We Have Mary King to Thank – Part 2, by Jack Caldwell

Greetings, everyone. Jack Caldwell here.

Here is Part 2 of our story. I know Part 1 was a little short. You ought to like this one better, although I still use a lot from Miss Austen’s text. Thanks goes to my lovely Beta Babe, Debbie!

Part 1 may be found HERE.

Back to our story:

Part 2

ELIZABETH AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes. She had not yet recovered from the surprise of what had happened. It was impossible to think of anything else.

After breakfast, she decided to indulge herself in air and exercise. Upon proceeding directly to her favorite walk, she recalled that Mr. Darcy’s sometimes came there. Instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane, which led her farther from the turnpike-road.

After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she caught a glimpse of the gentleman within the grove near a gate into the park. Mr. Darcy saw her, and stepping forward, called her name.

Elizabeth meant to leave, but on hearing her name called, she moved again towards the gate. He had by that time reached it also, and holding out a letter, which she instinctively took, said with a mixed look of exhaustion and haughty composure, “I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading that letter?” He turned to go the other way.

“How did you learn of Mary King?” she called to his back.

Mr. Darcy stopped, turned, and said, “I beg your pardon?”

“How did you learn of Miss King’s fortune?” she clarified. “It became common knowledge weeks after you left the neighborhood.” She frowned, anger growing inside. “Do you have an agent reporting to you?”

Darcy shook his head. “I do not recall meeting a Miss King, and I certainly know nothing of her circumstances.”

“But you know she has inherited ten thousand pounds!”

“I know nothing of the sort. To what do these accusations pretend?” His lips tightened. “You now add spying to my list of sins?”

Elizabeth grew increasingly confused. “But you said—you claimed Mr. Wickham would only marry a lady of ten thousand pounds. That is the exact amount Mary King now has.”

“And what of it?”

“Mr. Wickham is courting Miss King, and may be betrothed by now. You claim not to know this?’

Mr. Darcy grew closer to the gate. “Miss Bennet, are you saying Wickham has secured the affections of one of your friends? This is serious indeed.”

“Why? What is this hate you have for Mr. Wickham?”

“Hate is earned, Miss Bennet, and Wickham has certainly merited it.” He gestured at the letter still in her hand. “I have written you the whole of his connection with my family. It pains me to report that the friend of my childhood has become an infamous libertine, rake, and gamester. He has betrayed my family numerous times—a family that has seen to his education and hoped to promote his chosen profession—and we still suffer from his actions.”

Elizabeth said nothing to Mr. Darcy’s shocking statement. He continued to pace beside the gate.

“Is there a way?” he said almost to himself. “Is there a way to rescue your friend from the sorry fate that awaits her?”

“He is that dangerous?”

Darcy stopped, his countenance grave. “Wickham has wasted four thousand pounds in less than three years. This I know for a fact! Imagine how quickly he could squander ten thousand.”

Elizabeth retreated a step, so great was her astonishment. “Four thousand pounds? How do you know this?”

“It is what he received from my father and me.”

Elizabeth’s knees felt weak, all of her previously held opinions crumbling before Darcy’s stern words. Alarmed, Darcy opened the gate and took her arm. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet! I fear I have distressed you. Come, there is a seat nearby.”

Elizabeth allowed herself to be led to a fallen log. Upon sitting, she regained her composure. “You make terrible accusations against Mr. Wickham, sir. I trust you can prove them?”

“I can,” he stated coldly. “I have known him all my life. Once we were friends, as I said, but as we grew older, his character changed. I choose to believe this, for the thought that my father’s godson was always bad is too painful to contemplate.”

As Mr. Darcy spoke, his tone became softer, filled with disappointment and regret.

“My father and Wickham’s were not only gentleman and servant but friends. My father thought highly of George Wickham and his high spirits. He supported him at school and Cambridge, for his family was in constant distress caused by Mrs. Wickham’s extravagance, and he hoped he would make the church his profession.”

Darcy shook his head. “It was at school I realized Wickham should never be a clergyman. He eagerly participated in the vices prevalent at school—cards, drinking, and…other things. He also accrued debt, using my family’s name to secure far more credit than he could make good. You may understand why we grew apart.

“When my father died five years ago, he left Wickham a thousand pounds along with a request that I see to his advancement in his chosen profession. He particularly mentioned the living in Kympton which is our gift, should he receive orders.

“You may ask yourself why my father was so generous when Wickham had developed habits that I assure you would have horrified any decent gentleman. The reason was that he was unaware of them. My dear mother, to whom my father was intently attached, died ten years ago. In my own grief, I was a poor companion for him. He grew close to his cheerful godson while I comforted my sister, who is more than ten years my junior. I saw how Father mourned my mother—he suffered intently—so I said nothing. I could not take from him his source of consolation. It is why I paid Wickham’s debts at school and in Derbyshire. Perhaps I should have allowed him to feel the consequences of his deplorable actions. I own that may have been a mistake.

“Wickham’s father did not long survive mine, and within half a year, he wrote to inform me that having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage in lieu of the preferment. Wickham had some intention of studying the law, he claimed, and the interest of one thousand pounds would be insufficient to support him in this endeavor. I rather wished than believed him to be sincere, but I was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal.

“The business was soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance in the church in return for three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved.”

Stunned, Elizabeth countered, “He said you refused the bequest.”

“I am certain he did. Once Wickham left for London with the funds, I neither knew nor cared how he lived. His claim to study the law was a mere pretense, and being now free from all restraint, his life was one of idleness and dissipation.

“I heard nothing from him for about three years, until the Kympton living did fall open. Wickham wrote me, claiming that finding his studies unprofitable and in desperate straits, he decided to take orders after all and demanded the gift of the living. I refused him, of course.”

“I-I can hardly credit it! Such audacity from a gentleman who had already received extraordinary generosity! Is it possible?”

“I am sorry to give you pain, but it is indeed possible. Wickham was unhappy with this turn of events and was as violent with his opinion of me in his letters as I am sure he was with you. I had hoped never to hear from him again, but he imposed upon my family painfully last summer. My sister—”

“No!” Elizabeth cried. “Do you claim Mr. Wickham injured your sister in some way?”

Darcy grew grim. “He did. To protect you, I must do what I failed to do for Georgiana.

“About a year ago, it was my sister’s wish to leave school and set up her own household, as is usual for young ladies in our circumstances. After speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who shares in her guardianship, we hired a companion, a Mrs. Younge, a woman in whose character we were most unhappily deceived. Oh, had I done what I ought! I should have done better, should have examined her references closely. But I did not.

“They left London to visit Ramsgate, and thither also went Wickham—undoubtedly by design—for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge.

“I did not share with Georgiana my history with Wickham, for she was recovered from her grief over our father, and the thought that she would meet with Wickham never occurred to me. Her affectionate heart retained a strong impression of Wickham’s kindness to her as a child. Therefore, she proved easy prey for the compliments paid her by him and the encouragements from Mrs. Younge. She was persuaded to believe herself in love and to consent to an elopement.”

“Good heavens! But surely she is safe?”

“She is. By the greatest good luck, I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement. Georgiana acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted! Regard for my sister’s credit and feelings prevented any public exposure, but I wrote to Wickham, who left the place immediately. Mrs. Younge was, of course, removed from her charge.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Elizabeth frowned. “Your sister…did you not say she is ten years your junior?”

“Yes,” he confirmed gravely, “she was but fifteen years old at the time.”

Elizabeth could only gasp, “Mr. Wickham tried to elope with a fifteen-year-old child?”

“He did. Wickham’s chief object was unquestionably my sister’s fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds, but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. By ruining my sister, his revenge would have been complete indeed.”

Elizabeth, in tears, could only shake her head.

“I, of course, feel no doubt of your secrecy,” continued Darcy, “but I hope you can acquit me of cruelty towards Wickham.” He paused. “I know not in what manner he has imposed on you, but his success is not to be wondered at. He is a practiced liar, and I do not use that word loosely.

“You have no reason to trust me. Therefore, I can appeal to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from consulting him.”

“Mr. Darcy, please.” Elizabeth placed her hand on his. “I do not doubt you. I am only shocked and mortified. That Mr. Wickham could be so bad! He has every appearance of goodness.”

His face softened. “You must not blame yourself. A practiced liar must appear otherwise to his victims, or he would not be successful in his schemes.”

Elizabeth could not credit his kindness, nor take comfort in his assurances. She thought better of herself, that she had a superior understanding of others, but when brought to the test, she had failed most miserably. How Mr. Wickham must have laughed at her gullibility! She felt a fool.

There was one matter, however, about which she was not wrong. In renewed indignation, she asked, “Why are you so kind to me when you were cruel to my sister?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You admitted last evening you separated my dear Jane from Mr. Bingley. You said you did everything in your power to do so. Are all gentlemen from Derbyshire heartless?”

Darcy drew back, and in a tone haughty yet defensive said, “Heartless? Madam, it was the heart of both Bingley and your sister that drove my actions.”

“What do you mean? Did Mr. Bingley not care for Jane?”

“My concerns were quite in the other direction.”

Elizabeth leapt to her feet. “How could you? You, and you alone, have broken my dearest sister’s heart—perhaps forever!”

Darcy joined her. “You claim your sister loved my friend? She showed no evidence of that.”

“Who are you to determine such a thing for others totally unrelated to you? You could not ascertain my feelings, much less Jane’s!” Elizabeth’s fists clenched.

Darcy said nothing; he simply gaped.

“I have nothing more to say to you!” Elizabeth turned to the gate.

“Wait! You cannot say that and leave!” cried Darcy.

“I shall do as I choose,” she threw over her shoulder. “Good day, Mr. Darcy!”

“Miss Elizabeth! Please! We must speak on this!”

At the gate, Elizabeth turned to him. “I do not see we have anything more to say to each other, sir.” She closed it behind her and stomped back to the parsonage.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. **Sigh**

Until next week, this has been the Cajun Cheesehead Chronicles.

It takes a real man to write historical romance, so let me tell you a story…