Chapter 11 Wickham Schemes
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WICKHAM SCHEMES
George Wickham was far from pleased to find himself so uncomfortably near to Mr Darcy.
The interval since their last unhappy parting had been far too short for his liking, and he was wholly unprepared for such an encounter to occur again with so little warning.
That Darcy had not yet forgiven him was no surprise, yet it vexed him exceedingly to be reminded of the fact in so public a manner as he had been today.
Worse still, the presence of his former friend in the neighbourhood threatened to disturb not only his spirits but, of far greater consequence, the favourable impression he intended to cultivate among the families of Meryton.
He needed their good opinion to secure the freedom to purchase necessities on credit and to indulge in the amusements that would make his stay tolerable.
Yet worse was to follow. Scarcely a day had elapsed before Colonel Forster announced the adoption of a new and most inconvenient regulation.
Certain tradesmen, it seemed, had grown uneasy at the prospect of unpaid accounts, their apprehensions sharpened by reports of certain habits amongst some of the younger officers.
Sir William Lucas, a former shopkeeper and the unofficial mediator in all village concerns, had carried these complaints to the colonel, urging him to act lest credit be withdrawn altogether.
Colonel Forster, a careful man, lost no time in issuing his decree. He determined not only to conduct regular enquiries into the officers’ accounts but likewise encouraged the shopkeepers to show caution in their dealings with his men to avoid any potential problems.
At the public house, credit was to be limited to a single guinea, beyond which no tally should be entered, not without the colonel’s express permission.
The gentlemen’s board was, of course, provided for in their pay; but such private indulgences as ale, brandy, or a bottle of port must be paid from the men’s own purses.
It was a restriction sure to dampen the spirits of more than one officer and, to Wickham’s mind, could not have been contrived at a more ill-timed moment.
His own funds, already stretched to near breaking, would bear close watch, and Wickham quickly began to calculate his remedies.
A borrowed note from a gullible comrade might tide him over for a short time; a card game well-managed could supply what was lacking; or, should fortune truly shine on him, the smile of a silly girl—or her mother’s indulgence—might yet be converted into something of more practical use.
That Darcy’s presence threatened such manoeuvres only sharpened Wickham’s resentment, for he knew too well that one word from that quarter could undo all his careful efforts.
Unfortunately for him, fortune had proved unkind, and his customary tricks had failed him at the gaming table the previous evening, leaving his purse even lighter than before.
Nor did the reports amongst his brother officers offer much consolation; there were, it seemed, no young ladies in the neighbourhood possessed of a dowry sufficient to tempt his pursuit.
It was, besides, too early to press a fellow officer for a loan, and while the thought of desertion had crossed his mind, prudence checked the impulse.
The penalty for such an offence was death, and Wickham was not, for the present, disposed to hazard so extreme a risk.
With Darcy so near at hand, he felt convinced that any attempt at flight would be swiftly remarked and his prospects ruined beyond recovery.
However, he could not help recalling how swiftly his nemesis stepped forwards to attend Miss Elizabeth Bennet the afternoon before, and with what protectiveness he regarded her. Could it be, Wickham mused darkly, that Darcy is in love with an insignificant country miss?
The previous evening, he had made discreet enquiries among his brother officers, and their accounts had greatly amused him—especially the tale of Darcy’s slight to the second Miss Bennet on first entering the village.
Yet, from what had been witnessed that afternoon, the pair now seemed to enjoy considerably more amiable relations.
Many of the officers, puzzled by such a change, repeated the story as they had heard it from Miss Lydia herself.
“I declare,” said Lieutenant Denny, “Miss Lydia told me Mr Darcy declared her sister ‘tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him’ before they were even introduced to each other. A poor compliment, if ever I heard one.”
“And yet,” Lieutenant Sanderson replied with a chuckle, “did you not see him yesterday? He stood beside her as though he meant to guard her from the whole world, rushing to her the moment he alighted from his horse. Such a sudden change is most curious, particularly after Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth spent several days in his company while Miss Bennet was sick at Netherfield.”
“Perhaps he repents his words after having spent more time with the lady,” another man suggested with a grin.
“Miss Lydia swore she heard the tale from her sister’s own lips, and she seemed most diverted in the telling.
Still, it appears the gentleman is mending his reputation quickly indeed, at least for one of the Bennets.
Miss Bennet was not with them, but I have heard from a certain maid at Netherfield that one of the sisters was less pleased with the other when they departed. ”
Wickham, feigning indifference, raised his glass with a half-smile. “It would not be the first time pride and vanity have led a man into contradictions. I wonder whether Miss Elizabeth will be so forgiving as to forget such an insult. Perhaps she has realised how very wealthy the man is.”
Encouraged, the officers went on to comment freely upon the Bennet family’s situation.
“They have but a small portion between them,” Lieutenant Denny said with a careless shrug, “and the estate is entailed away from the female line to some distant cousin, that man, Mr Collins, who was with them yesterday. Still, Mrs Bennet is generous with her table and not sparing with her compliments, so one cannot call at Longbourn and come away hungry. It is not an acquaintance I would like to risk.”
“Aye,” another added with a grin, “and the eldest is a handsome creature—very quiet and genteel in her manner. But it is the second who turns every head, just as she did Mr Darcy’s.
A fine pair of eyes and a spirit to match.
She is no shrinking miss. Quite different from her sister’s reserve.
Lovely too, and much less of a cold fish than her elder sister. ”
“As for the third,” laughed a young officer, “she is hardly worth the naming. A plain little thing, poor girl.”
Wickham listened, smiling in a way that did not touch his eyes.
“Indeed? Then it would seem Mr Darcy has condescended to admire where there is beauty enough, even if there is not a shilling to recommend it. Curious, is it not, how even the proudest gentleman’s principles will bend in the face of a pretty countenance? ”
A ripple of laughter followed, and the matter was dropped.
Yet Wickham’s thoughts lingered. Left to his reflections afterwards, he turned the notion over with growing relish.
If Darcy harbours a tendre for the second Miss Bennet, what might he suffer should her family name be disgraced?
A whispered rumour, a misplaced word, a stolen kiss—and the folly of one of the younger sisters might serve my purpose admirably.
To ruin a girl and, in the same stroke, wound Darcy—that would be a triumph indeed.
To Wickham’s delight, he and several other officers received an invitation that very evening to the home of Mr and Mrs Philips, who, he was informed, were near relations of the Bennet family.
He could with confidence expect the Bennet sisters to be present, perhaps even their parents, and he resolved to make the most of the occasion.
There he would contrive not only to plant the first seeds of doubt concerning Darcy’s much-vaunted character, but likewise to begin laying the groundwork for a more private design of his own—a conquest that might, if well managed, serve both his vanity and his revenge.
It was not the youngest Misses Bennet who caught Wickham’s attention that night, but the eldest. For all her beauty and composure, Miss Bennet seemed to Wickham to be casting glances upon her next younger sister edged with something very like jealousy.
The sight arrested him at once, for envy was an emotion he understood intimately and could exploit if necessary.
That it should exist between sisters said to be inseparable only made the prospect more promising, particularly since the officers had praised Miss Elizabeth’s devotion in nursing her sister during her recent illness at Netherfield.
The Netherfield party was absent. The decision to host the event had left too little time for formal invitations, and while informal ones were easily extended to friends, neighbours, and even members of the militia, no one dared risk offending the more distinguished company at Netherfield with so hasty a summons.
Mr Darcy, in particular, inspired a degree of awe, and many judged it wiser not to approach him at all than to appear presumptuous.
Likewise, Mr Bennet, weary of his cousin’s company, had remained at home, dispatching his wife and daughters under Mr Collins’s charge.
Though he had written to Sir William in an attempt to shield the neighbourhood from danger, he had yet to speak plainly to his daughters.
Elizabeth might have offered some warning, but his own silence left them exposed to Wickham’s machinations.