CHAPTER IV.
Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter fromJane, on their first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment hadbeen renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there; buton the third, her repining was over, and her sister justified by thereceipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked thatit had been missent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, asJane had written the direction remarkably ill.
They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and heruncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off bythemselves. The one missent must be first attended to; it had beenwritten five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all theirlittle parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded;but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evidentagitation, 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 knowingwhat she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this letter, instantly seized theother, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows: ithad 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 a 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 farther; 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 enquiry 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 every thing?--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 every thing 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 seatas she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him, without losing amoment of the time so precious; but as she reached the door, it wasopened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face and impetuousmanner made him start, and before he could recover himself enough tospeak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia'ssituation, hastily exclaimed, ”I beg your pardon, but I must leave you.I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot bedelayed; I have not an instant to lose.”
”Good God! what is the matter?” cried he, with more feeling thanpoliteness; then recollecting himself, ”I will not detain you a minute,but let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You arenot well enough;--you cannot go yourself.”
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her, and she felt howlittle would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling backthe servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless anaccent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master andmistress home, instantly.
On his quitting the room, she sat down, unable to support herself, andlooking 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 youpresent relief?--A glass of wine;--shall I get you one?--You are veryill.”
”No, I thank you;” she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. ”Thereis nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed bysome dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes couldnot speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only saysomething indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionatesilence. At length, she spoke again. ”I have just had a letter fromJane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from any one. Myyoungest sister has left all her friends--has eloped;--has thrownherself into the power of--of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off togetherfrom Brighton. _You_ know him too well to doubt the rest. She has nomoney, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to--she is lost forever.”
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. ”When I consider,” she added, in a yetmore agitated voice, ”that _I_ might have prevented it!--_I_ who knewwhat he was. Had I but explained some part of it only--some part of whatI learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could nothave happened. But it is all, all too late now.”
”I am grieved, indeed,” cried Darcy; ”grieved--shocked. But is itcertain, absolutely certain?”
”Oh yes!--They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were tracedalmost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone toScotland.”
”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'simmediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. Butnothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. How issuch a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I havenot the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!”
Darcy shook his head in silent acquiesence.
”When _my_ eyes were opened to his real character.--Oh! had I known whatI ought, what I dared, to do! But I knew not--I was afraid of doing toomuch. Wretched, wretched, mistake!”
Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking upand down the room in earnest meditation; his brow contracted, his airgloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her powerwas sinking; every thing _must_ sink under such a proof of familyweakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neitherwonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothingconsolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. Itwas, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her ownwishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have lovedhim, as now, when all love must be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia--thehumiliation, the misery, she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed upevery private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief,Elizabeth was soon lost to every thing else; and, after a pause ofseveral minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by thevoice of her companion, who, in a manner, which though it spokecompassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, ”I am afraid you have beenlong desiring my absence, nor have I any thing to plead in excuse of mystay, but real, though unavailing, concern. Would to heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part, that might offerconsolation to such distress.--But I will not torment you with vainwishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. Thisunfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasureof seeing you at Pemberley to-day.”
”Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Say thaturgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth aslong as it is possible.--I know it cannot be long.”
He readily assured her of his secrecy--again expressed his sorrow forher distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at presentreason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her relations, with onlyone serious, parting, look, went away.
As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that theyshould ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as hadmarked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she threw aretrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full ofcontradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of thosefeelings which would now have promoted its continuance, and wouldformerly have rejoiced in its termination.
If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth'schange of sentiment will be neither improbable nor faulty. But ifotherwise, if the regard springing from such sources is unreasonable orunnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on afirst interview with its object, and even before two words have beenexchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had givensomewhat of a trial to the latter method, in her partiality for Wickham,and that its ill-success might perhaps authorise her to seek the otherless interesting mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him gowith regret; and in this early example of what Lydia's infamy mustproduce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretchedbusiness. Never, since reading Jane's second letter, had she entertaineda hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought,could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the leastof her feelings on this developement. While the contents of the firstletter remained on her mind, she was all surprise--all astonishment thatWickham should marry a girl, whom it was impossible he could marry formoney; and how Lydia could ever have attached him, had appearedincomprehensible. But now it was all too natural. For such an attachmentas this, she might have sufficient charms; and though she did notsuppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in an elopement, without theintention of marriage, she had no difficulty in believing that neitherher virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling an easyprey.
She had never perceived, while the regiment was in Hertfordshire, thatLydia had any partiality for him, but she was convinced that Lydia hadwanted only encouragement to attach herself to any body. Sometimes oneofficer, sometimes another had been her favourite, as their attentionsraised them in her opinion. Her affections had been continuallyfluctuating, but never without an object. The mischief of neglect andmistaken indulgence towards such a girl.--Oh! how acutely did she nowfeel it.
She was wild to be at home--to hear, to see, to be upon the spot, toshare with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in afamily so deranged; a father absent, a mother incapable of exertion, andrequiring constant attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothingcould be done for Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmostimportance, and till he entered the room, the misery of her impatiencewas severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm, supposing,by the servant's account, that their niece was taken suddenly ill;--butsatisfying them instantly on that head, she eagerly communicated thecause of their summons, reading the two letters aloud, and dwelling onthe postscript of the last, with trembling energy.--Though Lydia hadnever been a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but bedeeply affected. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and afterthe first exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner readilypromised every assistance in his power.--Elizabeth, though expecting noless, thanked him with tears of gratitude; and all three being actuatedby one spirit, every thing relating to their journey was speedilysettled. They were to be off as soon as possible. ”But what is to bedone about Pemberley?” cried Mrs. Gardiner. ”John told us Mr. Darcy washere 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.”
”That is all settled;” repeated the other, as she ran into her room toprepare. ”And are they upon such terms as for her to disclose the realtruth! Oh, that I knew how it was!”
But wishes were vain; or at best could serve only to amuse her in thehurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth been at leisureto be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment wasimpossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share ofbusiness as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes tobe written to all their friends in Lambton, with false excuses for theirsudden departure. An hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr.Gardiner meanwhile having settled his account at the inn, nothingremained to be done but to go; and Elizabeth, after all the misery ofthe morning, found herself, in a shorter space of time than she couldhave supposed, seated in the carriage, and on the road to Longbourn.