Chapter 47

"I have thought it over again, Elizabeth," her uncle said as the carriage drove out of the town. "Now that I have considered it seriously, I find myself much more inclined than before to judge as your eldest sister does. Lydia has people to protect her and to take her part. And it seems most unlikely that a young man would form such a plot against a young woman who was staying with his own colonel's family. I want very much to hope for a good end. Could Wickham have thought that her relations and her friends would stay quiet? Could he have thought that the regiment would take him back after he had insulted Colonel Forster in such a way? The risk is too great for the temptation."

"Do you really think so?" cried Elizabeth, and her face grew bright.

"Indeed I do," said Mrs. Gardiner. "I am beginning to agree with your uncle. To act in such a way would be to throw aside decency, honor, and his own future far too badly. I cannot think so very ill of Wickham. Lizzy, have you given him up so completely that you believe him able to do it?"

"He may not be a man to ruin his own future. But I believe he could give up everything else. If only they really did marry! But I do not dare to hope for it. If they meant to, why did they not go straight on to Scotland?"

"In the first place," Mr. Gardiner answered, "there is no certain proof that they have not gone to Scotland."

"Oh, but they changed from the traveling carriage into a hired carriage. That is a very strong reason. Besides, no trace of them was found on the road to Barnet."

"Very well. Then let us suppose that they are in London. They may be there in order to hide. But it may be for no worse purpose than that. Neither of them seems to have much money, so they may have thought that marrying in London would cost less than going all the way to Scotland. It would take a little more time, though."

"But why all this secrecy? Why are they afraid of being found out? Why must the marriage be private? Oh, no. That is not likely. Jane's letter shows that Wickham's closest friend was certain he never meant to marry Lydia. Wickham will never marry a woman who has no money at all. He cannot afford it. What has Lydia to offer besides youth, health, and a pleasant manner? Would he give up, for her sake, every gain that a rich marriage could bring him? I do not know how far the fear of disgrace in the regiment would hold him back. I do not know what such an act would bring upon him. But the other reason you gave does not seem to me to hold. Lydia has no brother to step forward for her. And from the way our father has always behaved, Wickham may have believed that he would do less and think less about this matter than any other man would. Our father is idle, and he has never taken much interest in what happens in his own family."

"But can you think that Lydia has lost all sense of everything else in her love for him, and that she would agree to live with him without being married?"

"The thought that it could be so is the most shocking of all," Elizabeth answered with tears in her eyes. "That I should have to doubt my own sister's decency and chastity in such a matter! But I really do not know what to say. Perhaps I am judging her too harshly. Still, Lydia is very young. She has never been taught to think about serious things. For the last half year, no, for a whole year, she has cared for nothing but amusement and vanity. She has spent her time in the idlest and most frivolous way, and she has been allowed to take up whatever ideas came before her. Since the militia first came to Meryton, she has had nothing in her head but love, flirting, and officers. She has thought and talked of nothing else without ceasing, and so she has made her feelings, which were lively enough already, even more easily stirred. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of face and manner that can win a woman's heart."

"But Jane, you see," said her aunt, "does not think so badly of Wickham as to believe him able to do such a thing."

"Did Jane ever think badly of anybody? Whatever a person had done in the past, who is there that Jane would believe able to do such a thing before the guilt was proved? But Jane knows what Wickham really is as well as I do. We both know that he has lived loosely in every way, that he has neither honesty nor honor, and that he is as false and deceiving as he is good at winning people's hearts."

"Do you really know all this?" cried Mrs. Gardiner, who could not hide how curious she was.

"Yes, I really do," Elizabeth answered, blushing. "I told you a few days ago of the shameful way he treated Mr. Darcy. And you yourself, when you were last at Longbourn, heard how he spoke of the man who had been so generous and so good to him. There are other matters that I am not free to tell. No, they are not worth telling. But the lies he told about the whole family at Pemberley have no end. From the way he described Miss Darcy, I was fully prepared to meet a proud, cold, unpleasant young lady. Yet he knew that the truth was the very opposite. He must have known that she is as gentle and modest as we have found her to be."

"But does Lydia know nothing of this? Can she know nothing of what you and Jane understand so well?"

"Oh, yes! That is the worst of it. I did not know the truth myself until I went into Kent and saw so much of Mr. Darcy and of his relation, Colonel Fitzwilliam. When I came home, the militia was to leave Meryton in a week or a fortnight. So Jane, to whom I told the whole story, and I both thought there was no need to make what we knew public. What good could it do anyone, in the eyes of the world, to break down the good opinion the whole neighborhood held of him? Even when it was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the thought never came to me that she needed to have her eyes opened to his character. That she could be in any danger of being deceived never entered my head. That anything like this could follow never entered my imagination. You may easily believe that."

"Then when they all moved to Brighton, you had no reason to believe that the two of them cared for each other?"

"Not the least. I cannot remember a sign of affection on either side. You know very well that if anything of the kind had shown itself, our family would not have let it pass. When he first joined the regiment, Lydia liked him very much. But so did we all. Every girl in Meryton and around it was out of her senses about him for the first two months. But he never paid her any particular attention. So, after a while of noisy and heated admiration, her feelings cooled, and other officers, who treated her with more notice, became her favorites again."

Going over this interesting matter again and again added little to their fears, their hopes, and their guesses. Still, during the whole journey no other subject lasted long, and they soon came back to this one. It could not be otherwise. It never left Elizabeth's mind for a moment. The sharpest self-blame held her fast. She could find no room for ease, and none for forgetting.

They traveled as fast as they possibly could. They slept one night on the road, and reached Longbourn by dinner time the next day. It was some comfort to think that Jane had not been worn out by a long wait.

The little Gardiners, drawn by the sight of a carriage, were standing on the steps of the house when the party drove into the meadow. When the carriage stopped at the door, joyful surprise lit up their faces. Their whole bodies jumped and skipped about, and this was the first pleasant sign of the welcome that waited for them.

Elizabeth jumped down from the carriage. She gave each child a hasty kiss and hurried into the front hall. Jane, who came running downstairs from her mother's room, met her there at once.

Elizabeth held Jane in a warm embrace. Tears filled the eyes of both of them, but Elizabeth asked at once whether any news had been heard of the two who had run away.

"Not yet," Jane answered. "But now that my dear uncle has come, I hope everything will go well."

"Is our father in London?"

"Yes. He went on Tuesday, as I wrote to you."

"Have you heard from him often?"

"We have heard from him only once. He wrote a few lines on Wednesday to say that he had arrived safely, and to give me what I had particularly asked him for. He only added that he would not write again until he had something of importance to tell."

"How is our mother? How are you all?"

"Our mother is tolerably well, I think. Her spirits have been greatly shaken, though. She is upstairs, and she will be very glad to see you all. She does not yet leave her dressing room. Mary and Kitty, I am happy to say, are quite well."

"But you, how are you?" cried Elizabeth. "You look pale. How much you must have gone through!"

Jane assured her that she was quite well. Their talk, which had gone on while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were greeting their children, was ended by the coming up of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt. She welcomed them and thanked them both, smiling and crying by turns.

When they were all in the drawing room, the others naturally repeated the questions Elizabeth had already asked. They soon found that Jane had no news to give. Even so, the hopeful thoughts that came from her kind heart had not yet left her. She still believed that everything would end well. She expected that every morning would bring a letter, either from Lydia or from her father, to explain what they had done and perhaps to announce the marriage.

After they had talked together for a few minutes, they all went up to Mrs. Bennet's room. She received them exactly as they had expected. Tears and cries of regret poured out. She spoke angrily against the wicked Wickham, and she complained of her own suffering and of the unjust treatment she had met with. She blamed everyone but herself, though her own senseless indulgence was the chief cause of her daughter's fault.

"If I had been able to have my own way and go to Brighton with the whole family," she said, "this would not have happened. Poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out of their sight? There must have been great carelessness on their side. She is not the kind of girl to do such a thing if she had been properly watched. I always thought they were very unfit to have the care of her. But I was overruled, as I always am. Poor dear child! And now Mr. Bennet is gone away, and I know he will fight Wickham wherever he meets him. 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. If you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do."

They all cried out against such dreadful thoughts. Mr. Gardiner told her that he loved her and her whole family, and then said that he would go to London the very next day. He would give Mr. Bennet every help in every effort to recover Lydia.

"Do not give way to useless fear," he added. "It is right to prepare for the worst. But there is no need to look upon it as certain. It is not yet a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more we may hear something of them. Until we know that they are not married and have no plan to marry, let us not give the matter up as lost. As soon as I get to London, I will go to my brother and make him come home with me to Gracechurch Street. Then we can talk over together what should be done."

"Oh, my dear brother," Mrs. Bennet answered, "that is exactly what I most wish for. When you get to London, find the two of them out, wherever they may be. If they are not married already, make them marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that. Tell Lydia that she shall have as much money as she chooses to buy them with, once they are married. Above all, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in. Tell him that I am frightened out of my senses, and that I tremble and flutter all over. I have such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such a beating at my heart that I can get no rest by night or by day. And tell my dear Lydia not to order any clothes until she has seen me. She does not know which are the best shops. Oh, brother, how kind you are! I know you will manage it all."

Mr. Gardiner promised again that he would work at the business in earnest. Still, he could not help advising her to be moderate both in her hopes and in her fears. They talked with her in this way until dinner was on the table. Then Mrs. Bennet was left with the housekeeper, who had waited on her while her daughters were away. To that housekeeper she could pour out all her feelings freely.

Her brother and his wife thought that she had no real reason to keep herself apart from the family. Even so, they did not try to stop her. She was not careful enough to hold her tongue before the servants who waited at table. So they judged it better that only one person of the household, and the most trustworthy one, should know all her fears and all her worries.

Mary and Kitty soon joined them in the dining room. The two of them had been too busy in their separate rooms to come earlier. One came from her books, the other from her dressing table. The faces of both, however, were fairly calm. Only Kitty spoke in a rather sharper voice than usual, for she had lost her favorite sister and had been scolded over this business herself. Mary was quite in command of herself. Not long after they were all seated at the table, she was calm enough to whisper to Elizabeth, with a serious face.

"This is a most unhappy affair, and people will very likely talk a great deal about it. But we must stand firm against the wave of malice. And we must pour the healing oil of a sister's comfort into each other's wounded hearts."

When she saw that Elizabeth had no wish at all to answer, Mary added, "However unhappy this event may be for Lydia, we may draw a lesson from it. It is this: that a woman who loses her chastity can never win it back, that one false step leads her into ruin without end, and that her honor is as easily broken as it is beautiful. She cannot be too careful in the way she behaves toward men who do not deserve her."

Elizabeth raised her eyes in astonishment. But her heart was too heavy for her to say anything. Mary went on comforting herself by drawing such moral lessons out of the misfortune before them.

In the afternoon the two eldest daughters were able to be alone together for half an hour. Elizabeth asked every kind of question at once. Jane was just as eager to answer. They grieved together over the dreadful end of this business. Elizabeth held that end to be almost certain. Jane could not declare it wholly impossible. Then Elizabeth said, "But tell me everything I have not heard yet. Leave nothing out and give me every detail. What did Colonel Forster say? Had they no suspicion of anything before the two of them ran away? They must have seen them together again and again."

"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some liking, especially on Lydia's side. But he saw nothing in it to be alarmed about. My heart aches when I think of him. He behaved with the greatest care and kindness. He was already coming to us, to tell us of his concern, before he had any thought that they might not have gone to Scotland. When that fear first spread, it made him hurry his journey."

"Was Denny certain that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of their plan to run away? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?"

"Yes. But when the colonel questioned him, Denny said that he knew nothing of their plan. He would not give his own real opinion about it. He did not repeat his certainty that they would not marry. So I begin to hope that what he said before may have been wrongly reported."

"And until Colonel Forster came himself, I suppose none of you doubted that the two of them would really be married?"

"How could such a thought ever come into our heads? I felt a little uneasy, a little afraid of my sister's happiness with him in marriage, because I knew that Mr. Wickham's conduct had not always been quite right. Our father and mother knew nothing of that, and they only felt how rash such a marriage would be. Then Kitty spoke out, with a very natural pride in knowing more than the rest of us. She said that in her last letter Lydia had given her a hint that she might take such a step. It seems Kitty had known that the two of them were in love with each other for many weeks."

"But not before they went to Brighton?"

"No, I believe not."

"Did Colonel Forster seem to think ill of Wickham himself? Does he know what his real character is?"

"I must own that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he had before. He thought him rash and wasteful with money. And since this sad affair happened, it is said that he left many debts behind him when he left Meryton. But I hope this may be false."

"Oh, Jane. If we had been less secret and had told what we knew about him, this would not have happened!"

"Perhaps it would have been better," her sister answered.

"But it did not seem right to lay open a person's past faults when we did not know what his present feelings were."

"We acted with the best of intentions."

"Could Colonel Forster tell you in detail what was in the note Lydia left for his wife?"

"He brought it with him for us to see."

Jane then took the note out of her pocketbook and gave it to Elizabeth. It ran like this.

"My dear Harriet,

"You will laugh when you know where I have gone. I cannot help laughing myself at the thought of your surprise tomorrow morning, when you find that I am missing. I am going to Gretna Green. If you cannot guess who I am going with, you are a great fool. There is only one man in the world that I love. He is an angel. I could never be happy without him, so do not think it wrong of me to run away. You need not send word to Longbourn that I have gone, if you do not wish to. It will make the surprise all the greater when I write to them myself and sign my name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Please make my apologies to Mr. Pratt for not keeping my promise to dance with him tonight. Tell him that I hope he will forgive me when he knows everything. Tell him too that I will dance with him with great pleasure when we meet at the next ball. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn. But I wish you would tell Sally to mend the great tear in my embroidered muslin gown before they are packed up. Goodbye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our safe journey.

"Your affectionate friend,

"Lydia Bennet."

"Oh, thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!" Elizabeth cried when she had finished it. "What a letter this is, to be written at such a time! But it does show at least that she was serious about the purpose of her journey. Whatever he may have talked her into afterwards, she planned nothing shameful on her own side. Our poor father! How he must have felt when he read it!"

"I never saw anyone so shocked. He could not speak a word for a full ten minutes. Our mother was taken ill at once, and the whole house was in confusion!"

"Oh, Jane," Elizabeth cried, "was there a single servant in the house who did not know the whole story before that day was over?"

"I do not know. I hope there was. But it is very hard to be careful with words at such a time. Our mother was thrown into hysterics. I tried to give her all the help I could, but I am afraid I did not do as much as I might have done. The horror of what might happen took away almost all my power of thought."

"Your care of her has been too much for you. You do not look well. Oh, that I had been with you! You have carried every care and every worry by yourself."

"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and I am sure they would have shared any work with me gladly. But I did not think it right to lay it on either of them. Kitty is slight and delicate, and Mary studies so much that her hours of rest should not be broken in upon. Aunt Philips came to Longbourn on the Tuesday after our father left, and she was kind enough to stay with us until Thursday. She was a great help and comfort to us all. Lady Lucas was very kind too. She walked over on Wednesday morning to comfort us, and she offered the service of herself or of any of her daughters, if it could be of any use to us."

"She had better have stayed at home," cried Elizabeth. "She may have meant well, but in a misfortune like this one cannot see too little of one's neighbors. Help is out of the question, and comfort is not to be borne. Let them triumph over us from a distance, and let that satisfy them."

Then Elizabeth asked what steps her father had meant to take in London to get his daughter back.

"I believe," Jane answered, "he meant to go to Epsom, the place where they last changed horses, to see the men who had driven them and to try whether anything could be learned from them. The great thing is to find out the number of the hired carriage that took them up at Clapham. It had come from London with a fare. He thought that someone might have noticed a gentleman and a lady changing from one carriage into another, so he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could find out in any way at what house the coachman had set down his earlier fare, he could ask questions there. He hoped it might not be impossible to find out the stand the carriage belonged to and its number as well. I do not know what other plans he had made. He went away in such a hurry, and his mind was in such disorder, that it was hard to get even this much from him."