Consequences (8 page)

“Both Mary and Kitty are quite well.”

“But you—how are you?” Elizabeth asked intently. “You look pale. All of this has to have been most distressing.”

“I am well enough,” Jane replied, but the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of their aunt and uncle. It was clear Jane was very much relieved by her uncle’s arrival, and she welcomed and thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears indicating the depth of her relief.

The party adjourned to the drawing room, where Jane repeated what she already told Elizabeth, and the disappointment of her aunt and uncle at the lack of new intelligence was not enough to dissuade Jane’s fervent hope that everything would still end well. She proclaimed her hope a post might be received any morning with news from either Lydia or her father informing them of the location of the couple or their marriage.

Elizabeth could entertain no such hopes and rather dreaded the prospect of having to meet and deal with her mother. Her fears were confirmed when they all repaired to Mrs. Bennet’s apartment, where her mother received them with tears and lamentations of regret, with invectives against the villainous conduct of Wickham, and with complaints against the actions of everyone except herself, whose indulgence of Lydia’s foolishness was most to blame for the situation in which all were embroiled.

Elizabeth was hard-pressed to hold her tongue when her mother suggested the entire problem would have been avoided if her husband had simply taken the whole family to Brighton. But she desisted, well knowing her mother had not the capability of actually understanding any correction that might be offered, only to have her indignation set alight by her mother’s assertion that her husband would surely challenge Wickham to a duel and be killed, thus beggaring the whole family.

Her Uncle and Aunt Gardiner did their best to offer more thoughtful advice, but Elizabeth was relieved to quit the chamber to take dinner downstairs, even though she was forced to listen to moral extractions from her sister, Mary. She was not able to find a private moment with Jane until the afternoon when they were able to be alone for a half-hour.

“Oh, Jane,” lamented Elizabeth, “I am so dreadfully afraid we are never going to find Wickham.”

“But with my uncle’s help—” Jane started to protest, but Elizabeth interrupted her, shaking her head unhappily.

“I am sure Uncle Gardiner will do his best, but you know how large London is, and you also know the kind of man Wickham is. If he would attempt to elope with Miss Darcy in hopes of getting his hands on her fortune or to marry Miss King for a lesser amount, why would he ever marry Lydia? She has no money, no connections, nothing that would solve his problems. What chance could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue?”

“But there must have been at least an intent to marry,” Jane said desperately. “He did elope with her, after all.”

“Did he? Elope, that is? Or did he just take her along for idle diversion? Do you not think him capable of that, knowing what we know? I have not shared everything with my aunt and uncle; only you know all I know.”

Jane looked severely distressed at having to think so ill of another person, but even she could not summon a sustainable refutation of Elizabeth’s fears, knowing as she did of Wickham’s malfeasances, and Elizabeth pressed her for further information she had not already heard.

“What did Colonel Forster say? Did he and his officers have any apprehension of anything before the elopement took place? Lydia and Wickham must have been seen together on many occasions, after all, or she never would have been able to form an attachment.”

Jane admitted Colonel Forster suspected some partiality between the couple, especially on Lydia’s side, but he had not seen enough to give him any alarm until he discovered they were not gone to Scotland.

“And you wrote that Denny was convinced Wickham would not marry,” Elizabeth continued. “Did he have any intimation of Wickham going off with Lydia? Did Colonel Forster question Denny himself?”

“Yes, he did, but Denny denied knowing anything of their plan and would not give his real opinion about it. But he did not repeat his persuasion of their not marrying to Colonel Forster, and from that, I am inclined to hope he might have been misunderstood before.”

“And it was not until Colonel Forster came to Longbourn that any of you entertained a doubt of their being really married?”

“How could such an idea ever enter our brains? I felt a little uneasy, fearful even, of Lydia’s happiness with him in marriage because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite right. But my father and mother knew nothing of that and only perceived the imprudence of the match. Kitty did disclose, with a certain triumphant air on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia’s last letter she had prepared her for such a step. Kitty knew, it seems, of their being in love with each other many weeks.”

Elizabeth grimaced in dismay at this additional knowledge of secrets being shared between the two sisters who were the most deserving of Mr. Darcy’s contempt for improper and inappropriate conduct, and she forced down her anger in order to continue.

“But Kitty did not believe they were in love before they went to Brighton, did she?”

“No, I believe not.”

“Did Colonel Forster give any indication of what he now thinks of Wickham himself? Does he know his real character now?”

“I must confess he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly did,” Jane said, again showing how unhappy she was to be admitting such. “He now believes Wickham to be imprudent and extravagant. And, since this sad affair has occurred, my Aunt Phillips says Wickham left many debts in Meryton, but I hope this is a false rumour.”

Elizabeth, however, could well believe it, and her voice was despairing as she lamented, “Oh, Jane, we should have been less secret. We should have told what we knew of him. If we had, this whole affair could not have happened!”

“Perhaps it would have been better, but to expose the past faults of any person without knowing whether they might have repented seemed unjustifiable. We acted with the best intentions.”

“Best intentions!” said Elizabeth miserably. “How many tragedies have occurred because of the best intentions? Did Colonel Forster tell you what Lydia said in her note to his wife?”

“He brought it with him for us to see,” Jane said, withdrawing the note and handing it to her sister, who instantly gave it her full attention.

My Dear Harriet,

You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater, when I write to them, and sign my name “Lydia Wickham.” What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my engagement, and dancing with him to-night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all; and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are packed up. Good-bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.

Your affectionate friend,
Lydia Bennet

“Oh, thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!” Elizabeth cried when she finished it. “What a letter this is, to be written at such a moment!”

At least the note showed Lydia evidently believed marriage was the object of her journey with Mr. Wickham. That provided little solace, however, since Jane soon related the manner in which the express was delivered and the reaction of her mother, which had put the whole house in an uproar and undoubtedly informed all the servants of the entire story. Elizabeth shook her head morosely at the hopelessness of the situation after Jane recounted the little she knew of her father’s intentions toward recovering his daughter.

***

Sunday, August 9 to Friday, August 14, 1812

The next morning was Sunday, and Mr. Gardiner planned to join his brother in London. Accordingly, he waited only until the post arrived without a single line, and then he set off, promising he would prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn as soon as he could. When he was gone, the family was at least assured of information, as Mr. Bennet was well known to be a most negligent and dilatory correspondent. Mrs. Gardiner stayed behind with the children for at least a few days longer in order to provide what support she could for her nieces, even if she could provide little to her sister.

However, while Mr. Gardiner did indeed provide information from town, the information he provided was almost wholly dreadful. All the principal hotels had been queried with no news of Wickham, and his inquiries to Colonel Forster about relatives and friends elicited the response that Wickham did not appear to have a single relation with whom he maintained a connection. As for friends, either in the regiment or in town, he appeared to have numerous acquaintances but no one with whom he was on terms of particular friendship.

The news from Meryton was equally bad, much of it being brought by their Aunt Philips on her frequent visits. Three months before, Mr. Wickham appeared a veritable angel of light. To Jane’s dismay, he was now declared to be in debt to every tradesman in the town and likewise guilty of having attempted the seduction of all their daughters. Colonel Forster provided similar information since it transpired that, in addition to his other debts in Brighton, Wickham left gaming debts among the regiment’s officers amounting to more than a thousand pounds. By this time, Elizabeth lost all hope of avoiding her sister’s ruin, and even Jane, who believed even less of the news from Meryton than Elizabeth, became near to hopeless. It was obvious the shameful state of Wickham’s finances gave him a very powerful motive for remaining hidden from his creditors, due to the threat of debtor’s prison. She did not know what punishments the Army might impose for his desertion of his regiment, though they could not be inconsiderable, given the continuing war with France.

On Wednesday a letter arrived from Mr. Collins to Mr. Bennet, which Jane read, as her father authorized her to open all his mail in his absence. Elizabeth read it over Jane’s shoulder, for she knew what curiosities his letters were, and she thought to find a moment’s amusement. But she found little to divert her as the letter was replete with self-righteous pontifications, advising her father to throw off his wayward child forever and declaiming the ruin of the family. In addition, she felt her stomach clench when she read that portion of the letter proclaiming Lady Catherine and her daughter had been informed of all particulars of the scandal and joined with him in their opinion.

There is little hope Mr. Darcy will remain long in ignorance of our disgrace, Elizabeth thought in dismay. His aunt will be certain to inform him at once, and then his triumph will be complete. He will have been as fortunate as my cousin in avoiding being involved in our humiliation!

One piece of good news came in the Friday post: Mr. Gardiner informed them he convinced Mr. Bennet to return to his home and leave the continuance of the search in his hands. All were cheered by this information except Mrs. Bennet, who previously expressed the most anxiety for her husband’s life if he should fight a duel with Wickham.

“What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia?” she cried. “Surely he will not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight Wickham and make him marry her if he comes away?”

To this expression, none could make any comment, and Elizabeth was so disgusted she returned to her room and the doubtful solace of a book.

Chapter 4

“For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
the saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’”

—John Greenleaf Whittier,
American Quaker poet
and ardent abolitionist

Saturday, August 15 to
Monday, September 7, 1812

On Saturday, Mrs. Gardiner left for London with her children, and Mr. Bennet returned to Longbourn by the same coach. Elizabeth and Jane were downstairs to meet their father at the front door, and both of them were quite surprised to see how little affected he seemed by this unhappy state of affairs. Instead of being distressed by the circumstances afflicting his family as well as his own experiences in town, he instead appeared to regard the impending calamities with his usual philosophic composure—he said as little as he ever had been in the habit of saying and made no mention of the business that had taken him away. It was some time before his daughters had courage to speak of it, and even when Elizabeth finally broached the subject that obsessed her every waking moment, she could only bring herself to express her sorrow at what her father must have endured.

“Say nothing of that,” her father replied dismissively. “Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.”

Somewhat taken aback by this unexpected response, she took a few moments before she ventured, “You must not be too severe upon yourself.”