The Companion Read online

  “I would be happy to accompany you, Miss Bennet.” She shot a glance at him and Darcy wondered if he was being a little too open too soon, and he added: “Perhaps we could make a party of it. Georgiana enjoys the gardens, and I think Anne would enjoy them too.”

  “I would be happy to go with you then, sir.”

  They turned and began to walk back along the banks of the lake, and from thence they struck a path which would take them east toward Mayfair and his house. For a first attempt at coming to know her better, Darcy thought it had been remarkably successful. He reveled in the comfortable silence which had fallen between them as they strode back toward his home and hoped there would be many such events in the future, for he fully intended to make her his wife.

  So intent was he on his own reflections that he almost did not notice when she stopped and faced him, and he noted for the first time the seriousness of her countenance. His heart fell a little.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, but though I am reluctant to end our tête-à-tête with so objectionable a subject, I feel compelled—not only because of what I have learned, but also due to certain worries I possess of the situation in Hertfordshire—to approach you concerning what I am certain is a delicate subject.”

  “Of course, I am at your disposal, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, taken aback by her behavior.

  “Thank you, sir. I should like to ask you concerning Mr. Wickham, who I am aware is known to you. Can you tell me what kind of man he is?”

  And with those words, the good feelings, the wonder of the morning, the closeness he had felt in her company, all vanished.

  Though Elizabeth could not know exactly of what Mr. Darcy’s thoughts consisted, it was clear to see that his good mood had disappeared. She was not certain of the wisdom of bringing this matter to his attention, but Elizabeth’s reflections the previous days had produced a heightened sense of worry for her sisters and the people of her home. She had concluded that she did not know the man, and the more she thought of it, the more she feared that the defects in his character of which she was aware likely meant greater vices. Kitty and Lydia, silly and stupid as they were, would be a target for an unscrupulous man interested in naught but his own pleasure. It was imperative that Elizabeth learn as much as she could as quickly as possible, so her father could be warned.

  “Mr. Wickham?” echoed Mr. Darcy, the smile running away from his face.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth, gathering the cloak of her courage about her.

  “I believe we spoke of Mr. Wickham once before Miss Bennet. Did you not take heed of my words?”

  Elizabeth was made uncomfortable by the intensity with which Mr. Darcy regarded her, but she gazed back defiantly, determined not to be intimidated. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, but if you recall, that conversation was adversarial in nature, and at the time we were not on congenial terms.”

  “I know not of what you speak, Miss Bennet. By my account, we have always been friendly."

  “We have?” asked Elizabeth, eying him with skepticism. “What of our frequent disagreements, both at Netherfield when I stayed there and during our dance? What of the necessary traits of an accomplished woman, and the fact that I was made to feel like I could not be counted as one myself?”

  “That was put forward by Miss Bingley, if you recall.”

  “I suppose it was, though it seems to me your agreement with her position was assured. If not those instances, what about the phrase ’not handsome enough to tempt me’?”

  Mr. Darcy frowned, as if attempting to recall, but Elizabeth decided they had argued for long enough.

  “I did not mean to bring up disagreeable memories, Mr. Darcy. Let us agree to leave those in the past. What interests me is your understanding of Mr. Wickham’s character, his habits, etc. I wish to know how he has come to this point in his life.”

  “Then you still take an eager interest in the gentleman.”

  Elizabeth was startled by the resentment in Mr. Darcy’s voice, and she wondered why he should be so affected by this subject. A gentleman would wish for those of his acquaintance to be protected from the predations of another, would he not? The old specter of Elizabeth’s distrust for Mr. Darcy was aroused, and she once again wondered if she had been misled as to his character.

  But then sanity reasserted itself. Whatever Mr. Darcy was, it was obvious that Mr. Wickham had grievously misrepresented himself—Georgiana’s tears had not been feigned. Elizabeth again drew in the shards of her courage and faced Mr. Darcy, and this time her annoyance rose along with it.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy, I take an eager interest in Mr. Wickham. Would you like to know why?”

  It appeared that Mr. Darcy was aware of how he had offended her, for the look he returned was more than a little wary. “I am not certain, Miss Bennet. Mr. Wickham possesses the ability to please where he likes. I would not wish for you to be drawn in by his tales.”

  “Then I would ask you to answer me, Mr. Darcy. He has accused you of blasting his prospects, of betraying your father’s memory for nothing more than petty jealousy. I will own that when I first heard his tale, I was taken in by it. How could I not be? You were above your company and treated us all with barely concealed contempt.”

  “Treating others with contempt—if that is what you call it—does not necessarily suggest unchristian behavior.”

  “No, it does not,” replied Elizabeth, deciding to ignore his assertion. “But I knew no good of you, though I will confess that I knew no good of him either.

  “But let me say that I have heard other accounts of Mr. Wickham in recent days which put his character in an entirely different light. This has caused me to re-examine what I know of him and my interactions with him, and it has led me to much disquiet. It is for this reason I am asking you for your account of him. I care nothing for Mr. Wickham—I care for the security of the neighborhood and of my sisters who will have no defense against him if he is what I have come to suspect.”

  Having made her impassioned plea, Elizabeth fell silent, hoping it was enough to induce him to be explicit. Mr. Darcy regarded her for several moments with apparent dispassion, though she could not be certain, given his inscrutability. At least the anger of the previous moments seemed to have dissipated.

  “If you recall, Miss Bennet,” said he, “I informed you that Mr. Wickham was not a man to be trusted.”

  “Yes, you did. But you must see that your warning was given in a most ambiguous manner. Would you have me indict a man based on nothing more than the assertion that he is unable to retain friends?”

  “It seems you convicted me on similar grounds.”

  It was a challenge, and one Elizabeth knew was deserved. “I have already confessed to my culpability in the matter, Mr. Darcy. I was wrong to put such faith in his words. But I abjure you, sir—if there is some danger to my family or friends, I ask you to inform me, so that I may share your information with my father.”

  Mr. Darcy turned away and looked back down the path toward the Serpentine from whence they had come. For the first time since she had asked him the question, Elizabeth looked about. There was no one nearby, for which she was grateful, though it could not be said that they were alone on the path. In the future, she decided that she must take care, for it would not do to be found in a compromising situation with a man who found her only tolerable.

  At length Mr. Darcy sighed, and he turned back to her. “There may be some danger from Wickham, though it may not be what you fear. Since he has mentioned the living, can I also assume you know of the connection between us?”

  “Only what he was willing to tell me, sir,” replied Elizabeth, her sense of relief at his willingness to speak of Mr. Wickham settling the nerves which had made themselves known in the past few days. “He said he was the son of your steward, that he was known to you from a young age. The only other thing he spoke of in depth was the living which he said was denied by you.”

  Mr. Darcy huffed, his irr
itation plain to see. “That is one of the reasons why he is dangerous, Miss Bennet. He injects just enough of the truth into his tales to make the rest of it sound reasonable. His connection with my family is true enough, as is the bequest in my father’s will. However, the connection was dissolved five years ago after my father’s passing, though he still returned from time to time to beg for more money because ‘he was my father’s favorite’ and I have not ‘discharged my duties’ with respect to his future.”

  Mr. Darcy’s snort told Elizabeth everything she needed to know of his feelings for Mr. Wickham’s assertions. “Unfortunately, Mr. Wickham leaves out the damning aspects of the story. My father did ask me to advance him in his chosen career as much as I could, and if he should choose to take orders—which my father and his hoped he would—that a valuable family living be given to him for his support.

  “But you must understand, Miss Bennet, that Mr. Wickham is in no way suited to be a parson, as his character will not allow it. Yes, I thought highly of him when we were young, but the older we grew, the more I realized he was of a depraved character, dissipative and grasping. His faults included, amongst other things, a fondness for gaming, a penchant for petty theft, though always cleverly executed, and a like fondness for the company of young ladies of . . . questionable morals. If it was only houses of ill repute he visited, it would be better, but he has no respect for any woman and will seduce any who catch his fancy, whether servant or gentlewoman. To the best of my knowledge he has never had the opportunity to seduce one of higher standing, though it is not for want of trying.”

  As her worst fears seemed to be confirmed, Elizabeth made to interrupt, but Mr. Darcy held up a hand to silence her. “I understand you will have questions, Miss Bennet, but if you will, it would be much simpler if you allow me to tell you all. I will then answer any questions you might have remaining.”

  “Of course, sir,” replied Elizabeth softly.

  Mr. Darcy paused for a moment and then took up his tale again. “As I mentioned, my father did recommend Mr. Wickham in his will to be put forward to receive a family living if he took orders, and my father, furthermore, instructed me to assist in his support in obtaining the skills to undertake the profession of his choosing, if he did not choose the church. I have discharged this obligation, though he maintains I have not. Either way, he is no longer entitled to the living by his own agreement.

  “Not long after my father’s death, Mr. Wickham came to me to receive his inheritance.” Mr. Darcy snorted. “He was to be disappointed, as I am certain he thought my father would bestow upon him one of the secondary estates we own. Instead, my father left him an immediate bequest of one thousand pounds.”

  “That is a healthy bequest for a servant’s son,” said Elizabeth.

  “It is, indeed, though it was not what he had expected. He attempted to claim that my father’s affection for him made it unlikely that he was left so little. That is when I told him of the living.” Mr. Darcy’s smile was particularly mirthless. “He was less happy after I informed him of that.

  “He left Pemberley, and I did not see him for some months after. He already was in possession of his bequest, and I am certain he had already managed to begin depleting the funds. That was when he hit upon another scheme to obtain money from me. He returned, informing me that he had decided against taking orders and asserting his intention of studying the law, noting that he was more suited to such work. As such, he was certain I must agree that he could not support himself on the interest of one thousand pounds while thus engaged.

  “Mindful of my father’s wishes, I agreed and informed him I would be willing to compensate him for not taking the living with a more immediate pecuniary gift, to which he agreed with alacrity. I knew he ought not to be a clergyman, so I was eager to pay him off and induce him to leave, so long as he resigned—in writing—all claim to the living and any future obligations from the Darcy family. Seeing only the money he was to immediately obtain, he agreed. Of course, he wanted more for the living than I would ever give him, but such is his greed. He requested ten thousand pounds.”

  “Ten thousand pounds?” asked Elizabeth, incredulous of the man’s audacity. “Surely a living, no matter how valuable, could not be worth a quarter that much.”

  “You are correct, of course.” Mr. Darcy sighed. “I gave him too much, I suppose. Though I certainly would not allow him to extort that much money from me, I was eager to see him gone, and I did not bargain hard enough because of it. In the end, we settled at three thousand pounds. I wrote him a bank draft, arranged for him to receive his money, and he departed, but not until after I told him never to return to Pemberley.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Three thousand pounds, in addition to the one thousand he already had, is a healthy sum for anyone. A man could live for many years on such a sum, as long as he was prudent.”

  “Prudence has never been one of Mr. Wickham’s virtues, Miss Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I have kept track of him over the years, employing investigators to inform me of his movements. The money I gave to him slipped like water through his fingers. Of his particular habits I will not speak openly, for it is not a subject to be discussed with gentle ladies. I believe you can guess for yourself how he comported himself.

  “After about three years had passed, he returned, demanding the living. The study of the law he found quite unprofitable, and he was now determined to take orders. He was certain I had no one else for whom I needed to provide, and as the living had recently fallen vacant, if I would only put him forward, he would take orders immediately.”

  “So you did refuse to give him the living.”

  “I did. But only after he had received compensation and had signed the document renouncing all claim of it. I had him escorted from Pemberley and informed him that he would not be given admittance again. Given his level of audacity, I doubt you will be surprised to know that he abused my name to everyone with whom he came in contact. I suspect he burned with a need for vengeance.”

  “There is no need to continue any further,” said Elizabeth, reaching out and laying a soft hand on his arm. “I have heard enough. It is clear he is a danger to my sisters, and I must inform my father.”

  “He is also a danger to Meryton,” replied Mr. Darcy. “He leaves debts wherever he goes. I have purchased enough of them to ensure he will spend the rest of his life in debtors’ prison, should I ever decide to prosecute. But there is one other matter of which you should be aware. Though I myself would wish to forget it, Mr. Wickham’s actions are clearly shown to be mercenary, as well as the depths to which he will go to obtain revenge.”

  “You need not speak of it, sir, for I am already aware of it.”

  Mr. Darcy gazed at her, surprise flowing from his very being. “You know?”

  “I do.” Elizabeth paused, ashamed of the distress she had caused Georgiana. “I happened to mention Mr. Wickham’s name in Georgiana’s hearing. Her distress was such that she recited to us what she had endured at his hands.”

  “Georgiana,” groaned Mr. Darcy and he turned and made to start back to his house.

  “You need not concern yourself, sir,” said Elizabeth, hurrying to catch him. “She is well and happy and, I think, relieved to have unburdened herself. Surely you have seen her demeanor these past few days?”

  “But—” protested Mr. Darcy as he hesitated.

  “She is well. And you may rest assured that her secret is safe with Anne and me. We shall never breathe a word of it.”

  Though he appeared uncertain still, Mr. Darcy stopped and regarded her. “Then I thank you for providing comfort to her. I have no doubt of your secrecy, for I was just about to tell you of her experience myself.”

  “I should not have mentioned that man’s name,” insisted Elizabeth. “Anne told me she suspected that Mr. Wickham was not a good man, but I did not listen to her. He has been such an enigma that I simply wished to know what Georgiana thought of him, never suspecting
she would respond in such a vehement way.”

  “I hope some good comes of it,” replied Mr. Darcy. “It has taken many months for her to recover from his actions. The event happened less than two months before I joined Bingley in Hertfordshire.”

  “Then that would explain your mood.” Elizabeth swallowed heavily, cursing herself for a fool. “Your sister was still your primary concern, and yet you had already agreed to assist your friend.”

  “Actually, that agreement came after.” Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Fitzwilliam’s family was acquainted with the details of these events, and I was told it would be best to absent myself from my sister for a time, for our individual distress was feeding the other’s, making it more difficult for us both. It was with the greatest reluctance that I left her behind.”

  Elizabeth heaved a sigh and looked at Mr. Darcy, knowing that she owed this man her regrets. Though she was uncomfortable, she would not shirk.

  “You have my hearty apologies, Mr. Darcy.” Her companion’s expression softened ever so slightly, which Elizabeth took as encouragement. “It is clear I have been vain and gullible in this matter. I should never have credited Mr. Wickham’s tales, and I should never even have listened to them, given how eager he was to share them. I am ashamed of myself.”

  “I do not blame you, Miss Bennet. I know how persuasive and charismatic Mr. Wickham can be.” Mr. Darcy turned away. “In fact, your account has told me that perhaps I have been mistaken too. I never should have allowed him to spread his lies in Meryton. I should have acted to keep him in check.”

  “Would you expose Georgiana to gossip, sir? Would Mr. Wickham not have retaliated?”

  Mr. Darcy shrugged. “I know not what he would have done. He is not as eager to tell stories of Georgiana, for he knows that Fitzwilliam would take a dim view of any gossip of her.”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam?” asked Elizabeth.

  “You do not know my cousin, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, a sudden amusement coming over him. “Fitzwilliam is amiable to all, but he is an implacable enemy when aroused. Fitzwilliam found Wickham after I had chased him from Ramsgate, and though he will not inform me of the contents of the discussion, Wickham, from all accounts, left the meeting shaken. I doubt he will tell tales any time soon—at least not about Georgiana.”