Pride and Prejudice
They travelled as expeditiously as possible; and sleeping one night on
the road, reached Longbourn by dinnertime the next day. It was a comfort
to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied by long
expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing
on the steps of the house, as they entered the paddock; and when the
carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their
faces and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of
capers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.
Elizabeth jumped out; and after giving each of them a hasty kiss,
hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running downstairs from
her mother’s apartment, immediately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the
eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether anything had been
heard of the fugitives.
“Not yet,” replied Jane. “But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope
everything will be well.”
“Is my father in town?”
“Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you word.”
“And have you heard from him often?”
“We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday, to say
that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I
particularly begged him to do. He merely added, that he should not write
again, till he had something of importance to mention.”
“And my mother--how is she? How are you all?”
“My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly
shaken. She is upstairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing you
all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank
Heaven! are quite well.”
“But you--how are you?” cried Elizabeth. “You look pale. How much you
must have gone through!”
Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well; and their
conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were
engaged with their children, was now put an end to by the approach of
the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and
thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.
When they were all in the drawing-room, the questions which Elizabeth
had already asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon
found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of good,
however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested, had not yet
deserted her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that
every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father,
to explain their proceedings, and, perhaps, announce the marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes’
conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with
tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous
conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage;
blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the
errors of her daughter must be principally owing.
“If I had been able,” said she, “to carry my point in going to Brighton
with all my family, _this_ would not have happened: but poor dear Lydia
had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out
of their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their
side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had
been well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have
the charge of her; but I was over-ruled, as I always am. Poor, dear
child! And now here’s Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight
Wickham, wherever he meets him, and then he will be killed, and what is
to become of us all? The Collinses will turn us out, before he is cold
in his grave; and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what
we shall do.”
They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr. Gardiner, after
general assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told her
that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr.
Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.
“Do not give way to useless alarm,” added he: “though it is right to be
prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.
It is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more, we
may gain some news of them; and till we know that they are not married,
and have no design of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as
lost. As soon as I get to town, I shall go to my brother, and make him
come home with me to Gracechurch Street, and then we may consult
together as to what is to be done.”
“Oh, my dear brother,” replied Mrs. Bennet, “that is exactly what I
could most wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out,
wherever they may be; and if they are not married already, _make_ them
marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but
tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chooses to buy them,
after they are married. And, above all things, keep Mr. Bennet from
fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in--that I am frightened
out of my wits; and have such tremblings, such flutterings all over me,
such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at my
heart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear
Lydia not to give any directions about her clothes till she has seen me,
for she does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how
kind you are! I know you will contrive it all.”
But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours
in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well in
her hopes as her fears; and after talking with her in this manner till
dinner was on table, they left her to vent all her feelings on the
housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real
occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to
oppose it; for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her
tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it
better that _one_ only of the household, and the one whom they could
most trust, should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the
subject.
In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been
too busily engaged in their separate apartments to make their appearance
before. One came from her books, and the other from her toilette. The
faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible
in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger
which she had herself incurred in the business, had given something more
of fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was
mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance
of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table,--
“This is a most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of.
But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of
each other the balm of sisterly consolation.”
Then perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added,
“Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful
lesson:--that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable, that one
false step involves her in endless ruin, that her reputation is no less
brittle than it is beautiful, and that she cannot be too much guarded in
her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex.”
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to
make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such
kind of moral extractions from the evil before them.
In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half an
hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the
opportunity of making any inquiries which Jane was equally eager to
satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful sequel
of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Miss
Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued
the subject by saying, “But tell me all and everything about it which I
have not already heard. Give me further particulars. What did Colonel
Forster say? Had they no apprehension of anything before the elopement
took place? They must have seen them together for ever.”
“Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality,
especially on Lydia’s side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so
grieved for him. His behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He
_was_ coming to us, in order to assure us of his concern, before he had
any idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension
first got abroad, it hastened his journey.”
“And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of
their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?”
“Yes; but when questioned by _him_, Denny denied knowing anything of
their plan, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not
repeat his persuasion of their not marrying, and from _that_ I am
inclined to hope he might have been misunderstood before.”
“And till Colonel Forster came himself, not one of you entertained a
doubt, I suppose, of their being really married?”
“How was it possible that such an idea should enter our brains? I felt a
little uneasy--a little fearful of my sister’s happiness with him in
marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been always quite
right. My father and mother knew nothing of that; they only felt how
imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural
triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia’s last letter
she had prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems, of their
being in love with each other many weeks.”
“But not before they went to Brighton?”
“No, I believe not.”
“And did Colonel Forster appear to think ill of Wickham himself? Does he
know his real character?”
“I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly
did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant; and since this sad
affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly in debt:
but I hope this may be false.”
“Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we told what we knew of him,
this could not have happened!”
“Perhaps it would have been better,” replied her sister.
“But to expose the former faults of any person, without knowing what
their present feelings were, seemed unjustifiable.”
“We acted with the best intentions.”
“Could Colonel Forster repeat the particulars of Lydia’s note to his
wife?”
“He brought it with him for us to see.”
Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and gave it to Elizabeth. These
were the contents:--
/* NIND “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