CHAPTER X.
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter, assoon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it, thanhurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to beinterrupted, she sat down on one of the benches, and prepared to behappy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did notcontain a denial.
”Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.
”MY DEAR NIECE,
”I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole morning to answering it, as I foresee that a _little_ writing will not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself surprised by your application; I did not expect it from _you_. Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know, that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on _your_ side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am--and nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked as _your's_ seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character, to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on by himself. If he _had another_ motive, I am sure it would never disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was more than _we_ had; and the consciousness of this, was another reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street, and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs. Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But it was two or three days before he could get from her what he wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ---- street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia. His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her, offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt, had never been _his_ design. He confessed himself obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour, which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich, he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country. Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times, for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable. Every thing being settled between _them_, Mr. Darcy's next step was to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that your father was still with him, but would quit town the next morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and then _I_ saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many faults at different times; but _this_ is the true one. Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it, which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid, amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds, another thousand in addition to her own settled upon _her_, and his commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in _this_; though I doubt whether _his_ reserve, or _anybody's_ reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit for _another interest_ in the affair. When all this was resolved on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing. It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. _He_ was exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I would not tell you how little I was satisfied with _her_ behaviour while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner, representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me, it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has, in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire. His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but a little more liveliness, and _that_, if he marry _prudently_, his wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;--he hardly ever mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more. The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very sincerely,
”M. GARDINER.”
The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits,in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore thegreatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty hadproduced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister'smatch, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness toogreat to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from thepain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true!He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all thetrouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in whichsupplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate anddespise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with,persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished toavoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He haddone all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Herheart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hopeshortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even hervanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection forher, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome asentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham.Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from theconnection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think howmuch. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked noextraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feelhe had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercisingit; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement,she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, mightassist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must bematerially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know thatthey were under obligations to a person who could never receive areturn. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thingto him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensationshe had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directedtowards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him.Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to getthe better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of himagain and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was evensensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding howsteadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection andconfidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.
She was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some one'sapproach; and before she could strike into another path, she wasovertaken by Wickham.
”I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?” said he,as he joined her.
”You certainly do,” she replied with a smile; ”but it does not followthat the interruption must be unwelcome.”
”I should be sorry indeed, if it were. _We_ were always good friends;and now we are better.”
”True. Are the others coming out?”
”I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in the carriage toMeryton. And so, my dear sister, I find from our uncle and aunt, thatyou have actually seen Pemberley.”
She replied in the affirmative.
”I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be too muchfor me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And you saw theold housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always very fond ofme. But of course she did not mention my name to you.”
”Yes, she did.”
”And what did she say?”
”That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had--not turnedout well. At such a distance as _that_, you know, things are strangelymisrepresented.”
”Certainly,” he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she hadsilenced him; but he soon afterwards said,
”I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each otherseveral times. I wonder what he can be doing there.”
”Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh,” saidElizabeth. ”It must be something particular, to take him there at thistime of year.”
”Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought Iunderstood from the Gardiners that you had.”
”Yes; he introduced us to his sister.”
”And do you like her?”
”Very much.”
”I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within this yearor two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very gladyou liked her. I hope she will turn out well.”
”I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age.”
”Did you go by the village of Kympton?”
”I do not recollect that we did.”
”I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have had. Amost delightful place!--Excellent Parsonage House! It would have suitedme in every respect.”
”How should you have liked making sermons?”
”Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty, andthe exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not torepine;--but, to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! Thequiet, the retirement of such a life, would have answered all my ideasof happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention thecircumstance, when you were in Kent?”
”I _have_ heard from authority, which I thought _as good_, that it wasleft you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron.”
”You have. Yes, there was something in _that_; I told you so from thefirst, you may remember.”
”I _did_ hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making was not sopalatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actuallydeclared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the businesshad been compromised accordingly.”
”You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may rememberwhat I told you on that point, when first we talked of it.”
They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fastto get rid of him; and unwilling for her sister's sake, to provoke him,she only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile,
”Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let usquarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of onemind.”
She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, thoughhe hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.