Mrs Gardiner shifted uncomfortably. “No, Lizzy… he is not.”
Elizabeth was silent, and Mrs Gardiner waited tensely for another question. Unwanted information she would not volunteer, but direct questions she would answer honestly. Jane, sensing herself somewhat out of her depth, merely gazed between the two.
“Aunt,” Elizabeth ventured at last, “When was the last time you had word from him?”
“The day before the wedding, Mr Darcy came again to us.”
At this point, Jane interjected a gasp, and a whispered, “Mr Darcy!”
Mrs Gardiner spared her only a look before continuing. “Mr Darcy spoke briefly with your uncle, and even with Lydia. I believe he intended to see Mr Wickham at his lodgings again that evening. He was to stand up with him at the wedding, but we did not see him there.”
“Stand up with Mr Wickham!” Elizabeth protested. “Why would he do such a thing? I can think of nothing that could induce him to it.”
“Can you not?” Mrs Gardiner asked softly, and Jane stiffened.
Elizabeth clamped her teeth. “But you said he did not appear.”
“No, he did not. I cannot think but that the direst of needs would have called him away, though, for he seemed most inflexible on it. In his first conversation with your uncle, he insisted upon carrying all the burden himself. He felt his presence necessary to see that Mr Wickham remained true to his word.”
“Mr Wickham did marry Lydia without Mr Darcy’s presence, though,” Jane pointed out.
“I believe Mr Darcy holds a great deal of power over Mr Wickham. Your uncle mentioned debts, and I am certain there are some connections through the army as well. Yesterday, however, when Lydia appeared at our door, your uncle’s first act was to call upon Mr Darcy. He was not received.”
Elizabeth straightened, her face closing into a mask of hurt. “What reason was given?”
“Only that the master was not at home, nor was he receiving cards. The knocker had been removed, but your uncle was bold enough to request notice anyway because of Mr Darcy’s late receptiveness and the urgency of the matter. He has ever proved obliging and even welcoming; moreover, he has insisted that in the matter of Lydia and Mr Wickham, all concerns must be his alone.”
Jane was watching her sister carefully. “Perhaps,” she offered slowly, “there was some pressing reason for him to withdraw.”
“I believe you are correct, Jane. I do not blame Mr Darcy! I only wish Lydia’s affairs could be settled more satisfactorily, but there—she has created this for herself. We must move forward as we can.”
“She is respectably married, at least,” Jane decided optimistically. “It is not so very unusual for a woman’s husband to leave her to the comforts of her family when he is stationed at his post. Surely, such an explanation will do for the neighborhood until more is known of Mr Wickham.”
“It will have to, Jane. We must treat her gently, for she is quite heartbroken.”
Jane was clever enough to combine this subtle hint with the private looks Mrs Gardiner bestowed on Elizabeth. “You are quite right, Aunt. If you will excuse me, I believe I will take her some tea.”
“Yes, dear, that will be just the thing.” Mrs Gardiner paused until the door had closed once more, then spoke gently again. “Elizabeth, you are silent, but your eyes speak much. Will you tell me what troubles you?”
She buried her face in her palms for a moment, and when she at last lifted it, her fingers were wet. “Oh, Aunt! I cannot decide whether I am more proud of him or disappointed in him!”
“I know how you feel,” Mrs Gardiner sympathised. “I do think him an honourable man, Lizzy, whatever his reasons. He has done what we could not, and even without the furtherance of his aid, Lydia is better off than she was before.”
“But to fail to see through that which he has begun—that is not at all like the Mr Darcy I thought I knew! Troublesome, impossible man!”
“Do calm yourself, Lizzy. You said once that you had judged him rashly, to your regret. Let us not repeat that error. We do not know the particulars of his circumstances.”
“I think I do, but it does not matter. I cannot blame him for removing himself from Lydia and Mr Wickham, but I could almost despise him for secretly trying to help my family only to suddenly withdraw once more. What can he mean by it? Has he already come to regret involving himself? Does he intend to excite my hopes, then to dash them—demonstrating fully to me all that could have been, but is not? Or does he believe that he has done all that is required? In that case, he truly is as proud and disagreeable as I had once supposed!”
“Take care, my love!” protested her aunt. “Whatever the gentleman’s failings, can he deserve such censure? What is it you mean, ‘demonstrating all that could have been’? Did he, then, offer for you and find himself refused?”
Elizabeth’s face purpled in shame. She looked away, but it was too late, and the words had left her mouth. “Yes, Aunt, last April,” she admitted unhappily. “How insufferable he was, declaring how beneath him we all were, but oh, Aunt, I was worse! I shall live with that humiliation all my life. Though I see now that I was right, that he truly considers us unworthy of him and that his ‘charity’ is all vanity, I ought never to have spoken as I did. You should have heard my address and the accusations I made! Had I but known about Mr Wickham, had I pierced the veil of his charms before I brought myself so low! And had I taken Mr Darcy’s later admonishments enough to heart that I might have cautioned my father—”
“No more is to be done about it,” Mrs Gardiner interrupted. “You must no longer blame yourself for Lydia’s and Mr Wickham’s deeds. She is full young, but Lydia was brought up with the same expectations as you and Jane. Would either of you have run off with a man at fifteen without the advantages of a legal marriage and your father’s blessing? No, indeed!”
“We had not four older sisters to beat to the altar,” Elizabeth pouted sourly. At once, she regretted her attitude. “No, forgive me, Aunt. You are right, I am assigning too much responsibility to Mr Darcy and not enough to the parties at fault. Whatever may be said for the aftermath of the marriage, I am grateful for his interference. As Jane has said, at least Lydia now claims a marriage document and a ring for her trouble, and is lodged safely at home once more.”
“Yes, Lizzy, that may become quite vital,” sighed Mrs Gardiner. “I questioned her rather closely—a disagreeable task it was, but your uncle insisted. I should say that she may soon discover the consequences of her elopement.”
Elizabeth permitted a small gasp of dismay. In her heart, she had feared the same, but she had hoped their family might be spared this one further disgrace. She squeezed her eyes closed and kneaded them with her fingers. “Has my father gone to assist my uncle?”
“Yes, but I do not see what they can do. Short of involving a private investigator and a magistrate, I do not believe they will be able to find Mr Wickham or force him to do anything he does not desire.”
“A private investigator would cost dearly, and a magistrate could mean even greater scandal! Even if they are successful, Lydia is shackled with a rogue who has demonstrated once already that he does not truly care for her. Better for us all that she should continue here as a soldier’s wife. Such women are occasionally made widows; let us hope that the people of Meryton feel the same.”
“My sentiments exactly. Take heart, Lizzy, all is not lost. We do not know all the particulars. Certainly, his regiment will employ their own resources when he fails to report. Do you know, the more I think on it, the more I am convinced that perhaps Mr Darcy had already gone in search of Mr Wickham by the time your uncle called. He has resources and information concerning that man which none of the rest of us do.”
“Yes, Aunt, that is possible,” Elizabeth conceded. “I shall allow myself to hope for the best while we prepare for the worst. And now, I suppose I must look in on Mama to tell her all the news—or that version of events which she will find mo
st soothing to her nerves.”
“Shall I attend you, or do you believe my influence would be better spent with Lydia and Jane?”
Elizabeth scowled faintly. “Jane. Most decidedly Jane.”
~
Though Elizabeth, Jane, Mrs Gardiner, and even Lydia herself had objected, Mrs Bennet had found it incumbent upon her to spread abroad the news of her youngest daughter’s marriage. No acquaintance was too trivial, no expense too lavish, no praise too excessive to be presented to the dejected young bride.
In truth, as Mrs Gardiner reasoned, Mrs Bennet may have had the right of it. After all, Lydia was now married, though her husband was absent. If her family hid her away in shame, it would only reinforce the gossip that Lydia Bennet had anticipated her vows with Mr Wickham. Therefore, Mrs Bennet’s clever fantasy—that Mr Wickham intended to first comfortably establish himself in Newcastle before bringing his gently bred young bride to such a barbaric situation—turned out to be an appetising morsel for Meryton’s ravenous matrons.
Elizabeth had, at her aunt’s urging, managed to behave the dutiful daughter and sister. Her fortitude was much in demand, for without her husband’s restraining influence, Mrs Bennet was apt to run quite wild in her exuberant celebration. After several days of such nonsense, Elizabeth had begun to sense the awakenings of sympathy for her youngest sister, for as soon as ever Lydia could appease her mother, she would retire to her room and give every impression of a young woman fully sensible of her circumstances.
What Elizabeth would have given in those days to know all! Her curious nature became brooding as her heart writhed with unanswered questions. That Mr Wickham might abandon Lydia at his first opportunity, taking with him every farthing of her generous “dowry,” did not greatly surprise her. That he had ever found such an opportunity did. It was not what she had expected of Mr Darcy, to fail to plan for such a contingency. What could have occasioned Mr Wickham’s sudden impunity, when only hours before he had been compelled to at last give up his independence? How had Mr Darcy’s influence failed, and where was that gentleman now?
As Lydia was now the only married sister, Kitty’s things had been removed from that room into Mary’s—a circumstance which likely pleased only Lydia, for she tended to spend whatever hours she could claim for her own in solitude. She spoke less in those days than she had ever done before, and never acknowledged others save when they first commanded her attention. A se’nnight hence, it was only her newly profound regard for her aunt that convinced her to show herself below stairs to bid her adieu.
Mrs Gardiner longed to return to her children, and an express had arrived only the day before from her husband stating that matters with Mr Wickham were beyond his power to repair. He and Mr Bennet had determined that there was little more they could do but to return to their respective homes, and so Mr Bennet was expected to Longbourn later that same day.
“Lizzy,” Mrs Gardiner whispered as they watched the new Mrs Wickham withdraw once more. “Do see what you can do for Lydia. I know the trouble and mortification her actions have cost, but she is not at all herself! I fear greatly for her spirits.”
Elizabeth forced herself not to glower at the ignominy of comforting the very sister who had likely cost her any chance at happiness. “I believe she finds Jane’s company more soothing and Kitty’s more cheerful than mine, Aunt,” she excused herself.
“But it is your lively spirits and wisdom which she requires, I think. Jane is everything kind, and Kitty of a light-hearted nature, but you possess both of those qualities when you choose. I believe she senses that you, more than the others, nurse a disappointment in her, therefore it is within your power to grant her some measure of peace. Nothing can be done for the past, Lizzy.”
She closed her eyes. “I will try, Aunt, but I cannot promise success.”
“I could ask for no more.” Madeline Gardiner patted her cheek, then addressed herself to Mrs Bennet before mounting her coach.
Elizabeth was still standing in the drive, waving occasionally, when another carriage turned in and passed her aunt’s. Her hand stilled in the air, lowering slowly as her heart began to race and soar. It was Mr Bingley’s carriage!
She spun about, searching for Jane, but her mother and sisters had already gone within. Distracted as they would be by seeking one another’s sympathy in regret at Mrs Gardiner’s departure, it was likely that not even Kitty would be gazing out of the window to note the new arrival. She determined to perform the office of greeting herself, and composed herself to wait.
The gentleman stepped down from the carriage, his face flushed and hesitant. “Miss Elizabeth!” he cried in relief.
She offered him her very most becoming smile. “Mr Bingley, sir! It is a pleasure to see you again. We had no word that you intended to return to Netherfield.”
He made her an abrupt bow, and seemed uncertain whether he ought to replace his hat, or keep it in his hands in preparation to enter the house. “Indeed, Miss Elizabeth, I come directly from the north. I sent word on to Mrs Nicholls, but I hope I am not too presumptuous in calling here first.”
Sensing his deep agitation, Elizabeth sought at once to put him at his ease. “Please, sir, I beg you would not trouble yourself. You are most welcome at any time.”
Bingley cast his eyes down to his hat, turning it in his hands, and Elizabeth at last noted the broad, flat black band around it. Another to match it adorned his arm, and suddenly, some of his disquiet began to make sense.
“Mr Bingley, sir, if I do not speak too freely, I can see that you are in some distress. May we offer you any refreshment?”
“In truth, Miss Elizabeth, it is comfort of a far more sentimental nature which I sought.” He cast his eyes hopefully to the house, but as no other figure had yet emerged, he looked back to Elizabeth. “I wonder,” he continued, “if I might trouble you for a few moments of your time? There is that prettyish little garden there that I have always admired.”
Elizabeth nodded her assent, and took the arm he offered. “I do hope your family are all well, Mr Bingley,” she began hesitantly. Was it a close relative responsible for his state of mourning and disturbance of mind?
“Y-yes, Miss Elizabeth. My sisters are both well.” He looked up and away, his throat working painfully.
Elizabeth cast her eyes to the ground as they walked, allowing him the safety of choosing the topic of conversation.
“Has it ever occurred to you,” he mused at length, “that life is a curious business?”
“How so, sir?”
“I mean that one moment, we are secure in our health and fortunes, thinking ourselves in possession of all the time in the world to settle affairs to our satisfaction. In another moment, we find that everything for which we had hoped is nothing but vanity, for we did not pursue it when we could have, and that which has been granted to us as our span on this earth comes abruptly to an end.”
“I believe I understand. You are speaking of regrets and lost opportunity?”
“Yes, that is it, exactly. I believe too much has been made of prudence. I have come to think that I have allowed myself to be directed by forces which, while well-meaning, could not account for my future happiness. In the wake of such decisions, I am left to wonder what is to become of my prior hopes. Is it possible to restore that which one has once declared as an impossible dream?”
Elizabeth paused, withdrawing her arm and looking him full into the face. “I believe, sir, you will find that second opportunities may be more beautiful than the first.”
“Such was precisely my question for you, Miss Elizabeth.” His face pinched. “I have been a fool! Blind and vain, heeding the demands of others while ignoring those of my own heart and the disappointment I might cause to one dear to me.”
Elizabeth’s gaze tightened ever so slightly. “You speak of my sister?” she asked with a protective artlessness.
He tensed visibly, but forced himself to make answer. “I believe I made my af
fections plain enough last autumn, yet did not act honourably upon them. I have given Miss Bennet every reason to despise me—she would be right to do so!”
“Jane is incapable of despising anyone, sir.”
“It is her generous nature and your continued civility toward me on her behalf which granted me courage to return. You see before you a penitent man, Miss Elizabeth. I would cast myself at her feet and kiss the hem of her gown, if only she would smile upon me!”
“I think no such theatrics will be necessary, Mr Bingley!” she laughed easily.
“Do you think… have I cause to hope, Miss Elizabeth? Did she ever hold me in her tender regards, or were my advisers correct—that she was merely as gentle with me as with any other?”
“They were decidedly incorrect, sir, but they had no way of knowing their error. Jane is perhaps more modest than is wise, but I know she felt a powerful attachment to you.”
Life fairly swelled his being, his cheeks flushing and eyes sparkling as they had not done since Elizabeth had last seen him dancing with Jane. He really was a rather handsome man, and any other woman might have found herself in some danger of her sister’s suitor—but another had already captured Elizabeth’s every notion of manly perfection.
“You believe she will receive me with pleasure?” he panted. “Truly, Miss Elizabeth, do not tease me, I could not bear it! If you are not certain, I shall take myself from her company straightaway, but if there is the slightest hope—”
“I should say your hope is more than a slight one, sir. Would you care to go in to her, or shall I ask her to accompany us in the garden?”
“Oh! The drawing room seems more suitable, do you not agree? I would not wish to cause her any mortification. In the drawing room, she may seek the ease of others’ conversation as she sorts her feelings. I fear I might overwhelm her out here, if it is only the three of us.”
“A perfectly sensible idea, sir,” she encouraged.
These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 3