NOTE: This is a more serious chapter again, less of the snark and more of a writing experiment. I wanted to see if a more skillful interviewer would be able to get Wickham to reveal his own game.

A DISAPPOINTED MAN

"I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession—I was brought up for the church; and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now."

"Indeed!"

"Yes—the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."

"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but how could that be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did not you seek legal redress?"

"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it—or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short, anything or nothing."

"Extravagance and imprudence?" Elizabeth repeated.

"Well, it was really nothing, more or less. I merely had some debts, you see," Mr. Wickham said.

"Some debts?"

"Well, what man in my circumstances would not have? I am not a rich man but was expecting an inheritance, and one could not live without a horse, after all."

"One could not live without a horse," she echoed.

"Yes, do you have a horse? No? Well, maybe a woman could, but a man cannot, I am certain, and if not a horse, any man must have coats, and waistcoats, and new boots. It was not my fault that I had a stroke of bad luck in the horse races, and I am sure that I have no more debt than any other young man without a ready fortune might have."

"No doubt you have no more debt than any other young man living beyond his means might have."

"Exactly," Mr. Wickham said. "Things that one needs do not become any cheaper just because one lacks the funds, I dare say."

"Yes, we have that in common," Elizabeth said. "I have also found that a lot of things are very expensive, especially when I cannot afford them."

"My godfather was poorly, and I had reason to believe that he would provide for me in his will. And I would not have had any trouble paying my debts if my inheritance was pounds and sterling. But I was bequeathed an expectation of a living."

"I understand, you could have paid your debts easily if only you had the money."

"Yes," Mr. Wickham confirmed. "It is quite vexing."

"But you were telling me that you did not get the living either."

"Certain it is that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it."

"It is certain that there was no reason for Mr. Darcy to decline to give it to you."

"I have a warm unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me."

"He did not wish you to be his clergyman, merely because you argued with him and insulted him?" She shook her head. "This is quite shocking. He deserves to be publicly disgraced."

"Some time or other he will be—but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."

"Out of respect for his father, you could never blacken Mr. Darcy's reputation in public."

"My magnanimity is to my credit I hope."

She assented readily. "Your discretion is very handsome of you, and I always value loyalty."

He looked satisfied. "I would not dishonour my godfather's memory, however heinously his son should behave."

"But what," said she, after a pause, "can have been his motive? what can have induced him to behave so cruelly?"

"A thorough, determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy."

"Oh, this is infamous! The heir of Pemberley is jealous of a steward's son? That is a very singular state of affairs."

"Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life."

"You think he hates you because his father liked you?"

"He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was often given me."

"He resented you because his father let him know that he preferred another child to his only son?"

"Yes but why should I to be driven to poverty to assuage his hurt feelings? It is hardly my fault if I am fun on wheels and Darcy is boredom on a stick in the mud."

"You were driven to poverty?"

"I have been in very dire straits for a while now," Mr. Wickham said. "The income from the living was not a great deal of money but it would have helped me out of the worst predicament. But thanks to Darcy, I am doomed to be penniless."

"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him, I had not thought so very ill of him—I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!"

At this, Mr. Wickham began to backtrack. Perhaps he thought that accusing Mr. Darcy of inhumanity was a bit overblown and was not entirely certain whether Miss Elizabeth was sincere or sarcastic.

"Darcy does have his good side, although he seldom lets it show. We were good friends once."

"Good friends?"

"He was the master's son, so there were obvious advantages in befriending him."

"Why was his father so attached to you?"

Mr. Wickham assumed that it was partly due to proximity and gratitude to his father. The elder Mr. Wickham had been the steward at Pemberley, and his son had accompanied him in many a project and task as soon as he was of an age to be of more help than hindrance. Young Fitzwilliam had not been able to make himself useful as his father's companion as often, being of shorter stature.

"You would not believe it to look at him now, but Darcy was a puny child for a long time. He was often ill and physically a weakling compared to me or the other boys on the estate," Mr. Wickham said. "We used to call him Nits-William, on account of him being so tiny. His father's ideal man was strong and robust, and I think he despaired of his son and thought he would never have his growth spurt."

"Nits-William," Elizabeth said.

Mr. Wickham laughed. "Oh, he hated it, didn't he! He used to complain but his father said he should toughen up and learn to fight."

"Toughen up?"

"I suppose he tried," Mr. Wickham said. "I never called him that to his face after he gave someone a black eye at Eton."

"Very wise of you," Elizabeth said. "You went to Eton?"

"Yes, my godfather supported me financially at Eton and Cambridge. He wanted me to have a good education."

"That was very good of him, I can see why you esteemed him so."

"My father used to say that knowing more can never hurt," Mr. Wickham said. "There were so many things that he had to look up as a steward. He was trained in law, not in farming matters."

"Did you never wish to become a steward in your father's footsteps? It seems like you received excellent experience for that office from a very young age."

Mr. Wickham was certain that he would be an exemplary steward for any estate, no matter how grand, but his godfather had thought that his talents were more suitable for the church.

"People like me, and a steady income from the living would have been just the thing for me. Reading from a book of sermons surely beats riding around in the muck and the rain all day."

"Ah, yes, it does sound like a cosy situation."

"A career in the church has always been my dream."

"You have a very pleasant voice for sermonising."

"I would have excelled in consoling the widows," he said.

"Well, perhaps you can still do that," she said.

"Oh, yes, but it is so much more respectable to do so as a clergyman."

"It was some years ago since the living was denied. How have you lived in the meantime?"

"Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that," Mr. Wickham said vaguely. "I had some money that lasted for a while."

He did not elucidate where the money came from or why he did not pay his debts with it, and she did not ask.

He did say that he had been looking for a position as a steward, even offering to serve Mr. Darcy and Pemberley, but Mr. Darcy had declined this opportunity and even refused to write a recommendation letter, citing his finances as the reason once again. Mr. Darcy had claimed that he could not trust the wealth of an estate in the care of a person who did not have his own affairs in order. Mr. Wickham thought this to be a completely unjust assessment, considering how insignificant his debts were.

"He implied that a person in debt would be more likely to cheat but I could pay my debts off any time, I would not need to resort to dishonesty, and my morals are impeccable, in any case."

"So maybe you should practice some economy and pay them off. Then he might reconsider."

"Some say that his good opinion once lost is lost forever," Mr. Wickham said tragically.

"Oh, I did hear Mr. Darcy once claim that he had an unforgiving temper," she said. "I believe implacable resentments were mentioned."

"I could hardly make a fair judgement as my disappointments run so deep."

"You would not consider yourself a fair judge?"

"Well, I have not told you anything that is not true," he said. "The late Mr. Darcy owed a great deal of gratitude to my highly esteemed father who for many years was a faithful superintendent of all that they owned. But sadly the son does not feel the obligation to me as he should."

"I see. However, he seems to pride himself on being such a dutiful, righteous person."

"It is strange for it is his pride that most often encourages him to his virtues. He is proud of being a generous landlord, a hospitable friend and an affectionate guardian, and fears of shaming his family if his behaviour should fall short of some arbitrary standard that he holds himself to."

"Mr. Darcy holds himself to a high standard?"

"If his holiness was any higher he would float away in the wind," Mr. Wickham said. "He has always looked down upon us poor sinners. At Cambridge, he would only study and thought everyone who went out to have some fun were drunkards and wastrels. He went to church every Sunday and wrote long letters to his little sister."

"You would not write to your sister?"

"I have no siblings but I cannot imagine what I could say to such a young child."

"What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?"

He shook his head. "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy; but she is too much like her brother,—very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement."

"You knew what to say to such a young child?"

"We were friendly. I helped her fix her kite and brush her dog. But she is nothing to me now. "

"Nothing?"

"It has been years since I was last at Pemberley," Mr. Wickham said. "Mr. Darcy would not permit any contact between us."

"I see."

"She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's death her home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her education."

"Yes, Miss Bingley has told me that she is very accomplished indeed," Elizabeth said. "Do you know Mr. Bingley?"

"Not at all."

"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man and he seems to be very friendly with Mr. Darcy."

"Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and, perhaps, agreeable,—allowing something for fortune and figure."

"Sincere and honourable?"

"The Darcy pride demands it," Mr. Wickham said. "Only the lower classes can be immoral."

The whist players soon concluded their game and intruded upon their conversation. When Mr. Collins mentioned his patroness Mr. Wickham was the only one who was surprised by the remark. Everyone else would have been astonished if Mr. Collins had not mentioned her.

After observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relations were very intimately acquainted with the family of De Bourgh.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long."

"You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy."

"No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday."

"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates."

"Mr. Collins," said she, "speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter."

Mr. Wickham had not seen her for many years but he remembered disliking her. She had the reputation of being very clever but Mr. Wickham believed she was getting too much credit because of her rank, fortune, and dictatorial manners, and because Mr. Darcy could not permit anyone connected with him to be deficient in understanding.

"Some stories that my cousin has told certainly make her sound very authoritative," Elizabeth said. "But he is very grateful to her for giving him his living."

"I envy him," Mr. Wickham said. "He has such a comfortable situation and is set for life, at such a young age."

"But if you have set your heart on a career in church, why are you in the militia? There are other livings and if my cousin was able to find one that was not bequeathed to him I am certain that a man of your capacity can too. If not straight away, you can bide your time working as a curate."

As to that, there was a slight problem. Once it was made clear to him that he would not receive the Kympton living Mr. Wickham had not taken orders.

"My disappointed dreams forbid it, you understand."

She did not, but she did not argue the point.

When the Bennets had returned home, everyone was quite curious about Elizabeth's conversation with Mr. Wickham.

"You seemed very cosy in the corner," said Mrs. Bennet. "Whatever did you talk about?"

"Well, mostly about Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said.

"Mr. Darcy! And what can such a nice young man have to do with Mr. Darcy?"

"They have known each other all their lives," Elizabeth explained. "Mr. Wickham grew up at Mr. Darcy's estate."

"What did he tell you?"

"Oh, this and that, everything and nothing," Elizabeth said. "He contradicted himself so many times I have no idea if anything he said was true."

"Contradicted himself?" Mr. Bennet asked.

"Yes. He is in terrible debt and doomed to poverty forever because Mr. Darcy did not give him the living. At the same time his debts are quite insignificant and he could pay them off easily whenever he wanted."

"Well, a handsome man needs something to live on as well as a plain one," Mr. Bennet said.

"Yes. He says it was always his dream to have a career in the church but he also implied that it was his godfather's preference for him. He has not been ordained and he sounded rather vexed to find out that his inheritance from his godfather was a clerical living instead of money. He had been getting into debt, waiting to be rescued by his inheritance."

"How inconsiderate of the gentleman to die without leaving him a fortune," Mr. Bennet said. "Were there other contradictions?"

"Let us see. He said he would never expose Mr. Darcy's faults out of respect for his father, while going into some detail about Mr. Darcy's faults to me."

"Well, you cannot fault Mr. Wickham for that," said Mary, "without noticing that you have gone into some detail about Mr. Darcy's faults yourself."

"Oh yes," said Elizabeth. "I might have to revise my opinions. If Mr. Wickham says that Mr. Darcy is proud and disagreeable it probably means he is not."

"You think Mr. Wickham is a liar?" Jane asked.

"Well, it could not all be true at the same time," said Elizabeth. "Mr. Darcy is a jealous monster who has never had any friends, and he is also known for being very honourable and agreeable to his friends. He is very proud and would not deign to give any attention to anyone who is not of a high rank, yet Mr. Wickham says they used to be good friends. Mr. Wickham is a steward's son, so of very high rank indeed."

"We know that Mr. Darcy has friends," Jane said. "He is very close to Mr. Bingley who is not of high rank."

"It was implied that Mr. Darcy had no reason or justification to deny Mr. Wickham the living and did it only because of his pointless cruelty, wishing to injure a childhood friend despite his perfect amicability. But Mr. Wickham seems to have acted the bully as a child and admits to insulting and having hot tempered arguments with Mr. Darcy as an adult. Mr. Wickham's thinks his morals are not lacking in any manner unbecoming to a clergyman but he also appears to despise Mr. Darcy for having high moral standards."

"Well, he sounds like a perfect clergyman then," Mr. Bennet said. "He can lead by example. Do not do as I do but do as I say. People need just to look at him and do the opposite."

"He did not say so directly but somehow I got the notion that he does not care to go to church on Sundays," Elizabeth said.

"We could see if he is there next Sunday," Mary said.

"Oh, and he has no idea what to say to young children and told me rather contemptuously that Darcy wrote letters to his young sister, like corresponding with children is a very silly thing to do. Yet he claims to have been on very good terms with Darcy's sister when she was a young child. Later, he says he knows nothing of Miss Darcy because they have had no contact for many years, yet he claims to know that she is very proud and unpleasant and where she lives."

"Well, that would be a fine to-do if a steward's son visited a young heiress who is not even out," Mrs. Bennet said. "You may depend upon it that nothing he says about her is true."

"If he contradicts himself half of the things he says might be true," said Kitty. "But we do not know which half."

"I do not believe there is any mystery about it," Jane said. "Nobody would lie to make themselves look worse."

NOTE The concept of reflective listening was an 1900s thing, from Carl Rogers and colleagues but there was nothing in the technique that people could not do earlier, so I hope it's not too anachronistic to see Elizabeth adopting a bit of the technique here. Basically she just uses a lot of rephrasing and mirroring the other speaker's statements, to get him to elaborate and explain. And as it happens, contradict himself. But, you know, in an alternative universe he might have been telling the truth, and then she'd have got more of the truth.