He merely added that he should not write
again till he had something of importance to mention.
again till he had something of importance to mention.
Austen - Pride and Prejudice
Darcy appeared.
Her pale face and impetuous
manner made him start, and before he could recover himself to speak,
she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia’s situation,
hastily exclaimed, “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find
Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not
an instant to lose. ”
“Good God! what is the matter? ” cried he, with more feeling than
politeness; then recollecting himself, “I will not detain you a minute;
but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are
not well enough; you cannot go yourself. ”
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her and she felt how
little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back
the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless
an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and
mistress home instantly.
On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself, and
looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her,
or to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration,
“Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you
present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill. ”
“No, I thank you,” she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. “There
is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by
some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn. ”
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could
not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say
something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate
silence. At length she spoke again. “I have just had a letter from Jane,
with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger
sister has left all her friends--has eloped; has thrown herself into
the power of--of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton.
_You_ know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no
connections, nothing that can tempt him to--she is lost for ever. ”
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. “When I consider,” she added in a yet
more agitated voice, “that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what
he was. Had I but explained some part of it only--some part of what I
learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not
have happened. But it is all--all too late now. ”
“I am grieved indeed,” cried Darcy; “grieved--shocked. But is it
certain--absolutely certain? ”
“Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced
almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to
Scotland. ”
“And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her? ”
“My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle’s
immediate assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. But
nothing can be done--I know very well that nothing can be done. How is
such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have
not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible! ”
Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.
“When _my_ eyes were opened to his real character--Oh! had I known what
I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not--I was afraid of doing too
much. Wretched, wretched mistake! ”
Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking
up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air
gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her
power was sinking; everything _must_ sink under such a proof of family
weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither
wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing
consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It
was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own
wishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved
him, as now, when all love must be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia--the
humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed
up every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief,
Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and, after a pause of
several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by
the voice of her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke
compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, “I am afraid you have been
long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my
stay, but real, though unavailing concern. Would to Heaven that anything
could be either said or done on my part that might offer consolation to
such distress! But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may
seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I
fear, prevent my sister’s having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley
to-day. ”
“Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that
urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as
long as it is possible, I know it cannot be long. ”
He readily assured her of his secrecy; again expressed his sorrow for
her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present
reason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations, with only
one serious, parting look, went away.
As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they
should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as
had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a
retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full
of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those
feelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and would
formerly have rejoiced in its termination.
If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth’s
change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if
otherwise--if regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or
unnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on
a first interview with its object, and even before two words have been
exchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given
somewhat of a trial to the latter method in her partiality for Wickham,
and that its ill success might, perhaps, authorise her to seek the other
less interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him
go with regret; and in this early example of what Lydia’s infamy must
produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched
business. Never, since reading Jane’s second letter, had she entertained
a hope of Wickham’s meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought,
could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least
of her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first
letter remained in her mind, she was all surprise--all astonishment that
Wickham should marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry
for money; and how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared
incomprehensible. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachment
as this she might have sufficient charms; and though she did not suppose
Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement without the intention
of marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her virtue
nor her understanding would preserve her from falling an easy prey.
She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that
Lydia had any partiality for him; but she was convinced that Lydia
wanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one
officer, sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions
raised them in her opinion. Her affections had continually been
fluctuating but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and
mistaken indulgence towards such a girl--oh! how acutely did she now
feel it!
She was wild to be at home--to hear, to see, to be upon the spot to
share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a
family so deranged, a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and
requiring constant attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothing
could be done for Lydia, her uncle’s interference seemed of the utmost
importance, and till he entered the room her impatience was severe. Mr.
and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm, supposing by the servant’s
account that their niece was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them
instantly on that head, she eagerly communicated the cause of their
summons, reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the postscript
of the last with trembling energy. --Though Lydia had never been a
favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but be deeply
afflicted. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and after the
first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner promised every
assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked
him with tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated by one spirit,
everything relating to their journey was speedily settled. They were to
be off as soon as possible. “But what is to be done about Pemberley? ”
cried Mrs. Gardiner. “John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for
us; was it so? ”
“Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement.
_That_ is all settled. ”
“What is all settled? ” repeated the other, as she ran into her room to
prepare. “And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real
truth? Oh, that I knew how it was! ”
But wishes were vain, or at least could only serve to amuse her in the
hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure
to be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was
impossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of
business as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to
be written to all their friends at Lambton, with false excuses for their
sudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr.
Gardiner meanwhile having settled his account at the inn, nothing
remained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth, after all the misery of
the morning, found herself, in a shorter space of time than she could
have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.
Chapter 47
“I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,” said her uncle, as they
drove from the town; “and really, upon serious consideration, I am much
more inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does on the
matter. It appears to me so very unlikely that any young man should
form such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or
friendless, and who was actually staying in his colonel’s family, that I
am strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends
would not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed again by the
regiment, after such an affront to Colonel Forster? His temptation is
not adequate to the risk! ”
“Do you really think so? ” cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.
“Upon my word,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “I begin to be of your uncle’s
opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and
interest, for him to be guilty of. I cannot think so very ill of
Wickham. Can you yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as to believe
him capable of it? ”
“Not, perhaps, of neglecting his own interest; but of every other
neglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I
dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland if that had been
the case? ”
“In the first place,” replied Mr. Gardiner, “there is no absolute proof
that they are not gone to Scotland. ”
“Oh! but their removing from the chaise into a hackney coach is such
a presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the
Barnet road. ”
“Well, then--supposing them to be in London. They may be there, though
for the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptional purpose. It is
not likely that money should be very abundant on either side; and it
might strike them that they could be more economically, though less
expeditiously, married in London than in Scotland. ”
“But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their
marriage be private? Oh, no, no--this is not likely. His most particular
friend, you see by Jane’s account, was persuaded of his never intending
to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He
cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia--what attraction has she
beyond youth, health, and good humour that could make him, for her sake,
forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what
restraint the apprehensions of disgrace in the corps might throw on a
dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I know
nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your
other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has
no brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father’s
behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever
seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that _he_ would
do as little, and think as little about it, as any father could do, in
such a matter. ”
“But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but love of him
as to consent to live with him on any terms other than marriage? ”
“It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed,” replied Elizabeth, with
tears in her eyes, “that a sister’s sense of decency and virtue in such
a point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what to say.
Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young; she has never
been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half-year,
nay, for a twelvemonth--she has been given up to nothing but amusement
and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle
and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way.
Since the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love,
flirtation, and officers have been in her head. She has been doing
everything in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give
greater--what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which are
naturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of
person and address that can captivate a woman. ”
“But you see that Jane,” said her aunt, “does not think so very ill of
Wickham as to believe him capable of the attempt. ”
“Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be
their former conduct, that she would think capable of such an attempt,
till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what
Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every
sense of the word; that he has neither integrity nor honour; that he is
as false and deceitful as he is insinuating. ”
“And do you really know all this? ” cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity
as to the mode of her intelligence was all alive.
“I do indeed,” replied Elizabeth, colouring. “I told you, the other day,
of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you yourself, when last at
Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man who had behaved
with such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other
circumstances which I am not at liberty--which it is not worth while to
relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From
what he said of Miss Darcy I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud,
reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He
must know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found
her. ”
“But does Lydia know nothing of this? can she be ignorant of what you
and Jane seem so well to understand? ”
“Oh, yes! --that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent, and saw
so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was
ignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home, the ----shire
was to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight’s time. As that was the
case, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it
necessary to make our knowledge public; for of what use could
it apparently be to any one, that the good opinion which all the
neighbourhood had of him should then be overthrown? And even when it was
settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of opening
her eyes to his character never occurred to me. That _she_ could be
in any danger from the deception never entered my head. That such a
consequence as _this_ could ensue, you may easily believe, was far
enough from my thoughts. ”
“When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I
suppose, to believe them fond of each other? ”
“Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either
side; and had anything of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware
that ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away. When first
he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all
were. Every girl in or near Meryton was out of her senses about him for
the first two months; but he never distinguished _her_ by any particular
attention; and, consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant and
wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment,
who treated her with more distinction, again became her favourites. ”
* * * * *
It may be easily believed, that however little of novelty could be added
to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting subject, by
its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during
the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth’s thoughts it was never absent.
Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach, she could find
no interval of ease or forgetfulness.
They travelled as expeditiously as possible, and, sleeping one night
on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner time the next day. It was a
comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied
by long expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing
on the steps of the house as they entered the paddock; and, when the
carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their
faces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of
capers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.
Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them a hasty kiss,
hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down from her
mother’s apartment, immediately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the
eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether anything had been
heard of the fugitives.
“Not yet,” replied Jane. “But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope
everything will be well. ”
“Is my father in town? ”
“Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you word. ”
“And have you heard from him often? ”
“We have heard only twice. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday to say
that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I
particularly begged him to do.
He merely added that he should not write
again till he had something of importance to mention. ”
“And my mother--how is she? How are you all? ”
“My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly
shaken. She is up stairs and will have great satisfaction in seeing you
all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank
Heaven, are quite well. ”
“But you--how are you? ” cried Elizabeth. “You look pale. How much you
must have gone through! ”
Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well; and their
conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were
engaged with their children, was now put an end to by the approach
of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and
thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.
When they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth
had already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon
found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of
good, however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested had not yet
deserted her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that
every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father,
to explain their proceedings, and, perhaps, announce their marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes’
conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with
tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous
conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage;
blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the
errors of her daughter must principally be owing.
“If I had been able,” said she, “to carry my point in going to Brighton,
with all my family, _this_ would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia
had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out
of their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their
side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing if she had been
well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have the
charge of her; but I was overruled, as I always am. Poor dear child!
And now here’s Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight Wickham,
wherever he meets him and then he will be killed, and what is to become
of us all? The Collinses will turn us out before he is cold in his
grave, and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we
shall do. ”
They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr. Gardiner, after
general assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told her
that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr.
Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.
“Do not give way to useless alarm,” added he; “though it is right to be
prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.
It is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more we
may gain some news of them; and till we know that they are not married,
and have no design of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as
lost. As soon as I get to town I shall go to my brother, and make
him come home with me to Gracechurch Street; and then we may consult
together as to what is to be done. ”
“Oh! my dear brother,” replied Mrs. Bennet, “that is exactly what I
could most wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out,
wherever they may be; and if they are not married already, _make_ them
marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but
tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chooses to buy them,
after they are married. And, above all, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting.
Tell him what a dreadful state I am in, that I am frighted out of my
wits--and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me--such
spasms in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that
I can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear Lydia not to
give any directions about her clothes till she has seen me, for she does
not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind you are! I
know you will contrive it all. ”
But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours
in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well
in her hopes as her fear; and after talking with her in this manner till
dinner was on the table, they all left her to vent all her feelings on
the housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real
occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to
oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her
tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it
better that _one_ only of the household, and the one whom they could
most trust should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the
subject.
In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been
too busily engaged in their separate apartments to make their appearance
before. One came from her books, and the other from her toilette. The
faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible
in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger
which she had herself incurred in this business, had given more of
fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was
mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance
of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table:
“This is a most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of.
But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of
each other the balm of sisterly consolation. ”
Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,
“Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful
lesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that one
false step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no less
brittle than it is beautiful; and that she cannot be too much guarded in
her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex. ”
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed
to make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such
kind of moral extractions from the evil before them.
In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for
half-an-hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of
the opportunity of making any inquiries, which Jane was equally eager to
satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel
of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss
Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued
the subject, by saying, “But tell me all and everything about it which
I have not already heard. Give me further particulars. What did Colonel
Forster say? Had they no apprehension of anything before the elopement
took place? They must have seen them together for ever. ”
“Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality,
especially on Lydia’s side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so
grieved for him! His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He
_was_ coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had
any idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension
first got abroad, it hastened his journey. ”
“And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of
their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself? ”
“Yes; but, when questioned by _him_, Denny denied knowing anything of
their plans, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not
repeat his persuasion of their not marrying--and from _that_, I am
inclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood before. ”
“And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a
doubt, I suppose, of their being really married? ”
“How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains? I felt
a little uneasy--a little fearful of my sister’s happiness with him
in marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite
right. My father and mother knew nothing of that; they only felt how
imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural
triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia’s last letter
she had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems, of their
being in love with each other, many weeks. ”
“But not before they went to Brighton? ”
“No, I believe not. ”
“And did Colonel Forster appear to think well of Wickham himself? Does
he know his real character? ”
“I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly
did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this sad
affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly in debt;
but I hope this may be false. ”
“Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him,
this could not have happened! ”
“Perhaps it would have been better,” replied her sister. “But to expose
the former faults of any person without knowing what their present
feelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions. ”
“Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia’s note to his
wife? ”
“He brought it with him for us to see. ”
Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth. These
were the contents:
“MY DEAR HARRIET,
“You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help
laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am
missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who,
I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I
love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think
it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my
going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater,
when I write to them and sign my name ‘Lydia Wickham. ’ What a good joke
it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to
Pratt for not keeping my engagement, and dancing with him to-night.
Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all; and tell him I will
dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall
send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell
Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are
packed up. Good-bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will
drink to our good journey.
“Your affectionate friend,
“LYDIA BENNET. ”
“Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia! ” cried Elizabeth when she had
finished it. “What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment!
But at least it shows that _she_ was serious on the subject of their
journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her
side a _scheme_ of infamy. My poor father! how he must have felt it! ”
“I never saw anyone so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten
minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house in
such confusion! ”
“Oh! Jane,” cried Elizabeth, “was there a servant belonging to it who
did not know the whole story before the end of the day? ”
“I do not know. I hope there was. But to be guarded at such a time is
very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavoured to
give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so
much as I might have done! But the horror of what might possibly happen
almost took from me my faculties. ”
“Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not look
well. Oh that I had been with you! you have had every care and anxiety
upon yourself alone. ”
“Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every
fatigue, I am sure; but I did not think it right for either of them.
Kitty is slight and delicate; and Mary studies so much, that her hours
of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Phillips came to Longbourn
on Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good as to stay till
Thursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all. And
Lady Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to
condole with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters’, if
they should be of use to us. ”
“She had better have stayed at home,” cried Elizabeth; “perhaps she
_meant_ well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see
too little of one’s neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence
insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied. ”
She then proceeded to inquire into the measures which her father had
intended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.
“He meant I believe,” replied Jane, “to go to Epsom, the place where
they last changed horses, see the postilions and try if anything could
be made out from them. His principal object must be to discover the
number of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come
with a fare from London; and as he thought that the circumstance of a
gentleman and lady’s removing from one carriage into another might
be remarked he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could anyhow
discover at what house the coachman had before set down his fare, he
determined to make inquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible
to find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any
other designs that he had formed; but he was in such a hurry to be gone,
and his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I had difficulty in finding
out even so much as this. ”
Chapter 48
The whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next
morning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from him.
His family knew him to be, on all common occasions, a most negligent and
dilatory correspondent; but at such a time they had hoped for exertion.
They were forced to conclude that he had no pleasing intelligence to
send; but even of _that_ they would have been glad to be certain. Mr.
Gardiner had waited only for the letters before he set off.
When he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving constant
information of what was going on, and their uncle promised, at parting,
to prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he could,
to the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only
security for her husband’s not being killed in a duel.
Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertfordshire a few
days longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable
to her nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and was a
great comfort to them in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt also
visited them frequently, and always, as she said, with the design of
cheering and heartening them up--though, as she never came without
reporting some fresh instance of Wickham’s extravagance or irregularity,
she seldom went away without leaving them more dispirited than she found
them.
All Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man who, but three months
before, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt
to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with
the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman’s family.
Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world;
and everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the
appearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit above
half of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance of
her sister’s ruin more certain; and even Jane, who believed still less
of it, became almost hopeless, more especially as the time was now come
when, if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before entirely
despaired of, they must in all probability have gained some news of
them.
Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday his wife received a
letter from him; it told them that, on his arrival, he had immediately
found out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch Street;
that Mr. Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival,
but without gaining any satisfactory information; and that he was now
determined to inquire at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennet
thought it possible they might have gone to one of them, on their first
coming to London, before they procured lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself
did not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was
eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He added that Mr.
Bennet seemed wholly disinclined at present to leave London and promised
to write again very soon. There was also a postscript to this effect:
“I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out, if
possible, from some of the young man’s intimates in the regiment,
whether Wickham has any relations or connections who would be likely to
know in what part of town he has now concealed himself. If there were
anyone that one could apply to with a probability of gaining such a
clue as that, it might be of essential consequence. At present we have
nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do everything in
his power to satisfy us on this head. But, on second thoughts, perhaps,
Lizzy could tell us what relations he has now living, better than any
other person. ”
Elizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this deference to her
authority proceeded; but it was not in her power to give any information
of so satisfactory a nature as the compliment deserved. She had never
heard of his having had any relations, except a father and mother, both
of whom had been dead many years. It was possible, however, that some of
his companions in the ----shire might be able to give more information;
and though she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the application
was a something to look forward to.
Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious
part of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters
was the grand object of every morning’s impatience. Through letters,
whatever of good or bad was to be told would be communicated, and every
succeeding day was expected to bring some news of importance.
But before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner, a letter arrived for
their father, from a different quarter, from Mr. Collins; which, as Jane
had received directions to open all that came for him in his absence,
she accordingly read; and Elizabeth, who knew what curiosities his
letters always were, looked over her, and read it likewise. It was as
follows:
“MY DEAR SIR,
“I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my situation
in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now
suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter from
Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself
sincerely sympathise with you and all your respectable family, in
your present distress, which must be of the bitterest kind, because
proceeding from a cause which no time can remove. No arguments shall be
wanting on my part that can alleviate so severe a misfortune--or that
may comfort you, under a circumstance that must be of all others the
most afflicting to a parent’s mind. The death of your daughter would
have been a blessing in comparison of this. And it is the more to
be lamented, because there is reason to suppose as my dear Charlotte
informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in your daughter has
proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence; though, at the same time,
for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think
that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be
guilty of such an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that may be,
you are grievously to be pitied; in which opinion I am not only joined
by Mrs. Collins, but likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter, to
whom I have related the affair. They agree with me in apprehending that
this false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of
all the others; for who, as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says,
will connect themselves with such a family? And this consideration leads
me moreover to reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on a certain event
of last November; for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved
in all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me then advise you, dear sir, to
console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child
from your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her
own heinous offense.
“I am, dear sir, etc. , etc. ”
Mr. Gardiner did not write again till he had received an answer from
Colonel Forster; and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature to send.
It was not known that Wickham had a single relationship with whom he
kept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one
living. His former acquaintances had been numerous; but since he
had been in the militia, it did not appear that he was on terms of
particular friendship with any of them. There was no one, therefore,
who could be pointed out as likely to give any news of him. And in the
wretched state of his own finances, there was a very powerful motive for
secrecy, in addition to his fear of discovery by Lydia’s relations, for
it had just transpired that he had left gaming debts behind him to a
very considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a
thousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expenses at Brighton.
He owed a good deal in town, but his debts of honour were still more
formidable.
manner made him start, and before he could recover himself to speak,
she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia’s situation,
hastily exclaimed, “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find
Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not
an instant to lose. ”
“Good God! what is the matter? ” cried he, with more feeling than
politeness; then recollecting himself, “I will not detain you a minute;
but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are
not well enough; you cannot go yourself. ”
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her and she felt how
little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back
the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless
an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and
mistress home instantly.
On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself, and
looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her,
or to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration,
“Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you
present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill. ”
“No, I thank you,” she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. “There
is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by
some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn. ”
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could
not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say
something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate
silence. At length she spoke again. “I have just had a letter from Jane,
with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger
sister has left all her friends--has eloped; has thrown herself into
the power of--of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton.
_You_ know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no
connections, nothing that can tempt him to--she is lost for ever. ”
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. “When I consider,” she added in a yet
more agitated voice, “that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what
he was. Had I but explained some part of it only--some part of what I
learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not
have happened. But it is all--all too late now. ”
“I am grieved indeed,” cried Darcy; “grieved--shocked. But is it
certain--absolutely certain? ”
“Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced
almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to
Scotland. ”
“And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her? ”
“My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle’s
immediate assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. But
nothing can be done--I know very well that nothing can be done. How is
such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have
not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible! ”
Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.
“When _my_ eyes were opened to his real character--Oh! had I known what
I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not--I was afraid of doing too
much. Wretched, wretched mistake! ”
Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking
up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air
gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her
power was sinking; everything _must_ sink under such a proof of family
weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither
wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing
consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It
was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own
wishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved
him, as now, when all love must be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia--the
humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed
up every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief,
Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and, after a pause of
several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by
the voice of her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke
compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, “I am afraid you have been
long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my
stay, but real, though unavailing concern. Would to Heaven that anything
could be either said or done on my part that might offer consolation to
such distress! But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may
seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I
fear, prevent my sister’s having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley
to-day. ”
“Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that
urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as
long as it is possible, I know it cannot be long. ”
He readily assured her of his secrecy; again expressed his sorrow for
her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present
reason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations, with only
one serious, parting look, went away.
As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they
should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as
had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a
retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full
of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those
feelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and would
formerly have rejoiced in its termination.
If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth’s
change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if
otherwise--if regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or
unnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on
a first interview with its object, and even before two words have been
exchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given
somewhat of a trial to the latter method in her partiality for Wickham,
and that its ill success might, perhaps, authorise her to seek the other
less interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him
go with regret; and in this early example of what Lydia’s infamy must
produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched
business. Never, since reading Jane’s second letter, had she entertained
a hope of Wickham’s meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought,
could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least
of her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first
letter remained in her mind, she was all surprise--all astonishment that
Wickham should marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry
for money; and how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared
incomprehensible. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachment
as this she might have sufficient charms; and though she did not suppose
Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement without the intention
of marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neither her virtue
nor her understanding would preserve her from falling an easy prey.
She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that
Lydia had any partiality for him; but she was convinced that Lydia
wanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one
officer, sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions
raised them in her opinion. Her affections had continually been
fluctuating but never without an object. The mischief of neglect and
mistaken indulgence towards such a girl--oh! how acutely did she now
feel it!
She was wild to be at home--to hear, to see, to be upon the spot to
share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a
family so deranged, a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, and
requiring constant attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothing
could be done for Lydia, her uncle’s interference seemed of the utmost
importance, and till he entered the room her impatience was severe. Mr.
and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm, supposing by the servant’s
account that their niece was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them
instantly on that head, she eagerly communicated the cause of their
summons, reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the postscript
of the last with trembling energy. --Though Lydia had never been a
favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but be deeply
afflicted. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and after the
first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner promised every
assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked
him with tears of gratitude; and all three being actuated by one spirit,
everything relating to their journey was speedily settled. They were to
be off as soon as possible. “But what is to be done about Pemberley? ”
cried Mrs. Gardiner. “John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for
us; was it so? ”
“Yes; and I told him we should not be able to keep our engagement.
_That_ is all settled. ”
“What is all settled? ” repeated the other, as she ran into her room to
prepare. “And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the real
truth? Oh, that I knew how it was! ”
But wishes were vain, or at least could only serve to amuse her in the
hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure
to be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was
impossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of
business as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to
be written to all their friends at Lambton, with false excuses for their
sudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr.
Gardiner meanwhile having settled his account at the inn, nothing
remained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth, after all the misery of
the morning, found herself, in a shorter space of time than she could
have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.
Chapter 47
“I have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,” said her uncle, as they
drove from the town; “and really, upon serious consideration, I am much
more inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does on the
matter. It appears to me so very unlikely that any young man should
form such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or
friendless, and who was actually staying in his colonel’s family, that I
am strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends
would not step forward? Could he expect to be noticed again by the
regiment, after such an affront to Colonel Forster? His temptation is
not adequate to the risk! ”
“Do you really think so? ” cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.
“Upon my word,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “I begin to be of your uncle’s
opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and
interest, for him to be guilty of. I cannot think so very ill of
Wickham. Can you yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as to believe
him capable of it? ”
“Not, perhaps, of neglecting his own interest; but of every other
neglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I
dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland if that had been
the case? ”
“In the first place,” replied Mr. Gardiner, “there is no absolute proof
that they are not gone to Scotland. ”
“Oh! but their removing from the chaise into a hackney coach is such
a presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the
Barnet road. ”
“Well, then--supposing them to be in London. They may be there, though
for the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptional purpose. It is
not likely that money should be very abundant on either side; and it
might strike them that they could be more economically, though less
expeditiously, married in London than in Scotland. ”
“But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their
marriage be private? Oh, no, no--this is not likely. His most particular
friend, you see by Jane’s account, was persuaded of his never intending
to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He
cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia--what attraction has she
beyond youth, health, and good humour that could make him, for her sake,
forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what
restraint the apprehensions of disgrace in the corps might throw on a
dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I know
nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your
other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has
no brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, from my father’s
behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever
seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that _he_ would
do as little, and think as little about it, as any father could do, in
such a matter. ”
“But can you think that Lydia is so lost to everything but love of him
as to consent to live with him on any terms other than marriage? ”
“It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed,” replied Elizabeth, with
tears in her eyes, “that a sister’s sense of decency and virtue in such
a point should admit of doubt. But, really, I know not what to say.
Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young; she has never
been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half-year,
nay, for a twelvemonth--she has been given up to nothing but amusement
and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle
and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way.
Since the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love,
flirtation, and officers have been in her head. She has been doing
everything in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give
greater--what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which are
naturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of
person and address that can captivate a woman. ”
“But you see that Jane,” said her aunt, “does not think so very ill of
Wickham as to believe him capable of the attempt. ”
“Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be
their former conduct, that she would think capable of such an attempt,
till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what
Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in every
sense of the word; that he has neither integrity nor honour; that he is
as false and deceitful as he is insinuating. ”
“And do you really know all this? ” cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity
as to the mode of her intelligence was all alive.
“I do indeed,” replied Elizabeth, colouring. “I told you, the other day,
of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you yourself, when last at
Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man who had behaved
with such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other
circumstances which I am not at liberty--which it is not worth while to
relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From
what he said of Miss Darcy I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud,
reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He
must know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found
her. ”
“But does Lydia know nothing of this? can she be ignorant of what you
and Jane seem so well to understand? ”
“Oh, yes! --that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent, and saw
so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was
ignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home, the ----shire
was to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight’s time. As that was the
case, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it
necessary to make our knowledge public; for of what use could
it apparently be to any one, that the good opinion which all the
neighbourhood had of him should then be overthrown? And even when it was
settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of opening
her eyes to his character never occurred to me. That _she_ could be
in any danger from the deception never entered my head. That such a
consequence as _this_ could ensue, you may easily believe, was far
enough from my thoughts. ”
“When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I
suppose, to believe them fond of each other? ”
“Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either
side; and had anything of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware
that ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away. When first
he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all
were. Every girl in or near Meryton was out of her senses about him for
the first two months; but he never distinguished _her_ by any particular
attention; and, consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant and
wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment,
who treated her with more distinction, again became her favourites. ”
* * * * *
It may be easily believed, that however little of novelty could be added
to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting subject, by
its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during
the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth’s thoughts it was never absent.
Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach, she could find
no interval of ease or forgetfulness.
They travelled as expeditiously as possible, and, sleeping one night
on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner time the next day. It was a
comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied
by long expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing
on the steps of the house as they entered the paddock; and, when the
carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their
faces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of
capers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.
Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them a hasty kiss,
hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down from her
mother’s apartment, immediately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the
eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether anything had been
heard of the fugitives.
“Not yet,” replied Jane. “But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope
everything will be well. ”
“Is my father in town? ”
“Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you word. ”
“And have you heard from him often? ”
“We have heard only twice. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday to say
that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I
particularly begged him to do.
He merely added that he should not write
again till he had something of importance to mention. ”
“And my mother--how is she? How are you all? ”
“My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly
shaken. She is up stairs and will have great satisfaction in seeing you
all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank
Heaven, are quite well. ”
“But you--how are you? ” cried Elizabeth. “You look pale. How much you
must have gone through! ”
Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well; and their
conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were
engaged with their children, was now put an end to by the approach
of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and
thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.
When they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth
had already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon
found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of
good, however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested had not yet
deserted her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that
every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father,
to explain their proceedings, and, perhaps, announce their marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes’
conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with
tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous
conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage;
blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the
errors of her daughter must principally be owing.
“If I had been able,” said she, “to carry my point in going to Brighton,
with all my family, _this_ would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia
had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out
of their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their
side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing if she had been
well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have the
charge of her; but I was overruled, as I always am. Poor dear child!
And now here’s Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight Wickham,
wherever he meets him and then he will be killed, and what is to become
of us all? The Collinses will turn us out before he is cold in his
grave, and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we
shall do. ”
They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr. Gardiner, after
general assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told her
that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr.
Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.
“Do not give way to useless alarm,” added he; “though it is right to be
prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.
It is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more we
may gain some news of them; and till we know that they are not married,
and have no design of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as
lost. As soon as I get to town I shall go to my brother, and make
him come home with me to Gracechurch Street; and then we may consult
together as to what is to be done. ”
“Oh! my dear brother,” replied Mrs. Bennet, “that is exactly what I
could most wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out,
wherever they may be; and if they are not married already, _make_ them
marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but
tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chooses to buy them,
after they are married. And, above all, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting.
Tell him what a dreadful state I am in, that I am frighted out of my
wits--and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me--such
spasms in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that
I can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear Lydia not to
give any directions about her clothes till she has seen me, for she does
not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind you are! I
know you will contrive it all. ”
But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours
in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well
in her hopes as her fear; and after talking with her in this manner till
dinner was on the table, they all left her to vent all her feelings on
the housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real
occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to
oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her
tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it
better that _one_ only of the household, and the one whom they could
most trust should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the
subject.
In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been
too busily engaged in their separate apartments to make their appearance
before. One came from her books, and the other from her toilette. The
faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible
in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger
which she had herself incurred in this business, had given more of
fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was
mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance
of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table:
“This is a most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of.
But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of
each other the balm of sisterly consolation. ”
Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,
“Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful
lesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that one
false step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no less
brittle than it is beautiful; and that she cannot be too much guarded in
her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex. ”
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed
to make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such
kind of moral extractions from the evil before them.
In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for
half-an-hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of
the opportunity of making any inquiries, which Jane was equally eager to
satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel
of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss
Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued
the subject, by saying, “But tell me all and everything about it which
I have not already heard. Give me further particulars. What did Colonel
Forster say? Had they no apprehension of anything before the elopement
took place? They must have seen them together for ever. ”
“Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality,
especially on Lydia’s side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so
grieved for him! His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He
_was_ coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had
any idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension
first got abroad, it hastened his journey. ”
“And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of
their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself? ”
“Yes; but, when questioned by _him_, Denny denied knowing anything of
their plans, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not
repeat his persuasion of their not marrying--and from _that_, I am
inclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood before. ”
“And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a
doubt, I suppose, of their being really married? ”
“How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains? I felt
a little uneasy--a little fearful of my sister’s happiness with him
in marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite
right. My father and mother knew nothing of that; they only felt how
imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural
triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia’s last letter
she had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems, of their
being in love with each other, many weeks. ”
“But not before they went to Brighton? ”
“No, I believe not. ”
“And did Colonel Forster appear to think well of Wickham himself? Does
he know his real character? ”
“I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly
did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this sad
affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly in debt;
but I hope this may be false. ”
“Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him,
this could not have happened! ”
“Perhaps it would have been better,” replied her sister. “But to expose
the former faults of any person without knowing what their present
feelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions. ”
“Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia’s note to his
wife? ”
“He brought it with him for us to see. ”
Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth. These
were the contents:
“MY DEAR HARRIET,
“You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help
laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am
missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who,
I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I
love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think
it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my
going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater,
when I write to them and sign my name ‘Lydia Wickham. ’ What a good joke
it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to
Pratt for not keeping my engagement, and dancing with him to-night.
Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all; and tell him I will
dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall
send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell
Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are
packed up. Good-bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will
drink to our good journey.
“Your affectionate friend,
“LYDIA BENNET. ”
“Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia! ” cried Elizabeth when she had
finished it. “What a letter is this, to be written at such a moment!
But at least it shows that _she_ was serious on the subject of their
journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her
side a _scheme_ of infamy. My poor father! how he must have felt it! ”
“I never saw anyone so shocked. He could not speak a word for full ten
minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and the whole house in
such confusion! ”
“Oh! Jane,” cried Elizabeth, “was there a servant belonging to it who
did not know the whole story before the end of the day? ”
“I do not know. I hope there was. But to be guarded at such a time is
very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and though I endeavoured to
give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I did not do so
much as I might have done! But the horror of what might possibly happen
almost took from me my faculties. ”
“Your attendance upon her has been too much for you. You do not look
well. Oh that I had been with you! you have had every care and anxiety
upon yourself alone. ”
“Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every
fatigue, I am sure; but I did not think it right for either of them.
Kitty is slight and delicate; and Mary studies so much, that her hours
of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Phillips came to Longbourn
on Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good as to stay till
Thursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all. And
Lady Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to
condole with us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters’, if
they should be of use to us. ”
“She had better have stayed at home,” cried Elizabeth; “perhaps she
_meant_ well, but, under such a misfortune as this, one cannot see
too little of one’s neighbours. Assistance is impossible; condolence
insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied. ”
She then proceeded to inquire into the measures which her father had
intended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of his daughter.
“He meant I believe,” replied Jane, “to go to Epsom, the place where
they last changed horses, see the postilions and try if anything could
be made out from them. His principal object must be to discover the
number of the hackney coach which took them from Clapham. It had come
with a fare from London; and as he thought that the circumstance of a
gentleman and lady’s removing from one carriage into another might
be remarked he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could anyhow
discover at what house the coachman had before set down his fare, he
determined to make inquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible
to find out the stand and number of the coach. I do not know of any
other designs that he had formed; but he was in such a hurry to be gone,
and his spirits so greatly discomposed, that I had difficulty in finding
out even so much as this. ”
Chapter 48
The whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next
morning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from him.
His family knew him to be, on all common occasions, a most negligent and
dilatory correspondent; but at such a time they had hoped for exertion.
They were forced to conclude that he had no pleasing intelligence to
send; but even of _that_ they would have been glad to be certain. Mr.
Gardiner had waited only for the letters before he set off.
When he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving constant
information of what was going on, and their uncle promised, at parting,
to prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he could,
to the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only
security for her husband’s not being killed in a duel.
Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain in Hertfordshire a few
days longer, as the former thought her presence might be serviceable
to her nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, and was a
great comfort to them in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt also
visited them frequently, and always, as she said, with the design of
cheering and heartening them up--though, as she never came without
reporting some fresh instance of Wickham’s extravagance or irregularity,
she seldom went away without leaving them more dispirited than she found
them.
All Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man who, but three months
before, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt
to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with
the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman’s family.
Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world;
and everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the
appearance of his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit above
half of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance of
her sister’s ruin more certain; and even Jane, who believed still less
of it, became almost hopeless, more especially as the time was now come
when, if they had gone to Scotland, which she had never before entirely
despaired of, they must in all probability have gained some news of
them.
Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday his wife received a
letter from him; it told them that, on his arrival, he had immediately
found out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch Street;
that Mr. Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival,
but without gaining any satisfactory information; and that he was now
determined to inquire at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennet
thought it possible they might have gone to one of them, on their first
coming to London, before they procured lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself
did not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was
eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. He added that Mr.
Bennet seemed wholly disinclined at present to leave London and promised
to write again very soon. There was also a postscript to this effect:
“I have written to Colonel Forster to desire him to find out, if
possible, from some of the young man’s intimates in the regiment,
whether Wickham has any relations or connections who would be likely to
know in what part of town he has now concealed himself. If there were
anyone that one could apply to with a probability of gaining such a
clue as that, it might be of essential consequence. At present we have
nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do everything in
his power to satisfy us on this head. But, on second thoughts, perhaps,
Lizzy could tell us what relations he has now living, better than any
other person. ”
Elizabeth was at no loss to understand from whence this deference to her
authority proceeded; but it was not in her power to give any information
of so satisfactory a nature as the compliment deserved. She had never
heard of his having had any relations, except a father and mother, both
of whom had been dead many years. It was possible, however, that some of
his companions in the ----shire might be able to give more information;
and though she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the application
was a something to look forward to.
Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious
part of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters
was the grand object of every morning’s impatience. Through letters,
whatever of good or bad was to be told would be communicated, and every
succeeding day was expected to bring some news of importance.
But before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner, a letter arrived for
their father, from a different quarter, from Mr. Collins; which, as Jane
had received directions to open all that came for him in his absence,
she accordingly read; and Elizabeth, who knew what curiosities his
letters always were, looked over her, and read it likewise. It was as
follows:
“MY DEAR SIR,
“I feel myself called upon, by our relationship, and my situation
in life, to condole with you on the grievous affliction you are now
suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter from
Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself
sincerely sympathise with you and all your respectable family, in
your present distress, which must be of the bitterest kind, because
proceeding from a cause which no time can remove. No arguments shall be
wanting on my part that can alleviate so severe a misfortune--or that
may comfort you, under a circumstance that must be of all others the
most afflicting to a parent’s mind. The death of your daughter would
have been a blessing in comparison of this. And it is the more to
be lamented, because there is reason to suppose as my dear Charlotte
informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in your daughter has
proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence; though, at the same time,
for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think
that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be
guilty of such an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that may be,
you are grievously to be pitied; in which opinion I am not only joined
by Mrs. Collins, but likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter, to
whom I have related the affair. They agree with me in apprehending that
this false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of
all the others; for who, as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says,
will connect themselves with such a family? And this consideration leads
me moreover to reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on a certain event
of last November; for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved
in all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me then advise you, dear sir, to
console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child
from your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her
own heinous offense.
“I am, dear sir, etc. , etc. ”
Mr. Gardiner did not write again till he had received an answer from
Colonel Forster; and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature to send.
It was not known that Wickham had a single relationship with whom he
kept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one
living. His former acquaintances had been numerous; but since he
had been in the militia, it did not appear that he was on terms of
particular friendship with any of them. There was no one, therefore,
who could be pointed out as likely to give any news of him. And in the
wretched state of his own finances, there was a very powerful motive for
secrecy, in addition to his fear of discovery by Lydia’s relations, for
it had just transpired that he had left gaming debts behind him to a
very considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a
thousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expenses at Brighton.
He owed a good deal in town, but his debts of honour were still more
formidable.
