Lessons of Advantage

by michael sand

  Chapter Twelve

  The express from Mr Gardiner arrived at Longbourn on Monday morning. During the hours that followed, Elizabeth found her spirits subject to the greatest variation. The morning had begun with her mind sunk in the gloom which had been enveloping it for days. The arrival of the post, always the most anxious moment of the day, — awaited with such an unreasonable degree of impatience as no missive could satisfy, — had passed without bringing any thing of moment. She had gone up to her room, to lose herself in a book, and had remained there until the arrival of the express rider called her down. The bursting in of the news that Lydia was to marry, had then brought a sense of immediate relief, followed almost as quickly by vexation at being obliged to rejoice that things had turned out no worse: bad as so irreligious a marriage must be, it was better than no marriage. The fluctuation of her mother’s spirits had added to the exasperation of her own. In a matter of moments, the violence of Mrs Bennet’s laments had been changed into an irritation of joy equally violent. Elizabeth went to walk in the shrubbery, to escape so irrational a celebration. As she grew calmer, however, she had to acknowledge that there was cause for a more moderated satisfaction. At least their character as a family need not suffer so dreadfully as she had feared.

  “But how are we ever to repay my uncle?” was her next thought. — A vast amount of money must have gone into bringing Wickham to the altar. How had Mr Gardiner found so great a sum? And if this sum could not be repaid, how greatly must their family be injuring his! It was every way horrible! She had rejoiced when Wickham’s regiment had departed for Brighton in June — glad that the evidence of her prejudice and misjudgement should no longer be constantly before her eyes, and thinking that she need never see him again. Now he would be a connection, impossible to avoid.

  As she walked, her meditations revolved among all the subjects of mortification which were then her lot. She felt anger at Lydia, sorrow at the sacrifice which her family’s misconduct had forced upon her uncle, and disgust for her own folly, — her worse than folly — her many deficiencies of mind and judgement. Yet none of these sentiments, mortifying though they were, could fully account for the sense of regret pervading her spirits. Its origin sprang from an altogether different source. “If only I had not told Mr Darcy!” — These were the words she repeated over and over. Lydia’s elopement need never have come to his attention — or only long enough after it had come to a proper termination that the scandal might have been forgot. — But this would not do. The Lucases could not be expected to let pass the opportunity to communicate so notable an article of news. It must travel to the Collinses, and from them (or from Mr Collins, at least — her old friendship exempted Charlotte from the charge) to Rosings Park and Lady Catherine de Bourgh. From there the news would lose no time in reaching Mr Darcy — and would lose nothing in Lady Catherine’s retelling!

  Concealment was impossible — all the world must know of their shame. But why should Mr Darcy’s knowing appear so much more painful to her than other people’s? Understanding on that subject had burst in along with clarity about the source of her regret, one sentiment having enlightened her as to the other. But understanding had come too late: an impassable chasm had opened between them. How Lydia and Wickham had come to be married was of no consequence. All that mattered was that the Bennet family were now connected to Mr Wickham. How could Mr Darcy overlook that? — How should she even expect it? The connection would be shameful for him; he ought not to consider it; she would not wish him to.

  Elizabeth had therefore to acknowledge, that nothing could be hoped for any longer from that quarter.

  End of Volume One

  VOLUME TWO

  Chapter One

  Mr Darcy set out from town on Tuesday. On Wednesday, the weather at Pemberley was so enticing that Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, who had vowed to devote the chief of the morning to their correspondence, brought their writing materials out to a table on the terrace. When this plan was first mooted, Miss Bingley seemed to indicate that she and Louisa should be too engrossed in their work to take any interest in what the rest of the party might be about; but they were hardly seated before she was calling out to her brothers to join them. —“Charles — Mr Hurst — be persuaded by me, for the air is so delicious. No breeze to speak of — it is quite refreshing.”

  Bingley had intended to pass a quiet morning in the gun room tying flies, but good-naturedly admitted, that he could do this as easily on the terrace. Mr Hurst submitted with a less good grace, sitting down heavily with his back to the sisters, and burying himself in the newspaper.

  “Miss Darcy! Georgiana—! Where is it you are off to? Pray join us!” Georgiana had been on the point of taking an unnoticed leave, and repairing to the privacy of the old nursery, when caught by Miss Bingley’s voice. She turned with a conscious smile, and said, “You know, I save my mornings for the piano.”

  “Yes, and your evenings, too! (in a tone more acid, perhaps, than intended). Application is an excellent thing, dear child, but it must not be unremitting. To be truly accomplished, a young lady must divide her time rationally. She must find time to practise her manner, as well as her music. Would not your brother agree? Would not he deprecate your hiding yourself away in this unsociable way?”

  “I scarcely think that Darcy would object to Miss Darcy’s applying to her piano,” Bingley intervened.

  “No, Charles, but Mr Darcy might object, if he thought Miss Darcy was doing so to the neglect of other accomplishments.”

  Beholding the distress in Georgiana’s face, and wishing to allay it —

  “Might not Miss Darcy consent to practise on the pianoforte in the salon?” Bingley inquired. They should then be able to feel that she was still part of their circle, and she would be giving them the additional pleasure of her music. He should be happy to open the lid, and turn her pages for her. Bingley’s amiability in putting this suggestion was such that Georgiana agreed to it with only a moderate degree of reluctance.

  “You forget, Charles,” Caroline said, when Georgiana was gone to fetch her music, “that Mr Darcy wishes his sister to benefit from this visit of Louisa and myself. She has little opportunity of observing what female manners ought to be. She should be remarking our style of address, our modes of expression, so that she may model herself on them. It is high time dear Georgiana achieved an air that proclaims her superior place in the world.”

  “Caroline is quite right,” agreed Mrs Hurst. “Georgiana has been suffered to become rusticated. She needs to have an example of elegant behaviour before her eyes.”

  “The only example she’ll get from you,” grumbled Mr Hurst, from behind his paper, “is how to be elegantly expensive.”

  Mrs Hurst laughed merrily. “My dear, you are too droll! Is there any thing of interest in the paper?”

  A ship-of-the-line had been lost with all hands, was the principal news. — Both sisters exclaimed. — How horrible to have so many people killed! —

  “ — And what a blessing, that one don’t care a hang for any of them,” Mr Hurst retorted.

  Scales and roulades began to pour out of the salon, and Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst expressed themselves in ecstasy at the sweetness of the music — they could listen to dear Georgiana play for hours! But delight in music was soon forgotten in the interest of communication. As their pens scratched busily away, the sisters read out snatches from their correspondents’ letters.

  “Here is a letter from Miss Stanhope,” exclaimed Caroline. — Miss Stanhope was Miss Bingley’s chief intelligencer, a lady famous for her satirical eye; all people have their little faults, and Miss Stanhope excelled at discovering them. “She is as diverting as ever. She apologizes for the length of time since her last. — ‘There has been no James to spur me on.’ — That is her brother, you know, with whom I am such a favourite. — She goes on, ‘I hope you will forgive this letter’s not being overburdened with subjects, for I have nothing at all to say.’ — Hah, hah! That is so like her!”<
br />
  That, Mr Hurst opined, giving his newspaper a shake, was so like the vast majority of female letter-writers.

  Both sisters laughed, then went back to their writing. Presently Louisa looked up. “Lady Alice informs me that Mrs Hunter and her daughter will be staying at Scarborough when we are there. Ought we to visit them, do you suppose?”

  “I think not,” Caroline replied firmly. “The mother is so apt to be vulgar, and the daughter noisy.”

  “La, Caroline — how severe you are! And they were such favourites with Mr Hurst at Bath. He was positively polite to them when they met at the Pump Room, and I shall never forget his gallantry when the wind turned their umbrella inside out. I am sure he meant well — it must have been a poor thing to break so easily.”

  Caroline’s next beginning was —

  “Miss Stanhope has encountered the Burton sisters at one of the assemblies. — I shall just read what she writes: ‘You will be delighted to hear that they are quite unspoiled, for Miss Burton has grown no coarser, and Miss Emma Burton no more delicate.’ — Is not that capital?”

  “I have a vast regard for the Miss Burtons,” Mrs Hurst declared, after laughing a great deal. “They are pretty-behaved girls and so very complying.”

  Bingley had been listening to this conversation with mounting disfavour. “I remember the Miss Burtons,” he now said. “And if by pretty-behaved, you mean, that they have always something to say to every one’s detriment, then they are certainly pretty-behaved.”

  Neither sister paid the least attention to his protest.

  For some time, they wrote on in silence. Then, “Here is something quite shocking!” Mrs Hurst exclaimed, in tones of pleasurable excitement. “Mrs Vernor, — she is watering at Brighton, — writes that an officer of the ——-shires has eloped with a young lady. She does not know whether the lady be maid, married, or widowed — only that she comes from Hertfordshire, and her name is — Bennet! Could it be one of the Bennets we know?” (in a voice which seemed rather to hope than to fear that this was so).

  “If it is, there’s the devil to pay,” exclaimed Mr Hurst, rustling his paper. “Listen to this: — ‘It is with infinite concern that this newspaper has to announce to the world, that the officer who recently decamped from his Brighton regiment in company with a certain Miss B-----t is none other than Mr G----e W-----m, with whom the fashionable world is well acquainted. It is not known, even to the editor, whither they have gone.’ — Which means they an’t off to Gretna Green, so there’s one young lady ruined.”

  “Eliza Bennet, on my life!” Miss Bingley burst out, snatching up the paper and poring over the paragraph. “And the man can only be Wickham, — he was enrolled in the ——shires! Louisa, do not you recall how shamelessly Miss Eliza flirted with him last winter in Meryton?”

  “I believe you are right,” Mrs Hurst said; and — “I am sure of it,” said her sister. From inside the house, the lid of the pianoforte banged shut with a frightful discord. Mr Bingley looked up from his work, and spoke with warm indignation. “That is patently absurd, Caroline. When is your letter dated — the beginning of August? Miss Bennet was here in Derbyshire till she was called home a fortnight ago. She could not have been in Brighton at that time.”

  But what if she had not been called home? — The exigency might have been a stratagem, invented to cut short her journey. What if the call had really come from — Mr Wickham?

  “You have hit it, Caroline. Nothing more like!”

  “This is insufferable!” Bingley cried, standing up abruptly, and throwing down the lure he was tying, (which would not come right). He walked off into the house with an air of ineffable disgust, and found Georgiana sitting, white-faced, with her hands on the lid of the pianoforte. “Take no heed of my sisters, Miss Darcy,” he said. “No-one’s character is safe with them — they grind every one to atoms. I am quite ashamed of them.”

  “But do you believe what they suggest is true?” Georgiana replied faintly, “ — that Miss Bennet has eloped?”

  “I do not! Miss Elizabeth Bennet is not a young lady to elope with any man. You must not pay too much attention to what Caroline says. She has a sharp tongue — as I have often found to my cost.”

  Georgiana gave him a grateful smile. Then, hesitantly, “But did he think Miss Bingley correct about her liking Mr Wickham?”

  Certainly not! Mr Bingley had observed nothing in Miss Bennet’s manner towards that gentleman beyond ordinary politeness. “Mr Wickham makes a great effort of pleasing on all occasions, but Miss Bennet is too well-judging to be taken in by superficial charms.”

  “That is what I think, too,” said Miss Darcy. She had never appreciated, how truly amiable Mr Bingley was!

  Though in progress towards recovering her complexion, Miss Darcy remained very pale, and Mr Bingley, thinking her in need of air, invited her to walk with him in the shrubbery. They had hardly stepped onto the terrace, however, when they beheld the owner of the house walking across the lawn in their direction. The sight of a groom leading a horse away towards the stables, shewed that Mr Darcy had just that moment arrived. — With a cry of delight, Georgiana ran forward, and sprang into her brother’s arms.

  After dinner, the party gathered in the salon to listen to Georgiana play through some new folios her brother had brought from town. Bingley stood at her side, turning pages, and Darcy, seated on the sopha with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, listened to as much of the music as could be heard between their cries of delight. Great as was Miss Bingley’s delight in music, it did not prevent her from alluding to the subject which had long been disturbing her thoughts — the mysterious errand, which had drawn Mr Darcy away from the country. — What could be bringing a gentleman up to town at that season? There was no-one in town at that time of year.—

  “Your ‘no-one in town’ must possess a wide latitude of meaning,” said Mr Darcy, “since you are discounting the thousands of people who live there.”

  This did not curtail Miss Bingley’s speculation: No-one, as Darcy well understood, meant nobody in their rank of life, — their own accustomed circle. “But it was all so strange! — To be gone so suddenly, and without so much as taking leave of his friends! — Did not Louisa agree that Mr Darcy’s behaviour had been excessively mysterious? — What was it, that required to be doing so secretively? How was such oddness to be explained? Indeed,” she continued, having elicited no response from Mr Darcy, “If it was one of Mrs Radcliffe’s heroes who had been behaving in so mysterious a way, I should be certain that he had received a dire warning — probably conveyed to him by some sinister, Italian monk — that the rightful heir to the estate had been released from the dungeons of the Inquisition, and was on his way home even now to claim his inheritance.”

  “The rightful heir, Caroline?” inquired Mrs Hurst. “And who might that be?

  “Oh, that is for chapter the last to tell. An illegitimate brother, perhaps — one who, if the truth were only known, is legitimate, the hero having stolen the records which would prove the existence of a first marriage, and disinherit him. There, Mr Darcy. I think that we have accounted for your conduct admirably.”

  “I fear that the truth will ill serve such romantic imaginings,” Mr Darcy replied dryly. “The business which took me London concerned an obligation incurred by my family. I went to perform an errand of reparation, nothing more.”

  Mr Darcy’s explanation had the twofold virtue of being true and revealing nothing. However, it did little to satisfy Miss Bingley, who would have liked to know why an errand of reparation had required so long an absence, or why so routine an affair could not have been left to Mr Darcy’s man of business. She was vexed at the frustration of her curiosity; moreover, one dissatisfaction rekindled the memory of another, for she still smarted at Mr Darcy’s description of Miss Bennet (after she had dined at Pemberley a fortnight before,) as “one of the handsomest women of his acquaintance”, and she feared that Mr Darcy’s mysterious departure for London had had something to do w
ith her. — Had they not left Derbyshire at the same time? — Wisdom might have suggested, that Miss Bingley was only pursuing the destruction of her own comfort; but she was too impatient to entertain such wisdom, under the agitations of jealousy. So as tea was setting out that evening, she therefore began with,

  “Mr Hurst has been reading us a most disturbing report in his newspaper, Mr Darcy. It appears that an officer of the ——shires, who we believe to be Mr Wickham, has eloped from Brighton in company with a young woman. Louisa and I greatly fear that the errant lady may prove to be Miss Eliza Bennet. I am afraid you will find this news excessively shocking,” Miss Bingley continued, made reckless by her desire to induce a reply, “for I remember how high an opinion you expressed of her person during her recent visit. But perhaps you will be the less surprised when you recall what a great favourite Mr Wickham was with Miss Eliza in Hertfordshire last winter. However, you must not repeat what I say, for there may be nothing in the report after all, and I should not wish to be wronging an innocent party — if Miss Elizabeth Bennet be innocent.”

  Miss Bingley finally achieved her purpose, for Mr Darcy now rose, and, speaking down from his great height, said, before leaving the room, “You need have no fear on that score, Miss Bingley. I dislike hearing scandal too much to wish to repeat it.”

  Having previously found it impossible to resist pressing Mr Darcy to speak, Miss Bingley now found it quite possible to regret that she had succeeded.

  Chapter Two

  A week after Mr Gardiner’s express brought the good news from town, a second letter from him arrived at Longbourn. This chiefly concerned Mr Wickham’s future plans, — he was to be joining General ——’s regiment, presently quartered in Newcastle, — and Mr Wickham’s debts. Mr Haggerston had already written to Colonel Forster, to request that Wickham’s Brighton creditors be given the promise of speedy payment; he would soon be asking Mr Bennet to spread the same assurance in Meryton.