As Jane kept reading, Elizabeth looked over her shoulders, eager to skip the longwinded sentiments of her cousin to learn what, if anything, was said to Darcy’s aunt. As Jane continued, Elizabeth read silently to herself, “The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this.” She frowned, scanning forward past his pious words as to the licentiousness of behavior in Lydia that proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence. Then, coming to the part she was most anxious to hear, and read, “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.”
“He is insufferable,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “How superior he acts, as if now somehow redeemed against the imaginary slight of my not marrying him! He, who asked another within days of receiving said rejection. Of course, he went to Lady Catherine, happy to report everything to her.”
Jane looked curiously at her, for she had not gotten to that part of the letter. Elizabeth, by way of answer, pointed to the hateful lines. Seeing she did not have a willing listener, Jane proceeded to read in silence.
Mr. Gardiner wrote when he had received word from Colonel Forster, and then he had nothing of a pleasant nature to send. It was not known if Wickham had a single relationship with whom he kept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one living. 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 honor were still more formidable. Mr. Gardiner did not attempt to conceal these particulars from the Longbourn family.
Jane heard them with horror. “A gamester! This is wholly unexpected. I had no idea of it.”
Rendered spiritless by the ill-success of all their endeavors, Mr. Bennet yielded to his brother-in-law’s entreaty that he would return to his family, and leave it to him to do whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable for continuing their pursuit.
As Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that she and the children should go to London, at the same time that Mr. Bennet came from it. The coach took them the first stage of their journey, and brought its master back to Longbourn.
The present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse for the lowness of Elizabeth’s spirits unnecessary. She was tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, and was perfectly aware that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia’s infamy somewhat better.
When Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his usual philosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever been in the habit of saying, made no mention of the business that had taken him away, and it was some time before Elizabeth had courage to speak of it. On her briefly expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, “Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.” Then after a short silence he continued, “Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, shows some greatness of mind.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
TWO DAYS AFTER MR. BENNET’S RETURN, Jane and Elizabeth were walking together in the shrubbery behind the house when they saw their father walking with a letter. Eager to find out what it said, they ran after him, as he deliberately pursued his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddock.
Jane, who was not so light nor so much in the habit of running as Elizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting for breath, caught up with him, and eagerly cried out, “Oh, papa, what news? Is that letter from my uncle?”
“Yes I have had a letter from him by express.”
“Well, and what news does it bring — good or bad?”
“What is there of good to be expected?” said he, taking the letter from his pocket. “But perhaps you would like to read it.”
Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.
“Read it aloud,” said their father, “for I hardly know myself what it is about.”
Elizabeth obliged, “Gracechurch Street, Monday, August 2. My dear brother, at last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and such as, upon the whole, I hope it will give you satisfaction. Soon after you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what part of London they were. The particulars I reserve till we meet. It is enough to know they are discovered. I have seen them —”
“Then it is as I always hoped,” cried Jane. “They are married!”
Elizabeth read on, “I have seen them both. They are not married, nor can I find there was any intention of being so, but if you are willing to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on your side, I hope it will not be long before they are. All that is required of you is, to assure to your daughter, by settlement, her equal share of the five thousand pounds secured among your children after the decease of yourself and my sister. Moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her, during your life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions which, considering everything, I had no hesitation in complying with, as far as I thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send this by express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. Yours, Edw. Gardiner.”
“Is it possible?” cried Elizabeth, when she had finished.
“Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we thought him,” said her sister. “My dear father, I congratulate you.”
“And have you answered the letter?” asked Elizabeth.
“No, but it must be done soon.”
She earnestly entreated him to lose no more time before he wrote.
“I dislike it very much, but it must be done.” And so saying, he turned back with them, and walked towards the house.
Elizabeth followed him. “But the terms, I suppose, must be complied with.”
“Complied with? I am only ashamed of his asking so little. But, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. However there are two things that I want very much to know. One, how much money your uncle has laid down to bring it about. And the other, how am I ever to repay him.”
“What do you mean?” Jane asked.
“I mean, that no man in his senses would marry Lydia on so slight a temptation as one hundred a year during my life, and fifty after I am gone. Wickham’s a fool if he takes her with a farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so ill of him, in the very beginning of our relationship.”
“Ten thousand pounds!” Jane exclaimed. “Heaven forbid!”
It now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood perfectly ignorant of what had happened. They followed their father to the library and asked whether he would not wish them to make it known to her. He coolly replied, “Just as you please.”
“May we take my uncle’s letter to read to her?”
“Take whatever you like, and get away.”
Elizabeth took the letter from his writing table, and they went upstairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet. After a slight preparation for good news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner’s hope of Lydia’s being soon
married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence added to its exuberance.
“My dear, dear Lydia!” she exclaimed. “This is delightful indeed. She will be married at sixteen and I shall see her again. My good, kind brother, I knew he would manage everything. How I long to see her and dear Wickham! But the wedding clothes? I will write to my sister Gardiner about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear Lydia! How merry we shall be when we meet!”
Her eldest daughter endeavored to give some relief to the violence of these transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr. Gardiner’s behavior laid them all under.
“For we must attribute this happy conclusion,” she added, “in a great measure to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham with money.”
“Well,” cried her mother, “it is all very right. Who should do it but her own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children must have had all his money, you know. It is the first time we have ever had anything from him, except a few presents.”
Elizabeth, sick of the folly of her mother’s thoughts, took refuge in her own room so she might think with freedom. Poor Lydia’s situation was bad enough, but that it was no worse, she had need to be thankful. However, she found it hard to rejoice, for though what family reputation could be salvaged, would be, it would not be enough to undo the loss of Elizabeth’s heart. For, though a man of lesser worth might someday marry her despite Lydia’s actions, the one man she had come to desire to marry her would never be able to. Lady Catherine would see to it if the world did not.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MR. BENNET HAD VERY OFTEN WISHED before this period of his life that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. He now wished it more than ever. Had he done his duty in that respect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle for whatever of honor or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be her husband might then have rested in its proper place.
He was seriously concerned that a cause of so little advantage to anyone should be forwarded at the sole expense of his brother-in-law, and he was determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his assistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.
When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless, for, of course, they were to have a son. The son was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters successively entered the world and the event of a son had at last been despaired of, but then it was too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy, and her husband’s love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their income.
Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and the children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst the latter depended on the will of the parents. This was one point, with regard to Lydia, at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet could have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In terms of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother, though expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect approbation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfill the engagements that had been made for him. He had never before supposed that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be done with so little inconvenience to himself as by the present arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser by the hundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket allowance, and the continual presents in money which passed to her through her mother’s hands, Lydia’s expenses had been very little within that sum.
That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was another very welcome surprise. His wish at present was to have as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first transports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were over, he naturally returned to all his former indolence. His letter was soon dispatched, in which he begged to know further particulars of what he was indebted to his brother, but was too angry with Lydia to send any message to her.
The good news spread quickly through the house, and with proportionate speed through the neighborhood. It was borne in the latter with decent philosophy. To be sure, it would have been more for the advantage of conversation had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the happiest alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant farmhouse. But there was much to be talked of in her marrying. All the spiteful old ladies in Meryton lost but little of their spirit in this change of circumstances, because with such a husband her misery was considered certain.
It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been downstairs, but on this happy day she again took her seat at the head of her table. No sentiment of shame dampened her triumph. The marriage of a daughter, which had been the first object of her wishes since Jane was sixteen, was now on the point of accomplishment, and her thoughts and her words ran wholly on those attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and servants. She was busily searching through the neighborhood for a proper situation for her daughter, and, without knowing or considering what their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size and importance.
“Haye Park might do,” said she, “if the Gouldings could quit it — or the great house at Stoke, if the drawing room were larger. Ashworth is too far off. I could not bear to have her ten miles from me. As for Pulvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful.”
Her husband allowed her to talk on without interruption while the servants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he said to her, “Mrs. Bennet, before you take any or all of these houses for your son and daughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into one house in this neighborhood they shall never have admittance. I will not encourage the impudence of either, by receiving them at Longbourn.”
A long dispute followed this declaration, but Mr. Bennet was firm. It soon led to another. Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror, that her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter. He protested that she should receive from him no mark of affection whatever on the occasion. Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend it. That his anger could be carried to such a point of inconceivable resentment as to refuse his daughter a privilege, without which her marriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all she could believe possible. She was more alive to the disgrace which her want of new clothes must reflect on her daughter’s nuptials, than to any sense of shame at her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight before they took place.
Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of the moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fears for her sister. Since her marriage would so shortly give the proper termination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its unfavorable beginning from all those who were not immediately on the spot.
She had no fear of its spreading farther through his means. There were few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended. Yet, at the same time, there was no one whose knowledge of a sister’s frailty would have mortified her so much — not from any fear of it being a disadvantage to herself, for there seemed an impassable gulf between them. Had Lydia’s marriage been concluded on the most honorable terms, it was not to be supposed that Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a family who would now be aligned with a man whom he justly scorned.
He would shrink from such a connection. The wish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herself of his feeling in Derbyshire, could not survive such a blow as this. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefit
ed by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that she could have been happy with him, when it was no longer likely they should meet.
What a triumph for him, she often thought, if he knew that the proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would now have been most gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex, but he was also mortal, and where man is mortal there must also be triumph.
The pain in her chest when she thought of him was unbearable. Longing filled her — longings of the heart, and more physical longings of her body. She could understand, in some small way, the attraction Lydia must have felt for Wickham to drive her to act so impractically, not that she forgave her sister. When she thought of Darcy, Elizabeth felt a warm tingling erupt all along her body, centering low in her belly. She would give anything to be held by him just one time. Of course, that could never happen. She would never disgrace herself like that outside of marriage, or at least a solid engagement. Still, if the world could but fall away for one moment, and such a desire could be realized, she would promise to never regret another thing in her life.
More practically, she began to comprehend that Darcy was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her as a husband. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was a union that would have been to the advantage of both. With her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened and his manners improved. From his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of a greater importance. But no such happy marriage was in her future to show her what connubial felicity really was.
Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) Page 32
