Chapter Nine #3
George nodded at Darcy wide eyed, but Darcy did not think that this speech would in any way make a deep enough impression. Character was strong, and the best efforts of education often went amiss.
He was, himself, proof of that.
What George needed was what the young boy had never had: a father to attend to him, and to praise him as he did well, and point out to him what he did amiss, and to provide an example of upright living to model himself upon.
Even if George had such a person it might not be enough—but there was good in Wickham’s blood and breeding as well as evil, and the influence of the boy’s mother could only tend to good, in quite the opposite of the way that the influence of Wickham’s mother had always tended to evil.
“Richard,” Darcy said to his cousin, “what do you remember about Mr. Wickham, do you have any stories from when we were young that you could share?”
Crash.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stood up abruptly, he shoved his chair back, and it toppled over onto the ground.
The man looked behind him with a frown. He shook his head, placed a hand on the table in front of him and said, “Zeus, Darcy, by Zeus, I can hardly stand this womanly way you act and speak. And what would do the boy best is plain speaking. Master Wickham, your father was a cur, an errant blackguard, a rakehell, a scoundrel, and a villain. I am deuced glad that he is dead. By Zeus, I am glad he is dead. You wish to hear a story about him? Darcy, you wish to hear a story—here is a story. When I was about twenty, so ten years ago now, I was a green lad, and I had a boyish infatuation towards one of the younger maids my father had taken on. I had been raised in such a way as to understand it to be quite uncouth and improper to importune a woman employed in my house—one should find a mistress from amongst fallen women who had clearly stated that this was the life they wished before you’d offered any blandishments—and in any case, I had not the bravery at that age. She was a pretty girl.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam fell silent for a minute.
“I dare say I have not thought of her once these five years. But I was mad for her. Also mad for war. I went off with my regiment to training, and when I returned before we were sent off to Canada, I found that this girl, the girl had been dismissed in my absence. Papa did not know why, and Mama was unwilling to answer my queries. But at last, I learned that she had been seduced by a guest of the house, been made pregnant by that guest, though she had then miscarried, and that my mother would not keep such an immoral girl about. The guest, of course, was your future husband, Mrs. Wickham.”
“I had surmised as much,” Mrs. Wickham replied dryly. “What happened to the girl? I do hope her life was not wholly ruined in the end.”
“Darcy gave her some money, cleaning up Wickham’s debts, as he always did.
She married a farmer, and from how they behaved the one time I saw them when I passed through the village—I was still a lovesick fellow—they appeared happy enough to crush my heart.
Zeus, I wish my cousin had nothing to do with that man.
I wish my uncle had never taken on the duty of being his godfather.
I wish he had been born dead. There, George, that is my story.
Your father seduced a poor servant, did nothing to take responsibility for what he had done to her.
And he kept doing that, he kept hurting people, he kept wasting money, and seducing women, and hurting people.
And then he got shot. And my cousin was the one to shoot him, and that is the only unhappy part of the situation, because my cousin got shot himself by the damned worm—don’t be like him, or you’ll someday be shot.
But that is not such a bad thing, many of my best friends were shot in the course of honorable duty.
The bad thing is that when you are shot, you will be a worthless man, who will hardly be mourned, and you will have failed your duties, you will have harmed more people than you made happy, and it will be a good thing for the whole world that you are dead. ”
Having made this speech Colonel Fitzwilliam left the room, stomping his feet heavily as he went out, and then he shut the door heavily.
They all looked around, and George said, “My papa hurt Colonel Fitzwilliam too, didn’t he? I don’t wanna hurt anyone.”
“Neither did your father.” Mrs. Wickham said, “He just did not think that others were important.”
Suddenly the door opened again, and Colonel Fitzwilliam stomped in, “And Darcy, this is why I am glad you were a first son and did not go into the army. You have no stomach for it.”
“I wouldn’t have gone into the army,” Darcy replied. “I know that I am better suited for the law or clergy.”
“By Zeus. Nonsense. You barely understand yourself. You would have thought that it was your duty. Now you think that you have a duty to the estate, to Georgiana, and to your tenants and servants. That keeps you from acting on any nonsensical notion of entering the army that you may have. By Ares, never do it. You do not have the stomach for it.”
And then Colonel Fitzwilliam stomped out of the room.