Chapter 17 #2
“Gambling, perhaps?” Bingley suggested, his face grave.
“Yes, gambling, and since his father was not able to provide him with an income, he could not pay when he lost. He also ran up debts with shopkeepers and publicans, and I paid off many hundred pounds of debt at Lambton, near Derbyshire, only two years ago. Moreover, he treated women as … well, as playthings and ruined more than one servant girl.”
“He seems a most undesirable individual,” his friend said with a grimace.
“Indeed,” Darcy agreed. He was tempted to leap to his feet and begin pacing again, but with some difficulty, he restrained himself.
He blew out another slow breath and continued, “My father died about five years ago, and in his will he particularly asked that if Wickham took Holy orders, I would give him a valuable family living when it became vacant.”
“A man who gambles, runs up debts and preys upon young women is hardly an appropriate clergyman,” Bingley remarked grimly.
“Exactly,” Darcy said and shook his head. “I loved my father, but there is no doubt that he was completely fooled by his godson. From the last, he loved him dearly and thought him one of the best young men in all of Britain.”
“Better than you, perhaps?” Bingley asked shrewdly.
Darcy, who had been deep in his own thoughts, started a little and turned a penetrating look on the younger man.
“In some ways, yes,” he said. “Wickham was always easy in company and charming, whereas I often offend others without intending to. My father commented on it more than once.”
“I can relate somewhat,” Bingley remarked, rising to his feet and ambling over to the brandy bottle. He poured himself a drink and then walked over with the decanter.
“You?” Darcy demanded, holding out his empty glass. “I find that startling, Bingley, as you are as easy and amiable as I am stiff and offensive.”
Bingley poured until his friend’s glass was full and then took his seat again.
“Thank you,” he said after taking a sip. “I generally like people and am considered a cheerful man, but I was also, like you, an only son, and my mother was extremely ambitious.”
“But not your father?”
Bingley shrugged. “Not as much as my mother, certainly, and since I was the primary heir to the Bingley fortune, she put a great deal of pressure on me to do well in school. Not academically, you understand; she wished for me to make friends with higher connections into society, like you.”
Darcy found himself smiling. “I remember the first time I met Mrs. Bingley. She did seem very pleased to see me, though she was not at all vulgar about it.”
“Yes, she had exquisite manners, and I loved her dearly. But bringing us back to this Mr. Wickham, I wonder if your father found it easier to deal with a godson than a son, because he had the responsibility of training you up to be master of Pemberley, while he could enjoy the company of this Mr. Wickham without any associated responsibility.”
“That is a profound statement,” Darcy said after a moment of cogitation, “and I am certain you are correct. My father, to his very great credit, devoted many hours of his time to my instruction, as the estate is a large one and requires attention.”
“In any case, the man was obviously not fit to be a clergyman, so I assume you ignored your father’s wishes in the will? Or was it legally required that you award Wickham the living?”
“It was not legally required, but I felt morally obliged to obey my father’s wishes.
Fortunately, Wickham himself decided that he did not wish to take orders.
Upon his request, I gave him three thousand pounds to give up all rights to the living, plus an additional thousand pounds set aside in my father’s will.
He spent the entire sum in three short years. ”
Bingley looked surprised and then grimaced. “He sounds like a fool.”
“He is, but he is also so good-looking and silver-tongued that he has managed to skate through life, leaving ruined lives behind him.”
“And now he is here in Meryton,” Bingley said with an unhappy shake of the head.
“It is more than that,” Darcy replied and glanced at the door, which was reassuringly closed.
He lowered his voice more and said, “A few months ago, Georgiana and her governess, a Mrs. Younge, went to Ramsgate for a holiday. Most regrettably, I failed to check Mrs. Younge’s bona fides sufficiently.
I discovered later, and to my horror, that Georgiana’s governess was a close friend of Wickham’s, and the rogue followed my sister and Mrs. Younge to Ramsgate.
Georgiana remembered him fondly, and I had never told her of my concerns about his character.
She was persuaded to believe that she was in love with him, and agreed to an elopement across the Scottish border. ”
Bingley actually paled slightly. “Darcy, no! But surely he did not succeed? Please tell me that she thought better of it?”
“I decided to visit her on what I believed was a whim, though I am inclined to thank Providence for it now. I arrived, and she told me immediately about the plan. I was, of course, absolutely furious and also fearful of rumors spreading through London about by sister’s folly.
I sent both Wickham and Mrs. Younge away, and my greatest desire in life was to never set eyes on either rogue again.
And yet, Wickham is here in Meryton, apparently with the intention of taking a position as lieutenant in the militia! ”
He ran an agitated hand through his hair, and Bingley, after a moment of cogitation, said, “That seems odd. Is it not true that militia officers must have guaranteed income? And clearly based on your words, he does not?”
“He does not, but he is, without a doubt, handsome and speaks very well, and I suppose with so many young men fighting overseas against Napoleon, the local militias are growing more lax in their requirements.”
Bingley hummed in agreement and then said, “What did you do when you saw him?”
Darcy moaned and said, “I was filled with such fury that I could hardly think. I leaped off of Phoenix, pushed him against a wall, and told him that if he so much as breathed a word about my sister, he would regret it until the end of his days.”
“Did he laugh at you?”
“No, he seemed terrified,” Darcy replied grimly, “and well he should be. I hold many hundreds of pounds of his debts and could have him thrown into Marshalsea.”
“Then why do you not do so?” Bingley demanded.
Darcy stared at him. “Throw him in Marshalsea, you mean?”
“Yes! He is obviously a rogue who preys on hapless maidens and trusting shopkeepers. Why not throw him in prison?”
Darcy stared at him more. Throw Wickham in prison? Truly? He could, of course, but given that George Wickham had been old Mr. Darcy’s godson, surely that would be wrong?
Would it not?