Page 42 of Eavesdroppers Never Hear
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As Elizabeth saw the militia officers being greeted politely (and verbosely) by her uncle, she overheard her cousin.
Mr Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire, and he was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast parlour at Rosings; acomparison that did not at first convey much gratification; but when Mrs Phillips understood from him what Rosings was, and who was its proprietor—when she had listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherine’s drawing-rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds—she felt all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison with the housekeeper’s room.
Elizabeth stopped listening, much as she usually did when her younger sisters started screeching, so she was spared yet another description of all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode. Her aunt seemed happy to listen to Mr Collins prattle on, and Elizabeth was more than happy to leave the two of them to their sport.
She deliberately moved to where she could not hear the man at all and saw the militia officers escape her uncle.
Mr Wickham was the happy man towards whom every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself. She did not care in the least about the soldier, but the evening had been such a relentless combination of dullness and trepidation thus far, any relief seemed a boon. The agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker—for about ten minutes. After that, the same feelings she had experienced on the street began to take precedence. After a week of immensely powerful conversations with her sisters, Mr Darcy, and even her own mother—small talk had little appeal. She also ruefully admitted that she was still comparing every man to Mr Darcy, and Mr Wickham came up short (again)—and yet she strove to at least be polite.
She finally tried to move beyond weather and the like out of sheer boredom. “I see you have just joined the militia, Mr Wickham. Can you tell me your earlier occupation?”
“My father was a steward, and my godfather gave me a gentleman’s education. I was supposed to get a valuable family living but it was not to be.”
Elizabeth thought that was too much detail for an acquaintance of less than an hour. “Well, that is unfortunate… but you do have an education. Most cannot boast of such fortune.”
“Yes, my patron was very generous. He was the finest man I ever knew.”
“If you planned to take a living, I assume you took orders? My cousin recently obtained one, and he may know of other available situations. He claims his patroness is very active, and she may well be able to help? Would you like me to introduce you?”
The man looked like he had swallowed a bug and Elizabeth wondered what had occurred. Had he suffered a falling out with his godfather or his heir? Had he failed to even take orders? Why was a man of his age with a gentleman’s education starting a new profession at the bottom?
The questions in her mind were many, though hardly worthy of much attention. If his godfather gifted him a gentleman’s education, he should consider himself well favoured. Complaining about missing a prize ten times his worth and having to accept five, to an acquaintance of half an hour, seemed very wrong—although she supposed she deserved what she got for asking the question in the first place.
Fortunately for Elizabeth’s equanimity, the officer was out of things to say—or perhaps uncomfortable with the topic. He excused himself politely and gallantly (too gallantly by half in her mind) and left for some imaginary meeting with one ofhis fellow officers. She watched him go with a feeling of good riddance and promptly forgot about him.
She went to get some punch herself. Over the next half-hour as she spoke to her friends, she noticed a few curious things.
The first was that the crowd’s appetite for gossip about the Netherfield residents seemed sated. Nobody asked a single question. She found it odd but was relieved of any obligation to speak about them.
She also noticed that Mr Wickham was working his way through every attractive woman in the room. He spoke to Jane for a few minutes, but she gave him short shrift, and he went away before long. He spoke briefly to Charlotte and Mary but was obviously not particularly interested in either. Of course, neither lady had the slightest interest in him anyway, so it was a moot point.
She found herself solicited by several of the officers for conversation. While she found most of them amiable enough and she might have been well entertained earlier in her life—something about the conversations bothered her. None of the other officers raised her hackles like Mr Wickham, but something about talking with them just made her uncomfortable for no apparent reason.
She eventually noticed her younger sisters had captured the attention of the officers, including Mr Wickham. While she had nothing against the man per se, she did think an evening dealing with her sisters’ abject silliness might teach him a lesson. She had no idea what he might learn, but it should build character. After all, he was free to leave the table when he got tired of them (which she judged would be in a half-hour at best).
Eventually, she escaped the men by forming a mutual defence pact. She joined Jane, Charlotte, and Mary to take ownership of a whist table that only had room for four.
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Much to their mutual satisfaction, the four ladies found their table isolated enough that they could speak in relative privacy. Elizabeth occasionally noticed disapproving glances from her aunt, and she supposed that meant the matron expected them to be hunting the plentiful game in the room. Fortunately, it was as easy to ignore their aunt as their mother.
Whist proceeded in a more orderly fashion than backgammon, but not by much, since all the ladies were distracted.
Jane asked, “What were you discussing with Mr Wickham, Lizzy? I sensed that you were uncomfortable.”
“It was not so much the conversation per se. At the end we got into an unusual though not shocking topic, but I found the entire discussion slightly disconcerting.”
Jane nodded encouragingly while Mary and Charlotte listened intently.
“Mr Wickham and the other officers seem amiable enough. They are easy in conversation, but I just did not feel up to it.”
Jane seemed deep in thought for a few moments. “I observed the same reaction, and I do not even have a—”
She stopped abruptly, apparently realising she was about to let the cat out of the bag.
Charlotte was unaware of the drama. “Do not have awhat, Jane?”
