“I must entreat your indulgence, sir,” he said to Mr. Bennet, with an agitation he could not disguise, “that I may not be thought deficient in that prompt obedience which it is myindispensable duty to render, if I comply without delay with the directions which her ladyship has been pleased to signify; for I should consider the smallest neglect, in a matter so immediately connected with her wishes, as a failing of the gravest nature, and one which I could not afterwards reflect upon without the deepest self-reproach. However, as her ladyship’s nephew may very probably become my future patron, I should be most anxious to avoid giving offence at Rosings.”
Mr. Bennet regarded him with a composure in which indulgence was more apparent than surprise, and replied with an ease that neither encouraged nor opposed him beyond what civility required.
“You will not, I think, incur censure for too much haste where so little is necessary to prevent it,” he said. “As expedition to Hunsford appears to be your object, Cousin, so you may take our carriage without ceremony, for we have no immediate need of it ourselves. I trust that, upon her ladyship’s return, we shall take leave of Rosings with all proper attention.”
Mr. Collins received this accommodation with gratitude proportioned rather to his feelings than to the occasion, and, having repeated his acknowledgements with increasing fervour, withdrew in visible haste, eager to justify the confidence reposed in him by a punctuality which admitted neither delay nor reflection.
The party thus reduced, Miss de Bourgh conducted her remaining guests into the parlour, where, relieved for a time from the immediate influence of Mrs. Younge, her manner gained both ease and openness, and she conversed with a degree of animation which, though quiet, revealed a mind far more alive to observation than her usual reserve had suggested.
It was not long before Mr. Darcy entered. His manner was composed, yet Elizabeth could not but observe that his attention moved first, and almost involuntarily, toward her father, as though the conversation of the preceding evening had not been lightly dismissed in his own mind. After the customary exchange of civilities, Miss de Bourgh, watching both gentlemen with more understanding than was commonly attributed to her, turned to her cousin with a quiet earnestness.
“Perhaps, Cousin, you would show Mr. Bennet the library,” she said. “I think our guest may find there something worth his notice, and I should be glad if he did.”
Mr. Darcy required no second encouragement. He assented at once, and, addressing Mr. Bennet with proper civility, invited him to accompany him, which proposal was accepted without hesitation, for Mr. Bennet, whose curiosity was seldom idle and was not insensible to the advantages of such an opportunity.
The gentlemen had not proceeded far along the corridor when they encountered an elderly servant advancing with a tray upon which several letters were arranged with habitual exactness, and Darcy, recognising him immediately, addressed him with a familiarity that spoke of childhood recollection rather than mere household authority.
“Flint, I think,” he said, “you have the morning post.”
“Yes, sir,” returned the old man, bowing with a respect touched by old attachment, “it has but just been brought in.”
In the absence of his aunt, Darcy extended his hand without hesitation to take the tray; yet Flint, after surrendering it, remained where he was for a moment longer, as though something in him struggled between habit and necessity.
“If you please, sir, allow me a word.”
The gentleman nodded in approval.
“Mr. Wickham, sir,” he said at last, lowering his voice, “has lately given orders that all letters directed to him are first to be brought to his own hands; and there have been, if I may be permitted to say so, several such directions of late, which sit somewhat uneasily with the old order of the house.”
Darcy’s expression altered very little, but his attention sharpened at once.
“You have known me a long time, Flint,” he said quietly. “If you believe something ought to be spoken, you may speak it.”
The old servant inclined his head.
“I have known you, sir, since you were no higher than that cabinet,” he replied, with grave sincerity, “and I would not willingly mislead you. Those who have served longest in this house do not take easily to Mr. Wickham’s ways. There is little liking for him below stairs, save with Mrs. Younge, and the stableman he brought with him, and even that constancy appears to many of us more familiar than it ought to be.”
Darcy accepted this without visible surprise, though the line of his mouth grew more severe. The old servant bowed and left.
Among the letters, one bearing Wickham’s name immediately distinguished itself by the freshness of its direction and the unfamiliar character of the hand.
“That is quickly arranged,” he observed, separating it from the others with quiet restraint. “I see Mr. Wickham’s correspondence finds him here with remarkable promptness for a gentleman so newly established.”
Mr. Bennet, whose attention had been silently engaged, now approached, and took up the letter with an interest which, though unhurried, was by no means slight.
“A curious hand,” he said, turning it gently toward the light. “Not that of a gentleman writing at leisure, nor of a tradesman accustomed merely to invoices. The strokes are narrow, the inclination forward, the points set with care; a hand trained by repetition, and one accustomed to reckon more often than to reflect.”
Darcy watched him with a faint expression of interest.
“You infer a great deal, sir,” he said, “from very little that can be called certain.”
“I infer only what presents itself,” Mr. Bennet returned calmly. “I should be inclined to suspect a man of accounts—a broker, perhaps, or one employed in investments where speed and precision are valued above elegance. Not a poet, certainly, and not a merchant of ribbons.”
A faint, unwilling smile touched Darcy’s expression, though it vanished almost at once.
“We cannot know,” he said, “since we do not open it, sir.”
“Precisely,” Mr. Bennet said, still examining the letter, “but we may know enough to decide whether prudence requires more certainty.”
