“What did Aunt Phillips have to say, Jane?” Elizabeth inquired.
Jane appeared very unhappy. “That Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were in town today, making inquiries with the merchants.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “I saw them when I came out of the apothecary, as it happens. They were quite unhappy with Mr. Wickham. Were they inquiring about him?”
Her sister sighed. “It seems Mr. Wickham has been living beyond his means. Aunt Phillips says that he has run up nearly one hundred pounds in credit, far beyond his ability to pay. I fear he will soon find himself in a rather uncomfortable position.”
Elizabeth bristled anew. One hundred pounds was more than her father spent on each of them in board and pocket allowance for a year! It was certainly no small matter for a man of his position, for had he not admitted to her that he had no other means of support?
Or had that been a falsehood too?
She shook her head. “I cannot believe I was so ready to trust his every word. I defended him, Jane. Mr. Darcy warned me when we danced at Netherfield, and I would not listen.”
Jane touched her arm. “You could not have known, Lizzy. I did not see it either. I thought him quite agreeable, though Mr. Bingley said he was by no means respectable.”
Elizabeth’s expression hardened. “He is a wolf dressed in sheep's clothing. Apparently, Mrs. Hill has given strict orders that neither we nor the maids are ever to be left alone with him.”
“But why would Mrs. Hill—oh, Lizzy, do you think he has done something improper? That he has harmed someone?”
That was precisely what she thought. “I do not know for certain, but Mrs. Hill would not give such instructions without cause. She sees more than we realise, and I trust her instincts.”
Jane fell silent, her face pale. She turned toward the window, watching the leaves stir outside. “What will Papa do?”
“Papa?” Elizabeth let out a hollow laugh. “Nothing, I expect. You know how he hates exertion of any kind. He would sooner turn a blind eye than confront Wickham or even speak to Colonel Forster.”
“And Mamma . . .” Jane trailed off, her shoulders slumping. “She will likely refuse to believe any of it. He is so handsome and charming, after all, and she is convinced he has an interest in one of us.” She kindly did not say that it was Elizabeth.
The worst part of it was that there had been a brief moment in time where she had been foolish enough to think Mr. Wickham might make a pleasant husband, though she had never been very serious about it. Thank goodness for Aunt Gardiner who had spoken to her quite firmly on the subject, warning her that the match would be financially imprudent on both sides and that she had better guard her heart.
And so she had. Good, excellent Aunt Gardiner! “A man could be a brigand,” she said with a forced cheer, “and Mamma would still be thrilled to call him her son.”
“It makes me wonder what our own mother would have done.” Jane’s gaze turned towards the window.
Elizabeth glanced at her sister. “I have pondered the same, particularly when I received a certain proposal in November. Would things have been different if she or our father had lived?”
Jane nodded, a wistful look in her eyes. “Perhaps. But then we would not have our sisters.”
“Yes, that is true.” Mary, Kitty, and Lydia drove her to distraction most days, but she still loved them.
Jane’s hand found Elizabeth's, and she squeezed it gently. “Whatever we may think of Mr. Wickham, we are safe here. Papa may avoid confrontation, but he would never let anything truly harm us.”
Elizabeth knew her Bennet parents were far from perfect, but clearly, so was she. And besides, the very fact that she and Jane were still here, living as Bennet daughters in every sense of the word, proved that Mamma and Papa were both deeply, truly kind.
“We must speak with the girls,” she said firmly, and Jane agreed.
That evening, they gathered their younger sisters in Jane’s chamber. Elizabeth spoke first, choosing her words carefully. “Aunt Phillips brought us some news about Mr. Wickham today. Because of what she related, we must reconsider his character.”
“Oh, Lizzy,” Lydia scoffed, folding her arms. “What could my aunt have heard? Wickham is the most charming officer in the militia. He is handsome and clever and charming. He is practically perfect.”
“Perfectly indebted, perhaps,” Jane interjected gently. “He owes sums to the local merchants that would be difficult for any man to repay.”
Kitty’s face fell, but Lydia’s rebellious spirit remained undiminished. “What of it? He will make his fortune yet—I am sure of it. And when he does, we will be the first invited to every ball!”
Their protestations about propriety and the family’s reputation went unheeded until Mary spoke up calmly. “Lydia,Mr.Wickham’s debts would mean a life without all the things you love. No new dresses, no dancing, not even an allowance. He owes more than you have to spend for an entire year. There would not even be money for servants—you would be required to work.”
Kitty added, “And Cook has such calluses on her hands. You would hate that, Lydia.”
A shadow of uncertainty passed over Lydia’s face, and she fell silent, her youthful bravado seemingly quelled. Elizabeth, surprised and grateful, caught Mary’s eye and offered her a warm smile.
