Darcy in Want of a Wife

Chapter 8

Longbourn

Ten O’clock in the Morning

It was a sunny, if chilly, morning, and the three eldest Bennet women were enjoying a quiet interval for tea in the drawing room. The last days had been hectic, as the ladies were frequently occupied with the preparations for Jane’s wedding. At the moment, Elizabeth was poring over her latest purchase from the Meryton bookstore, and Jane and Mrs. Bennet were embroidering handkerchiefs as they enjoyed their tea.

The door opened, and Mr. Stewart, the butler of Longbourn, entered with two familiar gentlemen at his heels.

“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy,” the butler announced.

“Oh, Mr. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet cried out, leaping to her feet with a broad smile on her face. “Jane, Jane, my dear, Mr. Bingley is here!”

Jane, who had risen at the sight of her fiancée, stepped forward and held out her hands to her beloved. “Charles, good morning. Mr. Darcy, it is wonderful to see you again.”

Darcy, looking into the lady’s face, was astonished to observe no sign of outrage in those clear blue eyes. He felt a twinge of guilt knowing now, as he did, that Miss Bennet truly cared for his friend, and he was grieved to have caused the lady such pain by advising Bingley to stay in London.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet. I am pleased to see you as well,” he replied and then turned to the other women. “Mrs. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, good morning.”

“Good morning,” the two women chorused. As had so often happened before, Darcy’s eyes slid over to Elizabeth Bennet, who looked as glorious, as handsome, and as lively, as ever. As if sensing his attention, she turned her head and met his gaze, and he felt his stomach twist. Miss Elizabeth displayed no enthusiasm at his presence, and her eyes were watchful.

“I hope you are well, Miss Elizabeth?” he said awkwardly.

“Very well, yes,” she said and glanced over at her sister. “We are all thankful that Charles and Jane are now engaged.”

“Yes. Many congratulations. I believe they are well suited.”

“Do you?” Elizabeth asked, lifting one eyebrow. And for the first time in his life, Darcy found himself relieved when Mrs. Bennet interposed herself into the conversation.

“Well suited, Mr. Darcy? Indeed they are; both of them so handsome, and kind, and generous, and genuine! My dear Jane will make a wonderful mistress of Netherfield, you know! I have trained all of my girls to manage a household! I hope you are able to be present at the wedding?”

“I will be, yes,” Darcy said, struggling to maintain a calm tone. There was no doubt that Miss Elizabeth was thoroughly annoyed with him, and he did not need to look far for a reason or two. He had started out their acquaintance by insulting her and then had convinced Bingley to stay away from Netherfield, thus bringing sorrow to Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth, to her very great credit, was devoted to her family in general, and Miss Bennet in particular.

“Oh, here is tea!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Mr. Darcy, you like milk, I believe, with no sugar?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, startled that after all these months, the mistress of Longbourn still remembered his preferences for tea. But then, Mrs. Bennet was reputedly an excellent hostess and set a good table, so perhaps it was not so very surprising.

He took a sip of tea, mournfully accepting that Bingley was obviously right. Elizabeth Bennet disliked him, and disapproved of him, and resented him. Nor could he blame her; he had been unpleasant the very day they met, and cold and lofty and proud in his dealings with her family and friends.

No, it was no great surprise. But it hurt his heart to think that this woman, whom he genuinely admired, despised him so.

/

Pig in the Poke

Meryton

Later

Fitzwilliam Darcy and Charles Bingley’s conversation came to a halt as they entered the Pig in the Poke, pausing for a moment near the entryway while their eyes adjusted to the relative dimness. It was mid-afternoon, meaning a lull in activity, but there were still some ten or twelve patrons seated about the dining area.

Darcy and Bingley had spent their afternoon thus far working their way around Meryton, meeting with various merchants and purchasing Wickham’s accumulated debts. Up to now, they had visited the haberdashery, the green grocer, and the baker, and collected more than ten pounds from each. Now they had come to pay off his debt to Mr. Smythen, which Darcy expected to be a tidy sum.

It amazed Darcy that the shopkeepers of Meryton had been so quick to extend credit to Wickham, though he supposed that gaining trust when he had done nothing to deserve it was what Wickham did best. He hoped that following this incident, the Meryton shopkeepers would be far more cautious about extending credit to strangers.

They had not stood long before their presence drew the notice of the proprietor, Mr. Smythen, who came around the counter and approached them with a welcoming smile on his face.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he greeted them as he drew near. “It’s a pleasure to see you here. I understand that you have been paying off Lieutenant Wickham’s accrued debts?”

“Indeed we have,” Bingley said, patting the satchel at his side, which was filled with varying ledgers and receipts. “The man in question is incapable of eschewing his gambling for long enough to pay them himself.”

“So I have heard,” Mr. Smythen said, drying his hands on a cloth. “I have spoken to several of my fellows, and I have been told that Wickham owes the most out of his regiment, and he has yet to settle a single pound of it. Indeed, he avoids us altogether so that he will not be pressed to pay. What a truly unscrupulous man.”

“He most certainly is,” Bingley agreed. “And, as I do not approve of such behavior in the least, I have been purchasing his debts with the intention to ensure that he is given his just deserts.”

“And Meryton greatly appreciates your intervention,” Mr. Smythen assured him. “Come, let me show you to my books.”

Darcy remained near the doors while Bingley followed Smythen behind the counter, and Bingley counted out the amount that Wickham owed. Having collected nearly forty pounds already, Darcy knew that with the Pig and the Poke’s contribution they would have plenty to send Wickham to Marshalsea.

As Bingley and Smythen talked, Darcy caught a glimpse of red out of the corner of his eye, turned to look through the window, and saw a group of officers passing by with Wickham among them. Darcy took a step back, not keen on being spotted, but a moment later, he realized that the brightness of the afternoon sun would render the interior of the building sufficiently dark that he was essentially invisible to the militia men.

He took a step closer and watched Wickham, who was laughing heartily with his fellows as he marched down the street in his red coat, white breeches, and polished boots. The party passed by a pair of young women, and Wickham paused to flash them a charming smile, bowing and lavishing what must be gratuitous compliments on them as they giggled and smiled back.

Darcy’s face remained stoic as he watched them, but within he could feel his heart harden against his childhood friend. He had known for many years that Wickham was a reprobate, even before he had attempted slip away with Georgiana at Ramsgate, but to have his father’s godson cast into prison still made him uneasy.

But regardless of his own feelings, Wickham must be imprisoned. Wickham was a selfish, egocentric man who stole from hardworking men and women without shamed. Worse than that, he had ruined several young women already by impregnating and abandoning them, and he would undoubtedly do so again if he were allowed to run free.

Wickham was a conniving, self-absorbed scoundrel. For Meryton’s sake, and the sake of all the other towns and villages of England, casting George Wickham into Marshalsea was the least that Darcy could do.

/

Study

Colonel Forster’s House

Meryton

Colonel Forster was a tall man of some five and thirty years, with dark hair, cut with military neatness, and wore his red coat well. He had entered the militia because he did not care to serve in the heat of actual battle, but he was well respected as an officer and certainly looked the part of a military commander.

At the moment, Forster appeared more bewildered than in control, as he peered at the small pile of receipts on his desk, then at Bingley, then back at the pile of receipts, and then, just for variety, at Darcy.

“Do I understand you correctly, Mr. Bingley? You wish to have Mr. Wickham thrown into debtors’ prison for some sixty pounds in debts?”

“I do,” Bingley said in an uncompromising tone.

Forster blew out a breath and sighed. “Please, sit down, gentlemen.”

Bingley and Darcy silently sat down in chairs, and Forster followed suit a moment later. He had a strong desire to take a drink from the flask of brandy in his drawer, but that would not be courteous; moreover, if he was to save his favorite officer while also placating these two wealthy gentlemen, he would need to keep his head clear.

“Mr. Bingley, may I inquire as to your purpose in purchasing these debts?” he asked.

“Certainly,” Bingley replied. “As the current master of Netherfield, I feel it is my duty to care for the people of Meryton. I am confident that Mr. Wickham is a threat to the livelihood of the local merchants and shopkeepers, and I wish to have that threat removed.”

“I see,” Forster answered and peeked hastily at Darcy, who wore a forbidding expression. He moved his inkstand one inch to the right on his desk for no particular reason, and then continued. “Mr. Bingley, I am well aware that … erm … well, am I correct that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham have a regrettable history together?”

“We do,” Darcy said simply. He was determined to provide support and direction for his friend as needed, but no more. Bingley was correct; it was high time for the younger man to be more decisive, to run his own life.

“I have found Lieutenant Wickham to be a charming and intelligent young man,” Forster said, stretching his hands in a placating manner. “Indeed, I am quite ready to pay off his debts to keep him out of prison. I do not wish to make enemies of either of you, of course, but I hope you understand that my primary loyalty must be to my men.”

“I would say,” Darcy said coldly, “that your loyalty should be to the inhabitants of England in general, and the people of Meryton in particular. Moreover, if you intend to pay off his debts, I must warn you that I have hundreds more pounds of debt receipts from Wickham’s time in Derbyshire, and I have no hesitation about sending a servant to my estate in Pemberley to retrieve those.”

Forster felt slightly faint and shook his head in wonder. “Hundreds of pounds, Mr. Darcy?”

“Hundreds, yes. I do not have the exact total at hand, but it is well in excess of four hundred pounds.”

“Moreover,” Bingley continued, “it is not just the money that is of concern. Wickham has ruined at least one girl in the area and left her with child and has refused to take responsibility.”

Forster gulped, shook his head, and protested. “I have heard of no such thing!”

“Of course you have not,” Darcy said irritably. “You know what the world is like; the woman is blamed, and the man is allowed to abandon his lover with impunity. It is not the first time; my estate in Pemberley is currently supporting three women who have borne Wickham’s children.”

Forster blinked and, deciding to cast aside propriety, pulled his drawer open, pulled out a flask, and poured a finger of brandy down his throat. It burned with pleasing fire, and his newly formed headache diminished somewhat.

“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley,” he said, straightening his back and putting on a stern expression. “You must realize that this matter is entirely one of hearsay, except for the debt receipts, which are, perhaps, a trifle high for a young man, but not so surprising either. Moreover, given that you deprived Mr. Wickham of a valuable church living, Mr. Darcy, I suggest that you are to blame for…”

He trailed off as Bingley silently leaned over and placed a sheet of paper on his desk. Forster frowned, bent over the paper, and began to read.

Five minutes later, after he had read the document twice and checked the signatures three times, he grasped his flask again and glugged down more brandy.

“You paid three thousand pounds to Mr. Wickham, in return for which he agreed to give up all rights to the living in Kympton in Derbyshire,” he said quietly.

“That is correct. I also paid him an additional one thousand pounds, which was left to him in my father’s will.”

Forster checked the date on the document again and shook his head. “Four thousand pounds in four years. It is incredible.”

“Yes,” Bingley agreed, and now there was irritation in his usually cheerful voice. “Equally incredible is that after being treated generously by George Darcy, who stood as Wickham’s godfather, the man has been lambasting my friend’s name to all who will listen!”

“Yes, and I confess I entirely believed the man’s accusations toward Mr. Darcy,” Forster admitted mournfully. “I like him – well, liked him, best of all my new officers. He has a peculiar mixture of charm and deference and cheer, and is a great favorite of my wife’s…”

He trailed off and felt himself pale. Given the situation, given that Wickham was a philanderer and scoundrel, given that Mrs. Forster was a very young woman and, yes, rather flighty…

“I hope you will carry Mr. Wickham away from Meryton as quickly as possible!” he exclaimed.

“We will, thank you,” Bingley said.