Chapter 11 #2
At that, Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a small look of self-reproach.
Mary’s thanks was an accusation, for she was quite right.
It could not be denied that they were in the habit of confidences that did not include their younger sister, nor wondered at that in such a family as theirs, Mary might be left feeling very much alone.
Privately resolving to do better in the future, Elizabeth turned to her younger sister. “It was only right,” she said stoutly. “You need not thank me. We are all in this together.”
Mary smiled at that. “I thank you all the same. Now, tell us what happened.”
“Very well.” Elizabeth clasped her hands together.
“Yesterday, I happened to meet him near the lane behind Mrs Phillips’s house, and he addressed me with all his usual ease, as if he had no reason in the world to fear being questioned.
I gave him an opportunity, first, to show better principles than I expected.
I spoke of the past in general terms and said enough to suggest that some misunderstandings, once painful, might perhaps be regretted by those concerned. ”
Even still, Jane looked hopeful. “And did he express regret?”
Elizabeth gave her a brief look. “He expressed himself very readily. But not with regret.”
Mary looked stern. “What did he say?”
“He spoke of Mr Darcy almost immediately, and with the same easy resentment he has always shown. If anything, he appeared to enjoy the subject more than before. He complained of old injuries, old disappointments, old injustice, with such fluency that I began to think he has repeated the tale so often he must now believe it himself.”
Jane listened with visible pain. “That is very unfortunate.”
“It was worse than unfortunate. I might almost have borne his abuse of Mr Darcy, accustomed as I am to hearing him speak ill whenever he thinks it will serve him. But then he spoke of his sister.”
Mary looked at her in astonishment. “Miss Darcy? She is only Lydia’s age, is she not?”
Elizabeth nodded, and the recollection brought back all the disgust she had felt in the moment.
“A year older, I believe. He did not mention her with the respect her age and situation ought to command, but criticised her as cold and haughty. From all I have heard of her, I am certain it is not so. There was something in his manner so shameless, so self-satisfied, that I could scarcely bear to continue the conversation.”
Beneath her lashes, Elizabeth looked at her sisters.
Even yet, she had not told them all. They did not know how close to disaster Miss Darcy had come, or how very great an evil Mr Wickham did in speaking ill of her.
She had resolved within herself that she would tell them only in the event of great need.
Mr Darcy’s confidence in her, and his plea that she keep Miss Darcy’s near-elopement a closely held secret, deserved no less.
Elizabeth had always had the greatest reliance on her older sister’s sense and delicacy.
Their recent partnership had shown her that Mary, while still with a tendency to pedantry, was also worthy of trust in weighty matters.
She would trust both her sisters with the full secret if she must, but not until there was no other choice.
Nor did they ask about her certainty that Miss Darcy did not deserve such criticism now. Jane had grown very pale. “Then you are certain.”
“I am certain that whatever good we once supposed him capable of, he is not at present governed by it,” Elizabeth replied levelly.
Mary propped her chin on her hand. “We have, I think, determined beyond any reasonable doubt that Mr Wickham is dangerous. Now we must decide what to do about it. We have already determined that it would be neither moral nor very likely to succeed to expose him publicly.”
Elizabeth nodded. “And I have already asked our father for his aid, and he refused. I cannot imagine his answer would be different now. Though I am certain in my own mind, it is little more than rumour in another light.”
“If our father will not act, we must go to our mother,” Jane said.
Elizabeth looked at her doubtfully, saying nothing.
“Truly, Lizzy,” Jane insisted. “I know she does not restrain Lydia as she ought, but neither does she know the danger. We must tell her. If Mama changes her mind and views the officers with proper caution, Papa will not object to taking greater care. It is only because he does not wish to argue with her that he allows the officers in the house as much as he does.”
“Do you think she would believe us?” Mary said at last. “Mama never listens to me.”
At that small, sad admission, Jane stood up from the bed and crossed the room to pat her sister’s shoulder comfortingly. “I do not know, Mary, but I believe we must try. And Lizzy? Do you agree?”
“I believe I agree with you both,” Elizabeth said heavily. “Like you, Jane, I think we ought to try, and like Mary, I have little confidence that our mother will believe our warning or act on it.”
“Then let us go now,” Jane proposed. “I believe Mama is in her bedchamber, resting. We shall be able to speak to her privately.”
As neither of the others objected, the three sisters made their way to their mother’s room.
Elizabeth was more grateful than ever that she had not shared the secret of Miss Darcy’s misadventure.
Mrs Bennet was an indefatigable gossip, and could not possibly have been trusted with a secret of such weight.
It did not seem to have occurred to either of her sisters that involving their mother was not entirely in keeping with Mr Greene’s stern dictates against rumours.
If Mrs Bennet did heed their warnings, she must keep a tighter control on Kitty and Lydia.
That was a most desirable outcome, but what was of less certain good was how she would certainly gossip about Mr Wickham as well.
Elizabeth did not quite know how to feel about that.
In one sense, it might be for the best. Mrs Bennet’s connections were considerable; she could warn all the houses of the neighbourhood, and would be taken far more seriously than if her daughters attempted to do the same.
Yet, knowing how apt her mother was to turn truth into a more palatable story, Elizabeth could not be entirely at ease with that action, even as she attempted to bring it about.
All her worries were soon proved to be for nothing. What Mrs Bennet might have done if she believed her daughters was soon shown to be of no consequence, for she did not listen to them at all.
“Why, Jane, I am surprised at you,” Mrs Bennet said at the end of their recital, tucking her shawl more firmly around her shoulders.
“It is not like you to believe ill-natured gossip about anybody. How ridiculous! You are speaking of Mr Wickham, quite the handsomest and best-mannered officer in the regiment!”
“Yes, Mama,” Jane said patiently. “But we are very much afraid that, good as his manners are, his character is quite dangerous. I have been speaking to Hill and —”
“Hill! Dear Jane, you have been gossiping with the servants? You know better than that.”
This was dreadfully unfair, as Mrs Bennet was much inclined to seek out gossip wherever she could find it, even or especially from her own servants, but all three daughters knew better than to protest.