SearchWickham
by Jane Austen and Ann Other
Chapter I
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man who has no fortune must be in want of a wife who has.
Such a one was George Wickham, the son of a very respectable man who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates; and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined old Mr Darcy to be of service to him. He supported Wickham at school, and afterwards at Cambridge; most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education.
Wickham came down from Cambridge pursued by rumours of gambling, drinking and vicious propensities, indeed, it was not quite clear whether he came down, or had been sent down, but Wickham always managed to steer any conversation away from that topic with his usual urbane charm.
Came or sent, the purpose of his visit was ostensibly the funeral of old Mr Darcy, but the real reason became apparent before his former benefactor was hardly cold in his grave, for soon afterwards he appeared in town dressed in powder blue coat of the very latest fashion and the very highest quality.
“I say,” said Denny, looking Wickham up and down as he was shown into his rooms in Knightsbridge. “Who is your new tailor?”
The speaker was one of Wickham’s old Cambridge friends - a very valuable friend, and not only because he was the younger son of the Earl of Wentworth, but because they had shared many a drunken revel together.
“Weston of Old Bond Street, no less!”
Denny fingered the wide lapel of the beautifully-made coat and was impressed by the fine quality of the material.
“Must have cost a pretty penny!”
“Haven’t you heard? Old Darcy popped his clogs the other day and left me a thousand,” said Wickham, speaking in the familiar slang of his Cambridge days; a style of address he never used when seeking to make an impression on those outside his wild set.
“The old gentleman thought the world of me. Hoped the church would be my profession, intended to provide for me in it. In his will, as well as the thousand, he promised me a valuable family living as soon as it became vacant.”
Denny looked surprised.
“Not quite you. I can’t imagine you in a cassock and surplice!”
“No hardly,” replied Wickham, “so I wrote to that pompous son of his - you know the fellow - Darcy, always got his nose in the air...”
“So would I if I had 10,000 a year.”
“The Wentworth Estate...”
“...is worth nearly as much, but don’t forget, I’m a younger son. A measly allowance and a commission in the ...shire is all I’ll get out of it!”
“Well, I informed him that, having finally resolved against taking orders, I hoped he should not think it unreasonable for me to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which I could not be benefited.”
“A good move.”
“And just to make sure, I added that I had some intention of studying the law, and he must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I think he almost believed me to be sincere - but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to my proposal. The business was therefore soon settled. I resigned all claim to assistance in the church, and accepted in return three thousand pounds.”
“And are you going to take up the law?” said Denny with mild disbelief.
“No, I’m going fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“Fishing for an heiress. And that’s where you come in, Denny. I have a gentleman’s education, so I have good address. I will also have, if you will forgive the play on words, a good address - assuming I can trespass upon your hospitality for a while - and as you have already noticed, I have - good dress - from the best tailor in London.”
“With so many puns I wonder you don’t take up the literary profession,” said Denny ironically.
“With these I will bait my hook. As for the lakes and rivers, you will introduce me to London society. I will be the friend of Denny, basking in the reflected glory of the Wentworth estate, with a vague connection with the greater glory of the Pemberly estate - who could suspect me of mere dowry-hunting with a background like that...”
Denny laughed.
“...and a coat like this!”
It was true, the immaculate tailoring added a decided air of consequence to Wickham’s already elegant figure, so that to see them side-by-side the casual observer might imagine that Wickham was the son of an earl, and Denny the son of a mere estate manager.
Denny laughed again, then frowned, then considered the audacious proposition for a long while - or at least, what seemed a long while to Wickham. Denny could revel with the wildest, but he was no fool. He considered carefully how it might affect his own situation.
“I’ll help you,” he said at last, “on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you promise not to pay court to either of my sisters.”
“Good man!” said Wickham, much relieved, “It’s a done deal!”
© Ann, March 2011. All rights reserved by the author.
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