Pride and Prejudice

CHAPTER XLVI.

On the third day at Lambton, Elizabeth received two letters from Jane at once, one mis-sent. The first, written five days earlier, began with neighbourhood parties; its latter half, written a day later in evident agitation, brought different news. An express had come at twelve the previous night from Colonel Forster: Lydia was gone off to Scotland with Wickham. Their mother was sadly grieved, their father bore it better. They had left Saturday night about twelve, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight.

The second letter was more alarming. The Colonel’s pursuit had traced them easily to Clapham, but no farther, for they had removed into a hackney coach and dismissed the chaise from Epsom. They were last seen continuing the London road, unheard of at turnpikes or inns in Barnet or Hatfield. There was reason to fear they were not gone to Scotland. Their mother was really ill; their father, never so affected, was going to London with the Colonel instantly. Jane begged her uncle’s advice.

As Elizabeth finished, she was starting to follow her uncle when Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuous manner made him start, and before he could recover she exclaimed that she must find Mr. Gardiner on business that could not be delayed. He offered to send the servant; seeing her knees tremble, he asked if she would not take wine. She thanked him, said there was nothing the matter but dreadful news, and burst into tears. Her youngest sister had left all her friends, had eloped, had thrown herself into the power of Wickham, whom she knew too well. They had gone off together from Brighton. Her sister had no money, no connections, nothing to tempt him to marry her; she was lost for ever.

Darcy was fixed in astonishment. When she added that she might have prevented it—that she who knew what he was ought to have explained it to her family—he could only reply that he was grieved and shocked. He asked what had been attempted to recover her; she answered that her father had gone to London and Jane had written to beg her uncle’s immediate assistance. “But nothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on?” Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence. When she cried, “Wretched, wretched mistake!” he made no answer but walked the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth saw and understood. Her power was sinking; everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness. But the belief of his self-conquest brought her no consolation; on the contrary, it made 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.

At length, in a tone of compassion and restraint, he said he feared he had been long desired absent and would not torment her with vain wishes. “This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister’s having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley to-day.” She asked him to apologize to Miss Darcy and to conceal the unhappy truth as long as possible. He assured her of his secrecy, expressed his sorrow, and left with only one serious parting look. Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should ever meet again on such terms of cordiality as had marked their Derbyshire meetings.

If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, her change of sentiment would be neither improbable nor faulty. But such reflections could not detain her long; Lydia, the humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed up every private care. The Gardiners returned home in alarm, Elizabeth read the letters aloud, and her uncle readily promised every assistance. Within an hour the three were on the road to Longbourn.

CHAPTER XLVII.

In the carriage, Mr. Gardiner confessed that upon serious consideration he was much more inclined than he had been to judge as Jane did. It seemed unlikely any young man should form such a design against a girl unprotected and friendless, actually staying in his Colonel’s family. Mrs. Gardiner said she was beginning to be of her husband’s opinion. Elizabeth, however, soon argued the other side: Wickham would never marry a woman without money; he could not afford it. Their father’s indolence and inattention might lead Wickham to suppose he would do as little as any father could.

When Mrs. Gardiner asked if Lydia could be so lost to love as to consent without marriage, Elizabeth, with tears, admitted it did seem. But she was very young, never taught to think on serious subjects, and for the last twelvemonth had been given up to amusement and vanity. Since the ––shire had first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation, and officers had been in her head.

Pressed on what she and Jane knew of Wickham, Elizabeth owned she knew the worst of him. She had told them of his infamous behaviour to Darcy and his ingratitude to the man who had behaved with such forbearance and liberality. His lies about the whole Pemberley family were endless. Till Elizabeth had been in Kent she had been ignorant of the truth herself; when she returned home the regiment was leaving in a week or fortnight, so neither she nor Jane had made their knowledge public. Even when Lydia went to Brighton, the necessity of opening her eyes to his character had never occurred, and that she could be in any danger had never entered Elizabeth’s head.

They travelled expeditiously, sleeping one night on the road, and reached Longbourn by dinnertime the next day. Jane, running downstairs, met Elizabeth in the vestibule. The sisters embraced with tears, and Elizabeth asked immediately whether anything had been heard of the fugitives. Jane said not yet, but hoped everything would be well now that her uncle was come. Their father had gone to town on Tuesday; they had heard from him only once. Their mother was tolerably well, though her spirits were shaken.

In the drawing-room Jane had no intelligence to give. They then went to Mrs. Bennet’s apartment, where she received them with tears and lamentations, invectives against Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings, blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the errors of her daughter must be principally owing. “If I had been able 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.”

Mr. Gardiner, after general assurances, told her he meant to be in London the very next day and would assist Mr. Bennet in every endeavour. “Do not give way to useless alarm; though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.” Mrs. Bennet, however, could think of nothing but the Collinses turning them out, her husband being killed in a duel, wedding clothes for Lydia, and which were the best warehouses.