Page 5 of The Work of a Moment

“I know him as well as I ever wish to,” she said. “When my sister was ill, I spent four days in the same house with him and found him very disagreeable.”

Mr Wickham could not have been more eager to pursue this avenue of conversation and quickly began to tell her of the slights and grievances Mr Darcy had caused him since childhood. The portrait he painted of a spoilt villain was grim, yet Mr Wickham presented himself as resolute and cheerful despite the injustices Mr Darcy continued to inflict on him.

By the time he reached what Elizabeth hoped was the end of his sorry tale, her head was full of him, although not in the happy way a lady given the full attention of a handsome young man might wish. Instead, she thought of the quickness and ease with which Mr Wickham spoke of the injuries he had suffered at the hand of Mr Darcy moments after he had called him a good brother to his younger sister and assured her that he would never disrespect the memory of the elder Mr Darcy.

“Some time or other, Darcy’s actions will be made known, but it will not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him.” He looked at her with beseeching eyes that only days ago she would have found warm and wistful. Now his expression resembled Lydia’s when she wheedled her mother for a new bonnet. Elizabeth was as untouched by his complaints as she was by her sister’s pleadings.

Duplicity, not to mention gossiping to a near stranger, was as great a sin as those of which he accused Mr Darcy. Amongst the man’s many crimes, Mr Wickham had made no mention of him ravishing the servants. She supposed a lady’s ears were too delicate for such tales. Elizabeth did not especially like or respect Mr Darcy, but he was not cavorting with a maidservant in a house where the lady to whom he had been paying favour lay ill, nor was he maligning former friends to those he had just met.

She could not like that he condoned Mr Bingley’s ‘arrangement’ with a maid or that he was proud and ill-humoured. But when confined to Netherfield with Miss Bingley and her schemes, could she not apply the latter description to herself?

Tilting her head as if in deep thought, Elizabeth arranged her hands in her lap and smiled prettily at Mr Wickham. “By this you mean fully expose him, as opposed to your whispers to me here?”

He appeared startled, then in a ghastly alteration, his expression turned angry. She suspected he was as relieved as she by the laughing arrival of Miss Long and her brothers to their company, which gave him the opportunity to move away and find a more sympathetic friend.

Her mood worsened as she considered the four men she had met in the past weeks. Meryton had a dearth of eligible young men equal to or higher than the Bennets’ standing. Now four had arrived in less than two months, and not a one could be admired. Mr Collins was a fool, Mr Wickham was a telltale, Mr Bingley was a scoundrel, and Mr Darcy was⁠—

What is he? Certainly he was no favourite of Mr Wickham’s, but was he an accomplice to Mr Bingley’s villainy? Much as she did not like the man, she thought him too staid to support his capricious friend in such unsavouriness. After all, if Mr Darcy thought himself above the company of gentlefolk, he would not deign to speak to a servant with such warm familiarity, let alone dally with one. But to overlook his friend’s sordid behaviour? Disgusting!

The following day, when Mr Bingley and his sisters called at Longbourn to deliver an invitation to the ball, Elizabeth sat apart from the conversation. Miss Bingley’s health was fully canvassed, as was Jane’s, and it was determined all was well with lungs, stomachs, heads, and feet. Nothing could stand in the way of the ball and the happiness some expected to deepen as its result. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst might bemoan the possible attachment between their brother and her sister nearly as much as Elizabeth did, but Mr Bingley’s attentions to Jane continued to vex Mr Collins. When the repellent man was not bestowing his fawning attentions on Elizabeth, he was communicating his disappointed hopes for Longbourn’s prettiest daughter through loud sighs and wistful glances at Jane. Although besieged, Elizabeth would hold her tongue until the ball was over and continue to protect her sister from their cousin and Mr Bingley. She did all she could to keep the would-be lovers occupied in public conversation. She was aided in her scheme by Miss Bingley, whose support of Elizabeth’s insistence that everyone—even the pedantic Mary—express an opinion on any topic was met by Mr Bennet’s quizzical glances. Only the mud and the possibility that Jane could injure herself kept Mrs Bennet from insisting the couple walk out to gain some privacy.

The visit was thankfully brief, and Elizabeth was left again to parry Mr Collins’s attentions. If her cousin was too obtuse about the fairer sex to understand the disinterest and contempt in Elizabeth’s discourse, her father appeared intrigued by her verbal manoeuvres and shifting moods.

“Lizzy,” Mr Bennet called from his book-room after she had returned from a brisk solitary walk to the stream that formed the boundary between Longbourn and Netherfield. “Cease this endless rambling about the country and tell your papa what is the matter.”

She looked at the man she had long held as the exemplar of intelligence and good humour, who understood her thoughts better even than Jane at times. He was not a perfect man—impatient with his wife, biting in his teasing of his family, and mostly disinterested in the business of running an estate. But he did read philosophy, and he knew the world a bit, so she ventured a question.

“Are all men foolish? Can any be trusted?”

He looked less surprised than she had expected. “If you refer to Mr Collins, he is not shy about exhibiting his foibles. In that you may trust, Lizzy.” He chuckled at her expression. “And do trust your papa. No matter what your mother may wish, I will not part with you or Jane to such a ridiculous nodcock.”

Although hardly surprised by his assurance, her gratitude kept her from further enquiries. She would not speak to him about Mr Bingley and let her father be satisfied with his advice.

CHAPTER 5

Inconstancy of Character

While her sisters counted the days until the ball, Elizabeth found herself thankful for heavy rains to keep Jane and Mr Bingley separated. Once the day finally arrived, Elizabeth could say little of the event, even though her sisters and mother were pleased to speak of it every moment from morning until they were seated in the carriage in their gowns.

She was met with disappointment at every turn. Mr Wickham, whom she had wished to challenge further, did not appear, whilst Mr Collins was seemingly everywhere, danced badly, and would not cease his attentions. Mr Bingley smiled too much and attached himself to Jane, whose quiet contentment was painful to observe.

Elizabeth stood with Charlotte, grieving the eagerness of Mr Bingley and the guilelessness of her dear sister and wondering how best to separate them. She could not allow Jane to condemn herself to such a hollow, insincere man.

“Lizzy, why do you look so fiercely at Mr Bingley? I thought it was his friend who so displeased you.”

She turned to Charlotte. Though Elizabeth was too wise to share what she knew, she was desperate to at least voice her reservations. But before she could speak, Mr Darcy imposed himself between the two ladies and requested she dance a set with him! Why? Why must he plague her?

Her feelings of disappointment in Mr Bingley were so sharpened by irritation at his friend’s application that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility. She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him and turned away with a degree of ill humour that only worsened with every glimpse of happy couples whose fidelity she had never questioned—until now. After all, if the open sincerity of Mr Bingley was false, what could be believed about anyone?

But Elizabeth was not formed for cross spirits, and she set forth to use her time wisely with Mr Darcy. Although many subjects could be canvassed, nearly all of them centred on his choice of friends and enemies.

His expression seemed as impassive as ever until he came closer, when she could see she was mistaken. His countenance was aloof, but his dark eyes were lively as he took her hand and they began the steps of the dance. Was it the exertion of the activity, or was he mocking her silence?

“When you met us in Meryton the other day,” she said brightly, “we had just been forming a new acquaintance, one who I have since learnt is an old friend of yours.”

The effect of her words was immediate. The mirth disappeared from his eyes, and a deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features. After a long moment, Mr Darcy said in a constrained manner, “Your new ‘acquaintance’ is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends, although it is less certain whether he is equally capable—or deserving—of retaining them.”

A savage but well-aimed insult! Smiling prettily, she asked, “You retain your friendships, such as that of Mr Bingley? Is it a well-deserved friendship?”