Chapter 13
The following day brought a visitor to Longbourn in the person of Mr Collins: a clergyman, a fool, and Mr Bennet’s heir.
The long-winded letter in which he had invited himself to stay with his distant cousins suggested that he intended to offer an ‘olive-branch’ to atone for the fact that his inheritance would leave the Bennet ladies without a home, and the appraising looks he turned upon the daughters of the house gave Elizabeth the notion that he intended to use his position as the heir to get himself a prettier wife than he could otherwise hope to secure.
His attention was all for Jane the first evening, but in the morning he spoke with Mrs Bennet for a time, and then he planted himself at Elizabeth’s side and could not be deterred from paying her fatuous compliments or rambling on about his parsonage and his patroness, assuring himself and her at every moment that she would greatly approve of them.
Between his endless conversation and her mother’s smirks, it was not yet midday before Elizabeth felt that she should rather like to strangle them both.
She sought to avoid him for a time by joining in Lydia and Kitty’s walk to Meryton, but here she was thwarted by her mother’s suggestion to Mr Collins that he go with them and see the town, to which he readily agreed.
Jane elected to join them, and stayed close by Elizabeth’s side, but on her other walked the senseless clergyman, who regaled her in excessive detail with all the charms of his garden in Kent.
Jane could do little but send her sympathetic glances and squeeze her hand from time to time.
In Meryton, at least, there was distraction in the form of acquaintances to greet, and one of these—Mr Denny, of Colonel Forster’s militia regiment—had a stranger with him, a very handsome young man of most gentlemanlike appearance.
Kitty and Lydia were wild for the officers; Mr Denny had been a favourite almost from the moment of his arrival and had disappointed them by going to London on regimental business last week, so they did not hesitate in running across the street to greet him and meet his friend.
Jane and Elizabeth could do nothing but follow their younger sisters and hope that was as much of a spectacle as they intended to make that day, and where Elizabeth went, thither also went Mr Collins.
Mr Denny introduced them all to Mr Wickham, a friend of his from town who had come to join the regiment.
Mr Wickham was well-spoken, his demeanour one of easy affability.
The whole party were speaking together very agreeably when the sound of horses drew their notice.
Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were riding down the street; Mr Bingley caught sight of Jane and turned towards them, his friend following.
Coming near, Mr Bingley called out a greeting to all, though his eyes were fixed upon Jane.
Mr Darcy’s gaze, however, had picked out their new acquaintance, and his complexion had grown alarmingly red, a look of anger stamped across his features.
Mr Wickham, contrariwise, had gone white, though after a moment he recovered himself sufficiently to touch his hat in greeting.
“Come to defraud the merchants of another unsuspecting town, have you, Wickham?” Mr Darcy enquired abruptly, and all other conversation stilled as every eye turned to the two men.
Mr Wickham swallowed and said, “I have no notion what you mean, Darcy.”
“Do you not? The receipts I hold of the debts you left in Lambton and Kympton say otherwise. If you have changed your ways, I shall send for them, and you may settle them like an honest man.”
“I…” Mr Wickham seemed to flounder for a moment, then drew himself up and cast a derisive look at Mr Darcy.
“When will you cease these lies?” he boldly asked, then looked about at the spellbound audience and, addressing them, claimed, “Old Mr Darcy, this man’s father, was my godfather.
Darcy has always hated me because my godfather loved me so well, and whenever we happen to meet, he blackens my name to all and sundry. ”
“The liar, sir, is you.” Heads turned to Mr Bingley at this surprising declaration.
He looked down from his horse upon Mr Wickham with disgust. “I doubt you recognise me from your final year at Cambridge, for it was my first. But I recall even now that at the opening of my second, when you and Darcy were both gone away, there was talk of the debts you had left behind you there. Debts to merchants, and debts of honour…to both gentlemen and ladies.”
This hint that Mr Wickham had engaged in seduction as well as profligacy was met with gasps.
“Rumours seeded by Darcy upon his departure, I do not doubt,” Mr Wickham asserted.
Elizabeth was edging away from him before she had consciously formed the thought that she should.
The worst she knew of Mr Darcy was that he could be a little selfish and speak without considering the effect of his words, a crime of which she thought few people completely innocent.
She knew also that everyone at Netherfield would give him an excellent character, and if she did not much respect the opinions of the Hursts, she sincerely valued the Bingleys’.
“I have long spoken of you as little as I possibly could,” Darcy countered sharply.
“That is why I have never called in the debts I settled for you. If you insist that they are fictions, however, I shall be forced to clear my name with these good people here. I could have your notes in hand on the morrow, for they are with my man in London.” He smiled thinly.
“My cousin the colonel is also in London, as it happens. He will be interested to know that you have joined His Majesty’s forces. ”
Mr Wickham blanched, and Elizabeth saw her neighbours take note of it just as she did.
“I have not yet joined,” he said sourly, “and now I see that I cannot. Darcy derides me for having no profession, but insinuates that his cousin will make a career in the militia unpleasant for me. It has ever been thus—whatever I attempt, he opposes, and since he is rich and well-connected, he succeeds.”
“The only power my cousin has to make your service in the militia unpleasant is in his ability to inform your colonel of your character, claims you could overturn simply by living honestly. But you will prefer to run away rather than do that.”
Mr Wickham sneered and turned to Mr Denny, saying that he would return to the inn and get the next post-coach to London, expressing regret that they were not to be comrades in arms. But even Denny appeared mistrustful of him now, offering no arguments against the plan and only thanking him for the pleasure of his company these past days.
Mr Wickham made a mocking bow to the silent assemblage which had witnessed the confrontation, spun on his heel, and walked off towards the inn alone.
“What a lucky escape this place has had!” commented Bingley brightly as people began to shuffle their feet and look at each other to determine if their own astonishment and titillation at the scene was shared. A sudden swell of excited chatter replaced the silence.
Mr Darcy leant towards his friend and spoke with him briefly.
Bingley nodded to him and dismounted, approaching Jane and enquiring after her health.
Mr Darcy then tipped his hat to the cluster of Bennets, saying, “I fear I now have urgent business to which I must attend, though I should much prefer to be here among friends on such a fine day.”
He looked to Elizabeth as he stated his desire to remain, and she wondered at it. Could he regret the loss of time in her company in particular? Before she could come to any conclusion, he tipped his hat to them all once more and wheeled his mount about, riding off in the direction of Netherfield.