Chapter V
Society was plentiful that month. What was not so plentiful was Mr. Wickham’s attendance at local events.
That night was different, for Mr. Wickham had come with a cluster of his fellows, though the longer Elizabeth watched, the more she could see that he was not truly with them. Unless Elizabeth mistook her guess, the reason for Mr. Wickham’s presence was that of Miss Mary King.
Mary King was a pleasant girl, perhaps her sister Mary’s age, with fair skin, a nose dusted with freckles, and light brown hair.
She was not what Elizabeth would call pretty, for her chin was a little too sharp, her nose a little too pointed, but she was not ill-favored either.
She was also slender and graceful and though Elizabeth did not consider her a scintillating conversationalist, she was not at all disagreeable either.
For a time, Elizabeth watched her, wondering what Mr. Wickham saw in her, other than the obvious virtue of possessing a fortune of ten thousand pounds.
Elizabeth was not so vain as to consider herself Mary King’s superior, nor was she jealous of Mr. Wickham’s devotion.
Elizabeth had not known the man for long, after all, and he had not been so much in evidence of late that she might have formed an attachment to him.
There was, she supposed, no reason to suppose that he did not consider her the handsomest woman alive.
But the longer she watched him, the more disquieted Elizabeth became.
He paid her every appearance of civility, his manners playful, attentive, and interested in a way Elizabeth thought young men would conduct themselves when in the presence of a woman they admired.
At the same time, however, he did not hesitate to speak to anyone, and his flirtations with every lady in the room were almost casual, as if he were well-practiced.
By contrast, Mr. Darcy, who was present with the rest of his company from Netherfield, stayed away from Mr. Wickham, a circumstance that seemed to suit the officer very well.
Mr. Darcy’s attention was on Mr. Wickham far more than anyone else in the room.
Mr. Darcy had told her of the living, but Elizabeth suspected there was more between the two men, for he seemed to consider the officer akin to a wild dog who might attack at any time.
“Mary King is so dowdy and dull,” said Lydia when she was near Elizabeth that evening. “Poor Wickham deserves something better than she. I shall do my best to make him forget about her tonight.”
It was more of Lydia’s silliness, but Elizabeth did not respond or rein her in. Instead, Elizabeth was interested to see if Mr. Wickham would give Lydia any consequence.
The result was a mixed bag at best. Mr. Wickham, it seemed, was eager to dispense with his favors to any young woman who passed by him—what made Elizabeth uncomfortable was the gleam in his eye as he flirted with Lydia, as if he were a fox toying with a mouse.
Whether Mary King noticed it, Elizabeth could not say, for she gave no evidence of suspecting her admirer of straying.
It was later in the evening when Mr. Wickham deigned to approach her—the way he had looked at her several times during the evening, she thought he had expected her to make the first move. Mr. Wickham was his usual engaging self, but there was something missing that she could not quite comprehend.
“We have met little of late, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth when she sensed it was safe to do so.
“Then we have attended different events,” said Mr. Wickham, a rather bland reply. “I have not been absent.”
“Nor did I suggest you were,” replied Elizabeth.
For a few moments, they carried on a stilted conversation without the ease of their early exchanges.
Now that Elizabeth thought on it, Mr. Wickham had never had much interesting conversation to share, though he was animated enough when speaking of certain subjects.
Chief among them was Mr. Darcy, a man who was even now watching them with the sort of attention one pays to an asp that had gotten into a sitting-room.
The thought raised the specter of the two men, and Elizabeth wondered if she could get him to speak on the subject again.
“It is curious, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth, “that you have ventured to attend tonight. As I recall, you declined to attend Mr. Bingley’s ball because of Mr. Darcy’s attendance, yet you have not made yourself scarce tonight.”
Mr. Wickham turned a piercing look upon her—Elizabeth could not tell if he was displeased or curious. “I did not avoid the ball because of Darcy.”
Elizabeth regarded him with skepticism he could not have mistaken. “‘Scenes might arise unpleasant to more than myself,’” quoted Elizabeth. “That was what you said when you explained your reasons for not attending.”
Mr. Wickham had forgotten that conversation, though he recovered at once. “That was a ball given by his friend, Miss Elizabeth—hostile territory to be certain. This is a gathering of the neighborhood.”
To Elizabeth, it was a deflection, though she did not consider calling him on it. Instead, she tried a different approach.
“Mr. Darcy appears more comfortable in the company than he did before.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Wickham, disappointing her. “To own the truth, Meryton is not the sort of place I would expect Darcy to stay for any length of time, yet his position in society guarantees acceptance wherever he goes.”
There was nothing Elizabeth could say to that; she decided against speaking of Mr. Darcy again.
In time, Mr. Wickham grew more flirtatious, but again, Elizabeth could see nothing of intent and everything of habit in his actions.
Whatever the man meant by it, Elizabeth was not interested in being a convenient outlet for his vanity.
Soon, Mr. Wickham gave the equivalent of a mental shrug and excused himself, leaving Elizabeth to watch him go.
The puzzle was still fractured, but given his unwillingness and Mr. Darcy’s reticence, Elizabeth had no hope of assembling the pieces. Thus, she decided it did not signify.
DARCY’S ACQUAINTANCE with George Wickham was far more extensive than Miss Elizabeth’s, but he had also grown jaded.
Knowing Wickham as he did, Darcy expected the worst, and this colored his impression of the man’s behavior.
When he saw Miss Elizabeth and Wickham together that evening, he did not like what he saw at all.
That Wickham made a point of spreading his flirtatious nothings to all the ladies he could did not assuage Darcy’s annoyance.
Wickham was adept at using his artificial charm to make himself agreeable to every lady within range of his dazzling smile.
Unfortunately, it never stopped there, or at least it did not because of Wickham’s circumspection.
Thus, when he saw Wickham chatting with Miss Elizabeth, he saw nothing of the awkward exchange and everything of Wickham’s predatory interest in a pretty woman.
These fears heightened when Darcy saw the last of the exchange between them, how Wickham flirted with her.
So focused was he on Wickham’s behavior that he saw little of hers.
When Wickham walked away from Miss Elizabeth, Darcy found himself able to breathe. What surprised him was that he was not alone in watching Wickham, for Mrs. Hurst stood nearby. When she noticed his scrutiny, she smiled and moved a little closer.
“Mr. Darcy. You have been watching Mr. Wickham most of the evening.”
“When one sees a snake in the grass, it is best not to ignore it.”
Mrs. Hurst smiled and nodded. “This particular snake is much in evidence.”
“As are all the officers,” agreed Darcy.
“Yes.” Mrs. Hurst fell silent for several moments. “I have noticed Miss Elizabeth speaking to him frequently. She is not deficient, to be certain, but I have often thought she gives him more consequence than she should.”
“She cannot remain civil and refuse to speak to him at a crowded event.” Though Darcy did not wish to acknowledge it, he knew it was true. Miss Elizabeth would not ignore an acquaintance, regardless of how much she believed Darcy’s account.
“That is true,” said Mrs. Hurst. “There is something . . . unsettling about him to be certain.”
Darcy regarded her. “Do you mean anything in particular?”
“Nothing I can say outright,” replied Mrs. Hurst. “Mr. Wickham is a charmer—that much is clear. The young lady he is all but courting has inherited a fortune of ten thousand pounds, or so I understand. But that does not mean he has given up his other flirtations. Miss Elizabeth appears to be an especial favorite.”
Mrs. Hurst smiled and shrugged. “I have no concern for Miss Elizabeth—she is not the sort to allow a man liberties. Yet the wisest among us may make mistakes when confronted by a charming schemer.”
With a smile, she withdrew, leaving Darcy to his thoughts.
Had her caution not been so aligned with Darcy’s observations, he might not have taken it so seriously.
When he thought on his history with Wickham and more particularly some rather infamous events that illustrated his behavior with ladies, there was no choice but to acknowledge that he was seeing Wickham to the core.
It would be so like Wickham to pursue a woman for her fortune and engage in other seductions at the same time.
Fortunately for Darcy’s peace of mind, he had the firmest confidence in Miss Elizabeth’s judgment.
She was as observant as any woman alive—eventually, she would see what Wickham was, and when she did so, she would distance herself from him.
Regardless, Darcy had no notion she would ever allow him liberties with her person.