Posted on Thursday, 7 September 2006
It was with total vexation and a modicum of angst that Wickham left the house. Rejection in any form was not his genre, but when it came in the mode chosen by Miss Elizabeth Bennet, there would be hell to pay. She had not only insulted his character but she had embellished her refusal with a direct and cutting comment on his appearance. After that he couldn't quite recall what he said but felt it must be something to do with having many choices in marriage and how he would be off in no time to find the second.
Hunsford was a boring little village anyway with nothing for it but ale and animals. It actually made Lambton feel exciting. The following morning, his steed was suffering the pangs of rejection more than its rider as Wickham pounded the cobbles in an effort to escape. He rounded the corner approaching the bridge only to find a rather overdone and somewhat tasteless carriage stuck at the approaches. Groomsmen, and there did seem to be an overabundance of them, were everywhere, but the angle of the vehicle made it almost impossible for even a horse to pass.
Pulling to a halt, he leapt off his mount and began to strut towards the offending parties.
"Move the carriage!"
The replies were in the form of mumbles as the men tried to rock the trap back and forth hoping the wheel would dislodge from the rut. Wickham was about to offer verbal assistance but was interrupted by a voice from the gathering crowd. Although stating the obvious, this brought the rest of the parties out of their own ruts and everyone began offering advice. The only men getting muddy and doing the work preferred to ignore the tertiary comments and continued the rocking.
After some minutes of rejoinders amongst the crowd, the curtains on the left side of the carriage were pushed apart and a meek, pale face peeped out, waving a genteel gloved finger. Wickham tiptoed past the muddy equipage to see who was so immuned to illness due to excessive motion that they would stay aboard during a quite vigorous to-ing and fro-ing.
"Madam?" asked Wickham with a definite swagger in his step and speech.
"Wickham, it's you!" came from inside the curtains.
"It certainly is madam...Anne, is that you....er I mean Miss de Bourgh, is that you?"
"Oh Mr. Wickham, I'm so glad to see you. Would you assist me from the carriage?"
"Of course, but why are you still in there? Surely you should have exited immediately you got stuck."
"I did not get stuck, Mr. Wickham, the carriage did."
"Oh for God's sake, do you always have to be so pedantic?"
"I am merely right, Mr. Wickham. And I would request that you address me politely at all times or else I shall...."
"Tell your mother! Oh for God's sake, I've heard you prattle on like this for twenty years or more. It's time you stood up for yourself."
He turned the latch on the door and with one sweep of his arm, had her hopping down the step. She brushed her skirts, straightened her bonnet, adjusted each finger of her gloved hands while he stood with one leg artfully forward, waiting.
"So have you finished? Can we move away from this mess to some place suitable while your men endeavour to get you unstuck?"
"I wish to stay. I am in a hurry to return home."
"That may be, but unfortunately until this carriage is moved you are not going anywhere and neither am I. I cannot abide a village with only one bridge."
Delighted to point out that the village was not an island and that there was another way out, Miss de Bourgh began a rather detailed account of the roads in Hunsford, all to a blatant and rather insolent look from Mr. Wickham. When she had finished he bowed and returned to his horse. Miss de Bourgh took this as the insult it was intended to be and walked briskly up behind him.
"I would request your assistance back to the inn, Mr. Wickham."
"Very well then, take my arm," he replied, rather astounding himself with his lack of retort. The walk back across the cobbles was slow due to the lady's small booted heels and the rather warm feeling of her hand on his arm. Having witnessed the blockage, the innkeeper was more than ready to offer sustenance and comfort to his two wealthy customers and showed them to his best table in a discreet section of the room.
"Coffee, Miss de Bourgh?" he asked with due reverence.
"Yes, and some cake. Do you have cake?"
"Yes, certainly. And for the master?"
"Ale, and no cake!"
The innkeeper made off, leaving the two sitting opposite each other with nothing to say. Some minutes of deliberate observation of the room and its contents and complete avoidance of each other ensued before Miss de Bourgh looked back.
"Might I ask why you are in Hunsford, Mr. Wickham? I have only ever seen you at Pemberley or in town."
Unthinking, he began with the truth and said that he had come to see Miss Bennet. Miss de Bourgh sighed heavily which did not go unnoticed by Mr. Wickham.
"Am I boring you, Miss de Bourgh?"
"Not at all. In fact I have never seen you so ready to speak truthfully. And it is the truth because you look so hurt."
"Oh I'm not hurt as such. Well yes I am hurt. Offended actually. I mean if a gentleman makes an offer, it seems to me that he deserves civility in response, even if the reply is unwelcome in its tone."
"Ah, Miss Bennet."
Miss de Bourgh was too polite to state that she would never expect Miss Elizabeth Bennet to accept him. Instead she tilted her head just to the right angle to indicate sympathy and sighed again, with just a slight flutter of her lids. Mr. Wickham was not resistant to the way of females but he had never been subjected to such treatment from the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
He pushed back in his chair, picked up his ale and drank heartily, a thought, in fact a series of thoughts, formulating in his head. Miss de Bourgh, not without her own arts, was doing much the same as she sipped, as prettily as she could, on the side of a rather indelicate cup. Some minutes again passed with each determined to wait for the other, until at last, Miss de Bourgh pushed her last slice of cake towards him.
"I can never abide a hungry man, Mr. Wickham. Please have some cake."
"I think I just might."
The next hour was spent in conversation that moved from stuck carriages to overbearing mothers, arrogant friends, ladies with looks and no worth, gentlemen with arts and allurements, and heiresses with no prospects other than wealth to fritter.
Through all this, Mr. Wickham found himself more engaged then he expected by the tilt of a possibly pretty face, the excited hiccup in her laugh and her heavy purse. Miss de Bourgh found herself more and more comfortable with a craft she had rarely used before and was ever thankful to Miss Elizabeth Bennet for her lessons, albeit uncalled for and unknown by the teacher. In fact it was quite disappointing to both that the footman arrived to say that the carriage was at last unstuck.
He watched as her carriage traversed the bridge before he mounted and followed, taking the opposite direction after crossing the river.
It was now November and despite a close call with a rather attractive but conniving woman, Mr. Wickham was quite flushed with funds due to success at the gaming tables. In fact he was now in possession of some thousands of pounds, well a few thousand at least, and he was desperately trying to find something to do with it all. There was an estate of course, but that would mean he'd have to stay there quite often and he had always been adverse to such ideas. There was a continuation of his previous lifestyle but that also had begun to lose appeal. Then there was marriage but why, when he was quite comfortable alone and had no immediate need of fortune.
Word had reached him of the impending marriage of Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Darcy! It brought a rather too eager feeling of glee when he thought of her caught in Darcy's trap. Pemberley was a large estate but it lacked any degree of flourish or adornment considered necessary to maintain visible status. And the man himself, well, he had lost all chance of spirit. Yes, she would do well confined to the hills of Derbyshire. Of course he would happen to be in Meryton later this month, just to see the union. A man with a new fortune had definite need to show it off.
So he found himself seeking accommodations in the village at a time when many others were also seeking it. It was at a time like this that a gentleman was glad of money. He found superb rooms nearby and hired a suitably impressive hack to transport himself around. It was early on a Thursday morning when he saw that familiar carriage passing down past the pig pens at the end of the street. The curtains were drawn but there was no mistaking the occupant. He waited until it halted in front of the inn before happening to halt just beside it.
He was about to make comment when the mother alighted first. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was overdressed in various forms of decoration including a rather huge and top-heavy concoction on her head, made of feathers and silk bows. After manoeuvring herself out in a way that showed vast experience in maintaining headgear, she stood erect and straightened her skirts in exactly the same way as he'd seen her daughter do, then proceeded to intimidate all those around her by a mere glance. She was followed by her daughter, dressed more simply but no less adorned. She glanced at Wickham with the slightest hint of acknowledgement and proceeded to follow her mother.
Caught in the clasp of feelings he had no knowledge of, or desire for, he sat quite still, staring at the place she had been.
"Wickham, what has become you?"
He turned to Denny, a long-time and seldom seen friend standing beside the hack.
"Are you in spirits, man?"
Wickham shook his head and moved off, leaving Denny wondering if his usual cologne had failed him again.
The next morning, the village was agog with tales of Lady Catherine's visit and the various accounts that followed her appearances. She was supposed to have castigated Mr. Bingley, insulted the clergyman, had sliced ham and tomatoes for dinner along with treacle pudding, brought her own tea, two abigails, seven footmen---one extra just in case, eleven trunks, an ironing woman, and one simply to do her hair. The actual reason for her visit was never quite understood and as she departed almost as soon as she arrived, it was left to the speculation of Meryton as a whole and there was nothing quite like Meryton conjecture to drum up a story. In the end it was resolved that she had brought gifts for the bride of her nephew.
Meanwhile Mr. Wickham had recovered quite quickly from his stupor and thought he was cured, that is until he found out that Lady Catherine and her daughter had left. Suddenly he was back in the throws of disturbance, with a head full of wool, and a burning feeling in his chest. In fact he felt quite sick. His attendance at the wedding did nothing to improve his health and he found himself more than happy to be gone to town.
There he settled in lodgings somewhat above his usual status and began to frequent the usual drinking troughs of young single men. It was quite early one morning on his return from such an outing that he encountered two ladies taking the morning air. One was obviously an abigail but her mistress was unmistakable. Without any thought to what he would say, he increased his pace until he was able to overtake them.
"Miss de Bourgh."
"Mr. Wickham."
"I was unaware you were in town."
"My whereabouts has never been for public knowledge, let alone yours sir."
"My apologies for such expectation. You are well?"
"And my health is even less for your knowledge, Mr. Wickham. Good morning."
She lifted her cape and proceeded to march past him. He spun to watch her go and was hit once again with a strange feeling of disorder within his brain and a rather nauseous feeling in his stomach. Obviously one too many cups of something on the eve, he decided, and sauntered off to his bed.
However sleep eluded him for the first time in his life. A night out had always ensured a restful day but here he was lying awake, suffering a mild but annoying headache and enduring a continuing feeling of sickness. It was almost 3 p.m. when his friend Thomason was announced.
"Wick, what are you doing still undressed?"
"Can't seem to get going today."
"Are you ill? You were in fine spirits last night."
"I don't think I'm ill. I'm not sure. I have never felt like this in my life."
"How do you feel?"
"Ah, a little sick, headache. I met Miss de Bourgh on the way home."
"Miss de Bourgh? Do I know her? Is she worth knowing? Has she fortune?"
"Why to you always refer to a lady's fortune, Thom?"
"Wick, you are sick. After all, it's all that matters."
"It is possible for a lady to be...of worth...with fortune."
"That resolves it. You are sick, love sick."
"Never in my life. Well almost once but it went away."
"Then why the defence of such a lady?"
"I have no idea."
"You see? Sick!"
"Oh begone, will you. I need some rest."
"With pleasure. I cannot abide a love-sick fool. Good day!"
Mr. Wickam returned to his bed but sleep was not his friend. Instead he began to relate these strange feelings to certain occurrences in his life and it was within a few short minutes that his nausea returned in full swing and his temper equalled it.
"Damn! I can't stand the woman, or her mother!"
That said, he determined to rid himself of any thoughts of Miss Anne de Bourgh, sickly weak creature that she was, and think only of lively ladies without mothers. This new mood lasted approximately one hour until he was once more overwhelmed with thoughts only of Anne. He grew angry, threw books, drank two glasses of ale, attempted to tie a new scarf and generally did little to improve his spirits. Feeling that there was nothing for it but to deal with the situation, he sought information from his man as to the possible appearances of the lady in question. Being informed that she rarely set foot outside without her mother, he determined that her early morning walk might be his only chance. That done he slept well all night, arising around 6 am, in time to catch any early birds.
And success he had, as she was found in almost the same spot, at the same time, with the same abigail, taking the air.
"Miss de Bourgh, we meet again."
"Indeed we do Mr. Wickham, but that does not mean it is welcome."
Ignoring any attempt on her part to be rid of him, he pulled into step beside her.
"I do enjoy the morning air," he said quickly.
"I prefer it alone, sir," she replied, but happened to catch his eye as she said it. That was enough to lose him and he determined not to be got rid of at all.
"Are you in town long, Miss de Bourgh?"
"My mother determines...I am unsure, Mr. Wickham. However I do not wish to be...are you following me, Mr. Wickham?"
"Why would you say such a thing?"
"Well you seem to...to pop up unannounced quite often. I know your game sir."
Genuinely shocked he retorted, "Game, madam? I do not play games."
"Oh please, Mr. Wickham. The family is well aware of your...indiscretions...or games as I call them. We will not be had again."
"Had, madam? I have never had you."
Blushing profusely, she pulled her parasol over her face and increased her pace. He scurried after her with the abigail in tow.
"Miss de Bourgh, you must know that I did not mean...well I meant only that I have never sought to...to...to..."
"You see even you cannot quite express what you have done to my family. You have done us much wrong."
"Choosing not to take up a living that was thrust upon me is hardly doing wrong, madam."
"But attempting to change the wishes of my much adored uncle, does. And that you did, sir."
Caught in the early throws of adoration, Mr. Wickham lost all his sense and blurted out, "May I call on you Miss de Bourgh?"
Her expression was one that had never in all her twenty-eight years crossed her face. No one had ever asked her such a question and as a result she had no answer to it at all. Instead she stopped, listened to the gasp of her abigail, looked up at her parasol, then down to her boots, and waited.
Mr. Wickham, in no less a mood because he had never expected to hear himself say such a thing, let alone to Miss Anne de Bourgh, stood straight and looked at the cobbles ahead.
Some minutes passed with the only sound being the heavy breathing of the abigail before Miss de Bourgh glanced very slightly in his direction and moved on. That glance, without any meaning at all from the lady, was enough to have him sick to his stomach and as alive as he had ever felt. He positively ran back to his lodgings to formulate his plan.
Darcy was a problem. However if he could but woo the lady a little more, then she would stand against her cousin as she always seemed to dislike him a little, and he was now too busy keeping his bride happy at Pemberley. Her mother was the big stumbling block but with a little persuasion from the lady, perhaps even she could be convinced that he was of good enough character to visit her daughter when of course the world knew that there was no one else willing. After all he had some money now and, damn it, he liked the woman. That single thought was his stumbling block. He had never desired to be in love and even less to the most undesirable woman of his acquaintance. But suddenly he realised that she was not undesirable. That description was of the Anne he knew in the drawing rooms of Rosings where she languished, without any favour, in the shadow of her mother. And of course there was her wealth. That must always add to any woman's favours. Although he had come into a few thousand, it was quickly dwindling. What better scheme he could not think of. A lady with some appeal and a fortune!
His plan therefore had to be carried out when the mother was not present. She would never allow him to call until Anne said so first and he would never see the side of the lady he loved while her mother was present. It was all so complicated. And to think he might have settled for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, with her constant talk and opinions of no worth.
"Gordon, come here man. I have a plan."
And a plan indeed it was. First he had his man determine the possible single outings of the lady by frequenting the many places her abigail was seen. Then he did the same with the mother, knowing that time alone with Miss de Bourgh was his only hope of moving forward. Thus he spent many mornings walking the cobbles around her residence, many more hours lingering in book shops, tea halls, and outside modistes, all in the hope that consistency would win the day.
Miss de Bourgh did indeed become more used to his appearance and less objectionable in her demeanour. In fact she simply got used to him and in doing so increased his hope of further commitment. He laughed at anything she smiled at, bought any book she picked up, walked the paths that she walked, and rode the cobbles that her carriage passed over. He absorbed every part of her life and self that he could, becoming a man unrecognisable to his friends or even himself. He became a man with no thoughts of anything or anyone other than her. When he saw her with others, jealousy sank his heart, but as this was Miss Anne de Bourgh, he had no concern of a rival. The lady was simply not in anybody's mind except his.
During these sightings, he smiled, charmed and wooed to the best of his ability, while the lady seemed to return his feelings in the best way she could, with glances, sighs, giggles and other nuances that she had seen used by others.
Winter in town was busy but by early February, the streets were mush, grey pervaded the city, and the de Bourgh's decided it was time to return to Rosings. This day was one that Mr. Wickham was dreading as he could see no way to frequent her presence in such a small village as Hunsford. There could be nothing accidental there. Thus he chose to make one last attempt to see her.
Dressing carefully, a little money was indeed a good thing, and preparing his speech, he headed off to Lindstrom's Tea Shoppe where it was said that Miss Anne de Bourgh would be at 4 pm for high tea. A quick skim of the modes of transport lining the street, assured him that she was indeed keeping her appointment. He paraded past the door, tilted his hat in order to see through the windows without seeming obvious and crossed the road to get a better look without reflection. And it was all in vain. It was impossible!
There was nothing for it but to enter and stand the consequences. And thus he did, removing his hat before handing it to the man.
First to sight him was Miss Caroline Bingley, still single, still elegant and still frightening suitors. He bowed slightly upon catching her eye but managed to artfully avoid any further acknowledgement. He scanned the room with the eye of a desperate man, spotting Miss de Bourgh listening intently to Mrs. Darcy!
Mrs. Darcy did not seem the least improved upon marriage but then who would when married to that pompous old stick Darcy. This was probably the first time she'd been allowed out without him. As those thoughts were formulating some satisfaction in his mind, the man in question sat down with the ladies and even appeared to smile. Probably a strawberry seed caught in his teeth! As Wickham was about to escape, he was seen by the gentleman who immediately rose and went after him.
"Wickham! What are you doing here?"
"I have long given up following your orders, Darcy. Ordering me from town was amusing at most."
"I want you nowhere near my wife."
"Oh Darcy, dear boy, jealousy never became you."
With that he walked out of the teashop, annoyed and frustrated at being thwarted once more by Darcy. He loitered, lingered, skulked and lurked up and down the street for over one hour before seeing Miss de Bourgh exit alone. Alone! Instantly he pounced.
"Miss de Bourgh?"
"Oh Mr. Wickham." There was a lilt in her voice that he had never heard before and it elevated his hopes accordingly. She smiled quite fetchingly, catching him unawares and immediately hopeful.
"Miss de Bourgh...Anne. I must speak with you. I must..."
"What has become you Mr. Wickham? My cousin is most upset at your constant attention." She glanced up again at this point, catching his eye with just a hint of flutter. "I must be off Mr. Wickham. I have some business to conduct. Mr Darcy has just told me of a new fund, one where..."
"Please continue, Miss de Bourgh," he replied, sounding just a slight more anxious than he wished. Was this where Darcy earned his interest? A new fund was always worth knowing.
"I cannot speak further on the matter, sir."
"And I am too much of a gentleman to pursue it. May I accompany you home, madam?"
"To my carriage at least," she replied, twirling her parasol.
The small entourage approached the carriage with the abigail scurrying to arrange the lap blanket while Miss de Bourgh attempted to fold a sheet of paper and place it in her reticule. Just as she stepped inside, however, the paper fell to the cobbles, apparently noticed only by Mr. Wickham. He said nothing and simply watched the carriage pull away.
As soon as it was out of sight, he reached for the paper, unfolding it carefully in its dampened state.
Woolford and Sons, Solicitors, it read. The address was in the vicinity of the Darcy's legal officianados which gave the name extra interest. He pondered Anne's reaction to it. She seemed quite eager to deal with it and Darcy was always a good source of funds. Perhaps he had found a way to increase his meagre lot a little more.
He was about to pocket the note again when he saw the scratching of a pen on the other side. It read simply, "Please come tonight."
My god, she dropped it deliberately! He had no doubt of it. With spirits raised far beyond his expectations, he chose to deal with the business of success before he dealt with the business of happiness.
Hailing a hack he gave the address of Woolford and Sons and was off. The offices were old and dark and smelled of leather and wood oil. Having no appointment he chose to use personal references to gain credibility. The mention of de Bourgh, Darcy and even Fitzwilliam was enough to have the senior partner make time to see him.
Not really accustomed to the procedure of investment, Mr. Wickham thought his self-acknowledged charm would bring forth the information he needed. It seemed he was right and within half an hour he had drawn a draft to invest his money in one of the same funds used by Darcy.
He left the offices totally chuffed with himself. He had at last gained entry into the realm of those who had treated him with contempt. This and Anne's obvious admiration was all he needed. He would approach her tonight, sure she would accept him. He would be happy with Anne. That thought alone made him wonder at his transformation. He had never given her a second thought until that day in Hunsford.
He called at nine, feeling that was the proper hour to call upon one's intended. He was shown to a minor drawing room on the north side of the house where Anne was seated in a single glided chair covered with heavy fabric in a peacock design. She smiled, he smiled and then there was nothing left but to make his offer. She seemed not at all surprised and when she stood, he leaned towards her.
She turned, her face completely devoid of expression. He waited some lengthy seconds until she spoke.
"Mr. Wickham, I cannot possibly accept you. You are devious, dishonest, a rogue in fact. You spend your time gambling. You have nothing to offer me or anyone of worth and I would ask you to leave immediately.
He was shocked, stunned, incredulous.
"But Anne, Miss de Bourgh, my offer is honourable. I am extremely fond of you. I know that I have previously shown myself a lesser man but you will be pleased to know that I have a small amount, suitably invested in the funds. I know that I can never match your fortune but I am willing to spend my life adoring you."
"Oh please, Mr. Wickham! To my previous list may I also add fool! Good evening."
She pranced from the room as the man came to show him out.
Anne skipped into the library to be greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.
"Well?" said Darcy.
"Done!" was all Anne said.
"Oh such excellent news," added Mrs. Darcy. "My dear, have you spoken to Mr. Woolford?"
"It is all arranged. His money, what there was of it, will be donated on the morrow. Woolford and Sons, Solicitors, has unexpectedly closed. Shall we have a toast? I think it appropriate. And may I say Anne, you have outdone yourself."
"I do feel quite proud of my performance," said Anne. "In fact I found it fun. Have you anyone else you need to deal with, Fitzwilliam? I am quite at leisure."
The End