Elizabeth Bennet

by Eliza Gordon

  "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. Instead of being of use to his niece, he was forced only to have the credit of it, which went sorely against the grain. I 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 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. Consequently, 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 to his friends, who were still staying at Pemberley. 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. I would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour while she stayed 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. 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 marries 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 carriage, 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.

  "Yours, 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 the greatest share.

  Uncertainty had produced vague and unsettled suspicions of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match.

  An exertion of goodness seemed too great to be probable. The alternative reason for his action, the pain of obligation, proved to be true!

  He had followed them purposely to town, and he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a search. It had been necessary to a deal woman whom he must loathe and despise. To resolve the matter it required that he frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom Darcy always most wished to avoid. The very man whose name it was a punishment to him to pronounce.

  He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem.

  Elizabeth's heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations. She was a woman who had already refused him. She could not expect him to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against a relationship with Wickham.

  Brother-in-law of Wickham!

  Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection.

  Darcy had done much. Elizabeth was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief.

  It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it.

  Though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could believe that remaining partiality for her might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was exceedingly painful to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing, to him.

  Oh! How heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards 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 get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough, but it pleased her. She was sensible of some pleasure on finding how both aunt and uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

  She was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some one's approach. Before she could strike into another path, she was overtaken by Wickham.

  "I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?" said he, as he joined her.

  "You certainly do, but it does not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome," she replied with a smile.

  "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 to Meryton. And so, my dear sister, I find, from our uncle and aunt, that you have seen Pemberley."

  She replied in the affirmative.

  "I almost envy you the pleasure. Yet, I believe it would be too much for me, or else I could take it on my way to Newcastle. And you saw the old housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always very fond of me. 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 turned out well. At such a distance as that, you know, things are strangely misrepresented."

  "Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she had silenced him; but he soon afterwards said, "I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each other several times. I wonder what he can be doing there."

  "Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh," said Elizabeth. "It must be something particular, to take him there at this time of year."

  "Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton? I thought I understood 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 year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad you 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. A most deli
ghtful place!—Excellent Parsonage House! It would have suited me in every respect."

  "How should you have liked making sermons?"

  "Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty, and the exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not to feel miserable, but, to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The quiet, the retirement of such a life would have answered all my ideas of happiness! But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the circumstance when you were in Kent?"

  "I have heard from authority, which I thought as good, that it was left you conditionally only and at the will of the present patron."

  "You have. Yes, there was something in that; I told you so from the first, you may remember."

  "I did hear, too, that there was a time when sermon-making was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present. You declared your resolution of never taking orders and the business despatched accordingly."

  "You did! And it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember what 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 fast to get rid of him. 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 us quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall always be of one mind."

  She held out her hand. He kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.

  Chapter 50

  Elizabeth was pleased to find that she had said enough to keep him quiet. Mr. Wickham never again provoked his dear sister Elizabeth, by introducing the subject of it.

  The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came. Mr. Bennet did not support a scheme of their all going to Newcastle.

  "Write to me very often, my dear," Mrs. Bennet requested.

  "As often as I can. But you know married women never have much time for writing. My sisters may write to me. They will have nothing else to do."

  Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectionate than his wife's. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.

  "He is as fine a fellow as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas himself to produce a more valuable son-in-law," said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house.

  The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days. "I often think that there is nothing so bad as parting with one's friends. One seems so forlorn without them."

  "This is the consequence, you see, Madam, of marrying a daughter," said Elizabeth. "It must make you better satisfied that your other four are single."

  "It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married, but only because her husband's regiment happens to be so far off. If that had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon."

  But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into was shortly relieved. Her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by an article of news which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and smiled and shook her head by turns.

  "Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister."

  Mrs. Phillips first brought her the news.

  "Well, so much the better. Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what may happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is coming?"

  "You may depend on it, for Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton last night. I saw her passing by and went out myself on purpose to know the truth of it. She told me that it was certain true" replied the other. "He comes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was going to the butcher's, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed."

  Jane had not been able to hear of his coming without changing colour. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to Elizabeth. As soon as they were alone together, she said, "I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of the present report. I know I appeared distressed. But do not imagine it was from any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment because I felt that I should be looked at. I do assure you that the news does not affect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone; because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of myself, but I dread other people's remarks."

  Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in Derbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming there with no other view than what was acknowledged. Elizabeth still thought him partial to Jane. She wavered as to the greater probability of his coming there with his friend's permission, or being bold enough to come without it.

  Yet it is hard that this poor man cannot come to a house which he has legally hired, without raising all this speculation, she sometimes thought. I will leave him to himself.

  In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her feelings in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed, more unequal, than she had often seen them.

  The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents, about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.

  "As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear, you will wait on him of course," said Mrs. Bennet.

  "No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised, if I went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool's errand again."

  His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to Netherfield.

  "'Tis an etiquette I despise," said Mr. Bennet. "If he wants our society, let him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend my hours in running after my neighbours every time they go away and come back again."

  "Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if you do not wait on him. But, however, that shall not prevent my asking him to dine here, I am determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at the table for him."

  Consoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her husband's incivility. Though it was very mortifying to know that in consequence, her neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley before they did.

  As the day of his arrival drew near,—

  "I begin to be sorry that he comes at all," said Jane to her sister. "It would be nothing. I could see him with perfect indifference, but I can hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well, but she does not know. No one can know, how much I suffer from what she says. I shall be happy when his stay at Netherfield is over!"

  "I wish I could say anything to comfort you, but it is wholly out of my power," Elizabeth replied. "You must feel it. The usual satisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me because you have always so much."

  Mr. Bingley arrived.

  Mrs. Bennet contrived to have the earliest tidings of it that the period of anxiety and fretfulness on her side might be as long as it could. She counted the days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent; hopeless of seeing him before. On the third morning after his arrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him, from her dressing-room window. He entered the paddock and rode towards the house.

  Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely kept her place at the table. To satisfy her mother, Elizabeth we
nt to the window—she looked,—she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again by her sister.

  "There is a gentleman with him, mamma, who can it be?" Kitty said.

  "Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do not know."

  "La!" replied Kitty, "it looks just like that man that used to be with him before. Mr. what's-his-name. That tall, proud man."

  "Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!—and so it does, I vow. Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here, to be sure; but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him."

  Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern.

  She knew but little of their meeting in Derbyshire. Both sisters were uncomfortable enough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves.

  Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could not be suspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to show Mrs. Gardiner's letter or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him.

  To Jane, he could be only a man whose proposals she had refused, and whose merit she had undervalued. To her own more extensive information, he was the person to whom the whole family were indebted. And whom she regarded herself with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just as what Jane felt for Bingley.

  Her astonishment at his coming to Netherfield and to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again, was almost equal to what she had known on first witnessing his altered behaviour in Derbyshire.

  The colour which had been driven from her face returned for half a minute with an additional glow. A smile of delight added lustre to her eyes, as she thought for that space of time that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken. But she would not be secure.

  "Let me first see how he behaves. It will then be early enough for expectation."

  She sat intently at work, striving to be composed. Without daring to lift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face of her sister as the servant approached the door.

  Jane looked a little paler than usual but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected. On the gentlemen's appearing, her colour increased. Yet she received them with tolerable ease, and with a propriety of behaviour free from any symptom of resentment or any unnecessary complaisance.