Claims to Reputation, 1-3
It is over twenty years after the events of Pride and Prejudice. Darcy is in Parliament, Mr Gardiner is immensely wealthy, and the Bingleys are living in comfortable gentility; the Wickhams, however, are poor, with fifteen children, and no prospect of anything beyond the intermittent charity of their relations.
Lydia and Wickham's two eldest, Elizabeth and George, decide to take matters into their own hands.
Part I
Letter 1: George Wickham to Elizabeth Wickham
2 January 1837
Dearest sister,
Forgive me for taking so long to write. I had forgotten the ferocity of Derbyshire winters. It was an extra day and a half of travelling to get to Pemberley, although the view was almost worth it! Sometimes I half think Aunt Darcy fell for my uncle when she set eyes on this place. The chill caught up with my raptures, however, and I could only think of the comforts of the house -- blankets, a change of clothes, the fire. Alas, no willing parlourmaids. I have no intentions of endangering myself, but in any case you know my uncle does not tolerate licentious behaviour on his property.
Speaking of whom, I have not seen him since he had me caned for the aforementioned licentious behaviour four years ago, but I can assure you that he is every bit as forbidding and puritanical as he ever was. I quake in my boots at the sight of him. He would have made a fine clergyman, although he is so much master of his domain it seems impossible that he could ever be anyone else. I seem to be alone in my fear, however -- I have never met a man so capable of inspiring affection from all and sundry, unlikely as it seems. --He is supposed to be an eloquent speaker, but I have scarcely had ten words from him. He simply looks and I try not to squirm. You would tell me not to be so childish if you were here, but I feel about twelve years old and five feet tall.
Except in the main regard, of course, in which I am excruciatingly aware that I am not twelve at all, and neither is our dear cousin. I admit unreservedly that she is the loveliest creature I have ever laid eyes on. What a terrible hackneyed phrase! Yet if I try to describe her it is still worse -- pale and tall and beautiful. If she sounds like her father, it is because she is, almost enough that I am half-frightened of her. But she is also clever and spirited and one cannot discount the lure of the unattainable. I would make the attempt had she only twenty thousand pounds, ten even, instead of thirty and, someday, Rosings. I know how you would look, Betsey, but it is quite true. For such a wife, a man would make many sacrifices. Oh, she is very cold, very distant in her manner towards me -- years of hostility cannot be so easily overcome -- but I have seen that there is warmth, tenderness, passion in her. The two of them, father and daughter, are thick as thieves and sometimes I hear them laughing together. It is rather surreal as I have never seen either show the slightest amusement at any thing. I am not permitted into the charmed circle, but I flatter myself it is only a matter of time.
Aunt Darcy and the girls are the weak points, I believe. They are all prodigiously fond of me, and I can say with all sincerity that I quite reciprocate the feeling. It seems impossible that Aunt D should have ever fallen in love for such a man as my uncle, but I have no doubt that she did, for there is no mistaking her manner towards him. Oh, how I hated her! Do you remember? I hated the whole lot of them. Good God, they had everything, that lovely, happy, wealthy family, and then Mother would take us back to scrape by until they quarrelled and we had only the Bingleys to beg charity from. Now I must pay for it -- Anne hasn’t forgotten how I behaved then -- but even this tie is better than none at all. As for Georgiana and Bella and Elizabeth, they are sweet, unspoilt girls, and it should be no great difficulty to cultivate them. Bella is our sister, after all, whatever her education, and they all three have such affectionate hearts that they shall be easily won over -- unlike the others, who consider me with various degrees of suspicion. You should have aimed higher, Bet; Edward has less of his father’s looks and more of his temper, he overflows with disdain at what he calls the littleness of Society, he might defy it for defiance’s sake alone. But perhaps you are better where you are, our proud cousin feels his obligations keenly. Your only real chance would be Richard, and what care you for a younger son?
I remain your affectionate brother,
G.W.
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Letter 2: Elizabeth Wickham to George Wickham
6 January 1837
My dear George,
Yes, you read the address correctly. I was tragically stranded in Hertfordshire on my way north -- very near to Mother’s childhood home, astonishingly enough. As concerned and careful a brother as you are, I felt assured you would wish to hear all the details of my latest misadventure. It has turned out much less badly than such unfortunate accidents often do. I am installed at Longbourn with nothing worse than a sprained ankle, grateful recipient of the Collinses’ hospitality.
The Collinses themselves are quite kind and seem content enough with the addition to their family party. Mr Collins delights in displaying his charity and is constantly enquiring after my well-being. William is following his father’s example admirably. Do not worry! nothing like a flirtation, I would not be so foolish. I am very humble and lowly in my manner -- quite the image of proper feminine modesty. I have heard them wonder that I should have come from such a union, but they are pleased enough with the result. Is not every one who knows me?
In all honesty, Mrs Collins is the only tolerable one of the lot. The girls are prim misses, though Charlotte joins some of her mother’s sense to her father's crude mind. Catherine never fails to delight in informing me that she is the namesake of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I was forced to mention -- softly and shyly, of course -- that I am well aware of that lady’s connections, her nephew married my aunt. She is now the most faithful little pet you can imagine.
That reminds me of your situation. I wish you luck, for you shall need it. You would have done better to wait for Bess. You forget I have seen them more recently than you -- I accepted the invitation to Baildon last year, for Bella’s sake. In a few years, little E could easily be persuaded to imagine herself in love with you -- she seemed a sweet romantic sort of creature. Anne is neither. She is a cold, passionless, eminently rational girl who cares for no one but her father who is just the same. I confess I do not understand your attraction -- I do not deny that she is handsome, but proud icy beauties have never been to your taste before. The lure of the unattainable -- that is the only explanation, but it is a heady thing, I know. I know better than you do! Tread carefully, dear brother -- if you think Uncle Darcy’s fury when he caught you with the parlourmaid was terrible, it would be as nothing if you laid a finger on his precious daughter. You must be quite certain of yourself, and her -- with her face and fortune, she could aim high, and I am sure she does. You will have to win her heart completely -- no trifling infatuation will do. To have such a near connection to the de Bourgh money! It would answer all my wishes, I assure you -- even should my uncle live thirty or forty years more there is always her dowry. Dear George, I truly wish you the best of fortune.
Your affectionate sister,
Elizabeth Wickham
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Letter 3: George Wickham to Elizabeth Wickham
11 January 1837
Dear Betsey,
You cannot think I cherish any doubts of your capacity for enchantment. It is our dear cousin’s ‘crude’ mind that gives me pause. If any man could be unaffected by your charms, even cloaked in apparent artlessness, it would be him. Illiberality and a mind untainted by any original thought does the work of perception and genius.--Well, perhaps not. If you convince him that you really are the picture of purity you seem -- then matters will be different. There is generosity in his nature -- I am sure it is from his mother, poor woman -- he will be all the more powerfully struck because of your unsavoury origins. Do not hide your ill fortune, flaunt it -- tastefully, of course. Lament Mother and Father’s want of principle as much as their poverty. Spare mournful thoughts for your brothers and sisters, and remember your immense gratitude on Bella’s behalf. Speak however you like of me -- and keep Jack as a model, though he would detest the very thought. He is exactly what they should think you are. In fact, you may wish to repair your bridges there -- he would be better affirmation of the possibility of virtue than a thousand beautifully crafted falsehoods breathed through silver.
Am I not the best of brothers? Always ready to dispense useful advice? I am taking my cousin for an example, you see. Well, in this matter -- I could not dream of emulating most of his ways. There is something positively saintly about him -- and I do not speak of a repentant St Augustine! He lives the most monastic existence possible for a young man,-- perhaps the weight of being the example to his siblings; but no, for there are always respectable routes in that circumstance -- others in his position and with something like his temperament manage discreet indiscretions. Partly it his father, who needless to say he thinks the world of, and holds in awe that almost overcomes his affection. I am careful not to speak a word against my uncle, even if I dared -- not even to the most downtrodden-looking servant.
Not that very many here are downtrodden, and if they are, it is their own fault -- they seem quite a contented lot, and well they should be with what my uncle pays them. Do you know, I almost fancy a domestic life after staying here? You would laugh, I know. Yet there is something to be said for settling down, putting down roots, even creating a family -- if there is money to do so comfortably. I don’t know how they manage it, but in this house full of the most disparate characters imaginable, they all live together in the utmost degree of complaisance. It boggles the mind. I am determined to see how they manage it. Affluence only goes so far -- just look at the Ancasters, they are profoundly miserable together.
Anne smiled at me to-day. Now I am making you laugh again! As if I, a very accomplished flirt if I do say so myself, should be satisfied with so little; but from her, it is a great thing. Better still, Mr Darcy and St Edward are leaving for a few weeks, south to Rosings. I think of London with a sigh, but it is better to stay away from temptation. There is little enough to alter my resolve here, only Anne herself distracts me in any way. Yet you are right about one thing, she is not at all the sort I have always been attracted to before. Somehow I nevertheless find myself unable and unwilling to resist. I notice the smallest, most trivial things. She has quite the strongest hands I ever saw in a woman; rather a pity as she will never need them. I would almost say she would have made a good farmer’s wife had she a shade less hauteur. Yet I have seen the mask drop. Yesterday I was able to accompany her when she went to visit a tenant family. Why she should do so I have no idea, but they have never been normal folk. In any case she was as easy as you please with them, and I made myself very charming to the children. It was easy enough;--I am fond of children.
Ah, little Elizabeth. Were I determined to get any rich wife, I should undoubtedly adopt your scheme, but Betsey, dear, I am not entirely without scruple. She is a little girl to be entertained, not a woman to be seduced. Eleven years old! I am content to help her with her studies and make her laugh at my nonsense. Aunt Darcy finds it a relief, I daresay -- E can be a very difficult child for all her sweetness. My aunt disapproves of me, I am sure, and likes me nonetheless. I suppose blood is thicker than water; I cannot dislike her, I am too fond of her. She is a lovely, remarkable woman -- not quite a beauty, though very elegant -- but she is my aunt and we are far more alike than Mother and I. Mother had all her liveliness burnt out of her long ago, but Uncle Darcy, whatever else I could say about him, cherishes and nourishes Aunt Darcy’s while lacking anything like it himself. I cannot help simply enjoying being with her, in some ways more than Anne -- for there is nothing else to muddy the waters with us. She is too clever and has been too much in the world, for me to attempt any sort of deceit with her. We simply talk of mundane matters but there is something about her that makes the dullest of subjects interesting. She is the only one I have ever heard you speak well of -- unless your schemes for Elizabeth count -- and I can see why. She is so much a Darcy of Pemberley, yet one can see in her a sort of kinship to us and ours.
She asked after Mother and you particularly. Well, she is your godmother, though you are not in the least alike. I made her laugh with my talk of fashion, and particularly those horrid sleeves.
Perhaps you might talk of London fashions with the Collinses?--but no, that would not really fit the unsophisticated young ingénue, would it? But you do not mean to pretend you have not been in town, do you? It is always better to keep your deceptions as simple as possible -- keep to the truth as much as you can, except when it cannot be avoided. Use manner and implication rather than one of your involuted stories. The Collinses may not be as deficient as they seem, barring Mr Collins of course. There! I hope you are grateful for the plethora of brotherly advice. I imagine I shall have more promising news when I next write.
Give poor Mrs Collins my best wishes. To have borne such a child! One William Collins was quite bad enough.
G.W.
Lydia and Wickham's two eldest, Elizabeth and George, decide to take matters into their own hands.
Part I
Letter 1: George Wickham to Elizabeth Wickham
2 January 1837
Dearest sister,
Forgive me for taking so long to write. I had forgotten the ferocity of Derbyshire winters. It was an extra day and a half of travelling to get to Pemberley, although the view was almost worth it! Sometimes I half think Aunt Darcy fell for my uncle when she set eyes on this place. The chill caught up with my raptures, however, and I could only think of the comforts of the house -- blankets, a change of clothes, the fire. Alas, no willing parlourmaids. I have no intentions of endangering myself, but in any case you know my uncle does not tolerate licentious behaviour on his property.
Speaking of whom, I have not seen him since he had me caned for the aforementioned licentious behaviour four years ago, but I can assure you that he is every bit as forbidding and puritanical as he ever was. I quake in my boots at the sight of him. He would have made a fine clergyman, although he is so much master of his domain it seems impossible that he could ever be anyone else. I seem to be alone in my fear, however -- I have never met a man so capable of inspiring affection from all and sundry, unlikely as it seems. --He is supposed to be an eloquent speaker, but I have scarcely had ten words from him. He simply looks and I try not to squirm. You would tell me not to be so childish if you were here, but I feel about twelve years old and five feet tall.
Except in the main regard, of course, in which I am excruciatingly aware that I am not twelve at all, and neither is our dear cousin. I admit unreservedly that she is the loveliest creature I have ever laid eyes on. What a terrible hackneyed phrase! Yet if I try to describe her it is still worse -- pale and tall and beautiful. If she sounds like her father, it is because she is, almost enough that I am half-frightened of her. But she is also clever and spirited and one cannot discount the lure of the unattainable. I would make the attempt had she only twenty thousand pounds, ten even, instead of thirty and, someday, Rosings. I know how you would look, Betsey, but it is quite true. For such a wife, a man would make many sacrifices. Oh, she is very cold, very distant in her manner towards me -- years of hostility cannot be so easily overcome -- but I have seen that there is warmth, tenderness, passion in her. The two of them, father and daughter, are thick as thieves and sometimes I hear them laughing together. It is rather surreal as I have never seen either show the slightest amusement at any thing. I am not permitted into the charmed circle, but I flatter myself it is only a matter of time.
Aunt Darcy and the girls are the weak points, I believe. They are all prodigiously fond of me, and I can say with all sincerity that I quite reciprocate the feeling. It seems impossible that Aunt D should have ever fallen in love for such a man as my uncle, but I have no doubt that she did, for there is no mistaking her manner towards him. Oh, how I hated her! Do you remember? I hated the whole lot of them. Good God, they had everything, that lovely, happy, wealthy family, and then Mother would take us back to scrape by until they quarrelled and we had only the Bingleys to beg charity from. Now I must pay for it -- Anne hasn’t forgotten how I behaved then -- but even this tie is better than none at all. As for Georgiana and Bella and Elizabeth, they are sweet, unspoilt girls, and it should be no great difficulty to cultivate them. Bella is our sister, after all, whatever her education, and they all three have such affectionate hearts that they shall be easily won over -- unlike the others, who consider me with various degrees of suspicion. You should have aimed higher, Bet; Edward has less of his father’s looks and more of his temper, he overflows with disdain at what he calls the littleness of Society, he might defy it for defiance’s sake alone. But perhaps you are better where you are, our proud cousin feels his obligations keenly. Your only real chance would be Richard, and what care you for a younger son?
I remain your affectionate brother,
G.W.
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Letter 2: Elizabeth Wickham to George Wickham
6 January 1837
My dear George,
Yes, you read the address correctly. I was tragically stranded in Hertfordshire on my way north -- very near to Mother’s childhood home, astonishingly enough. As concerned and careful a brother as you are, I felt assured you would wish to hear all the details of my latest misadventure. It has turned out much less badly than such unfortunate accidents often do. I am installed at Longbourn with nothing worse than a sprained ankle, grateful recipient of the Collinses’ hospitality.
The Collinses themselves are quite kind and seem content enough with the addition to their family party. Mr Collins delights in displaying his charity and is constantly enquiring after my well-being. William is following his father’s example admirably. Do not worry! nothing like a flirtation, I would not be so foolish. I am very humble and lowly in my manner -- quite the image of proper feminine modesty. I have heard them wonder that I should have come from such a union, but they are pleased enough with the result. Is not every one who knows me?
In all honesty, Mrs Collins is the only tolerable one of the lot. The girls are prim misses, though Charlotte joins some of her mother’s sense to her father's crude mind. Catherine never fails to delight in informing me that she is the namesake of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I was forced to mention -- softly and shyly, of course -- that I am well aware of that lady’s connections, her nephew married my aunt. She is now the most faithful little pet you can imagine.
That reminds me of your situation. I wish you luck, for you shall need it. You would have done better to wait for Bess. You forget I have seen them more recently than you -- I accepted the invitation to Baildon last year, for Bella’s sake. In a few years, little E could easily be persuaded to imagine herself in love with you -- she seemed a sweet romantic sort of creature. Anne is neither. She is a cold, passionless, eminently rational girl who cares for no one but her father who is just the same. I confess I do not understand your attraction -- I do not deny that she is handsome, but proud icy beauties have never been to your taste before. The lure of the unattainable -- that is the only explanation, but it is a heady thing, I know. I know better than you do! Tread carefully, dear brother -- if you think Uncle Darcy’s fury when he caught you with the parlourmaid was terrible, it would be as nothing if you laid a finger on his precious daughter. You must be quite certain of yourself, and her -- with her face and fortune, she could aim high, and I am sure she does. You will have to win her heart completely -- no trifling infatuation will do. To have such a near connection to the de Bourgh money! It would answer all my wishes, I assure you -- even should my uncle live thirty or forty years more there is always her dowry. Dear George, I truly wish you the best of fortune.
Your affectionate sister,
Elizabeth Wickham
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Letter 3: George Wickham to Elizabeth Wickham
11 January 1837
Dear Betsey,
You cannot think I cherish any doubts of your capacity for enchantment. It is our dear cousin’s ‘crude’ mind that gives me pause. If any man could be unaffected by your charms, even cloaked in apparent artlessness, it would be him. Illiberality and a mind untainted by any original thought does the work of perception and genius.--Well, perhaps not. If you convince him that you really are the picture of purity you seem -- then matters will be different. There is generosity in his nature -- I am sure it is from his mother, poor woman -- he will be all the more powerfully struck because of your unsavoury origins. Do not hide your ill fortune, flaunt it -- tastefully, of course. Lament Mother and Father’s want of principle as much as their poverty. Spare mournful thoughts for your brothers and sisters, and remember your immense gratitude on Bella’s behalf. Speak however you like of me -- and keep Jack as a model, though he would detest the very thought. He is exactly what they should think you are. In fact, you may wish to repair your bridges there -- he would be better affirmation of the possibility of virtue than a thousand beautifully crafted falsehoods breathed through silver.
Am I not the best of brothers? Always ready to dispense useful advice? I am taking my cousin for an example, you see. Well, in this matter -- I could not dream of emulating most of his ways. There is something positively saintly about him -- and I do not speak of a repentant St Augustine! He lives the most monastic existence possible for a young man,-- perhaps the weight of being the example to his siblings; but no, for there are always respectable routes in that circumstance -- others in his position and with something like his temperament manage discreet indiscretions. Partly it his father, who needless to say he thinks the world of, and holds in awe that almost overcomes his affection. I am careful not to speak a word against my uncle, even if I dared -- not even to the most downtrodden-looking servant.
Not that very many here are downtrodden, and if they are, it is their own fault -- they seem quite a contented lot, and well they should be with what my uncle pays them. Do you know, I almost fancy a domestic life after staying here? You would laugh, I know. Yet there is something to be said for settling down, putting down roots, even creating a family -- if there is money to do so comfortably. I don’t know how they manage it, but in this house full of the most disparate characters imaginable, they all live together in the utmost degree of complaisance. It boggles the mind. I am determined to see how they manage it. Affluence only goes so far -- just look at the Ancasters, they are profoundly miserable together.
Anne smiled at me to-day. Now I am making you laugh again! As if I, a very accomplished flirt if I do say so myself, should be satisfied with so little; but from her, it is a great thing. Better still, Mr Darcy and St Edward are leaving for a few weeks, south to Rosings. I think of London with a sigh, but it is better to stay away from temptation. There is little enough to alter my resolve here, only Anne herself distracts me in any way. Yet you are right about one thing, she is not at all the sort I have always been attracted to before. Somehow I nevertheless find myself unable and unwilling to resist. I notice the smallest, most trivial things. She has quite the strongest hands I ever saw in a woman; rather a pity as she will never need them. I would almost say she would have made a good farmer’s wife had she a shade less hauteur. Yet I have seen the mask drop. Yesterday I was able to accompany her when she went to visit a tenant family. Why she should do so I have no idea, but they have never been normal folk. In any case she was as easy as you please with them, and I made myself very charming to the children. It was easy enough;--I am fond of children.
Ah, little Elizabeth. Were I determined to get any rich wife, I should undoubtedly adopt your scheme, but Betsey, dear, I am not entirely without scruple. She is a little girl to be entertained, not a woman to be seduced. Eleven years old! I am content to help her with her studies and make her laugh at my nonsense. Aunt Darcy finds it a relief, I daresay -- E can be a very difficult child for all her sweetness. My aunt disapproves of me, I am sure, and likes me nonetheless. I suppose blood is thicker than water; I cannot dislike her, I am too fond of her. She is a lovely, remarkable woman -- not quite a beauty, though very elegant -- but she is my aunt and we are far more alike than Mother and I. Mother had all her liveliness burnt out of her long ago, but Uncle Darcy, whatever else I could say about him, cherishes and nourishes Aunt Darcy’s while lacking anything like it himself. I cannot help simply enjoying being with her, in some ways more than Anne -- for there is nothing else to muddy the waters with us. She is too clever and has been too much in the world, for me to attempt any sort of deceit with her. We simply talk of mundane matters but there is something about her that makes the dullest of subjects interesting. She is the only one I have ever heard you speak well of -- unless your schemes for Elizabeth count -- and I can see why. She is so much a Darcy of Pemberley, yet one can see in her a sort of kinship to us and ours.
She asked after Mother and you particularly. Well, she is your godmother, though you are not in the least alike. I made her laugh with my talk of fashion, and particularly those horrid sleeves.
Perhaps you might talk of London fashions with the Collinses?--but no, that would not really fit the unsophisticated young ingénue, would it? But you do not mean to pretend you have not been in town, do you? It is always better to keep your deceptions as simple as possible -- keep to the truth as much as you can, except when it cannot be avoided. Use manner and implication rather than one of your involuted stories. The Collinses may not be as deficient as they seem, barring Mr Collins of course. There! I hope you are grateful for the plethora of brotherly advice. I imagine I shall have more promising news when I next write.
Give poor Mrs Collins my best wishes. To have borne such a child! One William Collins was quite bad enough.
G.W.