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The chapter title "The fine art of fibs" was suggested by Dizzy Lizzy.60.

Chapter 11 The fine art of fibs

The shock of Wickham's encountering the man he had so recently almost killed proved only momentary. As soon as it became obvious that Darcy was not going to challenge him, George quickly regained his sangfroid.

Sir William, always keen to gain favour with any gentleman, immediately appreciated Wickham's good breeding by his immaculately fitted uniform. He proceeded to welcome him heartily to Meryton.

After five minutes of this superior treatment, Wickham was in a good way to thinking that he had no reason for embarrassment, nothing to answer for—the fault was all on Darcy's side. Why! Here he had been, fleeing the country to escape the earl's men, when Darcy was attending soirées in Hertfordshire... if that didn't beat the Dutch!

Darcy, meanwhile, had retreated to the Lucases' terrace to regain his equanimity. The very sight of Wickham had recalled that sickening moment when, having reached the window of George's accommodations in London, Darcy had glimpsed George fending off a partially unclad Georgiana as she tried to deflect the pistol in George's hand. Darcy's last coherent memory was of George brutally thrusting Georgiana to the ground. Everything after that was fragmented. Suddenly he had been inside the room. There was no memory of opening the glass or stepping across the sill—just Georgie collapsed in a heap and a look of terror on George's face. Then pain.

But seeing George once more had dredged up another memory: a very primal instinct to fly at Wickham and destroy him which had threatened to overwhelm Darcy again in the Lucases' parlour. Darcy had forced the blood from his face, managed to say something to Elizabeth, though he could not remember what, before walking woodenly from the room.

Only when he found himself alone on the terrace did Darcy begin to think cogently again. Suddenly he began to shake all over. He thought at first it was shock, perhaps some delayed reaction to that mortal encounter with Wickham when he had raced to his sister's aid. Then Darcy acknowledged the bitter truth—he had almost lost control just now in a room full of people. The shaking was the cost of the exertion to override that instinct. Darcy heard the door open behind him and quickly pulled himself together.

"This is damned flat, isn't it? Do you have another of those cigarillos?"

It was Hurst.

"I did not realise that you smoked," said Darcy, as smoothly as he could manage, extracting the sole cigarillo he kept in his pocket and handing it to Hurst.

"Don't tell Louisa," confided Hurst and then looked at him expectantly.

Darcy stared back.

"A light?" prompted Hurst.

"Forgive me," said Darcy, coming to his senses. "I was thinking about something else."

He pulled a tin from his coat pocket to unscrew the lid. Holding his hand stiffly so that it did not shake, Darcy removed one of the matches, then unthinkingly crushed the tiny glass bulb of sulphuric acid with his fingers so that the match sprang to light. He held the burning matchstick out to light Hurst's cigarillo and then stubbed it out on the brickwork of the terrace.

"Is that one of those newfangled sugar matches?" asked Hurst, walking forward to the balustrade.

Behind Hurst, Darcy looked at the blister forming on his finger, realising he had not felt a thing.

"Is there some knack to crushing them to avoid burning oneself?" asked Hurst, expelling a long stream of smoke and turning back to hear Darcy's answer.

He was gone.

Having ignored her sister's advice and worn the dowdy gown to the soirée, Elizabeth had no hopes of meriting some of the attention of the handsome Lieutenant Wickham. She bore it as philosophically as she could, which was not very, for as soon as Mr Darcy had gone off, Mr Collins had attached himself to her in a very proprietary way. Thus when Charlotte asked her to sing, Lizzy did not demur as she might normally have done, but welcomed the opportunity to get away from her cousin.

Charlotte sat down at the keyboard and, choosing a piece that she knew would suit her friend's voice, began the performance. Having a sweet voice and the benefit of the occasional master, Lizzy did credit to the song.

Towards the end, Elizabeth was a little disconcerted to find her cousin watching her with his hands clasped in front of him and such a look of smugness on his face, that she immediately regretted having performed so well. When she finished, everyone clapped politely, except Mr Collins, who did so enthusiastically, beaming at those around him as if he had just won a grand sum at cards.

At the first movement of the crowd, Mr Collins hurried towards Elizabeth. Unable to think of a polite means of escape, Lizzy was about to give in to the despair of his company, when Charlotte stepped between them.

"Mr Collins, could I show you the chimney piece? My father is quite proud of it, but I heard you say that Lady Catherine has a very superior one at Rosings and I wondered if ours at all compared?"

The distraction answered wonderfully. As Mr Collins walked off with Miss Lucas, he began one of his long speeches extolling the wonders of Rosings and how fortunate he was to be singled out to serve the de Bourghs.

Elizabeth circulated away from him, receiving the congratulations of a few well-wishers on her performance. She gravitated towards her sister and Bingley, who occupied a corner of the room. But Bingley was talking so animatedly and Jane replying with such happy smiles that it occurred to Elizabeth that it might be better to leave them alone.

On turning away, she found herself being approached by Lieutenant Wickham and Lydia.

"This is Lieutenant George Wickham, Lizzy," beamed Lydia. "He asked for an introduction. Lieutenant Wickham, my second eldest sister, Elizabeth."

Lieutenant Wickham bowed graciously over Elizabeth's hand.

"Come on, Lydia!" yelled Kitty from the other side of the room. "Denny wants to dance with you!"

Mary was loitering purposefully near the untended piano. At the first promptings of the dancers, she quickly sat down and began to play a reel.

"Will you dance?" asked the Lieutenant, offering his glove.

"Thank you, no," said Elizabeth who could already see her two youngest sisters getting embarrassingly raucous. She tried to catch Mary's eye so that her sister would play something more genteel next. But to her depressing hand motions, Mary just cocked a quizzical eye. What was it about her middle sister that did not allow her to understand hand signals?

Elizabeth turned to find Lieutenant Wickham smiling at her. "Please do not let me stop you from enjoying yourself," she told him.

"They never understand when you need them to, do they?" he observed sympathetically. "I have no particular desire to dance. Perhaps we could sit down upon the settee?" he suggested, gesturing towards a piece of furniture conveniently placed with its back against a wall, where he could view the rest of the room.

They made their way towards it.

Elizabeth was highly gratified to be thus singled out by the handsome officer, despite her garb.

"Your sister told me of your sartorial sacrifice," added Wickham confidentially, as if he could read her mind. "I applaud your stratagem. Your cousin is certainly a singular fellow."

Elizabeth blushed as she sat down. It was highly improper for Lydia to have told a complete stranger about Lizzy's wish to evade her cousin—although, she reflected, this gentleman was obviously not a complete stranger to Mr Darcy.

As Wickham sat a polite distance from her on the squabs, Elizabeth was all too aware that it was a very short sofa, almost a love seat. He was a very handsome man.

"I saw you talking to Mr Darcy earlier," said Wickham, again with remarkable percipience. "I dare say you wondered at his reaction to my advent?"

Elizabeth blushed again and hardly knew what to say.

"Did he, perhaps, say anything to you?" asked Lieutenant Wickham, who was keeping an eye on the door through which Darcy had disappeared.

"To me?" repeated Elizabeth in surprise, completely failing to appreciate the audacity of the lieutenant's enquiry in view of its content. "Why, I hardly know him! He has been in Hertfordshire for several weeks now, but he rarely talks to anyone outside his own party."

"That sounds like Darcy!" laughed Wickham, "—ever high in the instep!"

"He was asking about my father," added Elizabeth, "who was a scholar at Oxford."

"Again, very in character," confirmed the lieutenant. "Darcy is a member of the Royal Society."

"Is he?" asked Elizabeth with some interest. "Do you know him well then?"

"Know him well?" scoffed the lieutenant in an arch manner. "We grew up together—inmates of the same house, subject to the same parental care. We were like brothers! My father was a highly esteemed attorney who gave it all up to be of use to the late Mr Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property and other Darcy business interests in Derbyshire. He was most highly esteemed by old Mr Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. I was Mr Darcy's godson and when my father died prematurely, I was raised in the Darcy household."

Wickham paused to note the effect of this pronouncement on Elizabeth before proceeding. "You are, no doubt, wondering the reason for our estrangement?"

Elizabeth could only shrug slightly and open her mouth to disclaim. She longed to know the story but it seemed indelicate to be too eager to hear it.

"Unfortunately, old Mr Darcy's solicitude for me—for I was a favourite with him—only excited his son's jealousy. Too used to being the one and only—the one designated to receive everything by inheritance—he could not bear the competition. I was off at university when old Mr Darcy died, and though he provided for me in his will, his son has worked steadily to ensure every privilege that had previously been extended towards me was taken away. I am no longer welcome in my childhood home. All my study towards my career was for nought—for I was intended for the Church; but when the living designated for me—the best of several at his disposal—eventually came up, it was given elsewhere, and you see now I am forced to earn my living as I may."

"But this is terrible!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Have you no recourse with the law?"

"Unfortunately," sighed Lieutenant Wickham, "there was sufficient ambiguity in the will to give me no legal redress. Had my father been alive when it was drafted, I am sure no such mistake would have been made. But the man who replaced him was a paltry fellow of not half my father's worth."

"So have you never been back to Pemberley since your godfather died?"

"No. I am not welcome there. I last saw my childhood home at old Mr Darcy's funeral. But I happened to meet Darcy's sister again in Ramsgate recently and we fell in love. Miss Darcy was always fond of me as a child and I devoted hours to her amusement whenever I was home from school. I did not think that her brother could hate me so much as to deny his sister happiness when she found it, but such is his temperament. We were forced to elope. But it all came to nothing. He caught up with us. I begged him to think of his sister, but no, his pride came first. Possibly he wants her to marry a duke! I have not seen her for months. I was still holding out a slim hope that he would relent once he became convinced of her steadfast affection, but his reaction towards me tonight suggests he remains inflexible."

Elizabeth was very shocked at this rambling disclosure. She had believed elopements only occurred in novels, or were the resort of tradesmen's daughters. She thought it very wrong of Lieutenant Wickham to have been involved in such. But then she fell under the spell of his soulful eyes and her mind diverted to poor Miss Darcy, who would likely be forced to marry a wheezing old duke instead of the handsome young man sitting beside her. No doubt, Miss Darcy had begged Mr Wickham to save her. Elizabeth could not help but feel sympathy for the lady in the light of her own situation.

"He is very proud" was all she could think to say, still mindful of Mr Darcy's behaviour at the assembly.

"Yes," said Wickham. "His mother was the daughter of an earl. Old Mr Darcy used to make judgements on a gentleman's worth based on merit, but I am afraid his son is more like his mother—blood is everything. The Fitzwilliams have ever been a proud and haughty lot."

"Mr Darcy's mother was the daughter of an earl?" repeated Elizabeth in amazement, not having had any idea of his noble connections.

"Indeed, and Lady Catherine—the lady your cousin serves—is her sister."

"Lady Catherine is Mr Darcy's aunt?" repeated Elizabeth, astounded by the coincidence and having difficulty keeping up with the revelations.

"What is that you say, Cousin Elizabeth?" a voice interrupted them. "Did I hear you say that Mr Darcy is related to Lady Catherine?"

Elizabeth turned to discover that her cousin had crept up on them as they spoke, no doubt to enforce what he believed to be his superior claims on her.

"Indeed," replied Wickham, taking the intrusion in good part. "The eighth Earl of Matlock had four children—Lady Catherine is the eldest. She married Sir Lewis de Bourgh, a rich banker. Lady Anne, the second daughter, who was considered the more beautiful of the two, did even better—Mr Darcy's wealth equalled that of Sir Lewis and he had the added benefit of a noble Norman lineage, despite his lack of title. The current earl was born after his two sisters."

Lieutenant Wickham's information worked like a charm. Before he could say anything more on the topic, Mr Collins began to look about the room for Mr Darcy, so that he might introduce himself and thus make another powerful connection. Happily, Elizabeth was able to return to her tête-à-tête with the handsome officer. She found him smiling at her with understanding.

"It is not pleasant to find yourself the object of unwanted attention, is it?" he commented.

Elizabeth could well imagine that Lieutenant Wickham frequently found himself in such difficulties.

"I assure you," she laughed, "I do not often experience it. Why, not three weeks ago at the assembly, Mr Darcy said 'I was not handsome enough to tempt him'!"

Wickham raised his eyebrows. "How ungallant of him! And what a strange turn of phrase!"

"Yes, he made me feel like a beefsteak, served up for his delectation. Then he went off to the Red Lion to drink. His habits seem very bad!"

This piece of information did surprise Wickham, for it hardly seemed consistent with his childhood playmate whom he had often apostrophised as a goody two shoes and a stick in the mud.

"I have frequently deplored them," he said slyly.

"Aside from his general arrogance and lack of amiability," continued Elizabeth, "my recent stay at Netherfield made me aware that he seems to go out every night and frequently does not return till dawn, after which he sleeps till noon."

"I am afraid, Miss Elizabeth," said Wickham, assuming his most clerical aspect, "that you have only described the general habits of the Ton. Unlike your esteemed father, an honest squire who is the salt of the earth, the Ton take their tithes and fritter them away in gambling and debauchery."

"I suppose he thinks those black clothes of his help him blend into the shadows," said Elizabeth thoughtfully. "Do you think it is possible that a man who finds it necessary to dress in such a way can be up to any good?"

Wickham recalled that Darcy had also been dressed entirely in black when he had smashed through his window in London with that diabolic snarl on his face. George was once more moved to think that his shooting of Darcy had been entirely Darcy's fault.

"I fear not," he said, glad to be making such inroads in the community to Darcy's detriment. It seemed his nemesis had been doing a good job of lowering his own stock.

The reel had finished. When Lydia ran up to importune Lieutenant Wickham to stand up with her, he shrugged comically at Elizabeth and good-naturedly went off to dance. Elizabeth took the opportunity to subdue the nature of the dancing, with words to Mary pointing out the numerous expensive objects in Sir William's parlour. Mary dutifully promised to play music more suited to a quadrille.

Darcy did not reappear in the parlour, much to Wickham's relief. Mr Collins' pursuit of him proved fruitless, and one of Sir William's footmen advised Mr Collins that the gentleman, being indisposed, had taken the hack chaise that the officers had arrived in back towards Meryton. On discovering this, Miss Bingley was quite distraught that her guest had been forced to stoop to using what was no doubt a dirty conveyance, roundly criticising Hurst for not alerting her to Mr Darcy's wish to be gone. She was feeling a little tired herself.

It was not long before Louisa manifested a headache, and the result of it was that the sisters made their goodbyes and prepared to go off with Hurst—who was still finding the Lucases' soirée damnably flat. But Bingley could not be shifted from Jane's side. He thought it likely that Darcy had succumbed to one of his migraines; saw no reason to be off so soon after him. Indeed, he quietly reminded Caroline that Darcy did not like a fuss to be made of his maladies and assured her that Hurst should be sufficient escort if they really needed to go. He was certain he could get a lift* home in someone's carriage or the hack-chaise.

With most of the Bingleys gone and Charles so occupied with Jane, Wickham pretty much had the field to himself. Feeling he had slightly overplayed his hand with Elizabeth, Wickham was careful not to raise the topic of Darcy again or criticise him directly. But George successfully managed to cast aspersions on Darcy's character on several occasions throughout the evening. His own star, on the other hand, was rapidly rising. When he left with Colonel Foster and several of the other officers at a suitably polite hour, everyone who remained in the parlour agreed that he surpassed all the officers in good breeding and beauty. But George did not depart before Lydia had extracted an invitation to the Netherfield ball from Mr Bingley on his behalf.

Mr Bingley assured Lieutenant Wickham that the invitation was open to all the officers and that he was most welcome.

The Bennets made to leave soon after, once Mrs Bennet had assured Mr Bingley there was room for him in their carriage. Mr Bingley could hardly think it was so, since both Mr Bennet and Mr Collins were present, but he gladly accepted their offer. Indeed, he would have willingly got on one of the horses like a postboy if it delayed his adieu to Jane.

The men of the Bennet party had in fact ridden outside the carriage on the journey to Lucas Lodge, with Mr Bennet on the box with the coachman and Mr Collins on the dickie seat*. For the return journey, Mrs Bennet very quickly organised a spot in her sister's carriage for herself and her husband.

On their departure, the Bennet sisters arranged themselves inside their carriage, with Jane taking the forward-facing seat beside Lizzy, leaving room for Mr Bingley beside her, and the three youngest sisters assuming their customary positions on the backward-facing seat. Mr Collins would have climbed back onto the dickie seat again had not Mrs Bennet encouraged him to find room inside. He went round to the road side and squeezed in beside Lydia, much to her protestations. It was just as well Mary and Kitty were thin.

Sitting opposite him, poor Lizzy had to endure her cousin's smiles all the way home via Netherfield, as well as his apologies whenever his knees knocked against hers, for he had to sit forward to fit on the bench seat.

Footnotes

beat the Dutch—To surpass expectation, imagination, or belief. For an excellent explanation see DISSING THE DUTCH ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR

By Peter Douglas

Sugar match

lift . Meaning "help given to a pedestrian by taking him along his way in a vehicle" is from 1712. Etymology.

dickie seat also known as a rumble seat.

Pinterest captions

[1] George quickly regained his sangfroid.

[2] if that didn't beat the Dutch!

[3] Only when he found himself alone on the terrace did Darcy begin to think cogently again.

[4] Darcy removed one of the matches, then unthinkingly crushed the tiny glass bulb of sulphuric acid with his fingers so that the match sprang to light.

[5] "Is there some knack to crushing them to avoid burning oneself?" asked Hurst, expelling a long stream of smoke.

[6] When Charlotte asked her to sing, Lizzy did not demur as she might normally have done, but welcomed the opportunity to get away from her cousin.

[7] Elizabeth was a little disconcerted to find her cousin watching her with his hands clasped in front of him

[8] Elizabeth was highly gratified to be thus singled out by the handsome officer, despite her garb.

[9] As Wickham sat a polite distance from her on the squabs, Elizabeth was all too aware that it was a very short sofa, almost a love seat.

[10] "That sounds like Darcy!" laughed Wickham, "—ever high in the instep!"

[11] "But this is terrible!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Have you no recourse with the law?"

[12] and a stick in the mud.

[13] your esteemed father, an honest squire who is the salt of the earth,

[14] Mary dutifully promised to play music more suited to a quadrille.

[15] with Mr Bennet on the box with the coachman and Mr Collins on the dickie seat*