Chapter 11
It was on one such day, not long after the wedding, that the three eldest Bennet sisters closeted themselves in Elizabeth’s bedroom for a council of war. None had forgotten the danger that Mr Wickham presented, and all had accomplished their various roles as quickly as opportunity would allow.
Elizabeth had taken a seat on her bed; Jane sat next to her with worried eyes, while Mary sat very upright on the low chair by the window.
“Well, then,” Elizabeth said at last, breaking an uneasy silence. “I believe we ought to begin, though it is difficult to know how. We may not have long to speak in confidence, for the rest of the family will begin to wonder where we are.”
Jane nodded. “Yes, we had better use our opportunity while we may. Lydia will not thank us if she discovers that we have held a council without her.”
“She would thank us still less if she knew the subject of it,” Elizabeth replied. “Come, Jane. I am afire with curiosity. What did Hill learn?”
Jane hesitated, as she always did when obliged to repeat anything unfavourable of another person, and there was such obvious reluctance in her face that Elizabeth immediately felt both sorry for having asked and more anxious than ever to hear the answer.
“She was very cautious,” Jane said at last. “Indeed, she would hardly speak plainly at all. At first, I believed she knew nothing of consequence, for she only said that young men in the militia were not always prudent and that tradesmen in Meryton must be patient when so many officers passed through the town.”
Mary’s brows drew together. “All the same, that sounds as though it means debt.”
“I fear it does.” Jane sighed softly. “There is worse to come. She did not name Mr Wickham at first, but when I said that I hoped no gentleman we knew had behaved in a manner to bring inconvenience on respectable people, she became very grave. She said there was one officer who was quick to make friends, but slow to satisfy his obligations. And when I inquired whether she was referring to Mr Wickham, Hill confirmed it at once.”
Mary made a small sound of disapproval.
Though she had expected something of the sort, Elizabeth felt her indignation sharpen. “And still he smiles, bows, and is welcomed everywhere.”
Jane nodded. “Hill says there are at least two shopkeepers who have begun to complain of him privately, but do not wish to offend an officer who is so much liked. They hope he will settle matters when his money improves, but she gave me the impression that they are not easy in their minds.”
Elizabeth was silent for a moment. Wickham in debt was hardly a surprise, yet the confirmation of it brought with it a fresh sense of danger. A man careless with his creditors might be careless with everything else.
“Was there more?” she asked.
Jane’s colour altered slightly. “Yes. Though I wish there were not.”
Mary looked at her with immediate interest, but Elizabeth saw that Jane’s hesitation arose less from uncertainty than from distress.
“Hill would not speak directly,” Jane continued.
“She only said that a handsome gentleman who knows how to please himself with attention is not always so scrupulous with those beneath him as with those above him. There was mention, or rather the strongest hint, that Mr Wickham has behaved with too much freedom toward one or two tradesmen’s daughters. ”
Mary’s eyes widened. “How shocking.”
Jane looked deeply uncomfortable even in repeating it.
“I do not know the particulars. I could not ask them. Hill seemed unwilling to say more, and indeed I was thankful she did not. But she meant me to understand that he has sometimes been — too amiable. Such that his actions were not those of a true gentleman.”
Elizabeth felt her hands grow cold inside her gloves.
It was not surprise that chiefly moved her, but the miserable satisfaction of seeing her worst suspicions confirmed.
If Wickham had once attempted to injure a young woman of fortune, there was no reason to suppose that principle would restrain him from trifling with those who possessed none.
“I am afraid that whatever Hill withheld was likely worse than what she implied,” Elizabeth said grimly.
Jane looked pained. “I hope not.”
“So do I,” Elizabeth agreed. “But hope has done enough for Mr Wickham already.”
Mary’s expression had settled into solemn disapprobation, and she said earnestly, if rather pedantically, “A man who neglects his debts and takes liberties where he ought to show protection displays a very dangerous deficiency of character.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “You may say so with safety. Indeed, I begin to think deficiency is too mild a word.”
Jane turned to Mary with a gentler expression, glad perhaps to move from what distressed her. “And you, Mary? You have seen Mr Greene.”
At this, Mary’s gravity suffered a visible alteration. A colour rose at once in her cheeks, and though she attempted to keep her composure, there was a softness in her face that made Elizabeth’s heart lift for a moment despite the distressing nature of their conversation.
“I did speak with him,” Mary said.
Elizabeth exchanged a quick glance with Jane. “Well, then, Mary? My curiosity is almost too much. Tell us about your adventure.”
“It was not an adventure,” Mary said austerely, though the increased warmth of her complexion did not support the lofty indifference of her tone. “I merely called on him after church, when I knew he might be expected to have a few minutes at leisure.”
“And did he have them?” Elizabeth asked.
“He had as many as were necessary,” Mary answered. “Mr Greene is never hurried where serious matters are concerned.”
Jane’s smile deepened. “I am very glad of it. And what did he say?”
Mary drew a breath, as though arranging his wisdom in the best possible order before delivering it.
“He heard me with the greatest kindness. I did not mention names at first, because I wished to proceed with caution, but when I described the sort of conduct that had awakened our concern, he understood me very well. He said that a wish to protect one’s family and neighbours from harm is a very proper motive. ”
Though Mary’s tone was careful and measured, Elizabeth saw that this approval had delighted her. “That was well said of him,” she observed.
Mary inclined her head. “He is an excellent judge of such things. But he also warned me, very seriously, against the temptation to believe that a wicked man may be corrected merely by being talked about. To repeat accusations without proof, or to encourage suspicion for its own sake, would be unjust even when our fears are reasonable. He said that idle gossip is not made virtuous merely because its object may have done ill.”
Jane looked relieved. “That is exactly right.”
“It is,” Elizabeth said. “And it is precisely the difficulty. If Wickham were merely absurd, one might laugh at him. If he were merely disliked, one might avoid him. But he is admired. If we begin to speak against him without anything others will accept as evidence, we shall only be called malicious. Nor can I entirely wish it were otherwise. In most cases, gossip should not be accepted without proof.”
Mary nodded. “Mr Greene said something very similar. He believes there are occasions when silence becomes cowardice, but he also believes that loose reports can injure the innocent as easily as the guilty.”
Jane’s expression, which had been anxious before, softened into gratitude. “I am glad you consulted him. We shall all benefit from having heard such advice.”
Mary lowered her eyes, though not before Elizabeth saw the small look of pleasure that accompanied the praise. “He was very good,” she said quietly. “He listened with great patience.”
Elizabeth could not resist. “I have no doubt he did.”
Mary glanced at her with momentary suspicion. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that I think any gentleman might show great patience when in company he particularly enjoys.”
Jane laughed, and even Mary, after making a small effort at dignity, allowed herself the beginning of a smile.
“He is a very sensible man,” she said.
“So we all agree,” Elizabeth replied. “I already respected Mr Greene for the excellence of his sermons and for what I have seen of his character, but now I find I may like him for his taste as well.”
Mary’s blush returned, and she looked forward rather than at either of her sisters.
Elizabeth, though amused, felt at the same time a sincere satisfaction in what she saw.
If Mary had found someone whose good sense she admired, and who in return valued her earnestness rather than merely tolerating it, there was no sisterly heart among them that would not wish the acquaintance to prosper.
“You are right about gossip,” she said after a pause. “We must not spread it, even now. In any case, it would not answer. Wickham is too well liked. There are people in Meryton who would believe him against half the town.”
All three were quiet for a long moment, thinking of the difficulty of their position.
At last, Jane turned to Elizabeth with a hopeful expression.
“Perhaps we have jumped to conclusions too quickly. There might yet be some explanation for all this. Or perhaps Mr Wickham might really wish to reform, though having done wrong in the past. What do you think, Lizzy?”
“I wish I could believe it,” Elizabeth said grimly, “but I cannot. Nor will you, when I tell you of my meeting with him yesterday.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “You truly spoke with him? Why did not you tell us?”
“It was on my walk last afternoon. Thanks to the supper mama gave last night, I have not had a moment to speak to you both in confidence since I returned. But I will gladly tell you now.”
“Please do,” Mary said. “And — thank you for waiting.”