Chapter 46

When they first came to Lambton, Elizabeth was greatly disappointed that no letter had come from Jane. That same disappointment met her every morning afterwards. But on the third day, Jane sent two letters at once. Elizabeth's complaint ended then. Jane had done her part as well. One of the two was marked as having been sent to the wrong place first. Jane had written the address unusually badly, so Elizabeth was not surprised.

When the letters came, the party was just getting ready to go out walking. Her uncle and aunt left her to read them in peace and set off by themselves. Elizabeth read the misdirected letter first. It had been written five days before. The first part told of the small parties and engagements they had had, and of the news such a country place could give. But the later part, added a day afterwards, was different. The writing was noticeably unsteady as well. It held news of far greater importance. It ran like this.

"Since I wrote the above, my dear Lizzy, something has happened that is most unexpected and most serious. But I am afraid of alarming you. Be assured first that we are all well. What I have to say is about poor Lydia. At twelve o'clock last night, just when we had all gone to bed, Colonel Forster sent an express messenger. The news was that Lydia had run off to Scotland with one of the officers under his command. To tell the truth, with Wickham! Imagine how surprised we were. To Kitty, though, it does not seem to have been altogether unexpected. I am very, very sorry. Both of them have decided on so rash a marriage! Still, I am willing to hope for the best. I hope we have heard wrongly of his character. That he is thoughtless and imprudent I can easily believe. But this step, and let us be glad of this much, means that his heart is not a bad one. At least he has chosen Lydia with no thought of money. He must know that our father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is very much grieved. Our father bears it better. How thankful I am that we never told our parents any of the bad things we heard about Wickham. We must forget them ourselves. They set off, as far as anyone can guess, about twelve o'clock on Saturday night. But no one knew they were gone until eight the next morning. An express messenger was sent off at once. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles of us. It seems that Colonel Forster will be here himself before long. Lydia left a few lines for his wife to tell her of their plan. I must stop writing now. I cannot be long away from our poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make my writing out. I hardly know what I have written myself."

There was no time for thought. Hardly knowing what she felt, Elizabeth seized the other letter the moment she had finished the first. She broke the seal with a most impatient hand. And she read what follows. It had been written a day later than the close of the first letter.

"My dear sister, by this time you must have received my hurried letter. I hope this one will be easier to read. I am not pressed for time. But my head is so confused that I cannot promise I have written clearly. My dear Lizzy, I hardly know what I ought to write. Still, I have bad news, and it cannot wait. However rash a marriage Mr. Wickham and poor Lydia have decided on, we must now be eager for the certainty that they are truly married. There is far too much reason to fear that they have not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster left Brighton the day before yesterday and sent off the express messenger. He himself reached us yesterday, only a few hours after it came. The few lines Lydia left for Mrs. Forster said that they were going to Gretna Green. But Denny let something fall. He said he believed Wickham had never meant to go there, or to marry Lydia at all. That word was carried to Colonel Forster. He soon grew uneasy, and he left Brighton to follow the two of them. He traced them easily as far as Clapham. But beyond that he lost them. This was because they had come into that place and changed into a hired carriage, and had sent back the traveling carriage that had brought them from Epsom. All that is certainly known after that is that they were seen going on along the London road. I do not know what to think. Colonel Forster asked every question he could in that part of London, and then he came into Hertfordshire. He asked again at every tollgate on the way, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but nothing came of it. No such people had passed. He came all the way to Longbourn with the kindest concern. And, like the good man he is, he laid his own fears open to us. My heart truly aches for him and for Mrs. Forster. But no one can blame either of them. My dear Lizzy, we are in great distress now. Our father and mother believe the worst. But I cannot think so ill of Wickham. There may be many reasons why marrying secretly in London would suit them better than keeping to their first plan. And even if Wickham could form such a plot against a young woman like Lydia, which is not likely, can I suppose that Lydia has lost every particle of good sense? It cannot be! Still, it grieves me that Colonel Forster will not believe in the marriage. When I spoke of my hope, he shook his head and said he feared Wickham was not a man to be trusted. Our poor mother is really ill and keeps to her room. It would be better if she could rouse herself, but that is not to be looked for. As for our father, I have never in my life seen him so struck down. Poor Kitty is being scolded for having hidden their attachment. But since it was a matter kept in confidence, that is not to be wondered at. My dear Lizzy, I am truly glad that you have been spared some part of these painful scenes. But now that the first shock is over, may I say that I long for your return? Even so, I am not so selfish as to press it if it is not convenient. Farewell! I take up my pen again to do the very thing I have just said I would not. But things are such that I cannot help begging you all to come here as soon as you possibly can. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well that I am not afraid to ask it. Of my uncle I have one more thing to ask. Our father is going to London with Colonel Forster at once, to try to find Lydia. What he means to do I really do not know. He is so badly hurt that he will not be able to manage any measure in the best and safest way. And Colonel Forster must be back in Brighton by tomorrow evening. At such a moment as this, my uncle's advice and help would be worth everything in the world. He will understand my feelings at once, and I rely on his goodness."

"Oh! Where is my uncle? Where is he?" Elizabeth cried as she finished the letter. She would not lose a moment of that precious time. She sprang from her seat to follow them. But as she reached the door, a servant opened it from outside. Mr. Darcy walked in. He was startled by her pale face and her wild manner. Before he could recover himself enough to speak, Elizabeth, whose every other thought had been driven out by Lydia's situation, cried out in haste. "I beg your pardon, but I must go. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot wait. I have not a moment to lose."

"Good heavens! What is the matter?" he cried, with more feeling than politeness. Then he collected himself and spoke. "I will not keep you one moment. But let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well now. You cannot go yourself."

Elizabeth hesitated. But her knees trembled. She knew as well that little would be gained by her going after them herself. So she called the servant back. In a voice so breathless that it could hardly be understood, she told him to bring his master and mistress home at once.

When the servant had left the room, Elizabeth sat down, unable to hold herself up. Her look was so full of distress. Darcy could not leave her, and he could not keep himself from asking, in a gentle and pitying voice. "Shall I call your maid? Is there nothing you could take that would give you some relief now? Shall I bring you a glass of wine? You are very ill indeed."

"No, thank you," Elizabeth answered, trying to recover herself. "There is nothing wrong with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news I have just received from Longbourn."

As she said this, she burst into tears. For a few minutes she could not say another word. Darcy, waiting in wretched suspense, could only say a few indistinct words of concern. He could do nothing but watch her in silence and pity. At last she spoke again. "I have just had a letter from Jane with such dreadful news. It cannot be hidden from anyone. My youngest sister has left all her friends and family and run away. She has thrown herself into the power of Mr. Wickham. The two of them have gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt what the rest must be. She has no money, no powerful relations, nothing that could tempt him. She is lost for ever."

Darcy was fixed in astonishment.

"When I think of it," she added in a more agitated voice, "I might have prevented it! I, who knew what he was. If I had explained some part of it, only some part of what I learned, to my own family! If his character had been known, this could not have happened. But now it is all, all too late."

"I am truly grieved," Darcy cried. "It is sad and shocking. But are you sure? Are you quite sure of it?"

"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night. They were traced almost to London, but no further. They have certainly not gone to Scotland."

"What has been done to get her back? What has been tried?"

"My father has gone to London. Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate help, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. But nothing can be done. I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way dreadful!"

Darcy shook his head in silence. He seemed to agree with what she said.

"When my eyes were opened to his real character, oh, if I had known what I ought to do, what I might dare to do! But I did not know. I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"

Darcy made no answer. He seemed hardly to hear her. He walked up and down the room with a frown and a gloomy face. He looked deep in thought. Elizabeth soon noticed it. And she understood at once what it meant. Her power over him was sinking away. Here was a thing that showed the faults of her family so plainly, and that fixed the deepest disgrace upon them. Before such a thing, everything must be lost. It was neither to be wondered at nor to be blamed. But the belief that he had conquered his own feelings gave her no comfort at all. It did not lessen her pain. It only made her know her own heart exactly. Never, at the very moment when all love must be in vain, had she felt so honestly that she could have loved him.

Such thoughts of herself broke in, but they could not hold her wholly. The shame and misery that Lydia had brought upon them all soon swallowed up every private care. Elizabeth covered her face with her handkerchief. Soon she forgot everything else. A silence of several minutes passed. Then the voice of her companion, which held both pity and restraint, made her know her own situation again.

"You must long have wished me gone, and I have nothing to excuse my staying but a concern that is sincere and yet of no use at all. How I wish there were anything I could say or do that might comfort such distress! But I will not trouble you with vain wishes that may look as though I were asking for your thanks on purpose. This unhappy business will keep my sister from the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley today."

"Oh, yes! Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home at once. Hide this unhappy truth as long as you can. I know it cannot be hidden long."

Darcy readily promised to keep the secret. He was sorry once more for her distress. And he wished it a happier end than there was any reason to expect just now. He left his regards for her relations. With one serious parting look he went away.

As he left the room, Elizabeth understood something. It was very unlikely that the two of them would ever meet again on such warm terms as they had met a few times in Derbyshire. Their acquaintance had held many contradictions and many changes. She sighed at the perverse turn of her own feelings, which now made her wish to keep up a connection whose end she would once have been glad of.

If gratitude and esteem are good foundations for affection, Elizabeth's change of feeling was likely enough, and free from fault. But what if it is not so? What if love that grows in such a way is more unreasonable and unnatural than love that is often said to arise at a first meeting, before two words have been exchanged? There is only one thing to be said for her. When Wickham drew her, she had tried the latter way to some degree. The result was bad. So she may have earned the right to love in the other and less interesting way. Whichever it was, she was sorry to see him go. Thinking of this thing, which was the first proof of what Lydia's disgrace would bring, she added another pain to that miserable business. Since reading Jane's second letter, she had never for a moment hoped that Wickham meant to marry Lydia. She thought that no one but Jane could hold such an expectation. As matters came out in this way, surprise was the smallest of all her feelings. While only the first letter stayed in her mind, she had been all astonishment and shock at the thought of Wickham marrying a woman he could not marry for the sake of money. She had not been able to understand how Lydia had caught him either. But now it was all too natural. For a connection of this kind, Lydia might well have had charms enough to draw him. She did not believe that Lydia had joined the flight on purpose, with no thought of marriage. But it was hard to believe that her chastity or her good sense would keep her from becoming an easy victim.

While the regiment was in Hertfordshire, she had never once noticed that Lydia had any particular feeling for Wickham. But she was certain that Lydia would have given her heart to anyone who encouraged her even a little. Now one officer, now another, had been her favorite, according to how much notice each one paid her. Her affections were always shifting. But she had never been without an object for them. Oh, how sharply she now felt the cost of having neglected such a girl and spoiled her in the wrong way!

Elizabeth was wild to be at home. Her father was away. Her mother could do nothing for herself and needed constant care. In a household in such confusion, she wanted to share the anxiety that would now fall on Jane alone. She wanted to hear and to see for herself. She was certain that little could be done for Lydia. Even so, her uncle's stepping in seemed more important than anything. The impatience of waiting until he came into the room was very painful. The Gardiners had hurried back in alarm, for the servant's message had made them think their niece had been taken suddenly ill. Elizabeth relieved that fear at once. Then she told them why she had called them back in such haste. She read the two letters aloud, and she read the postscript of the last one with a trembling voice and great feeling. The Gardiners had never been especially fond of Lydia. Even so, they could not help being deeply shocked. It was a matter that touched everyone, not Lydia alone. After the first cries of surprise and horror had been poured out, Mr. Gardiner readily promised every help in his power. Elizabeth, who had expected nothing less of him, shed tears of gratitude. The three of them acted with one mind. Everything to do with the journey was soon settled. They were to set off as soon as they possibly could. Mrs. Gardiner cried, "But what about Pemberley? Is it true, as John tells us, that Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us?"

"Yes. And I told him that we could not keep our engagement. That is all settled."

Her aunt ran into her room to get ready and repeated, "What is all settled? Were the two of them on such terms that they could speak the truth to each other? Oh, if only I could know how it all came about!"

But that wish was in vain. At best it could only give her a moment of amusement in the bustle and confusion of the hour that followed. If Elizabeth had had any leisure, she would only have repeated to herself the certainty that someone as miserable as she was could do nothing at all. But like her aunt, she had her own share of the work. Among other things, there were letters to write to all their friends at Lambton, with false excuses for their sudden departure. Still, in an hour everything was ready. In the meantime Mr. Gardiner settled the account at the inn. Nothing was left but to go. Elizabeth, after all the misery of the morning, found herself in a shorter time than she had expected seated in the carriage. And she was on the road to Longbourn.