.
“He should be more circumspect,” snapped Mrs. Bennet. “After his behavior toward you, he should refrain from darkening our door, knowing he is not welcome.”
As Elizabeth could see Mr. Wickham looking at them, she decided there was no reason to restrain herself. “Yes, I dare say you are correct. It appears Mr. Wickham does not possess the shame to feel the weight of his actions.”
Mrs. Bennet huffed, but Elizabeth was not paying her any heed, for her eyes were on Mr. Wickham.
The officer appeared vastly amused by the conversation, no doubt expecting he could charm his way into continued welcome at Longbourn.
Elizabeth was not about to allow his smugness to stand, nor would she do anything to make him feel welcome. Instead, she turned back to her mother.
“Perhaps we should send for Papa. As Mr. Wickham is here now, it would not do to make a scene, but Papa can ensure he understands he is not welcome here before he leaves.”
“Aye, you are correct, Lizzy,” replied Mrs. Bennet. “I shall send for him directly. Watch him, for I would not have him accost your sisters too.”
Elizabeth nodded, and her mother left the room to see the housekeeper.
For Mr. Wickham’s part, his grin had never wavered, though his expression appeared more feral than it had been before.
Feigning an interest in what the others were saying, he ignored her for the moment, though Elizabeth was certain his attention was on her the entire time.
Before long, her mother returned, her nod informing Elizabeth that Mr. Bennet would arrive soon.
The officers mingled among the Bennet sisters and their mother, and for a time, all appeared to be well.
As a group, Elizabeth thought they were decent enough men, though Mr. Wickham was not the only one among them who appeared to understand their appeal to young girls of a certain character, among whom Kitty and Lydia ranked high.
Elizabeth spoke to Mr. Denny for a few moments, and Mr. Sanderson for a few words, but she kept her focus on Mr. Wickham.
When Mr. Bennet arrived, he offered a general greeting to the room, though Elizabeth saw he watched Mr. Wickham in particular.
Whether he sensed his embargo from Longbourn was approaching or for some other reason of his own, Elizabeth could not say, but not long after Mr. Bennet entered, Elizabeth again found herself the fortunate recipient of his attention.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he, offering her a gallant bow as if nothing had happened between them. “How do you do today?”
Elizabeth eyed the facile man and shrugged. “Well enough.”
If Mr. Wickham expected more of a response, he was disappointed, as Elizabeth did not mean to speak to him any more than she must. The officer did not appear to notice.
“It has been too long since I was in your company, for I missed our conversations.” The man leaned forward as if to impart a secret, saying: “There is no one in this neighborhood whose company I like so well.”
“That is interesting, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth, watching the man with no little curiosity. “Our first conversation comprised your grievances against Mr. Darcy, and on subsequent occasions, you have returned to the subject. In truth, I do not recall a single substantive discourse between us.”
“Then you must excuse me,” laughed Mr. Wickham. “Any conversation with you is of supreme interest—that must be my excuse for not realizing we were speaking of dull and unimaginative subjects.”
Mr. Wickham then changed the subject and spoke of other matters, his boyhood growing up at Pemberley, seasoned with liberal accounts of Mr. Darcy’s offenses toward him, his time at university, and his days since.
Though Elizabeth could not be certain, everything the man now said was suspect, the confidence she had once felt in his morality was now a distant memory.
Elizabeth spoke little, catching her father’s eye and rolling her own more than once.
In time, however, she became annoyed with him; did he suppose she was Lydia—so enamored of the sound of his voice as to lose her reason because he plied her with pretty stories and charming smiles?
“That is interesting, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth on one of the few occasions he drew breath.
“You have told so many anecdotes about Mr. Darcy that I wonder at your stated aversion to speaking of him. Given his offenses, I wonder why you have not accused him and seen him sent to prison for all he has done to you.”
“Not at all,” replied Mr. Wickham, his cadence smooth, “for I should never presume to expose Darcy—”
“Because of the reverence you hold for his father,” completed Elizabeth. “Yes, yes, I am aware of this already, Mr. Wickham. If you will pardon my saying it, I wonder when this discretion you claim will appear.”
Mr. Wickham smiled and shrugged. “It is so easy to speak to you that I forget myself. You are correct; I should not speak on the subject.”
“Yes, I dare say you should not. Given your choice of subject these past fifteen minutes, I must suppose you have nothing to say, for you have scarce spoken ten words together without referring to Mr. Darcy.”
“Perhaps you would like to offer a topic of discussion,” replied Mr. Wickham.
“Not at all. In truth, I would prefer that you leave me be.”
The man appeared wounded, false, of course. “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth. I had thought we were friends.”
“Were we friends when you spoke such disgusting words to me at Sir William’s party?”
“Nothing more than a misunderstanding!” cried he. “I would never speak to dishonor you—I hold you in the highest respect!”
“You will forgive me if I express doubt,” rejoined Elizabeth.
“No one warned me of the potency of Sir William’s punch.”
“Perhaps not. But as I have had occasion to inform Lydia these past days, a man often reveals his true self when strong drink compromises his inhibitions.”