Chapter Four #2
“No, no—I do not blame him. He had no business with either of us, and it is a crime to participate as a second. He insisted to us on the field that we must apologize to each other. To my shame I made no effort to convince Wickham to make some…admission of wrongdoing that might give me permission to avoid the duel without charge of cowardice. I said nothing until we fought. Wickham spoke in reply. He said that we were here to shoot, and not to whimper. He was eager.”
Darcy paused. He fixed in his mind the memory of his boyhood companion’s face as he said that. “I think Wickham hated himself,” Darcy said.
“He said as much to me once,” Mrs. Wickham said quietly. “When we quarreled after the money was gone. And then I never saw him again.”
“We stood across from each other in a grassy little clearing. The seconds paced out the distance. It had rained heavily during the night, and our boots were inches deep in the mud. There were gloomy clouds all about. The agreement had been to use a dropped handkerchief as the signal to fire. When it dropped, I hesitated. I had meant to simply shoot in the air, but something…I do not know. And then I was struck. It was a terrible sensation. A blow that staggered me. But there was no pain. Just the feeling of having been struck, of something wrong. And I looked at him across the clearing. Smoke in the air. He said, ‘Good God, I know I hit him’.”
Darcy was quiet again. Why had he decided to aim to kill Wickham then? There was no decision, perhaps. It was simply a thing his body did. The beast within.
“And then you hit your man,” Mrs. Wickham prompted.
“I aimed carefully. It is generally considered unseemly to aim during a duel, but I took the second to sight down my pistol, so that I was convinced I would hit. He stood full facing me, presenting his chest to me, not to the side in the fencing posture that I had stood in. I pulled the trigger. The pistol bucked in my hand from the recoil. There was the smoke, the flash. And he just fell. And only then did I understand what all had happened, and I knew I had done wrong. The surgeon was called, and he looked at Wickham first, but he was dead, killed instantly. Then he examined me, but he was unable to retrieve the bullet. He bound my wounds with bandages. I was able to walk to the carriage, but by the time we returned to Nelson Crescent, I was too weak to climb out. They put me on the sofa, and after the doctor gave instructions to Georgiana he left. And then the next day, you came asking for your husband.”
“A fair enough duel.”
“I know what I should have done. I should have taken Georgiana immediately to Pemberley and ignored Wickham entirely.”
“It would take a remarkable gentleman to let such an insult as you had received stand.”
“Would you have admired such a man? A gentleman who did not defend his sister’s honor after such a provocation?”
“I do not know,” Mrs. Wickham said. “It is more terrible, but also more vigorous.”
“I cannot wholly repent. Even though killing him was evil, I also acted as honor and society demanded. But upon my soul, I should have shot the air.”
“To paraphrase the Holy Writ, when a gentleman shoots you in the chest, incline your head towards him, so that he might blow the brains away as well?”
“Do not make a mockery of it.”
“I assure you, that I have seldom been more serious.”
“I did not need to fight him. It was not a matter of defending my person or that of those who depend on me. Nor was it a matter of national duty. Therefore, it was murder. Yet I did need to fight him as a matter of honor, and I defended my sister’s honor and thus my pride is satisfied and pleased.
I almost wish they would hang me for it. ”
“Such twisted thoughts.” Her smile was rather twisted itself.
“It is your turn to tell a story,” Darcy said to Mrs. Wickham. “What happened after he offered for you. Did your father refuse consent?”
“Yes, I had always been Papa’s favorite, and now he took to calling me even sillier than his other daughters. But he did not absolutely refuse the marriage until he questioned Wickham about his prospects and situation. The answers he received did not please him.”
“Wickham could not charm your father into believing every assurance that of course this time he would dedicate himself to his studies, and of course he would never again trifle with one of the maids, and of course he would cease to drink.”
“Did he do so with your father?” Mrs. Wickham asked.
“Yes, though...I hid from my father the chief part of his dissolute habits. Did you know nothing of them when you married?”
“I knew that he liked wine, that he liked cards, and that he admired beautiful women. But the last was a virtue, since I had no notion that he would not treat the marriage vows as binding.” Mrs. Wickham sighed. “But he was a handsome fellow. And well used to talking his way into anything he liked.”
“Not into everything.”
Mrs. Wickham was silent for a minute, and then she fed Darcy the end of the broth. As promised she now gave him two dry crackers. Her face was pale in the flickering candlelight and the sad look to her cheeks made him long for some happier world.
“My father,” Mrs. Wickham said, “told me that if Wickham returned in three or four years with his studies at the Inns of Court complete, and with a settled practice, and three witnesses of known character who would attest to his virtuous behavior over the past years, then he might reconsider his refusal, but as Mr. Wickham was a worthless fellow who could never make anything of himself, he need not worry about impossibilities.”
“I believe I might like your father,” Darcy said.
Mrs. Wickham laughed. “We were so close. And he could make me laugh. I always felt as though it was the two of us against the rest of the family. But chiefly I remember those last weeks. How angry we were with each other. How I refused to speak with him, and he walked about with a satisfied air of knowing better. He did of course, but, zounds, I did not like it at the time. And he did not realize that I would defy him.”
“Mr. Wickham convinced you to elope?”
“No. I mean yes, but I had more than half convinced myself before he suggested it. I wanted to prove to my father that I was right about Mr. Wickham. What a foolish young Miss. What a fool.”
“You are still young.”
Mrs. Wickham laughed again. “I am. Yes, you are right. It can be easy to forget how young I am. I have two children who depend for their bread upon my work.”
“You were raised a gentlewoman,” Darcy replied, unsettled by this. He had robbed her of any hope that she could gain the support her position deserved.
“As the years pass that seems to be of less significance. That ordinary obsession of an old maid of gentle birth with always keeping up appearances...I cannot flinch from humbling myself. Not with the difficulties I have faced, and with my children to worry upon.”
“Any man who abandons their children deserves to be despised,” Darcy said.
“Do you then have no bastard by-blows?—I see you are shocked by the question. But I have been informed, by no less an authority than Mr. Wickham, and his friend Mr. Denny, that every gentleman in the world keeps a woman besides their wife. At least every one who has the means to afford her.”
“I was not raised in such a manner.”
“Neither was Mr. Wickham, and that certainly did not prevent his cavorting.” Mrs. Wickham yawned widely.
“For three years we were quite happy. In a way. And then—when I learned that he had spent all the money—he lost the majority while gambling, or while...visiting courtesans. Yes. Yes, I learned that. I was incensed. And he had made barely any progress in the study of law. I demanded he find something to do. I yelled at him. I shouted. I was quite heavy with Emily at the time. And George was so young. And then...after three days of my scorn and demands he left.”
The candlelight burned low. It flickered in her fierce dark eyes.
“You should not blame yourself. He made you his wife. He promised to care for you. And he had failed to do his utmost.”
“He was weak.” Mrs. Wickham stared at her hands.
“Mr. Wickham tormented himself greatly. He despised himself. Not at first, but at the end, when I held George and pointed at my belly and cursed him for failing to provide. I was not the sort of wife who sweetly endures every insult, every failure of her husband. I was not like that. I was the termagant. The only reason I did not punch him is that he was stronger than me, and I feared that if he struck me back, I would collect a knife to stab him—then what would have happened to the children after they hung me? Mr. Wickham had no application. And he could not cease to gamble. Or attend on those women. Or anything else. He had done his utmost, but that was very little. I always hoped that one day he would return, that one day he would become the man whom...whom I thought I had married. But this was the most likely way for him to end. Shot because he had taken the virtue of another woman. Damn him. And I’ll not cry. Tears do no good for anyone.”
Mrs. Wickham fiercely brushed at her eyes. “Damn him.”
Mr. Darcy wished that he had a handkerchief to hand to her, but he suspected that she would have been unhappy with the gesture.
The woman stood and paced the drawing room several times, from the empty fireplace to the door out to the hallway. Back and forth. Back and forth.
One more time she wiped at her eyes. “Since then, I’ve shifted about, earning money this way and that. I sold everything but a few clothes with which we can visit friends who are quality; I paid many of his debts to tradesmen with that. And I’ve survived.”
“Your family refused to help you?”
Mrs. Wickham opened her mouth. She then shut it and frowned. Her brows furrowed.
Watching her mobile face, Darcy was once more struck that she was a special woman, one who deserved far better from life.
“When Papa refused to let me marry Mr. Wickham he explained at length to me the difficulties in matters of money that we faced. The estate is entailed, and I have four sisters. If I married someone who could not support me and the children we would have, then it would be necessary for him to take money that should help my sisters to support us.”
“And that is why he has done nothing for you? Did he never give you any portion when you married Mr. Wickham?”
Mrs. Wickham wiped at her eyes. “After George was born, he came to London to see his grandchild. It is the one time I’ve seen him since I married.
He told me then that if the time came that I needed help, and that I knew that I had made a mistake by not listening to him, he would give what support he could.
I think he knew from our standard of life, and from how Mr. Wickham never attended to the courts or to any studies that the money would not last forever. ”
“Then why have you not gone to him?”
“My sisters. I will not, if there is any way I can avoid it, I will not let my stupidity harm them in any way. I made this choice; I will not have them pay for it.” Then her face crumpled. “I think also...I always believed that he would return.”
“This is what I cost you by killing him.”
“You delight in heaping blame upon yourself. Mr. Darcy, be sensible. Be sensible. I must be sensible. I met Mrs. Younge today. I told you that?—She thinks of him as her husband. And he was trying to perpetuate a horrifying fraud upon your sister. And—he was never going to return. I lied to myself. You did not prevent him from supporting me, because he never would have supported me again, because I was stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Mrs. Wickham became quiet and pressed her hands against her face.
Mrs. Wickham let out a long breath. “I apologize. I should not have let these feelings overcome me in such a way. I must approach my father and see what he might do for my children. But I do not wish to.”
“You have a great deal of pride,” Mr. Darcy said.
She was quiet again.
There was the sound of a buzzing mosquito somewhere in the room. Darcy could hear in the distance the low sound of the surf slapping against the sandy beaches. Outside it was quiet, with no sound of traffic on the street. The air felt chill on his skin.
“Yes. Yes. Pride. I hid my true situation from my aunt and uncle in London. They have not even been told that Wickham abandoned me. Perhaps they guess something is amiss, since I have kept them from visiting us, though I visit them a few times a year. But what can I do? It is impossible for me to earn much money, and those things that are most remunerative, such as hiring out as a sick nurse, do not allow me to keep my children with me.”
Darcy felt a deep desire to help her. “You must not be in any hurry to leave. I do feel some responsibility for your situation. And I will happily have you stay for however long you wish.”
“I do not wish for charity.”
“As I have said, you are a proud woman. Remain and nurse me.”
“I cannot take fees for a wound that my husband caused. That would…there is some delicacy in me that refuses that.”
She looked so serious.
Darcy nearly laughed. He smiled at her. “But you do not mind that the fee would go to someone else? For as you insist, I must have a nurse.”
She smiled at him. And then yawned.
“Madam,” Darcy said to her, “you should sleep. I dare say that I shall be well here until morning. But be in no hurry to leave. You are welcome to stay here for so long as you wish. Go up to your bedroom.”
“I thank you,” Mrs. Wickham replied. She pressed her hand over her mouth again. “But I’ll set myself a little bed on that other sofa. I would much prefer to hear if you need water or broth again—I see that grimace. But you do not want your body to be over excited by too much food.”
“You are behaving as the servant, not the guest. And you have already refused to be hired as a sick nurse.”
“If I were a friend or relation nursing you, I would equally insist on remaining in the room. And you have no other servants.”
“Then be a friend; stay until I am well, or until the wound sickens and takes me off.”
“I perceive you are of the sort of character who prefers to dwell on what awful thing might happen so that you can face the whole experience with equanimity.”
“Stay.” Darcy did not know why, but he wanted to make sure this woman was nearby, where he could help her. “I willingly entrust myself to you.”
She stared at him. “Very well, Mr. Darcy.”