The Redemption of Wickham-A Short Story
Posted on Tuesday, 10 October 2006
Author’s Notes: I know few of us have any sympathy for George Wickham, a wastrel and a rake, but this came to me while listening to P&P one day.
Darcy sat by the bedside of his once childhood friend whose body was racked through neglect and sickness, the wound from the lead bullet having poisoned his blood. He was now near the point of death.
Coughing spittle into his handkerchief in order to speak, Darcy glanced over at the doctor tending another patient, to have the elder gentleman give a slight shake of his head, letting Darcy know that nothing more could be done for Wickham. He was going to leave this world soon.
Sitting beside the sickbed, Darcy wondered why he had come, what reason could there possibly be to answer the call of a man who had done so much wrong to Darcy’s family, to have duped so many unknown others by the deceit of the man lying prone before him.
Wickham noticed the frown and tried not to cough more as he said, “You have been loyal to me, Darcy, though I don’t deserve anything from one whom I hurt so grievously.”
Darcy merely arched his brow, acknowledging the other’s sins. “It matters not, now.”
Wickham’s face seemed to go grey, dark circles beneath his eyes telling of his ill health. Still he made an effort to speak. “I once met a woman who would have been that good influence on me had I sense enough to recognize it at the time. Elizabeth Bennet, with her great wit and biting comments would have taken me to task if I ever got out of line.”
Darcy tensed at the mention of her name. He, too, had been witness to her biting reprisals, but her sweet disposition and forgiving nature, had caused him to become enchanted by her within a few meetings to be hopelessly drawn to her. He barely heard Wickham’s next words.
“As she had the very good sense to never care for me other than as a charming and indifferent acquaintance, she was spared the despair of being my liberator from evil.”
Darcy relaxed, knowing Wickham had never imposed upon her, calm enough to listen again more intently at the man’s final remarks of a life dissolute.
“You regret never having found someone to love you?”
“My regrets…” Wickham sighed. “My regrets are countless many, but the one that I find most acute is what I attempted with a child whom looked to me for guidance and friendship. Has she recovered, Darcy?”
Taking a deep breath before replying, Darcy nodded. “Yes, she got over the most trying years, and even expresses her forgiveness of you.”
A coughing fit prevented for a moment his asking what he wished desperately to know of the little girl whom he had almost ruined. “How does she do, Darcy? What news of her?”
Her brother’s eyes softened at the thought of his wonderful sister. “She came out last year, her confidence bolstered by several new acquaintances she met through my association. She is now engaged to a wonderful man who treasures her. They are to be married in spring.”
Wickham nodded, his eyes clouding over with unshed tears. “That is good news, then. I worried for her, Darcy, for what I attempted, that I had hurt her beyond repair. I am happy that she has rebounded. I wish her the best. Would you tell her that for me…if you think it would not bring back sad memories…”
“I will tell her, George.”
“I am glad she has such friends to bring her round. You said from your association? Do I know them?”
“Bingley brought them to my attention when he let an estate in Hertfordshire-”
“That is where the Bennet estate is located. The militia was quartered in Meryton for a time…”
“Yes, Bingley leased an estate not three miles from them, and became acquainted with many of the families in the that neighborhood…in fact he has recently wed the eldest Miss Bennet, Miss Jane-”
“Then you have met Elizabeth?”
“Yes, I made her acquaintance when Bingley’s party attended a dance at the Assembly.”
In Wickham’s excitement to know of news of that family, brought about coughing so violent that Darcy could see the red stain on the handkerchief, and offered the man a glass of water.
“Thank you, Darcy,” whispered Wickham after finally able to settle once more, his strength waning.
“We shared the affection of your father. Sometimes, I think he was more a father to me than my own, although I now wonder at the wisdom of that caring so for me.”
“What do you mean?”
More coughing ensued before Wickham could say, “The education that your dear father provided was my downfall. It showed me a world I would never be entitled, but wished to acquire nonetheless. Sometimes, I wish your father had never befriended me, Darcy. Perhaps had I remained in my own sphere I would have been merely resentful of the disparity of our circumstances rather than…” More coughing began that seemed wrenching the very life from him. His voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. “As it is, I grew not only resentful, but covetous to the point that I acted in such an infamous manner that was unforgivable.”
“And yet, you are forgiven, just the same.”
“By her?”
“Yes.”
“By you?”
“Yes.”
“Indeed?”
“I once spoke of my temper being called resentful, too unyielding to forgive the offenses of others. I have since been taught a hard lesson for my own offenses.”
“That is most remarkable, Darcy. How much you have changed since I saw you last.”
“For the better, I hope.”
Wickham could barely keep his eyes open now as a revelation came to him and he smiled. “So, she has taken you on, then?”
“Pardon?”
“Elizabeth chose you to improve upon.”
“Yes.”
Wickham’s head rested more heavily on the pillow, eyes closed now, the smile still about his face. He exhaled his last breath, “Good, she deserves to be cared for.”
“Yes,” Darcy whispered. “Yes, she does.”
He rose from the bedside, and with one last look at the man he had hated for so long, Darcy left all his resentment as he quitted the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were without, making arrangements to have the body taken to the local man for a coffin, and then carted by wagon back to Derbyshire where Wickham would be buried beside his own father and mother, not a great distance from Pemberley, the estate he had wished to be his home.
All three stood outside waiting, silent as there was nothing more to say of the man who for most his life had shamefully squandered every opportunity presented to him, only in death to be acknowledged as honorable, forfeiting his life for that of one of his comrades in battle. Elizabeth found Darcy’s hand. He intertwined his fingers with hers. Richard stood near gazing off into the distance, all three silent, waiting for the man to claim the remains of George Wickham for the funeral to come. Even now, each felt some responsibility for him, to lay to rest his remains, to remember him as a flawed individual with just a modicum of goodness within to shine through at the last.
The End