Through a Different Lens

by Riana Everly

  Once in the library, however, Elizabeth soon became lost in her task, and it was much later than she expected when she finally returned to her letter. She was surprised to see Mr. Darcy sitting in the chair opposite the one she had taken, dressed in the rougher garb of a sportsman and sipping from a cup of coffee, if she could judge by the rich scent that filled the air. Embarrassed, she admitted her recent errand, and when Mr. Darcy smiled, she allowed herself to laugh along with him. “Yes,” she told him, “I was more than pleased to accept my father’s commission. Your library is most impressive.”

  “I had hoped you might like it.” Suddenly, he sat up a little straighter in his chair and set down his coffee. Some of his habitual rigidity overcame him once more and he stood stiffly, holding himself like a statue come to life. “Miss Elizabeth, I have only just returned from fishing and wish to change into something more suitable for the house, but perhaps you will grant me an interview when I return… I have something very particular I wish to ask you.”

  Her eyes widened, and she realised at once that he had noticed her reaction and had begun to work on what it meant. Attempting to remain calm, she nodded, feeling her cheeks flush and grow warm. “I would be happy to oblige, sir. I shall remain here, as I have the rest of Jane’s letter to read.”

  Bowing, Mr. Darcy walked from the room, and then, from the sound of his footsteps, rushed towards the stairs which would take him to his rooms.

  Opening the letter, Elizabeth tried to read, but she found her mind disturbed by Mr. Darcy’s request. An interview, while everyone else was away or otherwise occupied. Could that mean…? That could only mean… What would she say? How should she react? She knew her only answer could be to accept him, but would he expect a speech? Or would a teary nod be sufficient?

  Squashing down these wild thoughts, she forced her eyes to Jane’s words, and then gasped in astonishment and shock.

  Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham!

  What? Wickham! Lydia had eloped with George Wickham? How could that be? The man had never expressed the first bit of interest in her. Oh, the horror, the shame!

  Imagine our surprise. But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I, that we never let them know what has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written.

  No! It could not be. For her sister to be married to a scoundrel like Mr. Wickham was bad enough, but no one knew how low the man could be, how he would lie to protect his name, how readily he would impugn the name of a good man. What would Mr. Darcy think? She must admit this to him before he spoke to her; he must not be allowed to make his offer without this knowledge. Tears sprang to her eyes. This would surely change his mind about her; his pride would never allow him such a close connexion to one such as Wickham!

  But there was still more on the page. Reluctantly she lifted the sheet of paper again and began to read the words dated a day after the preceding note.

  Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as a marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many hours after the express.

  The letter went on to explain that, although Lydia had told Mrs. Forster in her letter that they were heading for Gretna Green, one of Wickham’s friends indicated that the scoundrel had never intended to follow through on a marriage. The couple had been heading towards London, but could not be traced past that point, and all evidence suggested that London was where Wickham had intended to remain, with Lydia or (heaven forbid) without her.

  Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it more eligible for them to be married privately in town than to pursue their first plan; I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted.

  My father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her. What he means to do, I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again tomorrow evening. In such an exigence my uncle’s advice and assistance would be every thing in the world; he will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness.

  What could Elizabeth do, after reading such a dreadful letter, other than break down in tears?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A Disastrous Connexion

  Such was Elizabeth’s despair that she did not notice Mr. Darcy enter the room. It was only when his hand settled upon her own with a butterfly’s barely present touch that she came to herself and realised she was no longer alone.

  “Elizabeth,” his eyes betrayed his concern. “What ever is the matter? Even one such as I can easily discern that you are under great distress. Will you tell me what is wrong?” He glanced at the tear-stained letter in her hands. “It must be some dire news from home.”

  Sobbing, Elizabeth unburdened herself of the whole story in disjointed fits and starts. She knew this spelled the end of any intentions Mr. Darcy might have towards her, and her tears were for herself as much as for her sister; however, she could in no way conscience concealing the matter from him. He would find out soon enough. Better that she give him the opportunity to break with her now, before any words of love or the future were exchanged, when he would feel no obligation towards keeping an engagement, than to allow him to speak, to offer for her, and then to resent her for the rest of his life for trapping him so unjustly.

  This she had to do; she had no option, no other choice. But how her heart broke. She could barely look at him as she choked out the words, “I have had a letter from Jane,” she wept. “It cannot be concealed from any one. My sister, stupid, stupid Lydia, has left all her friends—has eloped! She has thrown herself into the power of…” she rubbed her temples as if in pain, “of Mr. Wickham! They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connexions, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost forever.” She dissolved into another flood of tears, which not even Mr. Darcy’s offered handkerchief could stem.

  When, at last, she could speak again, she begged him, “Please find my uncle. We must be off immediately; his assistance is needed by my father in London. Oh, I could have prevented this, had only I spoken more openly to my father, but I did not wish to reveal too much.” She stood suddenly, sending the pages of the letter scattering across the floor. She bent to pick them up and gave them to Mr. Darcy. “Read it if you will, for Jane tells the worst of it.” She then hurried to the window and peered out anxiously, before pacing then back again. Her movements were skittish and nervous, her need to be doing
something, anything, translated into physical agitation. Scurrying back to the window and peering out again, she asked breathlessly, “Where is my aunt? Oh, how shall I find her? We must pack; we must leave at once!”

  When she looked up at Mr. Darcy through her wet and red eyes, she saw once more that stiff, haughty facade behind which the true man hid himself. He had closed himself off from her, and from the cold glint in his eye, he had no notion of relaxing his defences. He must be congratulating himself, Elizabeth thought, on having avoided so narrowly this awful connexion. How he must believe the whole family to be affected with this weakness of moral rectitude, a common disgrace; he would never wish any manner of alliance now. She fought for control over her features and battled to maintain her composure.

  As if in response to her thoughts, he added in a voice edged with compassion, but imparting great reserve, “I shall call Mrs. Reynolds to summon your aunt and have your uncle recalled to the house right away. As soon as your relations have returned and the carriage is ready, you may be off. I shall see that your trunks are packed and sent along as soon as possible.” He took a step towards her, then stopped and retreated, the walls around him growing higher and thicker. In a tight voice, he said only, “Now, I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister’s having the pleasure of seeing you later today. I shall summon Mrs. Reynolds right away.”

  And without a single backwards glance, he marched quickly and resolutely from the room, leaving Elizabeth to fight yet another wave of tears as she reflected that she would, in all likelihood, never see him again.

  From this point, the point at which all her hopes had been dashed, events moved quickly. A flurry of action of the part of Mr. Darcy’s household staff saw the hastily arranged plans set underway. As promised, her aunt and uncle were summoned at once and the carriage prepared, and they were on the road back to London within an hour of Mrs. Gardiner’s return, with a promise of their trunks to follow. Elizabeth noticed almost nothing of the return journey, so wrapped was she in her own misery. All too soon, she was alighting from the carriage in front of her home at Longbourn, allowing the Gardiners to gather their children and continue the journey to London.

  Samuel wanted only to talk about Mr. Darcy and his estate, but Elizabeth explained to him that due to circumstances that were no reflection at all on Samuel himself, their friendship might be at an end. If her sorrow for herself was great, how much greater was it for her young cousin, who would surely lose a cherished friend as a result of this awful happening. She searched for the worlds that might explain to the lad why a man such as Mr. Darcy could no longer associate himself with anyone connected to Mr. Wickham. Nothing she could think of would suffice. At last, she simply told him, “My family has, I’m afraid, been touched by some news that will be distasteful to a man such as Mr. Darcy, and he may wish to distance himself from all of us. Never, ever, believe that you have done anything wrong, Sammy,” she assured him. “You are a remarkable young man. Know that to be true!”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” the lad retorted in his guileless way. “Mr. Darcy cares not about the approbation of others. If he did, he should never have sought to befriend me! I am not of his class nor of any use to him. He was my friend because he liked me. Can that not be enough?”

  Elizabeth could see his young heart breaking at the loss of his new friend, but she would not give her cousin false hope. “Mr. Darcy is an important man, Sammy, and whether he cares for the approval of others, he knows that the opinions of his associates matter, if not to himself then to his family and his sister. He moves in a world so different from ours. For his circle, appearances are so very important, and matters of integrity few. His world is not our world. I know that if he could, he would wish to remain your friend.”

  “If he wishes so, then he will do so!” Nothing could dissuade Samuel from his conviction, and Elizabeth hoped the reality of this disaster would not cause her cousin too much pain. Already, as the Gardiners’ carriage was being loaded, she could see him wringing his hands obsessively, as he had done before Miss Pierce found a way to help him calm himself, as he still did when experiencing great turmoil. By the time the last of the trunks had been secured to the back, he was rocking backwards and forward slowly in place, a most sure sign of his distress. “I’m so sorry, Aunt!” she whispered as the carriage pulled away. “We have undone so much of what we have achieved.” She wept now, for herself, for her sister, and for her young cousin as well, all of whom were to suffer greatly for Lydia’s thoughtlessness.

  The days passed slowly. Mrs. Bennet kept to her rooms, calling out incessantly for tea or her salts or some other anodyne for her nerves. Mary was all but invisible, and Kitty crept around shamefaced and horrified, for it seemed that she had had some notion of Lydia’s plans. Jane looked almost as crestfallen as she had in the autumn after Mr. Bingley’s first departure from Netherfield; only the fact that Mr. Bingley had not—yet—returned to town kept her from complete despair.

  “And yet,” Jane uttered quietly as they sat in the silent house, “he has not been to call since the news came. I know what I should think of that. I am steeling myself, Lizzy. This is the end for all of us.” Having nothing to say to soothe her sister’s fears, Lizzy just hugged her and fought back her own tears. It seemed that their fortunes had fallen greatly and irrevocably, and there was nothing at all to do be done but suffer for another’s misdeeds.

  On Tuesday, a note arrived from Mr. Gardiner. It read: 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 connexions who would be likely to know in what part of the town he has now concealed himself. If there were any one 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.

  Matters seemed increasingly dire: there had been no word from Lydia, no news of Wickham, and no reports of them past London. The crowded, teeming city was the best place to remain concealed, and hope was dwindling fast of ever finding them. Only the news that Mr. Bingley had still made no moves or comments about departing once more from Netherfield gave the Bennet family some faint hope for their future.

  The following Friday, Mr. Bennet returned home, exhausted and pale, explaining that his presence seemed to be of little help to his brother Gardiner. Elizabeth was horrified at his words. Tired and drawn as her father was, he seemed satisfied to leave the recovery of his daughter to another. Once again, she observed, he was following the path of least resistance, much as he had when he had allowed Lydia to exhibit such improper flirtatious behaviour at balls or in town, and when he had permitted her travel to Brighton. Whilst she still loved her parent, she knew then she would never quite hold the same respect for him ever again. This saddened her, and brought to mind the men who were working ceaselessly for a girl so little connected to them, and she appreciated her uncle all the more.

  Then, not many days later, shortly after the family had finished their breakfast, another letter came from Mr. Gardiner. The messenger was one of his own footmen, driving his carriage, and guiding two very tired horses to the stables. The letter was short and desperate.

  Lizzy, please come. Sammy has disappeared. Your aunt needs you.

  For the first time in her life, Elizabeth thought she might faint. Those words struck her to the quick, and the air around her threatened to darken as the floor tilted beneath her feet. Only with the greatest of effort did she remain standing, staring in shock at the footman whose troubled countenance surely mirrored her own.

  “Yes, yes, of course, I must go!” she uttered at last, when the ability to speak was returned to her. “Oh Jane… Jane, come quickly. Mama… Papa….” She dashed upstairs to inform her mother of her imminent departure, then her father in his study, not waiting for permission. Taking charge of matters, in great haste she scribbled a note to be delivered
to Mr. Bingley, begging him to at least ensure the family were as well as might be managed, even if he could not visit himself. A few necessary belongings were untidily stuffed into a bag, and within a half hour of the carriage’s arrival, with fresh horses in harness, they were off once more to London at a terrific pace. The four-and-twenty miles seemed endless, and yet the journey was completed in an astounding three hours, such was the haste with which the driver sped along the roads, taking only one very short break to change horses.

  As could only be expected, the Gardiner household was in a state of great disorder. The servants, usually so efficient and professional, were milling around like lost children, and more than one normally expressionless eye was wet. The servants clearly loved and were most worried about Samuel. The other children and Miss Pierce had been sent off to Aunt Gardiner’s dearest friend Mrs. Dyson, and the lady herself was pacing anxiously around the salon, her eyes red and her lips pale. When Elizabeth was announced, she turned and caught Lizzy up in a hug as desperately as a drowning man might embrace a life preserver. “Lizzy,” she sobbed, “oh Lizzy!”

  “I came immediately upon receiving my uncle’s note,” Lizzy’s voice was also raw. “I hardly packed a change of clothing, but I knew I must come at once. What has happened, Aunt? If you have the strength to talk?”

  Aunt Gardiner mopped her red eyes with a handkerchief, and tried to settle herself on a sofa, although it was most clear she would find no physical comfort. “He did not come home last night, Lizzy. He went off yesterday morning, as he has done all the while he has been on school holidays, but before now, he has always been home long before the sun begins to set. Last night, he was not home for dinner, nor did he come home at night. Mrs. Harwin had no notion of where he might be, for Robert has not been on most of these adventures, and none of the servants has the first idea of where he might have gone. We have sent men out all over the city, seeking him, but there has been no word. None at all.” Her face, normally so pretty and calm, was a mask of pain, and Elizabeth wrapped her in her arms.