“Jane, Lizzy, you aren’t telling us everything!” Lydia said accusingly.
“What more can we tell you?” Elizabeth asked, feeling slightly exasperated. She and Jane had been talking without pause on the walk from Longbourn to Meryton. “We have already detailed the sitting room, what everyone wore, the meal in great detail, as well as the after-dinner conversation! I cannot possibly imagine what else you think transpired.”
“Yes, well, that all sounds perfectly boring,” Lydia said. “You were gone half the night, and I cannot possibly imagine all that taking up so much of the evening.”
Elizabeth gave Jane a frustrated look, but Jane just shrugged her shoulders.
“And what, dear sister, would you imagine a perfect evening at Netherfield to look like?” Jane asked, looping her arm through Lydia’s.
Lydia grinned widely, as if she had been waiting for such a question.
“Well,” she said vigorously. “I would imagine musicians, foods only found abroad…”
“Dancing!” Kitty cut in with a giggle.
“Of course,” Lydia agreed. “But there must be more people. For I would not want to take your Mr. Bingley, and that Mr. Darcy seems a terrible bore and a horrible dancer.”
“He is not my Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, embarrassed. “And Mr. Darcy is not a bore. You mustn’t say such things about people you do not know.”
Lydia gave Jane a thoroughly unconvincing look of repentance. Elizabeth stifled a laugh. Lydia was quite wrong about Mr. Darcy, but after last night, she was quite accurate about Jane and Mr. Bingley. The man had seemed positively mournful to let them go the night before!
“I would not think dancing would be the best order for an intimate dinner such as the one to which Jane and Lizzy were invited,” Mary said, sounding weary of the topic. “I believe their evening of conversation was the best manner in which to become more closely acquainted with their hosts. Dancing simply does not allow for such intimacies.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Elizabeth said, thoroughly unsurprised by Mary’s assessment. “I think you are quite right.”
“Yes, but I still think it sounds boring,” Lydia said stubbornly.
“Then it is fortuitous that it was Jane and I who received the invitation, and not you,” Elizabeth said with a grin.
In truth, the evening had not been pleasant for her. She could not imagine what slight she had given Caroline Bingley to deserve such treatment from her, but the other woman clearly marked Elizabeth—and the rest of the Bennets—out for some sort of punishment. Elizabeth dearly hoped that the woman would not come between Jane and Mr. Bingley, but after the previous night’s display, she had no assurances.
Jane, blessedly, had been largely unaware of Caroline’s behaviour. She had been far too preoccupied with Caroline’s brother. But Jane was perceptive and she knew that Elizabeth had not had a pleasant evening. Elizabeth, however, had done her best to push Jane’s concerns aside. Elizabeth had begged fatigue on the ride home and Jane had not pushed the matter. But Elizabeth knew she could hide the truth from her sister for only so long.
“Mr. Wickham!” Lydia’s cry broke through the air and startled Elizabeth back to attention. Lydia was waving furiously at a red-coated man on the opposite side of the street.
“Lydia!” Jane said, pulling on Lydia’s arm. “You mustn’t call across the street, it isn’t proper.”
Mr. Wickham, however, did not seem bothered by Lydia’s hail. On the contrary, he grinned widely as he waited for a wagon to pass before crossing the street to join the sisters.
“Good day to you all,” he said, bowing low to them all. Jane and Mary looked questioningly at Elizabeth.
“Mr. Wickham, may I present my elder sister, Miss Jane Bennet, and younger sister, Miss Mary Bennet?” Elizabeth quickly introduced the officer. He inclined his head in greeting.
“I am pleased to meet the rest of the famous Bennet girls,” he said. Jane and Mary inclined their heads as well, but did not reply. They watched wordlessly as Mr. Wickham’s eyes passed from them and took in the rest of the party. “What brings the Bennet girls to Meryton on this fine day?”
Lydia and Kitty giggled together before Lydia answered.
“We are on our way to tea with our Aunt Phillips,” Kitty said, still laughing.
“Yes. Perhaps you would like to join?” Lydia added.
“Lydia!” Elizabeth whispered quickly. “You cannot extend an invitation to a house that is not yours!”
“Oh, hush, Lizzy,” Lydia said grumpily. “You know Aunt Phillips enjoys company!”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. Lydia was correct: their aunt loved new people gracing her sitting room. However, she did not wish to reveal that Lydia had won the point.
“Unfortunately,” Mr. Wickham said, a wide grin still on his face. “My duties prevent me from accepting your kind invitation.”
“Oh, no!” Lydia exclaimed, pouting. Elizabeth glared at the girl—did she possess no subtlety at all? She hoped Mr. Wickham would not form inaccurate ideas with Lydia’s behaviour.
“Yes, despite our best efforts, the militia has more duties than looking good in our red coats,” Mr. Wickham said, laughing. “May I accompany you as far as your aunt’s house? I can do that at least.”
“Yes, that would be lovely,” Kitty said.
Elizabeth exchanged looks with Jane and Mary, but could think of no reason to decline the man’s kind offer. Mr. Wickham seemed to sense Elizabeth’s hesitance.
“Surely there can be no objections from you, Miss Elizabeth?” He said, and Elizabeth quickly assured him of her approval.
“Please, Mr. Wickham, we would be happy to accept your company,” Elizabeth said, her cheeks pink.
“Well then, let us be on our way,” Mr. Wickham said with a bow, allowing the youngest girls to proceed ahead of him. Lydia and Kitty skipped ahead, arms looped, giggling and looking back through their eyelashes.
“Silly girls,” Elizabeth mumbled under her breath.
“Silly, yes, but they are kind,” Mr. Wickham agreed. Elizabeth looked at him, startled. She had not realised that she had spoken loudly enough to be heard.
“I apologise, Mr. Wickham,” she said, cheeks pink once more. “What must you think of me for saying such things about my sisters?”
“Only that they have wise elder sisters who care greatly for their future,” Mr. Wickham replied. Elizabeth blushed again, pleased that he had realised her comment came from a place of affection for her sisters.
“I am glad you hear Elizabeth’s words as they are intended,” Jane said. “Tell us, how are you finding Meryton?”
“Quite well,” Mr. Wickham said at once. “We have found hospitality here that makes our posting an easy one. How can one complain when there are balls and good company in great supply?”
“You enjoyed the assembly then?” Elizabeth asked, her mind going back to that night. “As I recall, you found the company to be unsatisfactory.”
“Is it truly fair to judge the entirety based on the presence of one man?” Mr. Wickham replied, obviously remembering the same exchange. He glanced to Jane, who wore a puzzled look on her face. “I noticed the presence of a man whom I would prefer to never see again. It briefly dampened my enjoyment of the festivities. Unfortunately, that was the all Miss Elizabeth saw of me.” He turned his smile upon Elizabeth. “I assure you, I am far better behaved most other times.”
“Oh, dear,” Jane said sympathetically. “How odd it is to encounter someone from your past, here, of all places! You are not from this county, are you?”
“No, indeed not,” Mr. Wickham answered. “I grew up in the north, in Derbyshire.” Jane repeated Derbyshire to herself, and a look of realization dawned upon her face: She knew he must be referring to Mr. Darcy. “I see from your face that you have worked out the identity of the man,” Mr. Wickham said, also seeing Jane’s face.
“I would not presume to hazard a guess,” Jane said quickly.
“No, please.” Mr. Wickham smiled at Jane now. “Forgive me, I have made you uncomfortable for no reason. In truth, I do not mind speaking of it. Why should I be afraid to share the truth?”
“The truth?” Elizabeth asked, confused by Mr. Wickham’s mysterious categorization of his relationship with Mr. Darcy. “I’m afraid you have lost me, Mr. Wickham.”
“Darcy and I grew up together,” Wickham answered, his smile gone. “Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. Jane gave her a look that begged a different topic of conversation, but Elizabeth persisted.
“If you have spoken with the man for more than two minutes, you must have realised that he is an arrogant, prideful man, not deigning to speak with anyone below his vaunted social standing,” Wickham said, a bitter note in his voice. “Believe it or not, he has tempered his arrogance with age. He was insufferable when we were children.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said slowly, trying to match Mr. Wickham’s description to the man with whom she had so recently become acquainted. “He does seem a bit proud, that is true enough. And he does not speak freely… But surely these are the worst of his sins? Pride and a taciturn nature?”
“You must think me shallow indeed to take such offence to so little,” Mr. Wickham said, sounding a touch affronted. “But who could blame you when I have yet to reveal the depth of Darcy’s depravity.”
Elizabeth blinked at the harsh description—she had not known Darcy long, but she could not believe him guilty of whatever crimes Mr. Wickham might lay at his feet.
“No.” Mr. Wickham shook his head. “I apologise, I have monopolised the conversation with my sorry past.”
“You cannot begin such a tale and leave us without the ending,” Lydia said pointedly. Elizabeth looked at her sister, surprised she had not noticed both Kitty and Lydia listening closely.
“Please, Mr. Wickham,” Kitty added. “Mr. Darcy is but a new acquaintance and not one whom you need worry might offend us.” Elizabeth glared at Kitty—she certainly was not too concerned with Mr. Darcy’s offence, but she did not want to engage in the sort of idle gossip this conversation had become.
“Girls—” Elizabeth began, but Mr. Wickham spoke over her, as if he had not heard her begin to speak. Elizabeth felt a small surge of annoyance, but chose to believe that the man did not notice her speak.
“You are right,” Mr. Wickham said. “At this point, the most responsible thing would be to tell the story in its entirety. I would not want unfounded rumours to emanate from this talk. Only the truth will do.”
Jane and Elizabeth shared a look, but it was increasingly obvious that there was nothing they could do to stop Mr. Wickham from sharing his story. Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and instead focused on Mr. Wickham’s tale. In truth, she was burning with curiosity to know what the man would say.
“My father was the steward on the Darcys’ estate,” Mr. Wickham began. “The elder Mr. Darcy was kind to my family and looked upon me as a second son. What advantages he offered his own son, he extended to me as well. He was the very soul of generosity. And that generosity extended after his death.”
Mr. Wickham stopped and faced the women, their attention fully upon him. He seemed to enjoy the impact he was having upon them.
“Old Mr. Darcy knew I had my heart set upon joining the church—indeed, he paid for my education in preparation to join the clergy. He promised me the living of a small parish just outside of his estate. I was to be settled in with the quiet life of a country vicar—it was all I wanted.”
“But you’re an officer!” Lydia said, as if she could not imagine anyone wishing to be anything else.
“Yes,” Mr. Wickham gave a rueful smile. “A cruel trick orchestrated by none other than the younger Mr. Darcy. When his father died, the will gave me the living. But Darcy chose to ignore the will, and his father’s wishes, and denied it to me. He gave the living to another man.”
“What an outrage!” Kitty exclaimed, not bothering to keep her voice down. Elizabeth was inclined to agree, but could hardly fathom the man she had met doing such a thing.
Mr. Wickham seemed to read Elizabeth’s uncertainty upon her face.
“I know what I have told you is difficult to believe, for I know how fond you are of him,” he said sadly. “Darcy takes great care to build up the good opinions of others, so it is unsurprising that he has built up your own opinions of him. But I hope the scales might fall from your eyes, and you can see Darcy for the cruel man he is.”
“Thank you for sharing your sad past, Mr. Wickham,” Jane said softly. “I think I speak for us all when I extend my deepest sorrow for such happenings. We have arrived at our aunt’s house.” Jane nodded her head toward the house opposite. “Are you certain you cannot join us?”
“Thank you, no,” Mr. Wickham said, his charm returning. “I only wish that I could leave you with happier thoughts! I am grieved to think I have caused you all any distress. You must allow me to make it up at some other time.”
“Yes,” Lydia said with a giggle. “I shall remember that promise.”
Mr. Wickham favoured Lydia with a smile and bowed to the rest of them before taking his leave. Lydia and Kitty lost no time in abusing Mr. Darcy.
“Can you believe that anyone could treat Mr. Wickham in such a fashion?” Kitty asked angrily.
“It is most certainly a sad tale,” Mary agreed. “But one which we have only heard one side. I would be curious to know what Mr. Darcy would say to these accusations.”
“What possible excuse could he have?” Lydia retorted. “And you know what everyone was saying about him at the assembly. I have quite made up my mind—a most loathsome man.” She knocked loudly on the front door and waited for Aunt Phillips’ servant to admit them.
Elizabeth noticed none of this. Her mind was still trying to make sense of Mr. Wickham’s tale. She frowned to herself, trying to match the picture Mr. Wickham painted with the man that had come to her and Jane’s rescue. Would so arrogant a man truly risk bodily harm to come to the aid of strangers? She was so stuck in her own mind that she did not realise Jane was speaking with her until Jane laid a hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry, Jane. What did you say?” Elizabeth asked, shaking her head.
“I asked if you would like to walk for a bit longer,” Jane said. Elizabeth glanced around and realised that she and Jane were alone outside the house. The other girls had already gone inside. “I sense that there is much going on in your mind, and that you might need a few moments before you’re ready for Aunt Phillips.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth readily admitted, and she and Jane began to walk once more. They walked for several minutes in silence before Elizabeth began to speak. “You don’t think it is true, do you?”
Jane pursed her lips and thought before answering. Elizabeth watched her face closely, trying to figure out what she was thinking before she could speak.
“I think that something grave passed between Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy,” Jane finally said. “I am, however, not convinced that Mr. Wickham has told the entire story.”
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief—Jane had confirmed her own suspicions.
“I thought as much,” Elizabeth agreed. “But why tell the tale? He must know that we would ask Mr. Darcy about it.”
“I do not think that possibility occurred to him,” Jane said. “Mr. Wickham is a very amiable man, and I would be surprised if he is often questioned about his stories.”
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. Jane was unnaturally astute about people, but she rarely spoke in such frank terms.
“I am surprised that you would offer such an assessment,” Elizabeth said slowly. “You usually see the very best in people.”
“Oh, Lizzy. Do not misunderstand me,” Jane said, sounding a bit distressed. “I do not intend to be unkind. I think Mr. Wickham is a charming man. I simply believe we do not have the full story yet.”
Elizabeth nodded, realising it wasn’t that Jane thought ill of Wickham, it was simply that she could not think ill of anyone—including Mr. Darcy. Which meant there must be more to the story.
“But the question remains, why would Wickham tell us such things?” Elizabeth asked, beginning to feel frustrated. Even though she did not fully believe him, she felt her confidence in Mr. Darcy fading and she could not understand why.
“I do not know,” Jane said, shaking her head. “But I think it important that we remember that Mr. Darcy saved us at great risk to himself. And he is a great friend of Mr. Bingley. I cannot imagine Mr. Bingley befriending so terrible a person.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said slowly, remembering Caroline’s behaviour the night before. Though, she could not blame Mr. Bingley for his sister—one did not choose their sisters, after all. “I shall do my best to forget the tale, but I fear this will not be the last we hear of it.”
“Probably not,” Jane agreed. “But let us remember to judge based on our own experiences.”
“A wise course,” Elizabeth said, smiling at her sister. Jane was right, but the question of Mr. Wickham’s motivation still floated through Elizabeth’s mind and she knew it would be quite difficult to banish.