by michael sand
The Colonel admitted that he had heard something of this story. — But was not it good that the young people should marry?
“Can you be in earnest, Fitzwilliam? What shall be the point of the commandments, if transgressors do not suffer the fullest consequence of their crime? The girl ought to be ruined! Morality requires it. — Not that her being married diminishes the disgrace to her family. She has made it impossible for any respectable man to connect himself with them! I trust, Mrs Collins, (turning coldly to Charlotte,) that your family will have nothing more to do with neighbours so little respectable, and you must give up your friend. At least, we shall see no more of pert Miss Eliza Bennet here at Rosings.”
Mr Darcy rose, and walked to stand by the fireplace, with his back to the room.
“Do your winter plans persist, Aunt?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired. “Are you still for Bath?”
“Bath? (in a tone of displeasure.) Did not I inform you, that Anne and I shall not be returning to Bath? We winter at Harrogate. I am surprised you should forget.”
“I beg your pardon, Aunt (with a look of contrition not altogether convincing). Of course you would wish to avoid any repetition of the rencontre which marred your stay at Bath last year. You will do much better at Harrogate. And when do you take your leave?”
Lady Catherine and her daughter would be repairing to Harrogate some time after Michaelmas; Lady Catherine anticipated great benefit to Anne’s health from the waters there. Mr Collins seized the opportunity to say that Michaelmas would then be the first day of winter, for those so unfortunate as to be left behind. “As your Ladyship knows, nature itself mourns your absence from Rosings. — I well remember, two trees fell in the avenue last year, in grief at your departure.”
Lady Catherine paid no attention to this delicate compliment. “We shall expect a visit from you, Fitzwilliam, and you, too, Darcy. You shall not beg off this winter, if you please. Anne and I shall confidently expect a long visit from you.”
Mr Darcy returned a silent bow, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, perceiving that his spirits were ruffled, soon afterwards carried him off to the soothing atmosphere of the billiard room. The Colonel was better able than his cousin to shield himself from the irksome effects of his aunt’s impertinence, which amused more than it provoked him, and he was more prepared to satisfy her domineering demands upon his attendance. Then too, he felt a deep sympathy with his cousin Anne; and the desire to lessen the probable irksomeness of her existence, at which he could guess. But the Colonel was not averse, on occasion, to suffusing the forbearance he usually maintained towards his aunt with a mild tincture of satire, and he now said, with a laugh, “Did you observe the cool wind which sprang up at my mention of Bath?” And seeing Darcy’s look of incomprehension, — “Is it possible you have never heard of the unfortunate event which befell Lady Catherine last year? — But why should that surprise me? Your known dislike of scandal makes you the last to learn any good thing that may be going.”
To explain the point of the story, the Colonel was obliged to refer to certain lapses from strict propriety on the part of Lord Robert Fitzwilliam, the younger brother of the late Earl, Lady Catherine’s father. Lord Robert had maintained a domestic establishment with a certain Mrs Johnson, an opera singer, of sufficiently long standing to produce several daughters and a son. The children of this unlawful union had never been recognized during the noble lord’s lifetime, but he had left directions in his will, that his son should be allowed to assume the family name. This posthumous reparation might have gone unremarked if Lord Robert, (acting in what appeared to be the spirit of long-premeditated mischief,) had not given this son the Christian name of — Earle. It was therefore as Mr Earle Fitzwilliam that this unsanctioned branch of the family was now to be denominated. Lady Catherine had had the misfortune, during her previous sojourn at Bath, to come into company with the gentleman one evening at the Rooms; and he had dared — had actually dared — to greet her as a connection, and with the pretence of being expecting to be noticed!
“My aunt attempted to freeze him with her haughtiest look, but Mr Fitzwilliam (as I suppose we must now call him) proved impervious to frost. The illegitimate nephew of an earl who is obliged to go through life answering to the name of Earle, might well be impervious to any lesser set downs. I know your starched notions,” the Colonel went on, seeing that he had won no smile from Darcy, “but I cannot prevent myself in laughing when I think of such happy impudence. Well, (recovering himself) the gentleman might call me cousin, for that matter. But a man is not responsible for his cousins. Even the royal family have such cousins — to judge from all the Fitzroys to be met with! — and if they are not safe, why should our family fare better?”
Before retiring for the night, the Colonel said goodbye — Darcy would be starting for London too early for them to be meeting in the morning. “I heard you making your excuses to Lady Catherine this evening. She is offended with your departure.”
“I shall be back in a matter of days.”
“Yes, but my aunt begrudges every hour of absence; and she would care even less for your leaving if she knew what business carried you to town.” Then, putting aside his bantering manner, — Was everything in readiness for the wedding? The commission prepared, and the nominee — whose place holder Wickham was to be — appointed?
Darcy believed that Haggerston had seen to everything of the kind: the documents would be ready for signing the day of the wedding. All other arrangements had been made by Mr Gardiner; his own responsibility was limited to seeing that Wickham arrived at the church on Monday. The banns were to be called for the third time tomorrow, and he should be meeting Mr Gardiner after the service, to see that all was well.
Darcy seemed to want as little said on the subject as possible, — and to be as little happy with the success of his achievement, as if he had not succeeded at all. The Colonel therefore held his peace.
Chapter Five
Lady Catherine’s indignation had been great when she learned that her nephew was to be travelling up to town. “Travel on a Sunday? You know that I always speak my mind, Darcy, and I must tell you that I deprecate Sunday-travel in the strongest possible terms.”
Mr Darcy deprecated Sunday-travel too, but principles must some times bow to the necessity of business.
“What business could be important enough to require the violation of so sacred a commandment?” Lady Catherine replied, zealous more from the love of authority than from piety. At length, finding her objections unavailing, — “Oh, very well!” she said. “If you must travel on a Sunday, at least you shall attend divine service before you leave.”
Mr Darcy thanked his aunt for her tender care of him, but he was obliged to make an early start. (Having sat under Mr Collins once, Mr Darcy did not care to repeat the experience.)
In this manner, aunt and nephew parted on the Saturday evening.
The bells were pealing for morning service as Mr Darcy entered the church of St Clement’s, Eastcheap, the following morning. He had scarcely seated himself when the Gardiners entered with Lydia in tow. He caught Mr Gardiner’s eye, and they exchanged nods, Mr Gardiner making a slight gesture of the head, of the sort that indicates that the silent semaphorist wishes to be in colloquy as soon as opportunity permits. Of Mr Wickham, there was no sign.
When the service was over, Mr Gardiner left his wife and niece at the vestry door, and went to join Mr Darcy. His face wore a look of anxious worry. Wickham had been expected to dinner the previous day, and had failed of the engagement; and a message sent to his lodgings had fetched no reply. Moreover, he was to have attended the service that morning, to hear the final reading of the banns, and this engagement he had failed of, too. If Mr Darcy would therefore appoint a place of meeting, Mr Gardiner should see his wife and niece home, and join him in an hour, that they might begin the search. This offer Darcy declined. Mr Gardiner must stay with his family: his absence would only be raising fears which might be groundless; the search could safel
y be left in his hands. Mr Gardiner demurred: “He felt to blame — he ought to have kept a more diligent eye on Mr Wickham. The least he could do was to assist — ” But Mr Darcy would by no means suffer it. He wanted no assistance; whatever needed to be done, he should do himself. “You shall oblige me by going quietly home, Mr Gardiner. I will be in communication as soon as I have any news of Mr Wickham.” Darcy’s obstinacy proving unmovable, Mr Gardiner was obliged in the end to accede to his wishes.
After they parted, Darcy visited Wickham’s lodgings; but his room was empty, and he had not been seen for two nights. Darcy’s spirits sank as he realized that the work of discovering of Wickham was all to do again; but the fastidious repugnance, which he might once have felt at the prospect of frequenting the low dens where Wickham must be sought for, was lost now in his anger and undiminished resolve. This was the last service he might ever perform for Elizabeth Bennet, and it was to be prized accordingly. While the high purpose which had directed his actions ever since the moment of her confiding in him, was still to be attained, he might work on her behalf and make her the beneficiary of his exertions. When that purpose had been achieved, what would be left to him? Now he had a right to interfere in her affairs. Then, he should have none.
In the event, he was spared the mixture of pain and pleasure this duty should have entailed, for when he returned to Fitzwilliam House he found the following letter awaiting him.
“Edward-street, Sunday, Aug. 30
“Dear Sir,
“It may interest you to learn, that George Wickham is presently installed in my house, having arrived on my doorstep last night so debilitated from drink that I was obliged to allow him to effect an entrance. I should not be bringing this matter to your attention, did not I know — from things Mr Wickham let fall while the government of his mind was subjugated by wine — that news of his whereabouts would be welcome to you, little as he might wish you to hear of them. You may depend upon his remaining insensible the rest of the night, and need not trouble to be coming for him before tomorrow, for he will not be in any state to remove.”
“Yours, &c.
Mrs Selena Younge”
It was Mrs Younge herself who opened the door to him when Darcy arrived in Edward-street on the morrow. She bid him enter, and led him to a back room where Mr Wickham lay sprawled on a pallet, his face flushed, his hair awry, and his shirt lacking both cravat and buttons. He had arrived just as Mr Darcy beheld him — coatless, hatless, and with no more possessions than what he stood up in. “And feeling vastly sorry for himself, you may be sure.”
It now became necessary to consider how Wickham could be got into condition to sustain himself through a wedding ceremony in just a few short hours. Mrs Younge’s maid must carry a message to Fitzwilliam House, to fetch his manservant and clean clothes. Then, if Wickham could be got onto his feet, it might be possible to walk him into a semblance of sensibility. They should need assistance. Had Mrs Younge an odd-job man about the house? Mrs Younge had not, but the ostler at the Crown was always ready to oblige. The maid was accordingly authorized to stop on her way, and ask the man to come to the house. The ostler soon appearing, regarded Mr Wickham’s recumbent form, and instantly prescribed the course to be pursuing. There was a Bath chair amongst the conveyances in the mews, and a hammam only a few streets away: the unfortunate gentleman could be hoist into the chair, and wheeled off to the baths easy. Then if the lady would send after him with a great many pots of coffee, it might be seen what wonders hot water could effect on a body, when applied both inside and out.
The ostler’s advice was adopted, and Mr Wickham was shortly installed in his chair in an imbecile state, half-asleep and half-waking, to be wheeled off amidst an admiring crowd of loafers, who had collected out of nowhere, and stood about enjoying the sight of a gentleman if not quite dead, then at least dead to the world. Mr Darcy selected one of them to run with a message to Gracechurch-street, to inform Mr Gardiner that Wickham had been found.
The morning was far advanced when the ostler at length returned, wheeling the bath-chair with Wickham sitting upright in it, in a condition of partial recovery. With the assistance of Mr Darcy’s man-servant, Wickham was borne into an inner room, whence he emerged, a half-hour later, looking tolerably composed, the only outward signs of dissipation being a pale complexion, hair still damp, an indisposition to speak, and a slurred articulation when he was obliged to do so. When the prospective bridegroom had been helped into the waiting coach, Darcy turned to Mrs Younge with open purse. But to his surprise, the lady refused his offer; she had not acted in the expectation of reward: Wickham’s being obliged to marry that creature was reward enough — a fitting punishment for his perfidious behaviour. — It did not surprise her that he had needed to wind himself up with half-a-dozen bottles of champagne before he could face the ordeal!
Darcy perceived that he had reaped the benefit of Mrs Younge’s resentment towards Wickham being stronger than her resentment towards himself.
Mrs Gardiner had been informed of her husband’s dreadful doubts in regard to Mr Wickham’s appearing for the ceremony, but the truth had been kept from Lydia. Her anxieties differed from theirs, for she was chiefly concerned to know whether Wickham would wear his blue coat. — She hoped he would, he looked so excessively handsome in it. “Would eleven o’clock never come?” was her cry, often repeated.
Mrs Gardiner assured her that eleven o’clock would arrive precisely when it might be reasonably expected. (She only hoped that Mr Wickham would likewise arrive.) At last, there came a knock at the door, — but alas, it was only Mr Haggerston, the sight of whom drove Lydia nearly wild. — Why was that odious man come? He would make Mr Gardiner late, and her uncle must be at the church to give her away. — How should they be able to marry without him? and if they went beyond the hour, they could not be married that day! Mrs Gardiner bid her be calm: the business concerned her marriage settlement, and should not take long. Mr Gardiner and Mr Wickham — and Mr Darcy, too, — should all arrive at the church together, and in good time. (She prayed it would be so!) Though only partly understanding, Lydia was mollified: to be sure, Mr Darcy could give her away, if need be. She seemed under no surprise that Mr Darcy should attend her wedding; — supposed him Wickham’s dearest friend; and though she nodded her head when her aunt reminded her of her promise not to reveal his presence there to any one, shewed no curiosity about why that promise had been required of her.
Mr Darcy’s note arriving at this moment brought inexpressible relief! Mr Gardiner then suggested that his wife and Lydia should proceed to the church, where the rest of the party should join them. (He feared that Wickham might be shewing up in a shocking state, and kindly wished to spare his niece the sight.) “It is supposed to bring bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the ceremony,” he said, forgetting that the bride and groom had seen enough of each other in advance of their wedding to deserve a lifetime of bad luck. This proposal was agreed to; and by providing a motive for action, provided also a tolerable distraction from the anxieties of the moment, in the bustle of taking leave, with all the fear lest some vital item of female apparel be left behind. But when they were arrived at the church, and eleven o’clock was seen to be approaching, Mrs Gardiner began to fidget equally with Lydia, and found that she too could not bear that the wedding should be postponed by even a single day. — Then — what infinite pleasure in the sound! — a coach was heard to drive up to the church. The gentlemen immediately appeared, and the clergyman was soon commencing with his, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God”—
When the ceremony was concluded, and the bride-people had been sent on their way to Hertfordshire, Mrs Gardiner invited Mr Darcy to return to Gracechurch-street, and take dinner with them. Mr Darcy, who was suffering under the lowering of spirits which often accompanies the conclusion of great undertakings, gladly accepted. Dinner was unpretending, but Mr Darcy found the simplicity much to his taste after the parade of formality,
which stamped dinners at Rosings. The Gardiners shewed such a quiet complacency, and manifested such a willingness to be happy, and converse in a pleasant way about little things, as comprehended its own style of elegance. Mr Gardiner was a sensible man, more and conversable than people in higher circles might have believed possible in a man engaged in trade; and Mrs Gardiner was a good-tempered, sensible woman. Some part of Mr Darcy’s pleasure might have arisen, without his being conscious of the fact, from the similarity of manner between Mrs Gardiner and Miss Elizabeth Bennet — a like habit of liveliness. Between Mr and Mrs Gardiner, moreover, there subsisted a mutual reliance and comfortable conviction of each other’s regard and worth, which Darcy thought as desirable in married people as it was uncommon. Whatever might be said (by men) to the detriment of women’s powers of mind, Darcy believed that they had faculties of penetration which men lacked, and could benefit from. What man of sense should not wish to have a partner in life who could contribute to his own understanding? —
After dinner, Mrs Gardiner, hearing that Miss Darcy was to be attending an academy in town, asked how she liked the prospect? “Very much,” Mr Darcy replied. Georgiana particularly relished the opportunity it would afford her to study with some of the leading music masters. — “Her disappointment, when you and Miss Elizabeth Bennet were prevented from dining with us at Pemberley, was very great. She has a high opinion of Miss Bennet’s genius as a musician, and was looking forward to hearing her play again.” Mr Darcy spoke with studied calm, but Mrs Gardiner wondered whether this piece of politeness had been uttered with the sole view of bringing her niece into the conversation. She therefore obliged him, (as she hoped,) by speaking for some time about her many excellences; nor did he appear to find the subject distasteful.
