Pride Prejudice and Prodigy

The Power of the Pen and the Pound

Chapter 7 ~ The Power of the Pen and the Pound

Chance, it transpired, held a great deal in store for Elizabeth Bennet. It raised her hopes to dizzying heights, wherein she allowed herself to believe that Mr Darcy, against all expectations, despite all his former objections, and notwithstanding the cruel and unjust manner with which she had dismissed his addresses at Hunsford, still admired and loved her. His greatly altered behaviour at Pemberley and Lambton had served to overturn all her former ideas of him as haughty, arrogant, and cold. She told herself that she did not deserve to receive his addresses a second time, and dared not presume it. And yet, there was something in his countenance when he regarded her: a kind of fervour, and a passion, of which she had heretofore not believed him capable, which whispered that she must prepare herself for the renewal of his addresses – and be ready to give him her answer. She must decide: did she wish to be his wife? Did she care for him enough? Although she had not yet admitted it in her thoughts, her heart murmured, ‘yes'. Her imagination was full of Darcy, and dreams of herself as mistress of Pemberley – and its master's heart.

Elizabeth could not but feel herself unaccountably blessed by chance. She marvelled at her good fortune: chance had brought her into Derbyshire (when her Aunt and Uncle's original plan had been to tour the Lakes); it had brought Mr Darcy from London unexpectedly, and then conspired to have him arrive at Pemberley at the very moment she was walking in the grounds.

But then, in a single moment, chance cast her down from the most glorious hopes of a fairytale future to the depths of despair. The wretched news of Lydia's elopement shattered every possible hope of happiness. After her return from Derbyshire, Elizabeth often thought over the havoc that chance had played with her life. These were not consoling thoughts, but a mind as active as hers required occupation. With her father still in London, and her mother barely rational, Elizabeth sought the succour of a sympathetic and intelligent companion; and thus set out to visit Lady Darlington.

Fortuitously, James Darlington was in London on the morning of Elizabeth's visit, for she was not yet mistress of the emotions that had been unleashed in Derbyshire, and felt herself unequal to concealing them from that gentleman's penetrating mind. Lady Darlington had heard the news concerning Lydia, which was by this time common knowledge in the neighbourhood. She embraced Elizabeth warmly, and without making light of the situation, told her she must not despair, and that her life was not over, “Not nearly,” she added with a comforting smile. “And Lydia's story is not yet over; we, none of us, know how it shall end. But whatever the end may be, it will very soon fade from people's minds – of that you may be certain. You, Jane, Mary, and Kitty have done nothing wrong, and no fair-minded person will ever think the less of any of you on Lydia's account.”

“You are too kind, your ladyship. But regrettably, not everyone has your goodness and compassion; or even wishes to be fair-minded. There are those who will always look for fault in others, who will seize upon a scandal such as this, and gladly blacken the names of my sisters and myself by association.” As she spoke, Elizabeth visualised the triumphant, gloating face of Caroline Bingley.

“Such persons cannot be called friends, dear Elizabeth; and those who would listen to their opinions, and concur with them, are not worthy of your concern.”

“But, can you not see, your ladyship,” responded Elizabeth miserably, “that this affair must materially damage the marriage prospects of my sisters and myself?”

Lady Darlington reached out and took Elizabeth's hand in hers. “No man who truly loved you, my dear, would decide against you on account of what Lydia has done. No young man in love would think of it for two moments.”

“Not for himself, perhaps,” replied Elizabeth. “But for the honour of his family, he may. And even if he himself were not concerned by it, his nearest relatives well might.”

“No, I do not believe it! Just imagine for a moment that my son, James, were such a one – of course, sadly, as you are well aware, he is no position to be contemplating marriage to anyone. I know he would not give a single thought for Lydia's behaviour if his heart were set upon you. And I would be utterly delighted for him to have such a wife – as would any mother who truly loved her son.” Elizabeth could not help but blush and smile inwardly as Lady Darlington discounted this imaginary romance. For Elizabeth, at least, it was more than merely hypothetical – and she suspected it likewise was, for the son.

“Oh, Lady Darlington, if only every mother were like you,” and every son like yours, she thought to herself, for Lady Darlington was right: her son James would never think the lesser of her on account of Lydia. “But it is not so. There are those, who though their judgement of me might not falter on account of this business; and who would treat me with sympathy and compassion; but yet… on account of family honour and pride, would shrink from…” Elizabeth could not go on. She buried her face in her hands as she struggled to hold back her tears.

“My dear, what is this all about? What has happened?” asked Lady Darlington gently, handing Elizabeth a handkerchief, and when she had dried her eyes, she again took Elizabeth's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

Elizabeth poured out her heart to Lady Darlington, as she had been unable to do with Jane, for fear of disclosing information about Mr Bingley which might revive hopes and regrets in her sister's heart. Elizabeth revealed everything: Mr Darcy's astonishing proposal of marriage at Hunsford – and the abominable manner in which she had refused him: her harsh accusations, which, in light of his subsequent letter (she concealed only the details concerning Georgiana) proved entirely baseless and unreasonable. Then she spoke of more recent events in Derbyshire, including her final meeting with Mr Darcy at the inn in Lambton, when she was in a state of agitation and distress, having just read Jane's letters concerning Lydia.

“He must have come expressly to pay you his addresses – a second time,” said Lady Darlington, thoughtfully. “No other explanation serves for his paying a visit at so early an hour. My dear, you have made quite a conquest! I knew his parents. His mother, Anne, and I were friendly at one time; her disposition was far more pleasing than that of her younger sister Catherine, whom I could never abide. His father was a charming gentleman – and very handsome. There was a season in London – we were both quite young – when I began to believe myself in love with him. Ah, but enough of the reminiscences of an old lady! I am but little acquainted with the present Mr Darcy; I know of him more by reputation, and have heard nothing but good reports as to his character. He is considered to be a very handsome gentleman; is it so?”

“Yes, he is handsome; and his character and temperament are excellent, although it took me many months to acknowledge it.”

“And to fall in love with him?”

“Yes, yes! Oh, why was I so foolish to reject his addresses? I could have been Mrs Darcy – before all this business with Lydia had occurred. And quite probably it might never have happened; for Lydia would have remained in Longbourn for my wedding, and never gone to Brighton! Oh why, oh why, was I so stupid and blind? And now it is all too late!”

“My dear, do not give up hope! Mr Darcy must love you a great deal if he was able to overcome all his objections concerning your family – objections which you say caused him to detach his friend, Mr Bingley, from your sister, Jane. There are few men, who having been so ruthlessly refused, would consider offering themselves a second time. Such an uncommon love does not easily die; it is capable of overcoming every obstacle.”

***

While Elizabeth was thus engaged in taking comfort from Lady Darlington, her son was entering a London bookseller, where, to his great surprise, he spied in a corner, browsing the titles, the very object of their conversation.

“Darcy, old chap,” he said as he approached, with hand extended, “what brings you to town at this time of year?”

Darcy looked up from his book and shook the proffered hand. “Darlington, how are you? I have not seen you since Cambridge, I believe.”

James Darlington stood silently for some moments, regarding Darcy with his head c****d to one side; his ever-active mind evidently hard at work. Darcy, recalling Darlington's sometimes unwanted perspicacity, began feeling uneasy beneath the younger man's intense gaze, and realising that he had not answered the question, he attempted an offhand reply, “Err… just popped up to take care of a spot of business.”

“Really? My sister Julia tells me that Miss Darcy is but lately left London for Derbyshire, together with a large party – including yourself. Thus naturally, you will understand my surprise upon encountering you here in London… and my wondering at what pressing reason could have precipitated so sudden a return from Pemberley.”

Darcy was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and annoyed at Darlington's impertinence, so he replied curtly, “Private business, Darlington.” Darlington continued to look at him appraisingly, so Darcy attempted to deflect the conversation from himself by enquiring, “Are you living in London, these days?”

“No, I too, am here on business – and if I am not very much mistaken, it is very likely the same business as your own.”

Darcy was stunned; what could the man be referring to? He recalled Darlington's uncanny knack of disconcerting him, and was becoming quite discomposed. “Look here, Darlington, I was very sorry to hear about your father, and your recent family misfortunes. Your brother Edwin was always an unmitigated bounder; I knew him at Eton; never much liked him, not my cup of tea, really.”

“Nor mine,” replied Darlington, smiling and nodding in acknowledgement of Darcy's sympathetic sentiments. “But I think I know what – or, should I say, who – is your cup of tea, Darcy.”

“Damn it, Darlington, why do you always have to be so exasperatingly cryptic, man; forever talking in riddles? I remember you always took delight in it at Cambridge. I must tell you: I find it exceedingly annoying.”

“I will tell you what, Darcy: how about you invite me to your club, which I believe is close by, for tea. Then we can talk about your cup of tea, and your business – which are pretty much the same thing, are they not?”

There was a growing suspicion in Darcy's mind that somehow Darlington had more than just a little inkling of the business which brought him to town. The very last thing he wished was to discuss it in a public place. “All right then,” he said, replacing the volume he had been perusing on the shelf, and reticently led the way to his club.

***

Darcy chose one of the small private dining rooms, and ordered tea. He then demanded, “Now what is this all about, Darlington?”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” replied James Darlington, scrutinising Darcy intently, and noting the deep blush that came immediately to that gentleman's face.

“Err… Miss Elizabeth Bennet of… err, Longbourn? What of her?” asked Darcy, his eyes fixed firmly upon the silver creamer; contriving, but failing, to feign disinterest.

“She is both your cup of tea, and, your reason for being in London.”

Darcy attempted to keep his face neutral. “I have not the least idea what you are talking about, Darlington; you are making not the slightest sense.”

“Very well, then, let us start with a definition, shall we? ‘Cup of tea': a commonplace English expression denoting ‘a person, or object well-suited to one's taste.' Your cup of tea, Darcy, is Miss Elizabeth Bennet; you are in love with the lady!”

Darcy was utterly speechless; his face had turned an alarming shade of red. “But… What?” he spluttered. Finally he hissed through gritted teeth. “Has she spoken to you of…” But he was unable to go on. Fitzwilliam Darcy had never been so embarrassed in his entire life.

All the while, James Darlington was observing him with a bemused, calculating expression on his face; but spoke not a word.

It required considerable effort on Darcy's part to recover his composure. Finally, he said coldly, “I recall at Cambridge, that you often refused to play by the rules of gentlemanly conduct, Darlington; and I see that you have not changed in that regard. Gentlemanly behaviour is something which I, at least, always strive to adhere to; and I shall not dignify your breaches of good manners by responding to such outrageous speculations.”

Mr Darlington continued to sip his tea, and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of cake; seemingly not in the least bit contrite or apologetic.

“I take it, then, that you are acquainted with Miss Bennet?” asked Darcy, his curiosity finally getting the better him – despite having but a moment ago determined not to speak a word on the lady.

“When my mother was obliged to leave Darlington Hall some months ago, she took a cottage in Hertfordshire, not far from Meryton, where I have since joined her. Mr Bennet, who was a lifelong friend of my father, has been exceedingly kind to us all, and frequently extends invitations to dine at Longbourn. I am a great admirer of Miss Bennet, Darcy; she has an exceptionally lively mind, and her conversation is always delightful – as is her countenance. I could write sonnets about her eyes – in fact I have: several.”

“It sounds, like she might be your cup of tea, then,” said Darcy coldly, now regarding Darlington confrontationally.

“Now look here, Darcy, before you start flinging gloves about and challenging me to a duel, you should know that I have not the least design upon Miss Bennet. I am utterly impoverished, and am currently engaged in establishing myself as a novelist; an endeavour which, if I am successful, will, in the not too distant future, allow me to support my mother and sister in reasonable comfort. I do not imagine it will provide sufficiently for me to marry on, for a good many years.”

“So your lack of design upon Miss Bennet is entirely due to you lack of fortune?”

“Yes, very likely, I suppose,” replied James Darlington, letting out a sad sigh.

“What do you mean by ‘suppose'? Surely you must know your own mind, man?”

“Darcy, my situation is such that marriage is presently an impossibility. I have disciplined myself not to waste time contemplating the unattainable. I have more than enough of the barely attainable to occupy my mind these days.”

“I see,” said Darcy, with some relief; for James Darlington was the very last man with whom he would wish to compete for Elizabeth Bennet's heart.

“I have never contemplated marriage, Darcy; and I imagined that I never would. I was always far too absorbed in pursuing my studies and research, and other interests, to spare time for such mundane matters as romance and matrimony. Perhaps it was also because I had never met a lady who was capable of capturing my interest – or my heart – until I became acquainted with Miss Bennet. But I am no dreamer, Darcy; if my dear father was still alive, and were I not impoverished, it might all have been different, but…”

“Then you believe that Miss Bennet returns your affections? Has she said as much?” asked Darcy, anxiously.

“She has said no such thing, and I have made no attempt to woo her, for the very reasons I have just given you. But in any case, I am convinced that she has a strong preference for another.”

“Who?” demanded Darcy, urgently.

James Darlington ignored the question. “Miss Bennet and I have had several fascinating conversations, some of which featured your name, prominently. Unlike myself, the lady strives to observe the conventions of genteel conversation and propriety; so you may rest assured that she has never alluded to anything remotely related to romance regarding yourself, Darcy. Whatever opinions I hold on that head, and might express, are entirely my own conjecture. On one occasion we had a rather animated conversation vis-à-vis the relative merits and qualities of character of yourself, and a gentleman by the name of George Wickham.”

Darcy grunted at the name, but said nothing.

“A rather unsavoury character who is greatly in my debt as a result of losses at the gaming table. He possesses prodigious skill at charming and deceiving young ladies – including Miss Elizabeth Bennet, at one time. She had a very poor opinion of you, Darcy, after your departure from Hertfordshire; and yet, it seemed to me, that she cared a great deal about you – even if it was only to dislike and disparage you. But when she came back from Kent, all her opinions were changed; and she seemed desperate to hide some great secret – something concerning yourself, I surmised. I suppose you asked her to marry you, Darcy?” he said, staring hard into Darcy's eyes, who felt himself unable to turn them away, his face, again, betraying him, by turning red.

“I know you pride yourself on your powers of deduction, and unwanted penetration into the thoughts of others, Darlington, but I cannot imagine how you could have come to such a conclusion. What has Miss Bennet told you?” he demanded angrily.

“She has told me nothing, Darcy; and I must admit that I did not suspect a marriage proposal at the time. For while I was aware of Miss Bennet's fascination for you, I had not the slightest information or clue as to your feelings for her – at least not until I saw you in the bookseller today, when a rather fascinating possibility began to develop in my mind. I watched you very carefully, Darcy, when I first mentioned her name, some minutes ago. Your reaction, and every reaction since, tells me that you have been in love with the lady for some considerable time.

“When I combine that with my close observation of Miss Bennet, I surmise that you paid her your addresses in Kent, and that she refused you – which is hardly surprising, given what were her opinions of you at the time; most especially her misguided belief in the great wickedness you had visited upon her erstwhile favourite: the angelic George Wickham.

“Though I had no suspicion, at the time, of a marriage proposal, it was clear to me that something happened in Kent to change Miss Bennet's opinions, of both yourself and Wickham. All the lady would say on the subject, was that she had received information about Mr Wickham, and his dealings with you. Beyond that, she did not elaborate.”

Darcy, likewise, did not wish to elaborate; most especially with regard to Wickham's attempted elopement with his sister, Georgiana. Desperate to turn the conversation away from these most personal and embarrassing subjects, he demanded, “But how does all this conjecture of yours – and I admit to none of it – bear upon my business in town?”

“Nothing more than a simple bit of deduction, really. You have just come from Derbyshire, I believe, where Miss Bennet has been touring with her aunt and uncle. Just before I departed from Hertfordshire I learned that she had returned hastily home, on account of a very sad affair relating to her youngest sister, Miss Lydia Bennet. But you know all about that, do you not?”

There was no escaping Darlington's demanding gaze, Darcy nodded. Darlington smiled with satisfaction. “I thought as much. In fact, I suspected it from the moment I first saw you at the bookseller. You met with Miss Bennet in Derbyshire, and learned of her sister's elopement with Wickham. There is a history of some kind between yourself and Wickham. His side of the story, which was common knowledge in the regiment, was that he was the son of your father's steward, and the favourite of your father, who left him a fine fortune of which you cheated him.”

“The first part is true, but not the latter.”

“No, of course not, I knew you too well to believe a word of it. And in any case, I had him pegged as a dishonest rogue from the outset, but you probably know more about this charlatan than anyone. You came to London to find him, and force him to marry Miss Lydia Bennet; and so salvage her reputation… and that of her sisters, including Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whom you still hope to persuade to marry you. That, Darcy, is your business in London.”

Darcy gave James Darlington an appraising look. He was quite in awe of his mental faculties. “I refuse, point blank, Darlington, to discuss Miss Elizabeth Bennet with you, or to concede any of your wild surmises regarding my feelings and intentions regarding that lady. What I will concede, is that the principal business which brings me to town is to ensure that the marriage between Miss Lydia Bennet and George Wickham takes place. There are reasons other than those you ascribe to me, which induce me to undertake such a task; but it is a private matter, which I have no intention of divulging. Now, if I recall correctly, you said that we have the same business; would you care to elaborate?”

“I came up to London yesterday with exactly the same intention as you, of finding the whereabouts of Wickham and Miss Lydia Bennet, and of persuading him to marry her.”

“And have you had any success?”

Darlington shook his head, “No, I have so far been unable to trace them. And you?”

“I have located them and am presently engaged in the exceedingly unpleasant task of haggling over how much I am to bribe the most despicable man of my acquaintance. I must confess that I am not overly optimistic at the present time. He is exceedingly greedy, and entirely unrealistic in his demands. But Darlington, even had you found them, how on earth did you imagine you could persuade Wickham to marry Lydia Bennet? You no longer have money; and if I remember well from Cambridge, you were no swordsman or marksman – surely you cannot have been thinking of challenging Wickham to a duel?”

Darlington laughed. “Of course not, it would have been entirely pointless. He would not have been coerced into marriage by such a challenge – indeed, he would gladly have accepted it. Had he survived, he would not have been forced to marry – and if he had died, he would have been unable to.”

“Exactly,” replied Darcy. “I came to the same conclusion myself; although I would have taken greater pleasure in fighting the scoundrel. But how then did you believe you might persuade him?”

James Darlington reached into his jacket pocket and removed some folded pages, which he handed to Darcy. “By giving him this to read,” he said. “If you would be good enough to pass it on to him, I would be most obliged. You are welcome to read it first, but please do not reveal its source, as I have not the slightest wish of meeting George Wickham with either sword or pistol – my weapon of choice is the pen.”

***

In the evening following Mr and Mrs Wickham's most welcome departure for Newcastle, Elizabeth was sitting in her room, once again re-reading the letter from her Aunt Gardiner, which revealed the part Mr Darcy had played in bringing about the marriage. Elizabeth could not settle it in her mind. Did he really do it all for her, as her aunt broadly hinted? Had Mr Darcy endured such a distasteful undertaking, of having to prevail upon and bribe a man he abhorred and reviled, for a woman who had spurned and scorned him? It seemed hardly credible. As Elizabeth turned these thoughts over in her mind, her sister, Jane, knocked on her door.

“You remember the sheets of newspaper you passed me, which our Aunt Gardiner enclosed with her letter, Lizzy?”

“Oh yes, I had quite forgotten about it. It was the latest chapter of A Romance in Four Seasons, was it not? How did you like it?”

“I liked it very much,” answered Jane. “But there is something in it which so reminds me of recent events amongst us… it is quite uncanny.”

Not uncanny at all, thought Elizabeth. James Darlington had begged her not to reveal his nom de plume of Josephine Defoe, so Jane could little guess why parts of his story might seem somehow familiar.

“I won't spoil it by speaking of it,” she said, handing Elizabeth the newspaper pages. “After you have read it, we shall talk. And there is something very curious at the end; please be sure to read it, and tell me what you think.”

As soon as Jane had left the room, Elizabeth turned eagerly to the story. The villain, Edward Smythe, whom Elizabeth knew to be modelled partly upon George Wickham and partly upon Edwin Darlington, was become much more like Mr Wickham now – in both character and behaviour. Elizabeth was appalled: James Darlington had him eloping with a naïve young lady, named Susan, in precisely the manner of Wickham and Lydia. All the particulars were identical: he pretended they were bound for Gretna Green to marry; but instead brought her to London where they lived hidden, and in sin; she believing he would very soon marry her, but he, having not the least intention. Like Lydia, Susan was without fortune, and Edward had hopes that with his good looks and charm, he might still be able to woo a wealthy lady, and thus secure himself a life of comfort and ease.

Elizabeth was outraged that James Darlington could have used the tragedy of her poor, foolish sister in such a way. True, no-one reading it, but Elizabeth herself, would know from whence came the particulars of the plot; and in any case, Lydia's circumstances were by now common knowledge throughout the neighbourhood. Yet it showed a heartlessness, and a lack of sensitivity that shocked her. Mr Darlington was certainly aware that she would read it. How did he imagine she might feel at seeing her own sister's terrible misfortune thus exploited?

Elizabeth read on. Finally she reached the end of the chapter, and was surprised to see an addendum from the author:

Dear reader, it is my sad duty to reveal that the story of innocent young Susan's elopement with the despicable rake, Edward Smythe, is not the invention of the author; but rather, a true account of an actual history, which has lately occurred. The true villain is, at the time of publication, hidden in some London lodgings with his deceived young victim. Just like Edward, the scoundrel intends to cast her off, callously abandoning her to sink into a life of degradation while he seeks to make his fortune by wooing any wealthy woman he is able to prevail upon, and deceive.

The true name of this despicable villain is known to the author, who delivers unto him this warning: marry the poor unfortunate girl you have so grievously wronged, or your name will be revealed in these very pages at the end of the final chapter, two weeks hence. Not only will you be publicly shamed, but your name shall be known throughout the land, and never again, will any respectable young lady, of wealth or otherwise, be duped by you.