by Eliza Gordon
Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact. He afterwards took occasion to ask her whether all her sisters were at Longbourn. There was not much in the question, nor in the preceding remark, but there was a look and a manner which gave them meaning.
It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy himself. Whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general complaisance. In all that he said, she heard an accent removed from hauteur or disdain of his companions. The improvement of his manners had outlived one day.
When she saw him thus seeking the acquaintance and courting the good opinion of people with whom any intercourse a few months ago would have been a disgrace the change was so great and struck so forcibly on her mind, that she could hardly restrain her astonishment.
She saw him thus civil, not only to herself, but to the very relations whom he had openly disdained, and recollected their last lively scene in Hunsford Parsonage.
Never had she seen him so desirous to please. Not even in the company of his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations at Rosings. Free from self-consequence or unbending reserve, but now, when no importance could result from his endeavours. When even the acquaintance of those to whom his attentions were addressed would draw down the ridicule and censure of the ladies both of Netherfield and Rosings.
Their visitors stayed with them above half-an-hour. When they arose to depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister to join him in expressing their wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, to dinner at Pemberley, before they left the country.
Miss Darcy, though with a diffidence which marked her little in the habit of giving invitations, readily obeyed.
The day after the next was fixed.
Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing Elizabeth again. Having still a great deal to say to her, and many inquiries to make after all their Hertfordshire friends.
Construing all this into a wish of hearing her speak of Jane, Elizabeth was pleased. On this account, as well as some others, she found herself, capable of considering the last half-hour with some satisfaction. Though while it was passing, the enjoyment of it had been little.
Eager to be alone, and fearful of inquiries or hints from her uncle and aunt, she stayed with them only long enough to hear their favourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurried away to dress.
With respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found that he was not held in much estimation. It was a well-known fact that, on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left many debts behind him, which Mr. Darcy afterwards discharged.
As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than the last.
The evening, though as it passed, it seemed long, was not long enough to determine her feelings towards one in that mansion. She lay awake two whole hours endeavouring to make them out. She did not hate him. No, hatred had vanished long ago. She had almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against him, that could be so called.
The respect created by the conviction of his valuable qualities, though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some time ceased to be repugnant to her feeling.
Above all, above respect and esteem, there was a motive within her of goodwill which could not be overlooked. It was gratitude. Gratitude, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her manner in rejecting him. And all the unjust accusations accompanying her rejection.
He who would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this accidental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance. Without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where their two selves were concerned, he solicited the good opinion of her friends and bent on making her known to his sister.
Such a change in a man of so much pride exciting not only astonishment but gratitude. For to love, ardent love, it must be attributed.
The change in him was of a sort to be encouraged, as by no means unpleasing, though it could not be exactly defined.
She felt a real interest in his welfare. She wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and how far it would be for the happiness of both that she should bringing on her the renewal of his addresses.
It had been settled in the evening that such a striking civility as Miss Darcy's in coming to see them on the very day of her arrival at Pemberley ought to be imitated by some exertion of politeness on their side. Consequently, they would visit Pemberley. Elizabeth was pleased; though when she asked herself the reason, she had very little to say in reply.
Mr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing scheme had been renewed the day before, and a positive engagement made of his meeting some of the gentlemen at Pemberley before noon.
Chapter 42
Miss Bingley's dislike of her had originated in jealousy, Elizabeth was convinced. She could not help feeling how unwelcome her appearance at Pemberley must be and was curious to discover with how much civility the acquaintance would be renewed.
On reaching the house, they were shown through the hall into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows opening to the ground admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts which were scattered over the intermediate lawn.
In this house, they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in London. Georgiana's reception of them was very civil. Attended with all the embarrassment proceeding from shyness and the fear of doing wrong, A manner which would easily support the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner and her niece, however, did her justice and pitied her.
By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only by a curtsey. On their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pauses must always be, succeeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a genteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some discourse proved her to be more truly well-bred than either of the others. Between her and Mrs. Gardiner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation carried on.
Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage enough to join in. Sometimes she ventured a short sentence when there was the least danger of its being heard.
Elizabeth soon saw that she was closely watched by Miss Bingley. She could not speak a word without calling her attention. This observation would not have prevented her from trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated at an inconvenient distance. She was not sorry to be spared the necessity of saying much. Her thoughts were employing her. She expected every moment that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She wished, she feared that the master of the house might be amongst them. Whether she wished or feared it most, she could scarcely determine. After sitting in this manner a quarter of an hour without hearing Miss Bingley's voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her a cold inquiry after the health of her family. She answered with equal indifference and brevity, and the other said no more.
The next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the finest fruits in season. This did not take place till after many a significant look and smile from Mrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been given, to remind her of her post. There was now employment for the whole party—for though they could not all talk, they could all eat. The beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches soon collected them round the table.
While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity of deciding whether she most feared or wished for the appearance of Mr. Darcy.
By the feelings which prevailed on his entering the room, she began to regret that he came. No sooner did he appear than Elizabeth wisely resolved to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed. A resolution the more necessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept. She saw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened. There wa
s scarcely an eye which did not watch his behaviour when he first came into the room.
He had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, and a few other gentlemen, engaged by the river. He had left them only on learning that the ladies of the family intended a visit to Georgiana that morning.
In no countenance was attentive curiosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley's. In spite of the smiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke. Jealousy had not made her desperate, and her attentions to Mr. Darcy were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on her brother's entrance, exerted herself much more to talk. Elizabeth saw that he was anxious for his sister and herself to get acquainted. He forwarded as much as possible, every attempt at conversation on either side.
Miss Bingley saw all this likewise. In the imprudence of anger, she took the opportunity of speaking, with sneering civility. "Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the Militia removed from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family."
In Darcy's presence, she dared not mention Wickham's name. Elizabeth instantly comprehended that he was uppermost in her thoughts. The various memories connected with him gave her a moment's distress. Exerting herself to repel the ill-natured attack, she answered the question in a detached tone.
While she spoke, an involuntary glance showed her Darcy, with a heightened complexion, earnestly looking at her. His sister overcome with confusion, and unable to lift up her eyes.
Had Miss Bingley known what pain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have refrained from the hint. She had merely intended to discompose Elizabeth by bringing forward the idea of a man to whom she believed her partial. To make her betray a sensibility which might injure her in Darcy's opinion. And to remind the latter of all the follies and absurdities by which some part of her family were connected with that corps.
Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated elopement.
To no creature had it been revealed, where secrecy was possible, except to Elizabeth.
After it all, Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their visit, as they returned. The look and behaviour of everybody they had seen were discussed, except of the person who had most engaged their attention. They talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit—of everything but himself. Yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of him.
Chapter 43
Elizabeth had been disappointed in not finding a letter from Jane on their first arrival at Lambton. This disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had been spent there. 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. 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. 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, 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."
On finishing this letter, without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth instantly seized the other. She opened it with the utmost impatience; 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. There is 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, Denny expressed his belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all. It 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. On entering that place, they had 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, Colonel F. came on here. Inquiries after them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield were without any success; no such couple had been seen passing 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. 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 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 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, will I own that I long for your return? I am not so selfish to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu! I take up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not. 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. His excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way. Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again tomorrow evening. In such an urgent crisis, my uncle's advice and help 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. As she reached the door, it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared.
Her pale face and impetuous manner made him start. Before he could recover himself, she 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 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 she commissioned him to fetch his master and mistress home.
On his quitting the room she sat down, unable to support herself. She must have looked so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her.
In a tone of gentleness and commiseration, he said, "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 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.