As Elizabeth joined the group of ladies gathered under a tent erected for their comfort, she noticed a flurry of whispers and curious glances. Mrs Long, who had arrived before the Bennets, was at the centre of the group, her voice low but animated as she relayed some piece of news.
“Mrs Long, what is it?” Elizabeth asked as she approached.
Mrs Long turned to Elizabeth with a look of pleased importance. “Have you not heard? Mr Wickham has pledged to cover the entire cost of the repairs himself!”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Surely that cannot be true. It is a large expense that must be borne by the whole community.”
Mrs Long nodded vigorously. “That is what I thought too, but Mr Wickham insisted. He declared it before all the gentlemen, saying he wished to restore the town to its former prosperity.”
A murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd, the matrons of the town nodding approvingly, the younger girls whispering among themselves. Jane, who had been listening quietly, turned to Elizabeth with a look of concern. “It is indeed generous, but do you not think it strange that he would take on such a burden alone? The cost must be astronomical.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, it is strange. And while his generosity is commendable, I cannot help but wonder why he would not seek the community’s support for such a significant expense. Surely, it is not the fault of the newest comer to the neighbourhood that an old structure has failed.”
Mrs Long pursed her lips, glancing back towards the men who were still discussing the repairs with animated gestures. “He said it was his way of giving back to the community that has welcomed him so warmly. A noble sentiment, to be sure, but one cannot help but wonder at the timing.”
“Timing? Whatever do you mean?”
“Why! Surely, you know your mother means to play hostess for the ball at Netherfield. A shocking thing, if I do say so.”
“It is… surprising,” Elizabeth conceded. “But why do you think one has anything to do with another? Surely, you do not think Mr Wickham is playing at anything indecent?”
“Of course not! Quite the opposite—I rather think he means to silence any whispers about the oddity of it by proving his generosity now. Why, if that be the case, he may consider himself well assured of my good opinion. It has been ages since we have had the pleasure of a ball at Netherfield, and why should the little matter that its present master is unmarried be any hindrance when we have among us any number of ladies who would happily do the honours?” Mrs Long sniffed. “I only wonder that he did not askmeto assist Mrs Bennet. I did, after all, help a great deal with the last Assembly.”
“I am sure Mama would welcome your advice,” Elizabeth assured her.
“That is what I told her, but she kept running on about the seating arrangements. I tell you, Lizzy, at leastyouwill be assured of some pleasure that evening, seated beside Mr Wickham at dinner. My poor niece will be lucky if she gets stuck beside Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s brows arched. “Mr Darcy is probably wealthier than Mr Wickham if the rumours about him are true.”
“Yes, but what good is wealth if the man refuses to let a lady catch his eye? I wonder why Mr Wickham even invited him to Netherfield if all he means to do is stand about by himself and look cross.”
Elizabeth glanced at a grouping of gentlemen, her father among them, and saw precisely what Mrs Long had said. Mr Darcy was standing a little apart from the rest, one fist on his hip and the other hand experimentally testing a bit of quarry stone as if he thought the quality of it in question.
“He is… peculiar,” Elizabeth confessed. “But I do not think him a bad sort. Not everyone is garrulous, Mrs Long.”
“Well, they ought to be. I ask you, what good is a guest who does nothing to recommend himself to one’s neighbours?”
“I am sure I do not know, Mrs Long.”
Darcy stood a littleapart from the crowd, his eyes scanning the scene with frustration. The repairs at the weir were necessary, the damage extensive, but the sight of Wickham at the forefront, directing the labour with an air of authority, set his teeth on edge. Surely, Wickham was not the man to put his head to so much trouble. When had Wickham ever exerted more than the minimal effort required for any task? Yet today, he appeared to be the architect of the project, with many hours apparently spent in planning to pull off the affair.
His head pounded relentlessly, and his vision occasionally blurred. He had experienced another palsy on the right side of his body the night before—thankfully, he had been alone in his room when it came upon him. There was still a “dead” spot near the corner of his mouth, and his fingers were still stiffer than they ought to be.
As soon as the episode was over, he scrawled a letter to his doctor, detailing the worsening symptoms with a trembling hand. What remedy might exist? The thought of admitting that the diagnosis could be correct gnawed at him. Impossible!
He could not yet surrender to that grim reality, so he requested the name of some medication to alleviate his ceaseless headaches. With forced confidence, he wrote that, upon receiving the doctor’s recommendations, he would consult a local apothecary to procure the necessary treatment. Hopefully, Westing’s reply and the apothecary’s remedy would come before his next bad spell.
Some yards away, Bingley had been speaking animatedly with Mr Bennet, but now he hurried towards Darcy, his face very full of something. “Darcy, have you heard? Wickham has pledged to cover the entire cost of the repairs! He is paying the workmen; he just reimbursed Mr Harris for the expense of the logs, and he is doing the same for any other materials required. Quite a gesture, is it not?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened as a sharp pain stabbed through his temple. “Indeed, it is a significant expense. One must wonder at his motives.”
“Motives! I should think not having the town underwater by spring would be motive enough.”
“But he is not alone in that. Why should he bear the expense of repairing all the damage himself?”
“Well, I am sure I do not know, save that he is quite a generous chap. Good heavens, Darcy, why such a dark look? You, of all people, ought to be proud.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes, struggling to focus through the pain. “Proud? I do not follow.”
