“Indeed,” Mr. Bennetmused, tapping the folded letter against his chin. “But since Collins himself writes to me about this, I have no motive to deny a fact. It would seem that another gentleman has secured the post. A certain Mr. George Wickham.”
Mr. Bennet unfolded the letter once more, as if the writer’s own sentiments deserved a hearing in his own voice.
“Mr. Collins, it seems, bears the disappointment with a fortitude highly becoming his character,” he added, with composed gravity. “He expresses himself most sensibly on the subject of resignation, though not without observing that the expectations which had been encouraged in him were of a nature to render the event peculiarly affecting. He is, however, reconciled—at least upon paper—and already disposed to consider the advantages which may yet arise from his continued connection with his noble patroness.”
“Mr. Wickham?” asked Jane softly, her gentle features creased with curiosity. “I do not believe we have made his acquaintance.”
“Nor I,” chimed in Elizabeth, her interest piqued. “I wonder what manner of man he may be to have secured such a position over our cousin.”
“Likely one with more merit than Mr. Collins,” interjected Mary, looking up from her pianoforte’s pile of sheet music.
“Mary!” scolded Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head. “That is no way to speak of your cousin. He may not be the most engaging gentleman, but he is family, after all, is he not?”
“You are right, my dear,” Mr. Bennet agreed, though a mischievous glint in his eye betrayed his true sentiments. “We must not be too quick to judge this Mr. Wickham, for we know nothing of his character yet. Though I must admit, I am rather curious about the man who has supplanted our dear cousin in the eyes of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
This last observation, delivered with apparent calm, had precisely the effect he intended; for it elevated the whole matter from mere disappointment into intrigue. Lydia sat up straighter. Kitty ceased whispering. Even Mary looked as though moral evaluation might temporarily yield to narrative interest.
“Curiosity will avail us little if Mr. Collins remains without a suitable position,” fretted Mrs. Bennet, her hands wringing together anxiously. “Oh, how much I had hoped our girls might find favour with the new vicar! What shall become of them now, Mr. Bennet?”
“Have faith, my dear,” soothed Mr. Bennet, rising from his chair and crossing the room to place a comforting hand upon his wife’s shoulder. “Our daughters are resourceful and accomplished young ladies. They will surely make their own fortunes, with or without the help of a clergyman. Not one as dumb as Cousin Collins, anyway.”
“Papa,” said Jane gently, with that smile by which she sought to soften rather than correct, “you should not be severe.”
“I am never severe, my dear. Merely accurate at inconvenient moments.”
“Indeed, Mama,” added Elizabeth, her eyes sparkling with determination, and not a little amusement at the course events had already taken. “We shall manage quite well on our own, I assure you.”
“Very well, my loves,” sighed Mrs. Bennet, relenting at last. “But mark my words, we have not heard the last of this mysterious Mr. Wickham! I shall make it my business to learn all there is to know of him, and then we shall see if he is a worthy successor to our dear Mr. Collins.”
“Pray, dear father, what do you know of this Mr. Wickham?” inquired Jane, leaning forward with an air of genuine interest.
“Alas, not much,” replied Mr. Bennet, folding the letter and placing it back into its envelope. “Only that he has been well-educated at Cambridge, and seems to have impressed Lady Catherine sufficiently to secure himself the position.”
“Cambridge!” cried Lydia, her eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, how I should love to meet a gentleman from such a distinguished institution! Surely, he must be quite accomplished and handsome!”
“Lydia, take care,” Elizabethchided, unable to suppress a smile at her sister’s exuberance. “Handsome or not, we are more concerned with his character and qualifications as a clergyman.”
“At least, some of us are,” Lydia said, unrepentant.
“Probably,” Maryagreed, looking up from her music sheets. “For one entrusted with the spiritual guidance of a parish, hispersonal qualities are of the utmost importance. It remains to be seen whether this Mr. Wickham possesses the necessary virtues for such a sacred calling.”
“Virtues or no, I wished that I could pay a visit to Hunsford at the earliest opportunity to see this Mr. Wickham for myself and determine whether he is a suitable acquaintance for my daughters,” Mrs. Bennet declared firmly, her disappointment momentarily forgotten in the face of new intrigue.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet—” Mr. Bennet began.
“Mother, I must accompany you!” Kittycried, her eyes alight with anticipation, ignoring her father’s intervention. “I should so like to see the man who has captured the attention of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“My dear Mrs. Bennet—” Mr. Bennet said in a higher tone.
“Very well, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet assented with a nod. “But remember, we go to ascertain the worthiness of Mr. Wickham, not to seek his favour.”
“Of course, Mama,” Kittymurmured, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Seek his favour!” Lydia repeated, laughing. “As though any gentleman newly appointed to a living could fail to admire us immediately.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mary said. “Admiration is not the same as esteem.”
“Nor esteem the same as marriage,” Elizabethadded.
