Chapter 46
Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter
from Jane on their first arrival at Lambton; and this
disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had
now been spent there; but on the third her repining was over, and
her sister justified, by the receipt of two letters from her at
once, on one of which was marked that it had been missent
elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written
the direction remarkably ill. They had just been preparing to walk
as the letters came in; and her uncle and aunt, leaving her to
enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. The one missent must
first be attended to; it had been written five days ago. The
beginning contained an account of all their little parties and
engagements, with such news as the country afforded; but the latter
half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident
agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect:
"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! Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not
seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a
match on both sides! 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." Without allowing
herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she felt,
Elizabeth on finishing this letter instantly seized the other, and
opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows: it had been
written a day later than the conclusion of the first.
"By this time, my dearest sister,
you have received my hurried letter; I wish this may be more
intelligible, but though not confined for time, my head is so
bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy,
I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and
it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as the 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. Though
Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that they
were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny
expressing his belief that W. never intended to go there, or to
marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel F., who,
instantly taking the alarm, set off from B., intending to trace
their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no further;
for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney coach, and
dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is
known after this is, that they were seen to continue the London
road. I know not what to think. After making every possible inquiry
on that side London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire,
anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in
Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success—no such people had
been seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to
Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most
creditable to his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs.
F., but no one can throw any blame on them. 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; and even if he could form
such a design against a young woman of Lydia's connections, which
is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to everything? Impossible!
I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not dis posed to
depend upon their marriage; he shook his head when I expressed my
hopes, and said he fear W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor
mother is really ill, and keeps her room. Could she exert herself,
it would be better; but this is not to be expected. And as to my
father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has
anger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter
of confidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy,
that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes;
but now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for
your return? I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if
inconvenient. Adieu! I take up my pen again to do what I have just
told you I would not; but circumstances are such that I cannot help
earnestly begging you all to come here as soon as possible. I know
my dear uncle and aunt so well, that I am not afraid of requesting
it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. 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 to-morrow evening. In such and exigence, my uncle's
advice and assistance would be everything in the world; he will
immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his
goodness."
"Oh! where, where is my uncle?" cried Elizabeth, darting from her
seat as she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him,
without losing a moment of the time so precious; but as she reached
the door it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her
pale face and impetuous manner made him start, and before he could
recover himself to speak, she, in whose mind every idea was
superseded by Lydia's situation, hastily exclaimed, "I beg your
pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment,
on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to
loose." "Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling
than politeness; then recollecting himself, "I will not detain you
a minute; but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs.
Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself."
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her and she felt
how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them.
Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though
in so breathless an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to
fetch his master and mistress home instantly. On his quitting the
room she sat down, unable to support herself, and looking so
miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her, or to
refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration,
"Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you
present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very
ill." "No, I thank you," she replied, endeavouring to recover
herself. "There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I
am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received
from Longbourn."
She burst into tears as she alluded
to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Darcy,
in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his
concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. At length she
spoke again. "I have just had a letter from Jane, with such
dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from any one. My younger
sister has left all her friends— has eloped; has thrown herself
into the power of— of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from
Brighton. you know him too well to doubt
the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt
him to— she is lost for ever."
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. "When I consider," she added in a
yet more agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it! I, who
knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only— some
part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been
known, this could not have happened. But it is all— all too late
now." "I am grieved indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved— shocked. But is
it certain— absolutely certain?" "Oh, yes! They left Brighton
together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not
beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland." "And what has
been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?" "My father is
gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate
assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. But
nothing can be done— I know very well that nothing can be done. How
is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered?
I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!" Darcy
shook his head in silent acquiescence.
"When my
eyes were opened to his real character— Oh! had I known what I
ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not— I was afraid of doing
too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"
Darcy made no answer. He seemed
scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the room in
earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth
soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her power was sinking;
everything must sink under such a proof of
family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She
could neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his
self-conquest brought nothing to her consolatory to her bosom,
afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary,
exactly calculated to make 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.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia—the
humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all, soon
swallowed up every private care; and covering her face with her
handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and,
after a pause of several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of
her situation by the voice of her companion, who, in a manner
which, though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said,
"I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I
anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing
concern. Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or done
on my part that might offer consolation to such distress! But I
will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to
ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent
my sister's having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley to-day."
"Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that
urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy
truth as long as it is possible, I know it cannot be long." He
readily assured her of his secrecy; again expressed his sorrow for
her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at
present reason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her
relations, with only one serious, parting look went away. As he
quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they
should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as had
marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw a
retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full
of contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of
those feelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and
would formerly have rejoiced in its termination. If gratitude and
esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change of
sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But if otherwise—
if regard springing from such sources is unreasonable or unnatural,
in comparison of what is so often described as arising on a first
interview with its object, and even before two words have been
exchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had
given somewhat of a trial to the latter method in her partiality
for Wickham, and that its ill success might, perhaps, authorise her
to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. Be that as
it may, she saw him go with regret; and in this early example of
what Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she
reflected on that wretched business. Never, since reading Jane's
second letter, had she entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to
marry her. No one but Jane, she thought, could flatter herself with
such an expectation. Surprise was the least of her feelings on this
development. While the contents of the first letter remained in her
mind, she was all surprise— all astonishment that Wickham should
marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry for money; and
how Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared
incomprehensible. But no it was all too natural. For such an
attachment as this she might have sufficient charm; and though she
did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement
without the intention of marriage, she had no difficulty in
believing that neither her virtue nor her understanding would
preserve her from falling an easy prey. She had never perceived,
while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, that Lydia had any
partiality for him; but she was convinced that Lydia wanted only
encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes one officer,
sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions
raised them in her opinion. Her affections had continually been
fluctuating but never without an object. The mischief of neglect
and mistaken indulgence towards such a girl— oh! how acutely did
she now feel it! She was wild to be at home— to hear, to see, to be
upon the spot to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall
wholly upon her, in a family so deranged, a father absent, a mother
incapable of exertion, and requiring constant attendance; and
though almost persuaded that nothing could be done for Lydia, her
uncle's interference seemed of the utmost importance, and till he
entered the room her impatience was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner
had hurried back in alarm, supposing by the servant's account that
their niece was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them instantly
on that head, she eagerly communicated the cause of their summons,
reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling on the postscript of
the last with trembling energy, though Lydia had never been a
favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but be deeply
afflicted. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and after
the first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner
promised every assistance in his power. Elizabeth, though expecting
no less, thanked him with tears of gratitude; and all three being
actuated by one spirit, everything relating to their journey was
speedily settled. They were to be off as soon as possible. "But
what is to be done about Pemberley?" cried Mrs. Gardiner. "John
told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us; was it so?"
"Yes; and I told him we should not
be able to keep our engagement. That is all
settled."
"What is all settled?" repeated the other, as she ran into her room
to prepare. "And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose
the real truth? Oh, that I knew how it was!" But wishes were vain,
or at least could only serve to amuse her in the hurry and
confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisure to
be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was
impossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of
business as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes
to be written to all their friends at Lambton, with false excuses
for their sudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole
completed; and Mr. Gardiner meanwhile having settled his account at
the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth,
after all the misery of the morning, found herself, in a shorter
space of time than she could have supposed, seated in the carriage,
and on the road to Longbourn.