Page 84 of A Question of Character

“And then?”

“And then I shall speak to Georgiana.”

Richard gave a brisk nod, satisfied for the present. “Good. Begin by apologizing for whatever you said in the hall.”

Darcy looked up.

His cousin’s face was unforgiving. “You said something. I know you. You were frightened, and when frightened, you become either silent or cruel.”

Darcy said nothing.

Richard’s mouth thinned. “Apologize.”

Darcy slipped the sealed letter into his coat pocket.

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”

eleven

The Evidence of Conduct

Meryton had altered very little in Elizabeth’s absence, though everyone in it appeared determined to persuade her otherwise.

Mrs. Long had chosen a new cap-maker and wished every acquaintance to admire the result without being asked. The Gouldings had obtained a new gig, which seemed to inspire both envy and concern among those who possessed neither. Mr. Robinson’s eldest daughter was said to have received an offer from a young man in Ware, though Mrs. Philips had serious doubts about his complexion and greater doubts about his mother. The butcher’s boy had grown two inches, according to Lydia, and none at all, according to Kitty, who insisted Lydia said so because he had once admired her bonnet.

In short, Meryton remained precisely itself. Elizabeth found comfort in that.

After Ireland, London, and all the summer’s movement, there was a peculiar pleasure in walking into the village with Jane and discovering the same shop windows, the same dusty road, the same women pausing at doors to inquire after her travels and then answer their own questions before she could do so. Mr. Gardiner’s business had given her a glimpse of warehouses, clerks, shipping concerns, and the practical machinery by which fortunes were made, maintained, and occasionally imperiled. Meryton, by contrast, treated the arrival of new ribbon as an event capable of sustaining conversation for three days.

Mr. Wickham’s presence had added considerably to that conversation.

He was, as Mrs. Philips liked to say, a very superior young man for the law. By this Elizabeth understood that he wrote an elegant hand, wore his coat well, and did not smell of ink unless one came upon him near the office after a long morning’s work. He lodged with an elderly widow in a small house near the church, kept regular hours, and had already earned such approval from Mr. Philips that her aunt could scarcely mention him without assuming an air of proprietary triumph.

“He has been at his books since seven this morning,” Mrs. Philips declared one Thursday when Elizabeth and Jane stopped in Meryton to purchase thread. “Seven! Mr. Philips says he works like a man who means to succeed. And he does not place himself above others, either. I saw him myself carrying old Mrs. Harker’s parcel when her rheumatism troubled her. A gentleman who carries parcels without making a display of condescension is worth ten who merely bow handsomely.”

Elizabeth could hardly disagree.

Over the next several days, evidence of Mr. Wickham’s usefulness presented itself in small, unforced ways. He walked a farmer through some question concerning a boundary agreement and refused payment for the explanation because, as he said, Mr. Philips had already been consulted on the matter. He read a letter for a tenant’s widow whose son had gone to sea and then wrote the answer while she sat beside him weeping into a handkerchief. When Mr. Denny and another young man attempted to draw him into cards at the assembly rooms, he laughed, shook his head, and said he had already paid dear enough for every lesson games of chance had ever taught him.

That last remark reached Elizabeth through Lydia, who repeated it with great satisfaction and some drama.

“He said it exactly so,” Lydia insisted, perched upon Elizabeth’s bed while Elizabeth changed her gown for dinner. “And Mr. Denny said he was growing dull, and Mr. Wickham said dullness was a vast improvement upon debt.”

“Very wise.”

“I thought so. Though I told him he must not become too dull, for then I could never marry him.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Lydia.”

“What? I shall be sixteen in November, and he says he will not speak to Papa properly before then, though I think that is very tiresome of him.”

“It is also sensible.”

“That is why it is tiresome.”

Elizabeth could not help smiling. “You might try admiring sense when it is offered for your own benefit.”

“I do admire it. I wish it were quicker.”