What is it about poetic justice? We love seeing people fall into the pit they’ve dug for someone else. It doesn’t happen often enough in real life, or if it does, we aren’t around to witness it.
But fiction can fix all that. Book Justice is cheap therapy for the writer, and is a rollicking good time for the reader. A win-win.
From Chapter 36 of Darcy By Any Other Name, that schemer, Mr. Wickham, is broke (like that’s a surprise?) and in a tight spot. He squirms like a worm on a hook. As we read, our grin widens. And we might even cackle in glee.
Wickham was continuing to argue with the driver. Darcy saw him smile and spread his hands, a characteristic gesture. “All in good time, my friend,” he heard him bleat.
“There’s no time like the present,” the driver countered. His stance was aggressive.
The postilion had his hands on his hips. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that you won’t pay?”
“Have patience,” said Wickham. “You’re a testy fellow, aren’t you?”
“On a cold night in all this rain?” said the postilion. “I should say so. We expect to be paid.” He turned to the driver. “Had enough, Bob?”
Apparently the driver had. He grunted assent and stumped to the rear of the coach.
“Hang on,” cried Wickham. “What are you doing?”
“Removing your trunk, sir, as you will not—or cannot—pay up.”
“No, wait! I-I—”
Tomorrow’s post is K for Klutz. Because people aren’t as smart as they think they are. Thanks so much for stopping by!
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