Chapter 41

The first week after Elizabeth came home passed quickly. The second week began. It was the last week the militia would stay in Meryton. The young ladies of the neighborhood grew sad very fast. Almost everyone felt low in spirits. Only the two eldest Bennet sisters could still eat and drink and sleep and go about as usual. Kitty and Lydia were in the deepest sorrow. They could not understand how anyone in the family could be so cold-hearted. They blamed their two elder sisters, again and again, for having no feeling at all.

Sunk in bitter grief, the two girls often cried out, "Good heavens! What is to become of us now? What are we to do? Lizzy, how can you smile so?"

Their tender mother shared fully in her daughters' sorrow. She remembered the same pain she herself had felt twenty-five years before, when something like this had happened.

"I am sure of it," she said. "When Colonel Miller's regiment left, I cried for two whole days. I thought my heart would break."

"My heart really will break," said Lydia.

"If only we could go to Brighton!" said Mrs. Bennet.

"Oh, yes! If only we could go to Brighton! But Papa is so unkind."

"A little bathing in the sea would make me feel well forever."

"And Aunt Philips is sure it would do me a great deal of good too," Kitty added.

Complaints of this kind rang through Longbourn House without end. Elizabeth tried to find some amusement in it. But shame kept her from feeling any real pleasure. She felt afresh that Mr. Darcy had good reason for his objections. Never before had she felt more willing to forgive him for stepping into his friend's engagement.

But Lydia's dark prospects soon brightened. Mrs. Forster, the wife of the regiment's colonel, invited her to come along to Brighton. This most precious friend was very young and had not been married long. The two of them were alike in being lively and full of spirits. So they were drawn to each other. Of the three months they had known one another, they had been close friends for two.

The joy Lydia felt, and her worship of Mrs. Forster, were beyond words. So were Mrs. Bennet's delight and Kitty's shame. Lydia gave no thought at all to her sister's feelings. She flew about the house in wild excitement. She called on everyone to wish her joy, and laughed and talked louder than ever. Poor unlucky Kitty stayed behind in the sitting room, lamenting her fate in a cross and unreasonable voice.

"I do not see why I should not be asked as well as Lydia, though I am not Mrs. Forster's particular friend," she said. "I have just as much right to be asked, and more too, for I am two years older."

Elizabeth tried to make Kitty listen to reason. Jane tried to make her accept it. But neither could succeed. As for the invitation itself, it gave nothing but joy to her mother and to Lydia. To Elizabeth, it seemed like a death sentence to every hope that Lydia might ever gain some sense. Lydia would hate her for it if it ever became known, but even so Elizabeth could not help speaking to her father in private, asking him not to let Lydia go. She told him of all the improper behavior Lydia showed every day. She told him that little good could come of Lydia's friendship with a woman like Mrs. Forster. She explained that with such a companion, and in Brighton, where there were far more temptations than at home, Lydia might grow even more careless. Her father listened closely, and then he spoke.

"Lydia will never be easy until she has made a spectacle of herself somewhere in public," he said. "And we can never hope for a better chance for it than this, one that costs our family so little in money or trouble."

"If you knew what great harm it does us all when people notice Lydia's careless, thoughtless ways," said Elizabeth, "no, if you knew how much harm it has already done, I am sure you would think very differently."

"Already done harm!" Mr. Bennet repeated. "What, has she frightened away some of your admirers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be downhearted. Any young man too dainty to bear a little foolish family is not worth your regret. Come, show me the list of pitiful young men that Lydia's silliness has driven away."

"You are really quite mistaken, sir. I am not angered by some harm done only to me. What I speak of now is harm that touches us all. Lydia is wild, headstrong, and bold. She pays no attention to any kind of control. Because of this, our family's good name and standing must surely suffer. Forgive me. But I must speak plainly. Unless you check her high spirits now, dear father, it will soon be too late to correct her at all. You must teach her that the things she cares for now must not become the business of her whole life. If you do not, her character will grow fixed. By sixteen she will be the most hopeless flirt who ever made herself and her family a laughingstock. She will throw herself at men in the worst and most common way. She will have no charm beyond youth and passable looks. With an ignorant, empty mind, wanting nothing in the world but the notice of others, she will be despised by everyone. Kitty is in the same danger. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and under no control at all! Oh, dear father. Everyone who knows the two of them will blame them and think little of them, and can you truly believe their sisters will not often be drawn into that disgrace too?"

Mr. Bennet saw that his daughter had set her whole heart on this matter. He took her hand kindly and answered.

"Do not worry yourself, my dear. You and Jane will be respected and valued wherever you are known. Having two, or even three, very foolish sisters will not make you seem any less admirable. There will be no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. So let us let her go. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and he will keep her out of any real trouble. And luckily she is too poor to be worth anyone's hunting after. In Brighton she will not matter so much, even as an ordinary flirt, as she does here. The officers there will find women more worth their notice. So let us hope that being there will teach her how unimportant she truly is. If things grow a great deal worse than they are now, well, then we shall have the right to lock her up for the rest of her life."

Elizabeth had no choice but to be content with this answer. But her opinion remained unchanged, and she left her father with disappointment and regret. Still, it was not in her nature to hold on to a worry and let it grow into greater distress. She felt sure that she had done her duty. Fretting over harm that could not be avoided, or making it larger through anxiety, was not in her character.

If Lydia and her mother had known what had passed between Elizabeth and her father, their anger, however fast they poured it out, could hardly have found full expression. To Lydia, a visit to Brighton held every happiness the world could offer. In her imagination she saw the streets of that lively seaside town filled with officers. She saw dozens of officers, whom she did not even know yet, all paying attention to her. She saw every glory that a camp could hold: tents beautifully set out in even rows, crowded with young and lively people, shining with the dazzling red of their uniforms. To complete the picture, she saw herself sitting under a tent, flirting tenderly with at least six officers at once.

How would Lydia have felt, had she known that her sister had tried to pull her away from such dreams and such a reality? Only her mother could have understood, for she felt very nearly the same. The one comfort against her gloomy certainty that her husband had no intention of going to Brighton himself was the fact that Lydia was going there.

But neither of them knew anything of what had passed between Elizabeth and her father. Their joy went on almost without a break, right up to the very day Lydia left home.

Now Elizabeth was soon to meet Mr. Wickham for the last time. Since her return, she had been in his company often enough that her old uneasiness had almost settled. The agitation that had come from her earlier liking for him had vanished completely. Even in the gentle manner that had once pleased her so, she could now see only a tiresome, wearying show, kept up with a constant pretense. What was more, his recent behavior toward her gave her fresh cause for displeasure. He soon showed that he meant to renew the attentions he had paid her when they first met. But thinking of all that had happened since, this could only make her angry. Seeing herself chosen as the object of such an idle, frivolous courtship, whatever regard she once felt for Wickham vanished entirely. He seemed to believe that no matter why or how long his attentions had been withdrawn, showing them again would satisfy her vanity. He believed her affection would surely return. She could not help feeling displeased by such a belief. Even so, she went on steadily turning aside every attempt he made.

On the last day the regiment stayed in Meryton, Wickham dined at Longbourn with the other officers. Elizabeth had no wish at all to part from him on good terms. He asked how she had spent her time at Hunsford. She told him that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy had both spent three weeks at Rosings, and she asked whether he was acquainted with the colonel.

Wickham looked surprised, displeased, and uneasy. But he collected himself for a moment, and once his smile returned, he answered that he had once seen the colonel often. After remarking that he was a very gentlemanlike man, he asked Elizabeth what she thought of him. She spoke warmly in Colonel Fitzwilliam's praise. A little later Wickham added, with an air of unconcern, "How long did you say he stayed at Rosings?"

"Almost three weeks."

"And did you see him often?"

"Yes, almost every day."

"His manner is very different from his cousin's."

"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves upon acquaintance."

"Indeed!" cried Wickham. Elizabeth did not miss the look that crossed his face. "And may I ask—" He stopped himself. Then, in a livelier tone, he went on. "Do you mean his manner has improved? Has he been gracious enough to add a little civility to his usual way? For surely," he continued, his voice dropping lower and more serious, "I would not dare hope that he has improved in anything essential."

"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In what is essential, I believe he is very much what he has always been."

As she spoke, Wickham looked as though he did not know whether to be pleased by her words or to doubt what she meant by them. Something in her face made him watch her with an uneasy eye as she went on.

"When I said he improves upon acquaintance, I did not mean that his mind or manners were actually improving. I meant that, in knowing him better, one comes to understand his character better."

Wickham's uneasiness now showed itself in his reddened face and troubled look. For some minutes he said nothing. At last, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to her again and spoke in the gentlest of voices.

"You know well what I think of Mr. Darcy, so you can easily guess how truly glad I am that he has grown wise enough to at least appear proper. Pride of that kind, even if it does himself no good, may do good to many others. For it may keep him from behaving as basely as he did to me. What I fear is that the carefulness you describe is only put on for his aunt's visits. He is very much afraid of her good opinion and her judgment. I know that fear of her is always at work whenever the two of them are together. A good part of it, too, must come from his wish to bring about the marriage with Miss de Bourgh. I am sure he desires that marriage most earnestly."

Elizabeth could not help a smile at this, but she answered with only a slight bow of her head. She saw that Wickham wished to draw her back into that old subject, his own grievance, and she had no wish to indulge him. For the rest of that evening he appeared as cheerful as ever, but he made no further attempt to single her out. At last the two of them parted with polite civility, perhaps each wishing never to meet the other again.

When the party broke up, Lydia went back to Meryton with Mrs. Forster, from where they were to set out early the next morning. Her leave-taking from the family was noisy rather than tender. Kitty alone shed any tears, and hers came from vexation and envy. Mrs. Bennet poured out endless wishes for her daughter's happiness, urging her strongly not to miss a single chance for enjoyment, advice which there was every reason to believe Lydia would follow. Amid the loud noise of Lydia's own happy farewell, the quiet goodbyes of her sisters could not even be heard.