Elizabeth Bennet

by Eliza Gordon

  "The part which I acted is now to be explained. His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own. Our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered. To lose no time in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him in London. We accordingly went, and there I engaged in pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described and enforced them earnestly. This reproach might have staggered or delayed his determination. I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been for the assurance that I gave of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgement than on his own. To convince him that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. He accepted the fact of Jane's indifference. Then, to persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire was the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction. It is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley. Her brother is even yet ignorant of it. They might have met without ill consequence is probable. His regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. This concealment, this disguise was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject, I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done. The motives which governed me may appear insufficient; I have not yet learnt to condemn them.

  "To the accusation of having injured Mr. Wickham, I refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant. Of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.

  "Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the managed all of the Pemberley estates. Whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust inclined my father to be of service to him. On George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. All most important help, as his father would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was fond of the young man, whose manners were always engaging, also held the highest opinion of him. Hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities—the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of my father, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age. I had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not. Here again, I must give you pain—to what degree you only can tell.

  "My excellent father died about five years ago. His attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady. In his will, he recommended promoting his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow. If he took religious orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His father did not long survive mine. Within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to me. He had resolved against taking holy orders. He hoped for some pecuniary advantage, instead of the living, by which he could not benefit. He intentioned to study law. The interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere. At any rate, I was perfectly ready to agree to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it. He accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley or admit his society in town. His studying the law was a mere pretence. Being now free from all restraint, his life was of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him. On the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now resolved on being ordained if I would present him to the living in question. And I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to follow this entreaty. I resisted every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances. He was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived, I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.

  "I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget. No obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold these details to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. She is more than ten years my junior. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London. Last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate. Thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design. There proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were unhappily deceived. By her connivance and aid, he recommended himself to Georgiana. Her affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child. She was persuaded to believe herself in love and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse. After stating her imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement. Unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, Georgiana acknowledged the whole plan to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure. I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune. I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.

  "This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together. If you do not reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he had imposed on you. His success is not to be wondered at. Ignorant as you were of everything about him, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion not in your inclination.

  "You may wonder why all this was not told you last night. I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam. From our near relationship and as one of the executors of my father's will, he knows every detail. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin. There may be the possibility of you consulting him. I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.

  "FITZWILLIAM DARCY"

  Chapter 33

  What a contrariety of emotion the letter excited.

  With amazement did she first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power.

  Steadfastly was she persuaded, that he could have no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would not conceal.

  With a strong prejudice against everything he might say, she began his account of what had happened at Netherfield. She read with an eagerness which hardly left her power of comprehension. From impatience of knowing what the next
sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the sense of the one before her eyes.

  His belief of her sister's insensibility she resolved to be false. His account of the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him justice.

  He expressed no regret for what he had done which satisfied her. His style was not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.

  This subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham. With somewhat clearer attention she read a relation of events, which must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth. It bore an affinity to his own history of himself. Her feelings were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.

  Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror oppressed her. She wished to discredit it entirely, exclaiming, "This must be false! This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!"

  When she had gone through the whole letter, she put it hastily away, though scarcely knowing anything of the last page or two. She would not regard it; she would never look at it again.

  In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing, she walked on. It would not do. In half a minute the letter was unfolded again. Collecting herself as well as she could, she again began the mortifying perusal. Of all that related to Wickham, she examined the meaning of every sentence.

  The account of his connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what he had related himself. The kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, though she had not known its extent, agreed well with his own words. So far each recital confirmed the other; but when she came to the will, the difference was great.

  What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her memory. As she recalled his very words, it was impossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the other. For a few moments, she flattered herself that her wishes did not err. When she read and re-read the details again was she forced to hesitate. Immediately following Wickham's resigning all pretensions to the living he received in lieu so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds.

  She put down the letter and weighed every circumstance with impartiality, deliberated on the probability of each statement. On both sides, it was the only assertion. Again she read on. Every line proved more clearly that the affair was capable of a turn which must make Darcy entirely blameless throughout the whole.

  The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay at Mr. Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her. The more so, as she could bring no proof of its injustice.

  Of his former way of life, nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to his real character, had information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of inquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr. Darcy. Without success. No such recollection befriended her.

  She could see him before her, in every charm of air and address. She could remember no more good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which his social powers had gained.

  After pausing on this point a considerable while, she once more continued to read. But, alas! The story which followed, of his designs on Miss Darcy, received some confirmation from what had passed between Colonel Fitzwilliam and herself. At last, she was referred to the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. The man from whom she had received the information of his near concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose character she had no reason to question. At one time she had almost resolved on applying to him, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application. At length, that mission was wholly banished by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would never have hazarded such a proposal if he had not been well assured of his cousin's corroboration.

  She remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Phillips's. Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was now struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger and wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy. That Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that he should stand his ground, yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next week.

  She also remembered that, till the Netherfield family had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but herself. After their removal, it had been everywhere discussed. He had no reserves in sinking Mr. Darcy's character, though he had assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.

  How differently did everything now appear with which he was concerned!

  His attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely and hatefully mercenary. The mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at anything.

  His behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive. He had either been deceived about her fortune or had been gratifying his vanity by encouraging the preference. A preference she had most incautiously shown.

  Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter and fainter. When questioned by Jane, Mr. Bingley had long ago asserted his blamelessness in the affair.

  Proud and repulsive as were Darcy's manners. But never, in the whole course of their acquaintance had she seen anything that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust. Not anything that spoke of irreligious or immoral habits. Yet, their acquaintance had brought them much together, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways. Among his connections he was esteemed and valued. She had often heard him speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove him capable of some amiable feeling.

  Had Darcy's actions been so gross a violation of everything right, as Mr. Wickham represented them, then they could hardly have been concealed from the world? Furthermore, a friendship between a person capable of such actions and such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley was incomprehensible.

  She grew absolutely ashamed of herself.

  Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

  How despicably I have acted! She thought. I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities. Who have often disdained the generous candour of my sister. And gratified my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! How humiliating is this discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other. From the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either was concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself."

  From herself to Jane, from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a line which soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Darcy's explanation there had appeared very insufficient, and she read it again.

  Widely different was the effect of a second perusal.

  How could she deny that credit to his assertions in one instance, which she had been obliged to give in the other?

  He declared himself to be totally unaware of her sister's attachment.

  Elizabeth could not help remembering Charlotte's opinion on the matter. Neither could she deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane's feelings, though fervent, were little displayed. There was a constant complacency in her air and manner rarely united with great sensibility.

  When she came to that part of the letter in which her family were mentioned in terms so mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense of shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly for denial. The circumstances to which he particularly alluded as having passed at the Netherfield ball. Actions co
nfirming his first disapproval, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers.

  The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed, but it could not console her for the contempt which had thus been self-attracted by the rest of her family. She considered that Jane's disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations, most especially Mrs. Bennet.

  Elizabeth reflected on how materially the credit of both herself and Jane must be hurt by such impropriety of conduct. She felt depressed beyond anything she had ever known before.

  After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety of thought. Reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and so important. Fatigue and a recollection of her long absence made her at length return home. She entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful as usual. Strong in the resolution of repressing such reflections as must make her unfit for conversation.

  She was immediately told that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each called during her absence. Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes. Colonel Fitzwilliam had sat with them at least an hour, hoping for her return. He almost resolving to walk after her till she could be found. Elizabeth could but just affect concern in missing him; she really rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no longer an object; she could think only of her letter.