Chapter 49 wo days after Mr. Bennet’s return, as Jane and
Elizabeth were walking together in the shrubbery
behind the house, they saw the housekeeper coming
towards them, and concluding that she came to
call them to their mother, went forward to meet her; but,
instead of the expected summons, when they approached her she said to Miss Bennet, “I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some good news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask.”
“What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town.”
“Dear madam,” cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment,
“don’t you know there is an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner? He has been here this half hour, and master has had a letter.”
Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for
speech. They ran through the vestibule into the breakfast room; from thence to the library; — their father was in neither; and they were on the point of seeking him up stairs with their mother, when they were met by the butler, who said,
“If you are looking for my master, ma’am, he is walking
towards the little copse.” Upon this information, they instantly passed through
the hall once more, and ran across the lawn after their father,
who was deliberately pursuing 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, came up with him, and eagerly cried
out, “Oh, Papa, what news? what news? Have you heard
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.” “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 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 both —” “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;
and, moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her,
during your life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are
conditions which, considering every thing, 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. You will easily comprehend, from
these particulars, that Mr. Wickham’s circumstances are not
so hopeless as they are generally believed to be. The world has
been deceived in that respect; and, I am happy to say, there
will be some little money, even when all his debts are discharged,
to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune.
If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me full powers to
act in your name throughout the whole of this business, I
will immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing
a proper settlement. There will not be the smallest occasion
for your coming to town again; therefore, stay quietly at
Longbourn, and depend an my diligence and care. Send back
your answer as soon as you can, and be careful to write explicitly.
We have judged it best that my niece should be married
from this house, of which I hope you will approve. She comes
to us to-day. I shall write again as soon as any thing more is
determined on. Your’s, &c.
Edw. Gardiner.” “Is it possible!” cried Elizabeth, when she had finished.—
”Can it be possible that he will marry her?”
“Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have
thought him!” said her sister. “My dear father, I congratulate you.”
“And have you answered the letter?” said Elizabeth.
“No; but it must be done soon.”
Most earnestly did she then intreat him to lose no more time before he wrote.
“Oh! my dear father,” she cried, “come back, and write
immediately. Consider how important every moment is, in
such a case.”
“Let me write for you,” said Jane, “if you dislike the
trouble yourself.”
“I dislike it very much,” he replied; “but it must be
done.”
And so saying, he turned back with them, and walked
towards the house.
“And may I ask —?” said Elizabeth, “but the terms, I
suppose, must be complied with.”
“Complied with! I am only ashamed of his asking so
little.”
“And they must marry! Yet he is such a man!”
“Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be
done. But there are two things that I want very much to
know: — one is, how much money your uncle has laid down
to bring it about; and the other, how I am ever to pay him.”
“Money! my uncle!” cried Jane, “what do you mean,
Sir?”
“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.”
“That is very true,” said Elizabeth; “though it had not
occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged, and
something still to remain! Oh! it must be my uncle’s doings!
Generous, good man; I am afraid he has distressed himself.
A small sum could not do all this.”
“No,” said her father, “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! Heaven forbid! How is half such
a sum to be repaid?”
Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, deep in
thought, continued silent till they reached the house. Their
father then went to the library to write, and the girls walked
into the breakfast-room.
“And they are really to be married!” cried Elizabeth, as
soon as they were by themselves. “How strange this is! And
for this we are to be thankful. That they should marry, small
as is their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his character,
we are forced to rejoice! Oh, Lydia!”
“I comfort myself with thinking,” replied Jane, “that he
certainly would not marry Lydia if he had not a real regard
for her. Though our kind uncle has done something towards
clearing him, I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or
any thing like it, has been advanced. He has children of
his own, and may have more. How could he spare half ten
thousand pounds?”
“If we are ever able to learn what Wickham’s debts have
been,” said Elizabeth, “and how much is settled on his side
on our sister, we shall exactly know what Mr. Gardiner
has done for them, because Wickham has not sixpence of
his own. The kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be
requited. Their taking her home, and affording her their
personal protection and countenance, is such a sacrifice
to her advantage as years of gratitude cannot enough acknowledge.
By this time she is actually with them! If such
goodness does not make her miserable now, she will never
deserve to be happy! What a meeting for her, when she first
sees my aunt!”
“We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on
either side,” said Jane. “I hope and trust they will yet be
happy. His consenting to marry her is a proof, I will believe,
that he is come to a right way of thinking. Their mutual affection
will steady them; and I flatter myself they will settle
so quietly, and live in so rational a manner, as may in time
make their past imprudence forgotten.”
“Their conduct has been such,” replied Elizabeth, “as
neither you, nor I, nor any body, can ever forget. It is useless
to talk of it.”
It now occurred to the girls that their mother was in all likelihood, perfectly ignorant of what had happened. They
went to the library, therefore, and asked their father whether he would not wish them to make it known to her. He was writing, and, without raising his head, 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 up stairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet: one communication would, therefore,
do for all. 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. She was now in
an irritation as violent from delight, as she had ever been fidgety from alarm and vexation. To know that her daughter would be married was enough. She was disturbed by no fear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.
“My dear, dear Lydia!” she cried: “This is delightful indeed!—
She will be married! — I shall see her again! — She
will be married at sixteen! — My good, kind brother! — I
knew how it would be — I knew he would manage every
thing. How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too!
But the clothes, 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. Ring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. I will put
on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! — How
merry we shall be together when we meet!”
Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to
the violence of these transports, by leading her thoughts to
the obligations which Mr. Gardiner’s behaviour 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, and it is the first time we have ever had any thing
from him, except a few presents. Well! I am so happy. In a
short time, I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham!
How well it sounds. And she was only sixteen last June. My
dear Jane, I am in such a flutter that I am sure I can’t write;
so I will dictate, and you write for me. We will settle with
your father about the money afterwards; but the things
should be ordered immediately.”
She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico,
muslin, and cambric, and would shortly have dictated some
very plentiful orders, had not Jane, though with some dif-
ficulty, persuaded her to wait till her father was at leisure
to be consulted. One day’s delay, she observed, would be
of small importance; and her mother was too happy to be
quite so obstinate as usual. Other schemes, too, came into
her head.
“I will go to Meryton,” said she, “as soon as I am dressed,
and tell the good, good news to my sister Phillips. And as I
come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty,
run down and order the carriage. An airing would do me a
great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do any thing for
you in Meryton? Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have
you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married;
and you shall all have a bowl of punch to make merry
at her wedding.”
Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth
received her congratulations amongst the rest, and then,
sick of this folly, took refuge in her own room, that she
might think with freedom.
Poor Lydia’s situation must, at best, be bad enough; but
that it was no worse, she had need to be thankful. She felt
it so; and though, in looking forward, neither rational happiness
nor worldly prosperity could be justly expected for
her sister, in looking back to what they had feared, only
two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what they had
gained.
Chapter 50 r. 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 honour 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 any one should be forwarded at the sole expence
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. This 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, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after Lydia’s birth, had been
certain that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then 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 fulfil 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 expences 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; for his chief
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; for though dilatory in undertaking business, he
was quick in its execution. He begged to know farther particulars of what he was indebted to his brother; but was too angry with Lydia to send any message to her.
The good news quickly spread through the house; and with proportionate speed through the neighbourhood. 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 farm house. But there was much to be talked of in marrying
her; and the good-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had proceeded before from all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton, lost but little of their spirit in this change of circumstances, because with such an husband, her misery was considered certain.
It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been down stairs, but on this happy day she again took her seat at the
head of her table, and in spirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to 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 neighbourhood 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
would quit it, or the great house at Stoke, if the drawingroom
were larger; but Ashworth is too far off! I could not
bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for Purvis 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 neighbourhood,
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, and 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 that she could believe possible. She was
more alive to the disgrace which the 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; for since
her marriage would so shortly give the proper termination
to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its unfavourable
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; but at the same time, there was no one whose knowledge of a sister’s frailty would have mortified her so much. Not, however, from any fear of disadvantage from it individually to herself; for at any rate, there seemed a gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia’s
marriage been concluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to be supposed that Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a family where, to every other objection would now be added an alliance and relationship of the nearest kind with the man whom he so justly scorned.
From such a connection she could not wonder that he should shrink. The wish of procuring her regard, which she
had assured herself of his feeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation 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 benefited 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, as she often thought, could he know that the proposals which she had proudly spurned
only four months ago, would now have been gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex. But while he was mortal, there must be a triumph.
She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her.
His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, information, and knowledge
of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their family.
How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in tolerable independence, she could not imagine. But how little
of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.
Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. To Mr.
Bennet’s acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurances
of his eagerness to promote the welfare of any of his
family, and concluded with intreaties that the subject might
never be a mentioned to him again. The principal purport
of his letter was to inform them that Mr. Wickham had
resolved on quitting the Militia.
“It was greatly my wish that he should do so,” he added, “as soon as his marriage was fixed on. And I think you will
agree with me in considering a removal from that corps as highly advisable, both on his account and my niece’s. It is Mr. Wickham’s intention to go into the regulars; and, among his former friends, there are still some who are able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the promise of
an ensigncy in General —’s regiment, now quartered in the North. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of the kingdom. He promises fairly; and, I hope, among different people, where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be more prudent. I have written
to Colonel Forster, to inform him of our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton with assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. And will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances
to his creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list, according to his information. He has given in all his debts; I hope at least he has not deceived us. Haggerston has our directions, and all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment, unless they are first invited to
Longbourn; and I understand from Mrs. Gardiner that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all, before she leaves the South. She is well, and begs to be dutifully remembered to you and her mother.— Your’s, &c. E. Gardiner.”
Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham’s removal from the — shire as clearly as Mr.
Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased with it. Lydia’s being settled in the North, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her company — for she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in Hertfordshire — was a severe disappointment; and besides,
it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted with every body, and had so many favourites.
“She is so fond of Mrs. Forster,” said she, “it will be quite shocking to send her away! And there are several of
the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so pleasant in General —’s regiment.” His daughter’s request, for such it might be considered, of being admitted into her family again before she set off for the North, received at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who agreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister’s feelings and consequence, that she should be noticed
on her marriage by her parents, urged him so earnestly, yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her and her husband at Longbourn as soon as they were married, that he was prevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished.
And their mother had the satisfaction of knowing that she should be able to shew her married daughter in the neighbourhood, before she was banished to the North. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he sent his permission
for them to come; and it was settled that, as soon as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth was surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme; and, had she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting with him would have been
the last object of her wishes.
Chapter 51 heir sister’s wedding day arrived; and Jane and
Elizabeth felt for her probably more than she felt for
herself. The carriage was sent to meet them at —,
and they were to return in it by dinner-time. Their
arrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets, and Jane
more especially, who gave Lydia the feelings which would
have attended herself, had she been the culprit, and was
wretched in the thought of what her sister must endure.
They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast
room to receive them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs.
Bennet as the carriage drove up to the door; her husband
looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious,
uneasy.
Lydia’s voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was
thrown open, and she ran into the room. Her mother stepped
forwards, embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture;
gave her hand, with an affectionate smile, to Wickham,
who followed his lady; and wished them both joy with an
alacrity which shewed no doubt of their happiness.
Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then
turned, was not quite so cordial. His countenance rather
gained in austerity; and he scarcely opened his lips. The
easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was enough
to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss
Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed,
wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned from sister to
sister, demanding their congratulations; and when at length
they all sat down, looked eagerly round the room, took notice
of some little alteration in it, and observed, with a laugh,
that it was a great while since she had been there.
Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself,
but his manners were always so pleasing, that had his character
and his marriage been exactly what they ought, his
smiles and his easy address, while he claimed their relationship,
would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had not before
believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat
down, resolving within herself to draw no limits in future
to the impudence of an impudent man. She blushed, and
Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the two who caused their
confusion suffered no variation of colour.
There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother
could neither of them talk fast enough; and Wickham,
who happened to sit near Elizabeth, began enquiring after
his acquaintance in that neighbourhood, with a good
humoured ease which she felt very unable to equal in her
replies. They seemed each of them to have the happiest
memories in the world. Nothing of the past was recollected
with pain; and Lydia led voluntarily to subjects which her
sisters would not have alluded to for the world.
“Only think of its being three months,” she cried, “since
I went away; it seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there
have been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious!
when I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of
being married till I came back again! though I thought it
would be very good fun if I was.”
Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed.
Elizabeth looked expressively at Lydia; but she, who never
heard nor saw any thing of which she chose to be insensible,
gaily continued, “Oh! mamma, do the people here abouts
know I am married to-day? I was afraid they might not; and
we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was determined
he should know it, and so I let down the side-glass
next to him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just
rest upon the window frame, so that he might see the ring,
and then I bowed and smiled like any thing.”
Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran
out of the room; and returned no more, till she heard them
passing through the hall to the dining parlour. She then
joined them soon enough to see Lydia, with anxious parade,
walk up to her mother’s right hand, and hear her say to her
eldest sister, “Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must
go lower, because I am a married woman.”
It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia
that embarrassment from which she had been so wholly free
at first. Her ease and good spirits increased. She longed to
see Mrs. Phillips, the Lucases, and all their other neighbours,
and to hear herself called “Mrs. Wickham” by each
of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner to
shew her ring, and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and
the two housemaids.
“Well, mamma,” said she, when they were all returned
to the breakfast room, “and what do you think of my husband?
Is not he a charming man? I am sure my sisters must
all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck.
They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands.
What a pity it is, mamma, we did not all go.”
“Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia, I don’t at all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?”
“Oh, lord! yes;—there is nothing in that. I shall like it of
all things. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down
and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I
dare say there will be some balls, and I will take care to get
good partners for them all.”
“I should like it beyond any thing!” said her mother.
“And then when you go away, you may leave one or two
of my sisters behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands
for them before the winter is over.”
“I thank you for my share of the favour,” said Elizabeth;
“but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands.”
Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with
them. Mr. Wickham had received his commission before
he left London, and he was to join his regiment at the end
of a fortnight.
No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would
be so short; and she made the most of the time by visiting
about with her daughter, and having very frequent parties at
home. These parties were acceptable to all; to avoid a family
circle was even more desirable to such as did think, than
such as did not.
Wickham’s affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth
had expected to find it; not equal to Lydia’s for him. She
had scarcely needed her present observation to be satisfied,
from the reason of things, that their elopement had been
brought on by the strength of her love, rather than by his;
and she would have wondered why, without violently caring
for her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain
that his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances;
and if that were the case, he was not the young
man to resist an opportunity of having a companion.
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear
Wickham on every occasion; no one was to be put in competition
with him. He did every thing best in the world;
and she was sure he would kill more birds on the first of
September, than any body else in the country.
One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting
with her two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth,
“Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wedding, I believe. You were not by, when I told mamma and the others
all about it. Are not you curious to hear how it was managed?”
“No really,” replied Elizabeth; “I think there cannot be
too little said on the subject.”
“La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were married, you know, at St. Clement’s, because
Wickham’s lodgings were in that parish. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven o’clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others were to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid, you know, that something
would happen to put it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted. And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear
Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat.”
“Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would never be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand,
that my uncle and aunt were horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you’ll believe me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or any thing. To be sure London was rather thin, but, however, the Little Theatre was open. Well,
and so just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business to that horrid man Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get together, there is no end of it. Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my uncle was to give me away; and if we were beyond
the hour, we could not be married all day. But, luckily, he came back again in ten minutes’ time, and then we all set out. However, I recollected afterwards that if he had been prevented going, the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well.” “Mr. Darcy!” repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement. “Oh, yes!— he was to come there with Wickham, you
know, But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully! What
will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!”
“If it was to be secret,” said Jane, “say not another word on the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further.”
“Oh! certainly,” said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; “we will ask you no questions.”
“Thank you,” said Lydia, “for if you did, I should certainly tell you all, and then Wickham would be angry.”
On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her power, by running away.
But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least it was impossible not to try for information.
Mr. Darcy had been at her sister’s wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among people, where he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go. Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her,
as placing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She could not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been intended.
“You may readily comprehend,” she added, “what my curiosity must be to know how a person unconnected with
any of us, and (comparatively speaking) a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it — unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be
satisfied with ignorance.”
“Not that I shall, though,” she added to herself, as she finished the letter; “and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me
in an honourable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it out.” Jane’s delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of it;— till it appeared whether her inquiries
would receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.
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