Speak No Evil （First Person） #2
While I am not the most observant creature, it took no great level of discernment to see a reaction between Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy.
My dear Mary suggests I describe it as Mr Wickham turning white with fear and Mr Darcy turning red with anger.
I trust you will understand in your infinite wisdom that while such language is not beneath a man of the cloth, it is more descriptive in the literary than the literal sense, as it seems unlikely the actual colouration of either gentleman changed significantly.
Be that as it may, even a man such as myself, not particularly gifted in nuance, could detect great animosity between them.
None in the group were enlightened, however, as Mr Darcy simply turned his horse and rode away without a word.
For his part, Mr Bingley looked intently at Miss Bennet, whilst she made a great show of examining her boot, the bottom of her dress, the state of the lane, Miss Mary’s boots, Miss Lydia’s boots, the officers’ boots, the horses’ hooves, or just about anything in the village with the exception of Mr Bingley.
Since I had already settled quite happily on my cousin Miss Mary, I had no particular concerns.
As a cousin, however, I thought it incumbent upon me to wonder at the peculiar manner of my eldest cousin’s near engagement, as it was difficult to see any signs of affection whatsoever.
Yet as my Mary pointed out, it might be best were I not to worry overly much about things of which I had no understanding.
I had to own that this may very well be considered excellent advice, particularly as I had much more important concerns to attend to—including, not insubstantially, my renewed conversation with the most interesting woman of my acquaintance.
I endeavoured to flatter myself that she might be a lady positively disposed to learned discourse and possibly some arrangement of a longer-lasting nature in the not distant future.
Our discussion continued for some minutes after the horsemen’s departure, with Mr Wickham making himself more gentlemanly and agreeable to all assembled. The spectre of the gentlemen from Netherfield was gradually banished, and even Miss Bennet’s countenance improved after they departed.
We had all been invited for games and a light supper at the home of my lovely cousins’ aunt, Mrs Phillips, and thence we went straightaway.
The officers accompanied us, and when they indicated a polite intention to depart, Mrs Phillips was quite convincing as to the suitability and desirability of their staying for the evening.
Gradually they were persuaded to acquiesce to her kind invitation, primarily, I might add, through the kind arguments of my cousin Miss Elizabeth, who, as you may know, is a mixture of a kitten and a bulldog (thank you, Miss Mary, for that fine analogy).
Once inside the room, I had the supreme pleasure of Miss Elizabeth requesting I stay close by her for the duration of the evening, and was even more heartily pleased by her insistence that Miss Mary do likewise.
Among Miss Elizabeth’s fine qualities, I believed at the time that subtlety might be lacking, but I was to learn the folly of my ways.
Miss Elizabeth quickly captured the attention of Mr Wickham, and after some time started talking of Mr Darcy.
Mr Wickham described at length his long association with said gentleman, and even delineated a longstanding dispute with him over his father’s will.
Far be it from me to disparage the nephew of my patroness, but I knew that not all persons of such elevated birth were perfect.
Mr Wickham had truth in his eyes, his countenance, and his voice; I could not doubt the veracity of his words, nor could Miss Mary.
Miss Elizabeth, who at that time did not appear overly enamoured of Mr Darcy, gasped in surprise, and proceeded, through astute questions, to ascertain the exact nature of the living denied.
She gathered Mr Wickham’s opinion on the will that allowed the son to disregard the wishes of the father, and even substantial details of the denied living, including the village’s location, the parsonage’s relative size, and the lost income.
She was a most careful and diligent conversationalist, and the entire story was pulled from the gentleman forthwith.
At the close of this telling, Miss Elizabeth was so overcome with the tragedy that she felt required to reduce the melancholy feelings thus engendered by asking her sister Miss Bennet to come hither and hear the principal of the same story again.
I was at that time beginning to worry about the sagacity of my fair cousin.
She was widely reported as the cleverest of the Bennet sisters, and in fact cleverer than any man of her acquaintance, so I was quite surprised when she found she needed to apply to Mr Wickham once again regarding the value of the living, the location of the parsonage, and several other crucial details.
I could only surmise she desired the entire story whole and complete in her mind, that she might in some way endeavour to assist the clearly set upon man.
Such was her diligence to this task; she even determined to ask Miss Mary to join her and hear the most important aspects of the tale once again.
In common with my humble self, Miss Mary is so self-effacing and modest that I do not believe Mr Wickham had noticed either of us for the entire course of the evening, and he was quite unaware of our combined presence earlier in the narrative.
I began to truly appreciate my Mary when she endeavoured to ascertain Mr Wickham’s opinion on certain doctrinal matters.
I grew concerned about the man’s qualifications for orders, as we found him quite unable to answer theological questions so basic any child of six should be able to answer them easily…
and yet, Mr Wickham was unable to answer clearly or succinctly; in fact, he could not even answer them consistently.
This went on for a bit longer, and ultimately Miss Lydia was applied to hear the story yet again.
Being a thoroughly amiable and respectable young lady, despite her young age she was quite distraught by the story.
So incensed was she that the lady absolutely required every detail and asked Mr Wickham many questions, her ire and sympathy rising with every answer, as the most casual observer might clearly see in her countenance.
At long last, it came time for the officers to return to their billet, and I was left to await the Bennet coach. As I prepared to ask Mrs Phillips to call for it, Miss Elizabeth voiced what we had all half-thought, though she possessed the full picture.
“That man is evil!”
Everyone gasped at the starkness of the assertion for someone we had known but a few hours, then asked her to continue.
“He went out of his way to tell the private business between himself and Mr Darcy on a first meeting. That was a frightening breach of basic good manners which made me instantly suspicious. Then everything from the date of the supposed denial to the location and size of the parsonage to the value of the living changed with every telling. He could not answer the simplest doctrinal question. It was all lies, start to finish.”
We all started murmuring assent, and the volume of agreement increased as others perceived what Miss Elizabeth had seen and added their observations.
Miss Elizabeth asked, “Lydia, are you wearing your red dress?”
“Yes, Lizzy.”
Consternation appeared on Miss Lydia's face, a look I had never before witnessed.
“How did you feel when he looked at you?”
Miss Lydia ducked her head in embarrassment. “Now that you mention it, I did not notice at the time, but now I feel a need to roll in the mud to get clean.”
“As I thought.”
Miss Bennet had not noticed the unpleasant sensation, perhaps because her gown was far more modest. “It is so hard to believe. There was truth in his face and all his expressions. The story was very specific, including every particular. I do not believe I would have detected the lie. How did you do it Lizzy?”
“I cannot see the truth in his expression. All I had was his words and tone of voice. I believe he is a very practised liar, and uses his handsome mien and thoroughly practised manners to great advantage. He has learned through long practice to project truth in his countenance. That kind of skill in dissembling takes years.”
All around the room started nodding assent, but by longstanding habit, they voiced the same agreement for Miss Elizabeth’s sake.
“We will stop him!”
Those words stopped us cold. Nobody had the slightest idea how to go about it, but who among us would admit to being intimidated by a task our blind cousin was willing to undertake? We quickly agreed with Miss Elizabeth.
I suggested, “Mr Darcy seems to know him. Let us apply to him.”
“NO, WE SHALL NOT!”
Such a strong statement from Miss Elizabeth was so rare we stood in shock. She never raised her voice.
My cousin collected herself. “Mr Darcy knows the man. I would swear he knows everything about him; yet he declined to act. He left the viper among the lambs. He had his chance.”
None of us understood why, but it was clear that if the gentleman from Derbyshire had taken any action, it was too subtle to be detected, although admittedly he might have been working on something as we spoke. I did not have the nerve to suggest that possibility to Miss Elizabeth.
She continued like a general massing her troops.