The words did not pass without effect; a quiet tension settled upon him, born less of surprise than of recognition. He went on: “not wholly unworthy of consideration…”
Mr. Darcy paused, drawing a measured breath before proceeding. The humility was well expressed—too wellexpressed. He continued reading: “a situation in Shrewsbury may soon be within my reach…” That, at least, presented an alternative.
“If, therefore, you should feel inclined to favour me with a word of recommendation…”
The request, though cautiously framed, admitted of no misunderstanding. How strange that this man would still seek his support. Darcy shifted slightly in his chair, more from deliberation than agitation, and resumed reading until the close. The letter concluded in terms of studied civility, marked by that elaborate signature which Darcy had long since learned to associate with the man himself: George Wickham.
Taking a slow breath, Darcy set the letter down. His gaze lingered not upon the page, but upon the wavering flame of the candle, as he considered the implications of Wickham’s request and the extent, if any, of his obligation to assist him. Could he find it in himself to grant the man another opportunity, or would doing so only expose others to risk?
“Generosity and spirit of justice,” he repeated under his breath, the phrase his father had often used as an exhortation.
There was, however, one point upon which his judgement did not hesitate. To place Wickham in Derbyshire—within reach of Pemberley—would be to invite a danger he was not prepared to countenance. Proximity, in this instance, could serve no good purpose. If the man must succeed, let it be elsewhere. Shrewsbury, though not without its own uncertainties, offered at least the advantage of distance.
Mr. Darcy did not arrive at his decision lightly. For a moment, inclination and prudence stood opposed; yet the balance, once considered, could admit of but one conclusion. If a measuredconcession might direct Wickham away from Pemberley, it was not without justification.
“Very well,” he murmured at last, as he took up his pen. “If it keeps Wickham at a distance, even if it is a short one, I shall provide the necessary recommendation.”
A slight relaxation of his expression followed—rare, but not without meaning—born less of satisfaction than of a duty deliberately assumed.
Little knew Darcy the full extent of Wickham’s machinations.
CHAPTER1
Lady Catherine de Bourgh sat in her drawing room at Rosings, gazing with marked indifference at the intricate patterns of the Chinese porcelain that graced her mantelpiece. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows upon the walls, their restless movement offering a poor diversion from the dissatisfaction that had, of late, grown too familiar.
Her ladyship scarcely concealed a sigh. How she had grown weary of those seeking favour from her; their readiness to agree, to admire, to applaud—always immediate, always excessive—stood in tiresome contrast to the indifference they displayed when called upon to act with diligence or discretion. Her mind wandered to the clergyman from the Westerham parsonage, who performed his duties with a steadiness that required neither display nor encouragement, unlike others she could name.
Instead, she had no choice but to withdraw her support from Mr. Rowland, the former clergyman at Hunsford. Whenever she inquired how the parish fared, Mr. Rowland contrived, with irritating regularity, to evade the substance of her questions. He offered justifications—always plausible, always incomplete—assuring her that the congregation was small but devoted, that he was overwhelmed by his parishioners’ affection, yet that it grew increasingly difficult to proceed without more substantial assistance from her ladyship’s generosity.
Of course, small was a term employed with undue liberality; Lady Catherine knew the parish to be decidedly diminutive, and the stipend Mr. Rowland received from his position in theChurch of England was minimal. Yet he frequently found his way to Rosings without invitation, discovering, with unfailing ingenuity, new occasions upon which to press his claims. His dependence had long since ceased to recommend him; importunity, when too often repeated, could not but offend even the most patient patron.
As long as the newly appointed Mr. Collins proved himself equal to the situation, and content with the modest living he was to assume in September, matters might yet be set in order. However, experience had rendered Lady Catherine less susceptible to professions unaccompanied by proof, and flatterers such as he inspired little lasting confidence. His devotion was commendable, as far as it went; yet the true measure of a clergyman’s worth lay not in his expressions, but in his conduct.
And what, she now considered, had Mr. Collins done since her ladyship had extended to him the promise of her support? He had sent her weekly epistles of flattery, extolling her greatness, her discernment, and her generosity, with a regularity that might, in other circumstances, have recommended him. Yet he had not once gone to the Hunsford parsonage, nor taken the trouble to acquaint himself with Mr. and Mrs. Yates, who were to serve under his direction; nor had he exhibited the smallest indication that his interest extended beyond the possession of the living itself.
Lady Catherine’s gaze withdrew at last from the porcelain and settled, more sharply now, upon the fire. It was not in her habit to act without reflection; yet she could not entirely dismiss the possibility that, in this instance, she had been somewhat hasty. To substitute Mr. Rowland with Mr. Collins had seemed,at the time, a necessary correction; whether it would prove an improvement remained, as yet, uncertain.
She did not, however, mistake uncertainty for error—only for a circumstance requiring prompt attention.
***
Lady Catherine de Bourgh stood in the parlour, holding a crisp letter between her fingers, its contents offering her a welcome interruption to the tedious uniformity of those addresses which had, of late, tried even her patience. Happily, it was not another effusion of misplaced gratitude from the already insupportable Mr. Collins.
3rd September 1811, Milton,
near Cambridge, Cambridgeshire
Your Ladyship,
I trust this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Pray allow me to offer my apologies for the liberty I take in addressing you without the advantage of a prior introduction. My name is George Wickham, and I have recently been informed of the vacancy at the Hunsford parish.
Having completed my studies at Cambridge, I believe myself possessed of the qualifications necessary to discharge, with diligence and propriety, the duties attendant upon a living under your Ladyship’s distinguished patronage. Should you be pleased to admit me to consideration, I would, with the greatest respect, lay before you such testimonials as may attest to my academic standing and character. I am furtherin a position to solicit a recommendation from a gentleman whose judgement your Ladyship is known to esteem highly.
I should be honoured to attend upon you at your convenience, in order to present myself more properly and to receive such direction as you may think fit to bestow.
I remain, your Ladyship’s most obedient and humble servant,
George Wickham
