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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 disposed to depend upon their
marriage; he shook his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared 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 an 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 lose."
"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 anyone.
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 consolatory to her ***, 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 now it was all too natural.
For such an attachment as this she might have sufficient charms; 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.