Chapter 15 #2
It did not take long for the carriage carrying the four Bennet ladies and Mr Collins to arrive at the Phillips’ house.
As her mother had ordered Elizabeth to sit next to the corpulent parson, she could not move fast enough the instant the footman opened the conveyance’s door.
Once the ladies and Collins alighted, the coachman drove the conveyance to the mews behind the house.
The wall between the dining parlour and sitting room had been pulled back, making one large room. Tables with food and drink were on one wall, the sofa and settee against another, and in the centre of the room were five card tables, each one set up for a different game.
“This reminds me of the small winter breakfast parlour at Rosings Park,” Mr Collins pronounced before he headed for the tables laden with food.
“From Mr Collins, that is a compliment, Aunt Hattie,” Jane soothed. “He thinks that that estate is the best there is, and everything within it is the epitome of elegance, so for him to compare your home to anything there is most definitely his way of expressing admiration.”
Jane’s speech placated Hattie Phillips. She had been about to ask Mr Collins to leave, but she changed her mind.
The three Bennet sisters were pleased to see their Lucas, Goulding, and Long friends.
While she chatted with Charlotte, Elizabeth was watching the door, waiting for the officers, or more precisely, one particular officer, to arrive.
She was pleased with the intelligence Aunt Hattie had imparted: those from Netherfield Park had refused the invitation.
A few minutes later, the three lieutenants arrived. Elizabeth did not feel attraction to any man in a scarlet coat like Lyddie did; however, she could not deny how well Mr Wickham looked in his uniform.
After a short time, just before those who wanted to play the various card games sat, Wickham discreetly beckoned to Miss Elizabeth to join him on the settee.
Elizabeth gave a little nod, and after walking a circuitous route, she sat on the other end of the settee from the officer. She wanted to know about what she had seen pass between Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy, but she could not broach the subject without him introducing it.
“How far is Netherfield Park from Meryton? I understand that is where Mr Darcy is being hosted,” Wickham began in a hesitating manner. “How long has he been staying there?”
“The estate is two miles to the east. And Mr Darcy has been in residence for a few weeks,” said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, “He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.”
“Yes,” replied Wickham, “his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy.”
Elizabeth could not but look shocked.
“You may well be surprised, Miss Elizabeth, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might have done, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr Darcy?” Wickham enquired diffidently.
“As much as I ever wish to be,” cried Elizabeth very warmly. “I have spent more days than I cared to in the same house with him, and I think he is very disagreeable.”
Wickham turned his head so Miss Elizabeth would not see his smile.
Darcy had made this far easier for him. He turned back to the lady.
“I have no right to give my opinion,” said Wickham.
“As to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general astonish—and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. I assume that you feel you are able to do so among your own family.”
“Upon my word, I say no more here than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except for Netherfield Park. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by anyone.” Elizabeth’s conscience demanded she remember Aunt Maddie’s words, but all of her resentment returned in full force, and she ignored that thought.
After a short pause, Wickham said, “I cannot pretend to be sorry that he or that any man should not be esteemed beyond what they deserve, but with him, I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence or frightened by his high and imposing manners and sees him only as he chooses to be seen.”
“I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man.”
Wickham shook his head. “I wonder,” said he, “whether he is likely to be in this county much longer.”
“I do not at all know, but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield Park. I hope your plans in favour of the Derbyshire Militia will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.”
“Oh no! It is not for me to be driven away by Mr Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him but what I might proclaim before all the world: a sense of very great ill-usage and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed and the truest friend I ever had, and I can never be in company with this Mr Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour towards me has been scandalous; I verily believe I could forgive him anything and everything rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up as she found the interest of the subject increased as she listened with all her heart.
“It was the prospect of constant society and good society,” he added, “which was my chief inducement to enter the Derbyshire Militia. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me further by his account of their present quarters and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintances Meryton had offered them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have found those in this town very welcoming.”
Elizabeth wondered why Mr Wickham had ceased speaking of Mr Darcy, but she was soon gratified.
Wickham continued, “I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession—I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.”
“Indeed!” The normally intelligent woman did not ask why, if he was ordained, he had not sought another living.
“Yes, the late Mr Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living of those in his gift. He was my godfather and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply and thought he had done it; however, when the living fell open, it was given elsewhere.”
“Good heavens!” cried Elizabeth; “How could that be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal redress? Allow me to summon my uncle.”
“N-no there is no need because there was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr Darcy chose to doubt it—or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance and imprudence—in short, anything or nothing. The living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and it was given to another man. I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is that we are very different sorts of men and that he hates me.”
“This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”
“Some time or other he will be—but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose his son.”
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.
Her mind ignored the many contradictions in his telling.
She was far too keen to hear negative information about Mr Darcy.
“But what can have been his motive? What could have induced him to behave so cruelly?”
“A thorough and determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better, but his father’s uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life.
He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was often given me. ”
The fact that the late Mr Darcy had not left his supposed favourite a substantial bequest flew over Elizabeth’s head.
She was too caught up in the tale being related to her to think critically.
“I had not thought Mr Darcy so bad as this, and although I have never liked him, I had not imagined he would sink to these depths. I had supposed him to be despising his fellow creatures in general but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this.” After a few minutes’ reflection, however, she continued, “I do remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield Park, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful.”