Chapter 1.5 #2
“Lizzy, are you well enough to meet them?” asked Jane. “It is a little too early for a proper visit. If you do not feel fully recovered, I shall make excuses for you, and I am sure they will understand.”
“Of course I am well! In fact, I am quite anxious to see Mr Wickham and talk to him. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
“What promise, Lizzy? To whom?”
“To Mr Darcy and to myself. Come, Jane, let us go downstairs.”
∞∞∞
By the time the eldest Miss Bennets entered the parlour, the gentlemen had been invited by Mrs Bennet to stay for breakfast. They readily expressed their delight in seeing Miss Elizabeth looking so well.
Mr Wickham was as charming as ever, and his preference for Elizabeth was displayed clearly enough to make her slightly uneasy and raise Mr Bennet’s sudden curiosity.
The visitors inquired about Elizabeth’s little adventure, and while she tried to explain the circumstances, Lydia, who had been as noisy as possible in order to attract the gentlemen’s attention, interrupted.
“Yes, and on her way home she met Mr Darcy! Mr Darcy, of all people. What a joke! You could only guess what he may think of her. But I must say he looked quite a mess himself, all wet and muddy.”
“Really?” inquired Mr Wickham. “That is indeed odd. It is unlike him to be out in such weather. It must have been horrible for him to spoil his fashionable clothes and endure contact with the muddy world.”
All three officers laughed, accompanied by Mrs Bennet and her youngest daughters. Pleased by the attention, Mr Wickham continued. “Or perhaps he is a friend of the family and was coming precisely to call at Longbourn?”
“Oh no,” cried Lydia. “He is not a friend at all. In fact, we all hate him. He is such a rude and disagreeable man.”
To everyone’s utter surprise, Jane commented first. “I do not know what reasons brought Mr Darcy on the same path as Lizzy, but I am most grateful to him for taking such excellent care of my sister and helping her to arrive home safely. I am sure all our family is equally indebted to him, and I should be very happy indeed to call him a family friend.”
“Yes, Jane is right,” accepted Mrs Bennet. “We should be grateful to him for his assistance, though he is indeed very much as Lydia said. We can hardly tolerate him.”
“My dear Mrs Bennet,” her husband interjected, “could you allow me the free use of my judgment on this subject? I did spend some time with Mr Darcy yesterday, and I dare say I tolerated him well enough. In fact, we had quite a pleasant conversation on a variety of subjects, and Mr Darcy’s taste in books is very much to my liking. ”
Mr Bennet’s unexpected appreciation of Mr Darcy impelled Mr Wickham to display his irritation. “Indeed, sir, I find it difficult to believe that you and Mr Darcy could have similar taste in anything.”
Mr Bennet raised a brow in wonder at such a statement.
“Pray tell me, Mr Wickham, why you should find it so? Books are my passion, and from what I could learn in our limited time together, Mr Darcy is a great reader himself. Be kind enough to enlighten me on how you could possibly know my tastes or Mr Darcy’s.
“I beg you will excuse me, Mr Bennet. I do not know anything about your preferences, but I am sure they are exquisite. However, I know a great deal about Darcy’s. I have known him for many years.”
“Really? How have you come to know him so intimately?”
“My father was old Mr Darcy’s steward. The late Mr Darcy was also my godfather and excessively attached to me. He took good care of me and even paid for my schooling. Mr Darcy and I grew up together as boys.”
“Indeed? How interesting.” Mr Bennet’s curiosity was growing with every minute of this conversation, and he began to scrutinise Mr Wickham, listening carefully to everything he said.
“Yes, sir. That is why I cannot say for sure that Mr Darcy is a great reader. I know that he prides himself on being an educated man and seeks to improve his library constantly, but I dare say not for the pleasure of reading itself but perhaps for the pride of being well-read and informed.”
Mr Bennet was trying to remain amused and avoid becoming annoyed. He continued his inquiry with a slightly sharper tone, but Mr Wickham did not notice the irony in his words.
“Come now, Mr Wickham! I know Mr Darcy is not half so charming or pleasant as you are, but give the fellow a little credit! I have always considered reading to be food for the mind and the soul. To say he reads not for his pleasure but for his pride, is like saying he eats not because of hunger but from his pride in his chef!”
“Well, I can very well imagine Mr Darcy doing just that!”
“I shall not contradict you, Mr Wickham. Apparently, you know the gentleman better than do the rest of us, and I am convinced he may claim the same for you.”
“Indeed I do, Mr Bennet. Unfortunately, Mr Darcy did me a great injustice without my having done anything to deserve it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may sometimes have spoken my opinion of him and to him too freely. But the fact remains that we are two very different sorts of men, and Darcy hates me.”
“You poor man!” cried Lydia. “How can that be? What did he do to you?”
Elizabeth was shocked that Mr Wickham would tell her family his story using almost the same words he used with her two days earlier.
She could not believe he dared bring up such a subject publicly.
She was now struck with the impropriety of such communication to strangers and wondered that it had escaped her notice when he first told her.
She wanted to say something but did not trust herself to curb her tongue or her temper.
With his usual smile and confident demeanour, Mr Wickham continued, “Well, I have already had the pleasure of relating this story to Miss Elizabeth, and she was so good as to give me her attention.”
“Indeed? How fortunate, Mr Wickham,” Mr Bennet intervened before any of his daughters could speak.
“If that is the case, we shall ask Lizzy in the event we require further details.” With a pointed look, he added, “And allow me to express my surprised satisfaction at the great faith you have in our family—following such a short acquaintance—as to share the private business of your past with us. But let us move to the present: Please tell us, how do you come to be in our town?”
Elizabeth was relieved by the sudden change of topic and asked the gentlemen whether they planned to attend the ball.
Mr Wickham, eager and happy to answer, considered the question a sign of Elizabeth’s interest in him.
She dared a glance in her father’s direction, but instead of seeing the well-known ironic smile in his eyes, which usually expressed his delight in making fun of follies and nonsense, she met her father’s stern expression.
Such a rare expression on his face could not be misunderstood. Mr Bennet was intensely displeased.
∞∞∞
The day was bright and sunny, and after discussing the weather, the gentlemen proposed a short walk in the park around the house before they departed, which was gladly accepted by all the ladies.
As always, Mr Wickham showed his preference by offering his arm to Elizabeth, who coldly accepted it.
The discussion inside the house had left a bitter taste and many doubts about Mr Wickham’s appearance of goodness and the integrity of his character.
She remembered Jane’s words about being too passionate in her judgments and felt inclined to agree with her sister.
She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Mr Wickham and her that evening at her Aunt Philips’s house.
He had assured her that respect for old Mr Darcy would always prevent him from exposing the son, and now, only four days thereafter, he was more than willing to relate the story to her whole family and openly laugh at Mr Darcy.
This inconsistency between his stated professions and his conduct was too obvious to remain unnoticed. She made an effort to participate in his conversation and even to smile at him—he was still charming and pleasant—but how differently did everything now appear where he was concerned.
As they walked, Elizabeth could not fail to notice that he was attempting to put a distance between them and the rest of the party, and she became irritated at his presumption that she would agree to such a scheme.
She pretended to be fatigued and insisted on returning to the house, a suggestion accepted, albeit reluctantly, by her companion.
Still, he continued to make lively conversation, and Elizabeth continued to smile pleasantly and give the outward appearance of approving of what he said.
The moment they reached the corner of the house, both startled in utter surprise—for there stood Mr Darcy, an unmistakable expression of shock darkening his already severe countenance.
Elizabeth was mortified, her heart in her mouth. She could only guess what he might believe on seeing her walking alone with Mr Wickham in what appeared to be a cordial state. She cast her eyes sideways, smiled shyly and spoke uneasily to him. “Mr Darcy, what a pleasant surprise.”
∞∞∞
Before departing for Longbourn that morning, Darcy had prepared himself with such extraordinary care that it might have embarrassed him had he been aware of it.
He changed his coat twice and seemed displeased with his valet’s every move.
Though surprised, the servant remained unruffled, only stepping aside and allowing his master to finish for himself the last small details of his appearance. He had never done that before.