Chapter 9
A FOOL AND HER MONEY
To say that Elizabeth was taken aback by Mr Darcy’s ‘wager’ was to understate the case entirely.
“You are not serious,” she said. “You do not mean it.”
“I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, that I have never been more sincere in my life.”
She could only stare incredulously. “Or do you mean that he will soon repent of his agreement to purchase a stage ticket to London for a na?ve young lady?”
“I mean what I say. If Wickham returns with a ticket, or even if he returns to you your ten shillings, I will hire a private chaise to take you anywhere you wish to go.”
She wanted to laugh at his foolish bet. “I agree to your terms,” she said.
“Plainly, you have an ill opinion of Mr Wickham. But your opinions seem to be based upon the boy you knew in your youth—you said you have not been close to him in some years. I can assure you, sir, that you have based your wager upon incorrect information. I spoke with him for thirty or forty minutes—long enough to take his measure. Mr Wickham is obviously a gentleman.”
Mr Darcy only shrugged. “If I am wrong, you will have your freedom.”
It was inconceivable that a man with such civility and address as the lieutenant would blatantly appropriate the monies of a young lady. She held out her hand, wanting a handshake upon his promise. He took her outstretched hand, but instead of shaking it, he drew it to his lips.
“I would only see you happy, Elizabeth.”
Confusion bloomed within her chest, and suddenly she recalled him as he had been earlier at Netherfield—saying other things that had perplexed her. It is only perplexing if you disbelieve his interest in you, her mind whispered.
Bewildered, she looked towards the inn’s entrance. How long did it take to purchase a ticket? How long had he been gone? Only a few minutes, she reassured herself. But Mr Darcy had not finished speaking.
“As Wickham and I grew older, he opted for friendships in which I had no place. He preferred gambling to study, and his sole pursuits were of drink and women. His preferences quickly led him towards a dissolution of every good and decent principle which his father and mine had done their utmost to inculcate within him.”
“You mean, when at Cambridge,” she said. It was not particularly unusual for young men, away from home and family for the first time, to sow some wild oats. This was a confirmation of her earlier assumptions—he had not been a friend since Mr Wickham’s university days.
“Yes. He was well on his way to becoming a wastrel by the time we left Cambridge. I did not, however, inform my father, or Wickham’s, of his conduct. He remained a favourite until my father’s untimely death five years ago.”
It did not surprise her that even a youthful Mr Darcy would sit in judgment of his friend. Had he ever been young?
Unfair, Elizabeth, she scolded herself. He has always borne a great weight of responsibility, and there are many people whose livelihoods depend upon him living up to them. And how terrible, to lose one’s father when one had barely achieved adulthood!
“I am sorry for your losses,” she said, meaning it. “Both the awful loss of your father, and your loss of friendship with Mr Wickham. But many people make youthful, errant choices. I do not believe in condemning a person for mistakes made years ago.”
He only looked at her, unsmiling.
“In his will, my father left Wickham a thousand pounds. Besides this, I was asked to look after his future, and if he took orders, to recommend a valuable family living be granted to him. However, his own father died within a six-month, and as soon as he was buried, Wickham informed me that the church held no appeal, and bade me give him the value of the living instead. He said he meant to study law. I did not believe him, but I gave him three thousand to sign away any future interest in the living, and I considered our association at an end.”
A cold feeling ran up Elizabeth’s spine.
Three thousand for the living! He was gifted four thousand pounds, in total.
A fortune! Invested properly, it could have been a respectable living while he earned a degree in law, and supplemented his earnings thereafter.
What, then, was he doing in a little country regiment, presumably living on a militia officer’s insufficient pay?
He might have wished for adventure, she thought doubtfully, whilst saving his resources.
Adventure, in Hertfordshire.
Or patriotism?
“For a few years, I heard little of him,” Mr Darcy continued. “However, when Mr Bradley died—the man who held the living which my father once wished for Wickham—I received from him a demand for its presentation.”
“He could not have asked for it again, after receiving so much in payment for it!” Elizabeth cried, much astonished.
“He could and did expect it. In fact, I doubt it ever crossed his mind that it should be denied him. He considered everything already given him as only his due, and continued, repeatedly, to plague me over my refusal. He despises me now with every fibre of his being. Had he known the truth, that you wished for a ticket to flee from me, he would have returned immediately with it. Perhaps, he might have climbed aboard also. I do not trust that he would have seen you safely to your uncle’s home, however.
He is vicious, and would have loved an opportunity to hurt you, and by doing so, to hurt me. ”
With a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, Elizabeth rose and made her way into the inn.
Mr Darcy, she noted, followed her. There was no one at the window from which tickets were sold.
She peered into the common room. A few men sat in there having their ale; there was no sign of Mr Wickham.
There was, however, more than one egress, the doors leading to the stables often used as a common exit.
Plainly, he had walked into the inn, and strolled right on out again.
“How much would such a ticket as I wanted him to purchase have cost?” she asked Mr Darcy.
He gave a half-shrug. “Six or seven shillings.”
Had she only asked Mr Darcy that one question, she would have known Mr Wickham for the liar he was. She had been taken for the fool she was.
Turning on her heel, she strode out of the inn.