Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 14

T he morning is as bleak as I feel. I long abandoned any expectation of finding some rest, so the night passed as restlessly as the previous ones. How could it have been better, when nothing good has happened?

This afternoon, we shall attend the little party at Lucas Lodge. Papa declined, but the rest of us will go, including Mr Collins. Oh joy!

The ball is planned for the day after tomorrow, and I cannot but count the days — the hours! — with increasing distress. Mr Darcy has been gone for three days now. Two and a half. Three mornings ago, we were at Oakham Mount, falling on the ground. And I foolishly kissed him. I never imagined a simple kiss could be so overwhelmingly pleasant, or its consequences so hurtful.

In fact, it is not the consequences of the kiss that were hurtful but the dishonest actions of someone to whom I granted my trust. A large part of me still feels that the trust was well deserved. A greater part of my heart still believes Mr Darcy’s words were honest and his actions were true, still believes that all must be a huge misunderstanding. I realised the depth of my love for him when my heart still placed its confidence in him despite the evidence against him that painfully invaded my mind.

I am torn between wishing for him to return and explain, and dreading seeing him, confronting him, and discovering that my fears were justified.

If he never returns, at least I shall know his dishonesty and betrayal were real and I was a complete fool. It will be a lesson to learn and never repeat for the rest of my life.

But what if he does return and repeat his profession of love and express his desire to break the engagement with Miss de Bourgh? Of course, the real blessing would be to speak to Mr Darcy and discover that the engagement is not real. But can I allow such a hope to flourish inside me, only to risk being crushed by disappointment?

Were I a wise woman, I would keep my composure and treat the entire situation with calm and prudency. I should try to gather more information before allowing myself to fall from joy to despair, from happiness to grief. Why have I not done that? Why did I not at least ask Mr Bingley about Mr Darcy’s engagement, or persuade Jane to ask the question?

The answer is easy: How can I explain my interest in Mr Darcy’s private life? To everybody else, Mr Darcy and I are barely friends after being enemies at the beginning of our acquaintance. Can such a fresh and superficial friendship explain my enquiries about his marital situation?

My mind is a jumble of conflicted feelings and questions and no answers, and I cannot find what is left of my reason. I have no other choice but to ask for Jane’s help. I cannot tell her all that occurred between Mr Darcy and me, but I can ask her for assistance in discovering the truth about his alleged engagement. After all, Miss Bingley strives to gain Mr Darcy’s attention with obvious intentions. Would she do so if Mr Darcy were engaged? Could Mr Darcy have kept his engagement secret even from his closest friend?

With such reflections, I prepare for the party without saying anything to Jane yet. She is thrilled to be seeing Mr Bingley again, and I do not want to shadow her joy.

I shall see what happens at the party; perhaps Mr Bingley already has some news that might bring me some clarification.

After an uncomfortable yet very short ride in the crowded carriage, which makes me long to have walked from Longbourn, we arrive at Lucas Lodge. Sir William and Charlotte come to greet us, while Lydia and Kitty immediately disappear with Maria.

The party is larger than usual. Besides the Lucases there is Aunt and Uncle Phillips, Mrs Long, the Grahams and their niece Mary King, as well as three other families from our usual circle. The additions consist of five officers as well as Colonel Forster and his wife.

The first part of the evening is spent with greetings, introductions, and small talk.

Soon after us, Mr Bingley arrives alone. He is greeted with much deference by our host, then he speaks to Colonel Forster for a few moments before finally approaching our group. Only several minutes are needed before Mr Bingley and Jane are engaged in conversation, their heads close and their partiality for each other apparent to everyone.

Mama is loudly telling Aunt Phillips that she expects Mr Bingley to propose soon, and I fervently hope that neither the gentleman nor Jane hear her; my mortification is enough for all of us. It does not last long, though, until I am even more embarrassed by Mama telling her sister that Mr Collins is searching for a wife and I might be his choice. I should not have come to this party. I have felt horrible all day; how can I bear hours of irritation and vexation?

I grab a cup of tea and move to a chair in a corner. Mary has begun to play the pianoforte, and I am not even sure whether she was asked to. Mr Collins is talking to Lady Lucas in a group with the officers too. I refuse to imagine what sort of silliness he is proclaiming to make a fool of himself.

Irked, I begin to notice Mr Wickham glancing at me repeatedly, and I wonder what interests him. He seems to be the centre of attention, and I can be objective enough to admit he is above all the other gentlemen present in figure, countenance, and air, and that he possesses a charming, distinguished smile. He seems to be the happy man towards whom almost every female eye is turned. Why could he possibly be looking at me?

I shrug this off and watch Mr Collins talking to Mr Phillips now, as I assume irritably that he has already bored half of those in attendance. Having the officers as rivals, Mr Collins seems likely to sink into insignificance, but that does not make him less talkative. Sadly, the glasses of wine he has drunk have not helped his common sense. I wonder whether Lady Catherine approves of drinking so much.

My puzzlement increases when I notice Mr Wickham walking towards me wearing his charming smile. He asks for permission to sit and takes a chair, placing it near me. His gesture sends many enquiring glances our way, and probably as many whispers.

“Miss Elizabeth, I do not want to intrude on your privacy,” Mr Wickham says. “I shall not bother you for more than a few minutes if you will allow me.”

“We are at a party, sir, so privacy is difficult to expect,” I reply. “Please do not worry about bothering me. If I appear to be so, you are certainly not the reason. I am simply not agreeable company tonight.”

“I must disagree. We have barely exchanged a few words, and I am already delighted with your company,” he says brightly.

I look at him suspiciously. He is exceedingly handsome, his smile is enchanting, and his tone is perfectly amiable. Then why does his statement irritate me so? Perhaps it sounds too much like Mr Collins’s studied flatteries.

“How do you like Meryton, Mr Wickham? And the regiment?” I ask politely.

“More than I expected! I congratulate myself for joining the militia — it is the best decision I have made in a long time. I just pray not to be forced to leave it.”

“Leave it? But I thought you liked it very much!”

“Yes…that is why I chose the word ‘forced’,” he says, and his tone changes. “I might be obliged to again give up a favourable situation that might improve my life due to another ungenerous intervention by someone who I hear offended you too.”

“Excuse me? I am afraid I fail to understand your meaning.”

“Forgive me if I sound presumptuous. Your young sisters told me how Darcy offended you. I hope you will not allow yourself to be affected by his rudeness. He is the sort of man with no respect for the feelings of others, especially if he considers them beneath him.”

His statement not only did sound presumptuous, it was also too forward and arrogant. How dare he console me! We have only just met, and he knows nothing about me. But how can I blame him, when all this knowledge came from my own sisters, who behave like spoilt hoydens with no manners?

“I would not have had the boldness to open such a subject with you if I had not known Darcy my entire life and did not know how many other people he has disregarded.”

This statement certainly catches my attention. I know I should end the conversation, but my curiosity is stronger than my better judgment.

“I admit I suspected you were acquainted based on your response when you heard his name. And Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s.”

“You are very perceptive, Miss Elizabeth. It is no wonder that everybody in Meryton speaks so highly of you.”

“I doubt that, Mr Wickham. There is no one about whom everybody speaks highly. As for your response, it was rather easy to guess. I was only surprised that you were not acquainted with Mr Bingley, who is a close friend of Mr Darcy’s.”

“It might be a more recent friendship. Darcy and I have been fighting in recent years, and we avoid each other’s company.”

“Fighting?”

“Figurately speaking, of course.” He smiles. “Not a real fight — more of a disagreement. I only wish for what was rightfully left to me by the late Mr Darcy and his son refused to grant.”

“Mr Darcy did not honour his father’s will?” I ask in disbelief. “I know I have no right to enquire, but it seems a decision that is difficult to understand.”

“Forgive me. I should have explained better. The late Mr Darcy was my godfather, and he loved me like a parent. My father was in charge of managing the Darcys’ estate, Pemberley, and I grew up there. Mr Darcy was one of the best men that ever breathed, and he loved me like his own son, providing me with a gentleman’s education, which was not agreeable to everyone,” he says meaningfully.

I wait for him to continue; what can I say? My interest in the subject has increased, but the delicacy of it prevents further enquiry.

“Despite my present favourable assignment, military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it necessary. The church ought to have been my profession. I was brought up for it, 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.”

“How can that be?”

“My godfather bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. But when the living fell vacant, it was given elsewhere.”

“Good heavens! How could Mr Darcy disregard his father’s will?”

I am surprised indeed.

“There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to leave it to the decision of the new master. And Darcy chose to pass me over for it.”

“But why? Why would he give the living to someone else and not according to his father’s recommendations?”

“I cannot understand either. It might have been out of jealousy, or perhaps my unguarded temper made me express my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing so bad in our relationship as to cause Darcy to hate me, but he does. He accused me of extravagance, imprudence — in short, anything or nothing. I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose the living.”

“This is astonishing!”

“Not to me, Miss Elizabeth. I hope you now understand my boldness in approaching you. As I said, nobody understands better how it feels to be hurt by Darcy.”

I feel a sharp claw grasping my chest. Mr Wickham knows nothing of how hurt I truly am. His story reveals other dark parts of Mr Darcy’s character and causes me to question everything I thought I knew about him. I certainly do not give full credit to Mr Wickham’s narration either. He is nothing but a stranger, too hasty in sharing the misfortunes of his life with me, just as he did with my sisters yesterday. But there must be some truth to the story. And mistrusting Mr Wickham does not make my doubts about Mr Darcy any less painful.

“Mr Wickham, I shall not deny that your story has stunned me. I never imagined Mr Darcy capable of disregarding his father’s will. If he was still here, I would confront him.”

“Oh no, please do not even think of that, Miss Elizabeth! Confronting Darcy would only cause more damage to me. And to many others,” he continues somewhat ominously.

“Damage?”

“Yes. I can see your eldest sister is on friendly terms with Mr Bingley. If Darcy’s resentment is aroused, he may well convince his friend to alter his plans. Darcy has a great power of persuasion, and he can be very pleasant when he chooses to be. People have often been deceived by his feigned friendliness only to be disappointed later. And Darcy always wishes to have his own way and almost always succeeds.”

Mr Wickham’s suggestion strikes me as very distasteful. He is implying that confronting Mr Darcy might cause a breach between Jane and Mr Bingley. But how does he even know about their relationship? He has been in Meryton for two days and has already been provided with the most intimate details by my two foolish sisters.

My head is now trapped in a web of new information that I can neither believe nor dismiss. I yearn for peace and silence. There is nothing of interest to me at the party, and my mind is too clouded to give Mr Wickham proper consideration. He had looked scared when I mentioned a confrontation with Mr Darcy, and I can guess the reasons.

“I have no interest in annoying Darcy, as another conflict would not be to my benefit,” Mr Wickham says. “I only wish to be allowed to carry out my duties as an officer and make a decent living in the best way I can.”

“That is a wise decision, Mr Wickham.”

“I wonder when Darcy will return. If he does return at all.”

“I have no knowledge of Mr Darcy’s plans.”

“I did not assume you had. I shall hope that he does not return soon. In this, I am in opposition to your cousin Mr Collins, who keeps repeating how much he wishes to meet Darcy. If he only knew that Darcy would most likely despise him.”

I know this much is true — though not for the reason he thinks — but I do not like his remark about my relative, as annoying as he is.

“Mr Collins seems to be on friendly terms with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr Darcy’s aunt. That might be an indication Mr Collins does not deserve to be despised.”

“Darcy has no regard for anyone outside his circle of family and friends. That is why he is engaged to his cousin.”

My heart stops, and I hold my breath. I need a while to gather my composure and speak.

“Yes, Mr Collins mentioned something about Mr Darcy being engaged, but Mr Bingley did not seem aware of such an arrangement.”

“I am not sure whether the engagement has been made public. I have heard it mentioned several times in the past, and I would have expected the wedding to have taken place by now. It would give Darcy the opportunity to increase his fortune even more, by acquiring Rosings Park, which must be impressive. There is nothing Darcy values more than his legacy, and he will do anything to give more consequence to the Darcy name.”

On this subject, Mr Wickham speaks with no emotion and no apparent grudge, which makes me doubt it less. I have proof that the engagement is well known among Mr Darcy’s family and friends; therefore it must be true.

I struggle to breathe; it is too warm and too crowded, and my head hurts so badly that I can barely keep my eyes open.

“Mr Wickham, I apologise, sir. I must search for Charlotte. I have been fighting a bad headache for the last few days, and the noise has made it worse.”

“I am very sorry to hear that, Miss Elizabeth. May I help you in any way?”

“No, thank you. I just need to find Charlotte.”

With that, I walk away from him, desperately trying to find a reason to go home immediately without causing panic or undue attention. But before I try to devise some complicated scheme to leave the party, I need a room where I can lie down and rest for a little while, in solitude. And cry out my grief over my shattered dreams.