Chapter Sixteen
The note arrived at Gracechurch Street three days later, and Elizabeth recognized the hand before she had fully broken the seal, a familiar, careless scrawl she had not seen in some months and had not expected, or particularly wished, to see again.
My dear Miss Elizabeth,
You will forgive, I hope, the presumption of this letter, given how long it has been since our acquaintance was an active one, but I find myself in possession of information I believe you would rather I discussed with you directly than with the wider circle of my present acquaintance, and I write, therefore, in a spirit of genuine friendship, to give you the opportunity of managing the matter before it grows beyond either of our control.
I have heard, as I collect all of London has by now, the story of Mr. Darcy's disappointment in Kent, and I confess I formed my own conclusions regarding the lady's identity rather sooner than most, given my particular knowledge of his character and the general shape of his taste.
I have said nothing of my suspicions to anyone, you understand, out of regard for our old friendship, but I find myself, at present, in circumstances that press rather uncomfortably upon my finances, and I wonder whether you might be persuaded to assist an old friend in a small matter of temporary embarrassment, in exchange for my continued discretion regarding a subject I could, were I so inclined, make considerably more public than it presently stands.
I do not write this in any spirit of threat, I assure you, only of practical friendship between two people who have always understood each other rather better than the wider world gives us credit for.
I would not wish to see Darcy's account of himself, however handsomely delivered at Lord Ashworth's table, undone by a rather less flattering version supplied from a source considerably closer to his own history.
I remain your affectionate friend and servant, G. Wickham
Elizabeth read the letter twice, and felt, by the second reading, a fury so complete it left her hands trembling slightly upon the page.
She understood the threat for precisely what it was, dressed in the language of friendship and stripped of any pretense once its meaning was fully absorbed: Wickham intended to sell his silence, or failing payment, to sell instead a version of events calculated to do maximum damage, painting her, she suspected, as a schemer who had extracted a confession of guilt from Darcy through some manner of manipulation, and painting Darcy, in turn, as considerably crueler than his own public account had allowed.
She showed the letter to her aunt that same afternoon, unable to carry the weight of it alone, and watched Mrs. Gardiner's face harden into an expression of genuine anger as she read it through.
"This is extortion, Lizzy, however prettily he dresses it."
"I know it, Aunt. I do not know, however, how best to answer it.
If I pay him, I confirm every suspicion he claims only to hold, and invite further demands the moment his present embarrassment is relieved.
If I refuse him, I have no certainty he will not simply proceed with the very damage he threatens, out of spite if nothing else. "
"You must tell Mr. Darcy," her aunt said, with a firmness that admitted no argument.
"This concerns him as nearly as it concerns you, Lizzy, and he has resources, and knowledge of the man's history, that neither of us presently possesses.
Whatever this letter demands of you, it is not a burden you ought to carry alone. "
Elizabeth knew her aunt was right, and yet she found herself hesitating, some part of her reluctant to draw Darcy into a fresh difficulty when he had only just, three days past, begun to repair the public damage through his own honest effort.
She sat with the letter a long while, weighing the discomfort of involving him further against the greater danger of facing Wickham's threat unprepared, and concluded, finally, that her aunt's counsel was the wiser course, whatever her private reluctance to burden him further.
She wrote to him that evening, enclosing Wickham's letter without comment beyond the barest explanation of how it had come to her, and sent it before she could reconsider the wisdom of the decision.