Pride and Prejudice (Clandestine Classics) (12 page)

As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen, but though Jane would have defended either or both, had they appeared to be in the wrong, she could no more explain such behaviour than her sister.

Mr Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs Bennet by admiring Mrs Phillips’s manners and politeness. He protested that, except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman. She had not only received him with the utmost civility, but even pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her before. Something, he supposed, might be attributed to his connection with them, but yet he had never met with so much attention in the whole course of his life.

Chapter Sixteen

As no objection was made to the young people’s engagement with their aunt, and all Mr Collins’s scruples of leaving Mr and Mrs Bennet for a single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton. The girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr Wickham had accepted their uncle’s invitation, and was then in the house.

When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire. He was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast parlour at Rosings. The comparison did not at first convey much gratification, but when Mrs Phillips understood from him what Rosings was, and who was its proprietor—when she had listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherine’s drawing-rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison with the housekeeper’s room.

In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and the improvements it was receiving, he was happily employed until the gentlemen joined them. He found in Mrs Phillips a very attentive listener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she heard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as soon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin, and who had nothing to do but to wish for an instrument, and examine their own indifferent imitations of china on the mantelpiece, the interval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last, however. The gentlemen did approach, and when Mr Wickham walked into the room, Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking of him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. The officers of the ——shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party, but Mr Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as
they
were superior to the broad-faced, stuffy uncle Phillips, breathing port wine, who followed them into the room.

Mr Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself. The agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker. Though as much as she admired him, she could not help but make comparisons between Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy. The former was amiable and amusing, the latter severe and at times stoic, but he had a magnetism that constantly drew her thoughts. Her imaginings of them wrapped in each other’s embrace had not diminished of late. Quite the contrary, they had become more erotic in nature and far more frequent. Though she despised herself for wanting him in such a way, she could not help herself.

With such rivals for the notice of the fair as Mr Wickham and the officers, Mr Collins seemed to sink into insignificance. To the young ladies he certainly was nothing, but he had still at intervals a kind listener in Mrs Phillips, and was by her watchfulness, most abundantly supplied with coffee and muffin. When the card-tables were placed, he had the opportunity of obliging her in turn, by sitting down to whist.

“I know little of the game at present,” said he, “but I shall be glad to improve myself, for in my situation in life—” Mrs Phillips was very glad for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.

Mr Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there seemed danger of Lydia’s engrossing him entirely, for she was a most determined talker, but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets, she soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making bets and exclaiming after prizes to have attention for anyone in particular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr Wickham was therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to be told—the history of his acquaintance with Mr Darcy. Though the conversation with Mr Wickham was pleasant and compelling, Mr Darcy was never far from her thoughts. She dared not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity, however, was unexpectedly relieved. Mr Wickham began the subject himself. He enquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton, and, after receiving her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr Darcy had been staying there.

“About a month,” said Elizabeth, and then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, “He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.”

“Yes,” replied Mr Wickham, “his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy.”

Elizabeth could not but look surprised.

“You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr Darcy?”

“As much as I ever wish to be,” cried Elizabeth very warmly. “I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very disagreeable.” Disagreeable yet strangely compelling, she declined to add.

“I have no right to give
my
opinion,” said Wickham, “as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for
me
to be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general astonish—and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you are in your own family.”

“Upon my word, I say no more
here
than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by anyone.”

“I cannot pretend to be sorry,” said Wickham, after a short interruption, “that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond their deserts, but with
him
I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen.”

“I should take him, even on
my
slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man.” Wickham only shook his head. In the silence that followed, Elizabeth wondered why a man who irked her so should be constantly on her mind.

“I wonder,” said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, “whether he is likely to be in this country much longer.”

“I do not at all know, but I
heard
nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ——shire will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.”

“Oh no—it is not for
me
to be driven away by Mr Darcy. If
he
wishes to avoid seeing
me
, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding
him
but what I might proclaim before all the world, a sense of very great ill-usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had, and I can never be in company with this Mr Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has been scandalous, but I verily believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.”

Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all her heart, but the delicacy of it prevented further enquiry.

Mr Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with gentle but very intelligible gallantry.

“It was the prospect of constant society, and good society,” he added, “which was my chief inducement to enter the ——shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me further by his account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintances Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I
must
have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church
ought
to have been my profession—I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.”

Elizabeth could hardly believe what Mr Wickham was choosing to disclose and found herself leaning forward in her seat to hear more on the matter. “Indeed!” she cried.

“Yes—the late Mr Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it, but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.”

“Good heavens!” cried Elizabeth, “but how could
that
be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal redress?”

“There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr Darcy chose to doubt it—or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence—in short anything or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man. No less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion
of
him, and
to
him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me.”

She listened to Mr Wickham’s story with a heavy heart. She had hoped she was wrong about Mr Darcy’s true nature, but the evidence seemed irrefutable. A gentleman such as Mr Wickham would have no occasion to lie. “This is quite shocking!” she exclaimed. “He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”

“Some time or other he
will
be—but it shall not be by
me
. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose
him
.”

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them. Mr Wickham appeared an honourable and noble man. Elizabeth thought Mr Darcy would do well to learn from his strong moral fibre. How could he be so heartless?

“But what,” said she, after a pause, “can have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?”

“A thorough, determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better, but his father’s uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was often given me.”

“I had not thought Mr Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him. I had not thought so very ill of him. I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this.”

After a few minutes’ reflection, however, she continued, “I
do
remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful.” Elizabeth at once counted herself lucky, for even though she had disliked Mr Darcy upon first meeting him, she feared her feelings had softened, and though he had been often disagreeable at Netherfield, she had felt a curious affinity towards him. Her attraction had deepened after he had kissed her and she had thought that maybe he desired her in the same way she had him. But the kiss had obviously meant nothing to him. He was clearly a man who was used to getting his own way and she had been more than willing to submit to his desires. She hated herself for that.

“I will not trust myself on the subject,” replied Wickham. “I can hardly be just to him.”

Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, “To treat in such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!” She could have added, “A young man, too, like
you
, whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable”—but she contented herself with, “and one, too, who had probably been his companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!”