by michael sand
“The Bennet family owe me nothing,” Mr Darcy replied, with something approaching coldness in his voice. “If matters are concluded to their satisfaction, that is very well; but I have acted entirely in my own interest.”
Mr Gardiner was not prepared to concede the point. Whatever responsibility Mr Darcy believed to rest with himself, he could not be allowed to shoulder such a substantial burden alone. “It would not be fair to your family.” To this, Darcy returned an answer equally implacable: it was eminently fair to his family. It had been his family’s misplaced generosity that had brought Mr Wickham to an unhappy prominence.
But still—
“It would be an infamous act,” said Mr Darcy, pretending to a little more irascibility than he truly felt, to gain his object, “ — a most unprincipled business, to be settling affairs to my own satisfaction, and asking others to subscribe to the cost.”
Mr Gardiner acknowledged that Mr Darcy’s intentions were of the kindest, but they were not practicable. — “For I know that when Mr Bennet learns of this — happy outcome, as I suppose we must call it, — he will insist on repaying you.”
“Mr Bennet might feel an awkward and quite unnecessary sense of indebtedness, were my role in this affair to come to his attention. That is why I wish to prevent his learning of it — to prevent any one’s learning; to keep my involvement a profound secret.” The Bennet family must be kept in ignorance: on that he must insist. “He could never be on terms of friendship with any of them, if they felt under an obligation to him.”
“We quite understand,” said Mr Gardiner, “that you want to avoid the notoriety of even so generous an action. But I do not see how this can be accomplished. Some explanation will be demanded; some explanation must be made. Mr Bennet will want to know — every one will want to know, how this rescue came about.”
It then emerged that Mr Darcy had a signal favour to ask. “He would consider himself infinitely indebted to Mr Gardiner if he would allow the responsibility of arranging this settlement to be ascribed solely to himself.”
“Do you mean, that you want me to take the credit?” Mr Gardiner said, with a look of astonishment bordering on alarm. — “Allow people to believe that I am responsible for an unexampled act of charity, which I did not perform? My dear sir, you do not know what you are asking. I am extremely grateful for your generosity, Mr Darcy — indeed, you deserve every one’s gratitude. But — ”
“I do not act for gratitude.”
Mrs Gardiner observed Darcy’s look of pain at the word ‘gratitude’; and believing that she understood the sensibility which gave rise to it, hastened to intervene. “Mr Gardiner is only saying that it would be dishonourable to accept the merit for something he did not do. At the same time, (directing a significant glance at her husband,) I am sure that he would wish to do any thing in his power to oblige you.”
Mr Gardiner had been long enough married to know when a private interview with his wife was being solicited. Therefore, after a brief hesitation, —
“Perhaps you would allow me a little time to consider of the matter, Mr Darcy. Might I wait upon you tomorrow morning?”
But it was arranged that Mr Darcy would come to Gracechurch-street instead, and bring Miss Lydia Bennet with him: the sooner she and Wickham were parted, the better; — this was a subject on which they could all agree!
When Mr Darcy had taken his leave, Mrs Gardiner set about convincing her husband that Mr Darcy’s obstinacy must be yielded to. Mr Gardiner was equally obstinate at first. “My dear, how can I do what he asks? It is every way impossible. Even if I were to put aside my dislike of the deception — ”
“In a good cause!”
“Yes, but even so, Mr Bennet can estimate, as well as I, how much money it must cost to bring Wickham to the point of marrying Lydia, — and he will know I have not such a sum to hand. What am I say to him?”
Mrs Gardiner’s advice was to be mysterious. “Say that the details are too complicate for you to be writing them all, — that Mr Bennet will surely understand, as he himself hates writing letters, — but that Wickham appears not to be so completely bereft of means, friends, and interest, as had been supposed. Say that you will tell him every thing in person, when we come to Longbourn in the autumn.”
“But of what use is delay? The time must still arrive when an explanation will be expected.”
“Much might happen in that time: Mr Darcy might propose to Elizabeth — it is obvious that he is in love with her.”
— Obvious? Not to Mr Gardiner.
“It amazes me, how men cannot see things which are perfectly clear to women,” said Mrs Gardiner.
“And it amazes me,” retorted Mr Gardiner, “how women persist in seeing things which are not there.”
“If Mr Darcy proposes to Lizzy,” his wife continued unperturbed, “every thing must naturally come out; and there will be an end to your worries.”
His wife’s assurance confounded Mr Gardiner. With all the high esteem in which he held his niece, so lofty a match seemed beyond her expectation. — And how did Mrs Gardiner know that Elizabeth would accept him if he should propose? She appeared to dislike the man. Mrs Gardiner did not bother to refute so double-dyed an error. “He may have proposed already,” she said. “They had met at Rosings, you know, and Lizzy was very sly on the subject when she stopped with us on her way home. — Never even brought his name up, though they had passed several weeks in company. That in itself is highly interesting. There might even have been a secret engagement.”
“I cannot believe in a secret engagement. Why should Mr Darcy — a free agent — wish to engage a woman in secret? Why should he need to?”
“It might be anything,” Mrs Gardiner replied. “Did we not hear that Mr Darcy was intended to marry his cousin, Miss de Bourgh? He might be needing time to prepare the ground with Lady Catherine.”
And then, she thought, something had gone wrong between the young people. — Perhaps there had been a quarrel, and Elizabeth had broken it off. — “Do not you remember how reluctant she was to visit Pemberley, till she learned that the family were supposed to be out of the way?” The fault for the separation must have been Darcy’s. That was clear from the marked attentions he had paid them when they had met at Pemberley. “His invitations were a compliment to Lizzy, not to us. He was trying to shew her that he wished them to be reconciled. And they were reconciled, I am sure of it. — Remember how she replied, when we were about to leave Lambton, and I asked whether a message should be sent to Pemberley? ‘That is all settled,’ she said. All settled — between the two of them!”
Mr Gardiner was half convinced, finding (as he had often found before) that his wife’s ingenious suppositions gained credibility with the listening. Still, what if nothing came of it? or nothing had come of it before they were next to visit Longbourn? He should then have to give Mr Bennet an explanation — and what explanation could he give?
“Oh, that is nothing!” his wife replied, airily. “Even if they do not become engaged, Mr Darcy’s role is bound to come out. These things can never be kept long secret.”
Mrs Gardiner had by no means exhausted her arguments; and Mr Gardiner was at last brought to believe, that in conceding to Mr Darcy’s wishes, he would be consulting his niece’s future happiness.
The next day, Mr Darcy brought Lydia to Gracechurch-street. Lydia shewed no more consciousness at meeting with her uncle and aunt than she had shewn with Mr Darcy, and, “Long time since I was here,” was all her greeting. The Gardiners welcomed her with as much warmth as they could muster; and presently, Mrs Gardiner led her niece away, while Mr Gardiner and Mr Darcy exchanged a few words on business. On the subject of Lydia’s marriage, “He was now prepared,” Mr Gardiner said, “to accede to Mr Darcy’s wish of anonymity, though for himself he believed that a more straightforward way of acting was always to be preferred, even if some temporary inconvenience might be apprehended.” Mr Darcy thanked him, and it was arranged that Mr Haggerston, Mr Gardin
er’s attorney, should wait upon Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr Darcy was to be departing for Derbyshire the next day, but he should return in time for the wedding.
That evening, Mr Gardiner set himself to compose a letter to Mr Bennet. Since he was obliged to conceal as much as he divulged, he had to puzzle over every word; and as he wrote, he read out what he had written to Mrs Gardiner, who, sitting at her work upon the sopha, took an almost equal share in the composition.
“‘My dear Brother, I am finally able to send you tidings of my niece, and such as, upon the whole, I hope will give you satisfaction.’ That is very well, but how shall I continue?”
“Say that you reserve the particulars of how you discovered Lydia and Wickham till you have the opportunity to speak to him in person, but that Wickham’s case has proved not so hopeless as believed.”
Mr Gardiner dipped his pen; then left it poised in the air as a thought struck him. “What if Bennet decides to come to London and take over arrangements himself? We should all be in a scrape then.”
“Tell him that there is not the smallest necessity for his coming to town. — Not that he shall wish to do so. You can be sure, he will like being told that he need not stir. I doubt whether he is eager to meet with Lydia at this moment. He will prefer to nurse his anger in private.”
Mr Gardiner agreed, and returned to his task. After a period, —
“‘They are not married,’” he read out, “‘but they soon shall be, if you agree to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on your side.’ I should think he would agree (looking up from the page) — they are easy enough in all conscience. A hundred pounds per annum, is all that Mr Darcy asks of him, and Lydia can hardly cost him less, living at home.” Then, bending to his paper again, “‘If you make no objection, Lydia shall be married from this house, on Monday, two weeks hence.’ — Oh, Lord! I hope none of the family will want to be present. That would embarrass Mr Darcy.”
Mrs Gardiner believed there was little danger. Mrs Bennet might wish to attend, but Mr Bennet would not — and the others could not come without him.
“‘Haggerston takes the matter in hand, and I shall write again as soon any thing new is known,’” Mr Gardiner concluded. Then, throwing down his pen, — “Is not this rather thin? Mr Bennet is no fool. He will realize that there is more to the story than I am telling. He must know that money has been paid out to bring about this marriage, and he will think that I have paid it. He will want to know how much he owes me.”
“Mr Bennet is not a fool,” his wife agreed. “But neither is he a man to pursue trouble. I will wager you a bright, new shilling that he will ask no questions; only agree to every thing, and remain happily inactive at home.”
Mr Gardiner declined the wager. “He had been obliged to lay out so much money on his niece,” he said, dryly, “that he had not a shilling to spare.”
Chapter Eleven
Before Mr Darcy left town the following day, he repaired to a bookseller’s in Finsbury-square, intending to inspect some volumes which the bookseller had set out for his consideration. As he was about to enter the shop, he stepped aside to allow a heavy young man, looking extremely warm in clerical black, to make his exit. This gentleman carried a portfolio under one arm and an umbrella under the other, which he was obliged at that moment to clap onto his head to prevent his hat from being swept away by a gust of wind springing up. In this posture, he completely blocked the entrance to the shop; and it was some time before he was able to set himself to rights, and prepare to move on. Then, chancing to look up, and seeing the face of the man he was impeding, he exclaimed,
“Good heavens! — Mr Darcy! I apologize most profusely for thus incommoding you. I would not have wished to commit such an offence for the world! (Then, perceiving his vis-à-vis look blank,) — William Collins, at your service, Sir — rector, thanks to the patronage of your distinguished connection, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of the parish of Hunsford. My humble abode adjoins her Ladyship’s residence at Rosings Park — a circumstance you may recall, as you were so gracious as to call on my wife and myself on the occasion of your last visit. I assure you, it was only the expectation, amounting to a certainty, that I could not have the happiness of seeing you in town at this time of year, that has prevented me from waiting on you at the earliest possible moment. — Indeed, I would consider it a most serious delinquency if I were to omit an occasion of testifying my respect towards any body connected with the family.”
Mr Darcy then asking, what had brought him to London, Mr Collins (after thanking him for his goodness in enquiring) explained that he had come on the recommendation of his worthy patroness, — nothing was beneath her notice! — to arrange for the publication of his sermons (patting the satchel, now restored to its place under his arm).
“Only last week, her Ladyship condescended to give me her opinion, (unsolicited, too,) that it was incumbent upon a young, active minister, such as myself, to bring his preaching to the notice of serious-minded readers. I place the firmest reliance on Lady Catherine’s advice; she is a personage it is impossible to regard with too much deference. I therefore hastened to town to put my papers into the hands of a bookseller. And while the prospect of placing my lucubrations before the public, fills me with a not, I flatter myself, unjustifiable pride, my chief pleasure will be in the widespread dissemination of the initial sermon — denominated, ‘Gratitude,’ — on the text, ‘Be thankful unto Him, and bless His name,’ which enlarges on the requirement of all right-minded people to be satisfied with their station in life, and to feel grateful to those whom Almighty God has placed above them; — a subject, I am sure you will agree, of the highest importance.”
Mr Darcy agreed, to the extent at least of saying, that Lady Catherine had manifestly not bestowed her favour on a man lacking in gratitude; and though he thought it unlikely that a book by Mr Collins would prove edifying, he nevertheless allowed himself to be entered on the subscription list, only stipulating for anonymity. Mr Collins thanked him for his condescension, promising that he would speedily receive a letter expressing his gratitude for this signal mark of regard. If satisfaction with his station in life were the final arbiter, there never was a man so supremely happy as Mr Collins. His lot, as he himself expressed it, had fallen in pleasant places. Far be it from him to boast, but it fell to few men to enjoy the twofold felicity of such gracious patronage, and the best of marital unions. And on the subject of felicity, —
“When,” Mr Collins enquired, with ponderous archness, “did Mr Darcy intend to put on Hymen’s saffron robe himself?” Woman’s captivations elicit such fire in the soul of man as lead him to hazard all to obtain her! — and when the object was so eligible a female as Miss Anne de Bourgh! —
Mr Darcy replied, coolly, that he had no intention of changing his state at present.
“Indeed,” Mr Collins continued, “it is true that a man cannot be too careful about changing his state, especially when the unworthy of the other sex are involved. The case of my unfortunate connections, the Bennets, can attest to that. — But perhaps you have not heard of the catastrophe which has lately befallen that family. It grieves me to have to tell you, that Miss Lydia Bennet has brought such disgrace upon her distracted relations by eloping with Mr Wickham, as will make it impossible for her family to continue her. I said as much to Mr Bennet in my letter of condolence. ‘You must make yourself perfectly easy, my dear Sir,’ I said. ‘The evil is now irremediable.’ — And I am afraid, between ourselves, that it was entirely the product of his own mistaken indulgence.”
Mr Darcy had not considered that the intelligence of Lydia Bennet’s elopement might already have reached to Kent. — But it must of course feature prominently in the correspondence from Mrs Collins’s family.
“The pity of it is, as Lady Catherine was so good as to say when I relayed the evil tidings, — it was almost the first thing she remarked upon, — Miss Lydia Bennet’s misstep must prove fatal to the fortunes of all her sisters. Miss Jane Benn
et, Miss Elizabeth Bennet — elegant and charming though they assuredly are, — who will marry them now? What man would voluntarily connect himself with such a family?”
Mr Darcy understood that in communicating the news to Lady Catherine, Mr Collins had given her that which she would receive with complacency: Elizabeth Bennet’s manners during her visit to Kent had been too lively — and too little deferential — to please his aunt. “You appear somewhat behindhand with the news,” he said, not sorry to be able to curtail Mr Collins’s satisfaction. “Lydia Bennet marries George Wickham; the banns have been published, and she is currently residing with her relations in Cheapside.”
This intelligence was the cause of some disappointment, Mr Collins appearing to think that morality would have been better served if the catastrophe overcoming his connections had proved complete. He rejoiced, he said, to hear that Miss Bennet and her accomplice were preparing to make what amends lay in their power; but as a clergyman, he must insist that the stain of such an enormity was such, as no amount of time could possibly remove.
“I am not a clergyman,” replied Mr Darcy, “but I had thought that forgiveness was promised to the penitent.”
“Ah, my dear sir, forgiveness is the prerogative of the Almighty. We do wrong if we abrogate it to ourselves. The wicked may indeed look forward to grace in the next life, but they cannot expect their misdeeds to be forgotten in this. How could their evil tendencies be sufficiently sanctioned, if men were to be forgiving them all the time? We must do justice, and leave mercy to heaven.”
Mr Darcy perceived that farther doctrinal discussion was likely to be fruitless. He therefore merely warned Mr Collins to observe greater circumspection: if report of his detractions were to come round to the lady’s family, he might find himself in some peril of the law. With that, they parted, Mr Collins thanking Mr Darcy again and again for this friendly caution. For himself, he abominated gossip; — and certainly, the majority of mankind were only too ready to slander their neighbours.
