Chapter 6 #3
With an effort, Darcy went on. “Wickham contrived to meet her there. Whether by design or by opportunity, I cannot say with certainty, but once the acquaintance was formed, he lost no time in cultivating it.”
Elizabeth looked up at him quickly, obviously alarmed. “You believe he intended to deceive her.”
“I know he did.” Darcy’s answer was quiet but absolute. “He persuaded her that he was deeply attached to her and that he wished to marry her. My sister, whose disposition is affectionate and whose experience of the world is very limited, believed him entirely.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes for a moment, no doubt picturing the situation all too clearly. A girl of sixteen, newly emerged into society, flattered by the attentions of a man whose manners were as agreeable as Wickham’s, could hardly fail to be impressed. “And she consented.”
“Yes.” Darcy paused before adding, “Wickham convinced her to elope with him to Gretna Green.”
Elizabeth stopped walking altogether.
Darcy halted as well. “The marriage would have taken place before I had the smallest suspicion of it,” he said. “By a fortunate accident, I arrived at Ramsgate sooner than expected and discovered what was intended before it could be carried out.”
Elizabeth looked at him with obvious concern. “You were in time to prevent it?”
“I was.” Darcy’s expression hardened slightly as he spoke the next words. “Some part of his intentions must have been revenge on myself. The greater part was, of course, my sister’s fortune of thirty thousand pounds. You can well imagine her shame, her grief, and her regret.”
“I am sorry, very sorry,” Elizabeth replied. “That is a painful history indeed.”
“There is yet more,” Darcy said quietly.
What came next could be spoken of only in the most general terms, and yet could not be avoided.
“You must know that Wickham was not merely tempted into degeneracy in this particular case. It has long been a hallmark of his character. He is not merely a danger to the fortunes of young women with considerable dowries, but also to the interests, to the — pardon me for mentioning such a thing, but I cannot do otherwise — to the reputations of those without fortunes.”
Elizabeth was silent for several moments. When she spoke again, her voice had lost all trace of the light irony with which she had first greeted his warning. “I begin to understand why you wished to speak to me.”
Darcy regarded her attentively. “I could not bear the thought,” he said, “that Wickham might impose on another young woman.”
Elizabeth met his gaze directly. “And you believed I might be such a victim.”
Darcy hesitated, aware that his answer must be given carefully.
“I believed,” he said at last, “that Wickham might attempt to win your confidence. His success in doing so would have surprised me very little. You are a sensible woman, but he has fooled others of equal sense and greater experience of the world.”
Elizabeth accepted this without resentment. Indeed, she seemed more occupied by another question entirely. “Why tell me all this,” she said slowly, “rather than my father?”
Darcy had expected the question, though that did not make answering it any easier.
He walked a few steps before replying. “I believed you would understand the delicacy of the situation. I could not have spoken of what he tried to do to Georgiana otherwise.”
Elizabeth’s expression was unreadable. “You trusted me with the secret,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
Thankfully, she looked thoughtful rather than offended at the admission. “My father,” she said after a moment, “is not always inclined to take such warnings seriously.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. It was not a subject upon which he could elaborate without causing offense.
Elizabeth drew a breath and said quietly, “You may depend on my discretion entirely. Miss Darcy’s name shall never be mentioned by me.”
Darcy nodded. “I had no doubt of it,” he said quietly, surprised all over again to find how true the words were.
Elizabeth studied him with new attention. “And you expected me to believe you.”
“I hoped you might.”
She considered this carefully. “At first,” she admitted, “I could not have doubted Mr Wickham. His account appeared reasonable, and his manner recommended him strongly.”
Darcy said nothing, though the acknowledgment was not easy to hear.
“But,” she continued, “there are some stories that cannot be invented.”
Darcy looked at her, surprised and suddenly hopeful.
“No man,” Elizabeth said steadily, “would fabricate such a history concerning his own sister.”
The simplicity of her reasoning struck him more deeply than any protestation of trust could have done. “You believe me, then.”
“I do.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
The house was now visible again through the bare branches of the garden trees. The drawing room windows caught the pale winter light, and Darcy suspected that Mrs Bennet’s curiosity had not diminished during their absence.
Elizabeth glanced toward the house and then back at him. “You have done me a great service in speaking plainly,” she said. “I am very grateful for it.”
Darcy bowed slightly, though he felt that gratitude was not a word he deserved. “I could do no less.”
Elizabeth watched him for a moment longer. “I hope,” she said, “that you will convey my best wishes to your sister when you see her.”
“I shall.”
There seemed little more to say.
Darcy escorted her the remaining distance to the door, conscious as they approached the house that the interview had altered more than he had intended.
He had come resolved to act only from duty and to leave Hertfordshire with the matter settled.
Yet the intelligence with which Elizabeth had considered his explanation and the generosity with which she had received so delicate a confidence had affected him more strongly than he cared to admit.
As Elizabeth reached for the door, he said quietly, “Thank you for hearing me.”
She turned back briefly. With a composure that now seemed warmer than before, Elizabeth said, “Thank you for trusting me.”
Darcy watched her reenter the house before turning away.
The conversation had accomplished what necessity required.
Wickham’s designs would find no easy encouragement there.
Yet as Darcy walked back toward the road, he could not escape the conviction that he had left Longbourn more deeply engaged in Elizabeth Bennet’s welfare than prudence would ever advise.
And that, he suspected, would prove far more difficult to escape than any scheme George Wickham might pursue.