Page 17 of Wickham Likes 'Em Young
“He is the assistant to a barrister named Mr Nelson, and the two of them were consulting with Meryton’s solicitor, Mr Philips.”
“So Mr Wickham was withyour uncle?” Miss Bingley frowned.
“Yes, but only in a professional sense. I have of course asked my father to warn my uncle of Mr Wickham’s character…or lack of character, I should say.”
Mrs Hurst proceeded to voice her profound agitation about Mr Wickham being in Meryton, fretfully reporting it to her husband and brother, and reminding them who Mr Wickham was. Elizabeth listened carefully, wondering if she would find out if there was a connection between the debouched man and Miss Darcy, but everything Mrs Hurst said was general. “He gambles away all his money!” she exclaimed. “He runs up debts wherever he goes, and then he runs off without paying! And he ruins women…and it does not matter if they are servants or gentlewomen, he ruins them all!”
Elizabeth dared to look at Jane, to see how she was feeling about all this criticism. But Jane looked as serene as she ever did. Elizabeth wondered if that expression was merely a mask her sister wore…and she felt quite uncomfortable about the possibility that she did not really know her “dearest” sister.
When the correct time to leave was upon them, Mr Bingley insisted that they should stay a little longer. “We should take a walk!” he said with the enthusiasm of a beagle.
Miss Bingley pooh poohed the very idea, claiming that the weather was questionable, and as expected, Mr and Mrs Hurst demurred as well. However, Jane sweetly claimed a desire to take a stroll, and Elizabeth agreed as well, determined to stay near her sister.
Thus it was that Elizabeth, Jane, and Mr Bingley were perhaps sixty yards away from the manor house when the grey clouds shocked them by suddenly releasing their cache of stored water, not in drops but insheetsof rain, water descending like curtains announcing the end of any outdoor activities.
Jane gave a single, plaintive cry, and Mr Bingley uttered a litany of mild oaths, starting with a “zounds” and a “gadzooks.” Elizabeth said nothing at all but picked up her skirts a few inches and flat-out ran for the house. A footman was hurrying out with a single umbrella, and he reached Elizabeth first. Already drenched to her skin, Elizabeth waved her hand backwards and called, “Offer it to Jane!”
She reached the house and entered through the kitchen, standing there dripping water until a maid hurried up with a towel. “Mr Bingley and my sister are still hurrying back, and we are all wet through,” she said to the housekeeper as the woman rushed in.
Mrs Nicholls nodded and began issuing orders for blankets, dry clothes, hot baths, broth, tea, and fires. A very chilled Elizabeth looked forward to all the ways she could be warmedup. “Thank you,” she said as Mrs Nicholls led her to a room where several footmen were already bustling in with buckets of hot water. A maid stood from building up a fire; tucking her bellows under one arm and holding the ash box in her hands, she hastened out of the room. Another maid came in with a steaming cup of tea; the moment the footmen left, the maid locked the door and helped Elizabeth out of her wet garments. Thinking about how nice a large bathtub was, Elizabeth sank into the hot water, sipped on her tea, and almost immediately felt as if she had never been cold in her life.
She had never longed for riches, but luxuriating in the warm water, Elizabeth supposed that being as rich as Croesus would have some benefits.
CHAPTER 8
1 – 4 November 1811
Dressed in dry, borrowed clothing, Elizabeth checked again on her own sodden clothes and discovered that, although her chemise and petticoats were dry, her dress, pelisse, bonnet, and half-boots were still quite damp. She looked through the window and saw that the rainfall was still shockingly heavy. It was rare for a storm this violent to be unexpected, and Elizabeth was certain that going home in the carriage would be impossible. She imagined that they would have to stay the night, but she hoped that conditions would relent so that they could return home the next morning.
Elizabeth felt sad for herself to be stuck at Netherfield with a sneering hostess. Also, she had already visited the Netherfield library and found it wanting; at home she was in the middle of the latest poem by Walter Scott plus a history of “the worthies” of England. Still, her goal of keeping Jane busier with Mr Bingley, rather than possibly thinking about or even meeting with Mr Wickham, was certainly easier if they actually resided with the gentleman.
Her thick curls finally dry, Elizabeth pinned her hair in a simple style. She smoothed the borrowed dress, which was too long and which showed off much more of her bosom than shewas comfortable showing, and she again adjusted the fichu to cover herself as much as possible.
After one more look in the mirror, one more sigh over the ill-fitting dress, Elizabeth went down to dinner, carefully holding her dress up a bit to be safe as she went down the stairs.
The maid had informed her that they were to meet in the blue drawing room, and Elizabeth asked a footman for directions. Mr Bingley was the only resident in the room when she entered, and as he bowed to her curtsey, he said,“Again, I am so sorry that my harebrained idea of going for a walk resulted in you receiving a drenching!”
“That was quite, quite dreadful of you, sir,” Elizabeth teased. “I believe you should strive to better control the weather on your estate. Certainly such a thing as this could not happen at Pemberley.”
As she had intended, Mr Bingley laughed heartily. Unfortunately, Miss Bingley had entered mid-quip and huffed as she said, “Oh, dear, Miss Eliza, you seem fixated on Pemberley. I assure you that your interests in that direction will remain unrealised.”
Elizabeth turned to meet her hostess’s smirk with a perfectly straight face as she said, “Alas! Such a disappointment! I always wished to be the mistress of two mines and a sawmill.”
Miss Bingley looked uncertain again and asked about Jane’s whereabouts as the Hursts wandered into the room. Elizabeth was spared having to answer that she did not yet know the location of her sister’s guest chamber because, at that moment, Jane entered the drawing room.
As usual, Jane looked lovely. Her blond hair was coiffed in an elaborate and fashionable style, and her borrowed dress looked as if it were made for her. She was taller than Elizabeth, and less busty, so Miss Bingley’s clothing actually fit her.
“You look beautiful, Miss Bennet.” Mr Bingley bowed quite deeply, and Jane blushed prettily as she murmured her thanks.
Dinner was announced, and at first the only conversation was Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst prattling on about the latest gossip relayed via letters from “dear Henrietta” and “our dearest friend, Sophia,” whoever they were. Of course the gossip was about unfamiliar names and occasionally appalling incidents, and the conversation left Elizabeth and Jane out entirely. Which, Elizabeth supposed, was the point Miss Bingley hoped to make.
During the tiniest pause, when both women happened to take a bite at the same time, Elizabeth jumped in with determination. “I cannot help but wonder, ladies, if you have experienced theView of Messina in Sicily. I love panoramas, and I have not seen this one.”
Miss Bingley was delighted to report, with her superior smile even wider and more superior, that she had seen it, boasting that it exceeded all other panoramas ever exhibited. Elizabeth was glad to further the conversation—even the boasts—with questions about the panorama. She found it much more interesting than the doings of the unprincipled Lord Davies and the unknown Lady Marianne Villiers.
Also, Elizabeth noted with satisfaction, Jane and Mr Bingley were able to speak in low voices about goodness-knows-what.
By the time dessert was served, Elizabeth had managed to ask Mr Bingley’s sisters which concerts, plays, and operas they had attended recently, and although the women clearly attended such entertainments more to be seen than to actually watch and listen to great art, her endeavours still kept the conversation rooted on aspects of London life she knew a bit about and was interested in.
