Chapter 22
ELIZABETH SAW NOTHING of Wickham the following morning.
Kitty came down late, complained of a headache, and remained close to Lydia through breakfast. She spoke little to Elizabeth and less to Jane.
When Mrs. Bennet proposed calling on Mrs. Phillips, Kitty pleaded fatigue and Lydia accused her of wishing to stay at home in case a certain officer called.
Kitty colored and left the table before her mother could ask whom Lydia meant.
Mrs. Bennet looked after her. “What is the matter with the girl?”
“Nothing that Lydia can improve by teasing her,” Elizabeth said.
Lydia laughed. “I never said Mr. Wickham would call. Kitty decided for herself that his attention meant something.”
Bennet entered as she spoke and took his place at the table. “Who is Mr. Wickham, and what has he done to earn such confidence?”
“He is one of Colonel Forster’s officers,” Elizabeth said. “He has been paying Kitty a good deal of attention, and I think she may expect more than he has offered.”
“I will keep an eye on the fellow,” Bennet said as he reached for the coffee. “A young man who encourages impossible expectations can create trouble without exerting himself.”
Jane gave Lydia a look that ended the subject, though not her amusement. Elizabeth finished her breakfast without joining the argument. Until Mr. Wickham did something more definite than seek Kitty’s attention, she could do little without driving her sister further into secrecy.
An hour later, Hill announced Mr. Darcy.
Mrs. Bennet stared as though she could not account for his presence without Bingley. Jane rose, and Elizabeth noticed that Darcy’s glance passed over them both and settled on the library door.
“My father is inspecting the boundary fence with Thomas,” she said. “He should return before noon.”
Darcy’s disappointment was slight, but she saw it.
He nodded. “Then I have called at an inconvenient hour.”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You will sit down, Mr. Darcy. Jane, ring for tea. Mr. Bingley did not accompany you? We have not seen him since Tuesday, though I daresay Netherfield keeps him very busy.”
“He had business to attend to, madam.”
Darcy took the chair Jane indicated and answered Mrs. Bennet’s questions without encouraging more.
When the tea arrived, he accepted a cup, though his attention kept returning to the library door.
Elizabeth began to suspect that he had come to speak with her father and was now uncertain whether to wait or leave.
Lydia entered before he decided. She stopped when she saw him, then recovered enough to curtsy and announce that Kitty would not come down because she was cross with everyone.
“Kitty is not cross,” Jane said. “She is unwell.”
“She was well enough to hide a note in her workbox.”
Elizabeth set down her cup. “Lydia.”
“What? I did not read it.”
Darcy’s gaze shifted to Elizabeth. His expression remained composed, but the look he gave her showed that Lydia’s words carried more meaning than she intended.
Mrs. Bennet demanded to know who had written to Kitty, and although Lydia denied knowing, she supplied three guesses, all officers. Jane tried to steer the conversation toward the regiment’s expected exercises, but Darcy’s answers grew shorter.
When Lydia at last left to fetch a ribbon she wished Jane to mend, Darcy put down his cup.
“Miss Elizabeth, might I ask whether your father is likely to return soon?”
“Not for an hour or two. He walked toward the west field.”
Darcy sighed. “I hoped to see him about a private matter.”
Mrs. Bennet straightened. “A private matter?”
“It concerns business, madam.”
That explanation satisfied her less than it should have, but Jane asked whether he wished to leave a message. Darcy hesitated.
“I would prefer to speak with him.”
Elizabeth understood then that his call was not social. His unease after Lydia’s mention of the note suggested the subject, though she could not imagine why Wickham’s interest in Kitty should bring Darcy to Longbourn.
“You can find my father along the boundary path,” she said. “You will know the gate when you reach it. It has not improved since your last encounter.”
Darcy smiled as he rose. “Then I know what to expect. Will you direct me?”
“A servant can show you the way,” Mrs. Bennet said. “There is no need for Lizzy to go tramping across the fields.”
“I should prefer Miss Elizabeth’s guidance,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth rose before her mother could object again. “The servants have work enough, and I know the path better than any of them.”
She fetched her bonnet and joined Darcy outside before her mother finished objecting.
Sarah followed them from the kitchen yard. Darcy glanced down when the dog came to Elizabeth’s side, but made no comment.
They crossed the lawn in silence, and beyond the shrubbery the path narrowed between two hedges until they were obliged to walk closer together.
Elizabeth waited for Darcy to speak, conscious that whatever purpose had brought him to Longbourn without Bingley seemed to weigh more on him with every step.
At the first gate, Sarah passed through before Elizabeth pulled it closed. Darcy held the latch while she settled it.
“You came to warn my father about Mr. Wickham,” she said.
Darcy released the latch. “I came because the situation has changed.”
“That is not a denial.”
“No.”
They resumed walking toward the empty field, where three cows stood near the far hedge. Bennet was not in sight.
Elizabeth said, “Situation?”
Darcy looked toward Sarah, who had gone ahead to inspect the ditch. “Wickham is paying attention to one of your younger sisters.”
“You heard Lydia.”
“I did, and she confirmed what I knew before I entered the house.”
Elizabeth stopped. “How did you know?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Then you have come to repeat gossip while refusing its source.”
His jaw tightened. “No.”
“Have you seen him behave improperly toward Kitty?”
“I have seen enough of his conduct to know that she should not encourage his attentions.”
“That answers a different question.”
Darcy faced her. “Miss Elizabeth, your sister lacks experience, while Wickham knows how to gain confidence and may appear most open when he is least sincere.”
The certainty of the judgment angered her more than the words themselves. “And I am to accept this because you say it?”
“I ask you to exercise caution.”
“While providing no act, no witness, and no explanation.”
“I cannot provide what you demand without involving people who have trusted me.”
Elizabeth heard pride in that answer, the same assurance that his reasons were sufficient even when concealed. “Then you should not have begun.”
Darcy took a breath before replying. “Silence would have been easier.”
“For you, perhaps.”
“For everyone concerned.”
“Not for Kitty.”
His expression tightened. She had reached the point that brought him there, but he still refused to explain himself.
“No,” he said. “Not for Miss Catherine.”
“Then what danger does she face?”
“I cannot say what Wickham intends, but I know enough of his habits to fear what your sister may expect from him. A young woman who mistakes his attention for honorable intentions is not safe from disappointment.”
The warning came close to Elizabeth’s own concern. She had watched Wickham remain just within the bounds of propriety while allowing Kitty’s hopes to pass beyond them, but Darcy gave her no means of deciding whether he spoke from knowledge or resentment.
“What habits?”
“Debts and convenient promises, accounts shaped to secure sympathy, and familiarity used where respect would require restraint.”
“Those are accusations.”
“They are descriptions.”
“Without examples, they are insults.”
Darcy looked past her toward the lane. A cart moved beyond the hedge, its wheels sounding over the dry ruts. He waited until the sound faded.
“Several tradesmen in Meryton have extended him credit,” he said. “Some did so because they believed his connection with me ensured payment, while others relied upon assurances he had no authority to give.”
Elizabeth had not expected anything so specific. “Have they complained to you?”
“I will not name them.”
“I did not ask their names.”
“No. You asked for examples, but in a town this size, any example would identify the person involved.”
That was true, though his manner made it difficult to accept. “And these shopkeepers trust you?”
“They came to me because he used my name.”
“What have you done?”
“What was necessary to prevent immediate loss.”
“You paid his debts.”
“I did not say that.”
“You did not need to.”
Darcy’s face closed again, and Elizabeth understood that he had said more than he intended. He protected the shopkeepers from public embarrassment, but expected her to accept fragments while placing his own conclusions beyond question.
“You might have warned the shopkeepers before they trusted him.”
“I did not know he was trading on my name until after they extended him credit.”
“And now you warn my father after Wickham has begun encouraging Kitty.”
“I am here because I learned of that encouragement yesterday.”
“Yet you have known his character much longer.”
Darcy turned to her. “What would you have had me do? Enter Meryton and announce that an officer new among friends was unworthy of credit and female regard? On what terms? With whose testimony? You object to a private warning because I cannot expose its sources. Would you have approved a public accusation built on the same silence?”
His reasonable question did not remove the injury created by his caution. Wickham had established himself while Darcy guarded information that might have changed how everyone regarded him.
“You might have spoken to Colonel Forster.”
“I have.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Enough to make him watchful.”
“According to your judgment.”
“Whose judgment should I use?”
The bluntness of the reply silenced her for a moment. Darcy looked away.
“I am not looking for gratitude,” he said. “I want Mr. Bennet to prevent private meetings and secret correspondence until Wickham’s purpose is clearer.”