Darcy's Diary (17 page)

I went to the inn, therefore, this morning, hoping to sit with her. I was shown up to the parlour by the servant. As we went upstairs I wondered what expression would cross her face when I entered the room. By that, I might know much. A smile would show I was welcome. Embarrassment would give me leave to hope. A cold look would dash me completely.

The door opened. But instead of seeing Elizabeth sitting with her aunt,
I saw her darting towards the door, her face pale and her manner agitated. I started, thinking some great calamity must have befallen her to produce such a look, but before I had a chance to speak she turned anguished eyes to mine and exclaimed: ‘I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose.'

‘Good God! What is the matter?' I asked, longing to be of service to her. As soon as the words were out, I knew how unhelpful they had been. Collecting myself, I said: ‘Let me, or let the servant, go after Mr Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.'

‘Oh, yes, the servant.' She called him back and said breathlessly: ‘You must find my uncle. Fetch him at once. It is a matter of the utmost urgency. Send a boy. Tell him his niece needs him immediately. Tell my aunt. She must come, too.'

The servant promised to do so, and left the room.

I saw Elizabeth's knees tremble and I moved forward, ready to lend her my assistance, but she sat down before I could reach her, looking so miserably ill that I could not have left her, even if I had wanted to.

‘Let me call your maid,' I said gently, feeling suddenly useless. I knew nothing about helping ladies in such circumstances. A sudden thought hit me. ‘A glass of wine, shall I fetch you one?'

‘No, I thank you,' she said. I saw her wrestle with herself and control the worst of her agitation. ‘I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.'

She burst into tears. I longed to go to her and comfort her. I longed to put my arms around her and ease her pain. But I could do nothing. For the first time in my life I cursed civility, good manners and breeding. They had always seemed so important to me, but they now seemed valueless because they were keeping me from Elizabeth.

A moment longer and I believe I would have thrown convention to the wind, but she recovered herself and said; ‘I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. My youngest sister has left all her friends – has eloped – has thrown herself into the power of – of Mr Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton.
You
know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him – she is lost for ever.'

I could not believe what I was hearing. This was perfidy indeed. To steal a young girl away from her relatives and friends. And yet he had done it before, or at least he had tried to do it and would have succeeded if he had not been foiled in the attempt.

‘When I consider that
I
might have prevented it!
I
who knew what he was,' she said.

No
, I wanted to say.
You are not to blame. I should have made his nature
known
. But the words were pouring out of her in a torrent, and I could do nothing but let her speak. At last, her flow came to an end.

‘But is it certain, absolutely certain?' I asked.

News travels fast, especially bad news, but it is often distorted along the way. I could not think that Wickham would elope with Miss Lydia Bennet. She had nothing to tempt him, and he had no score to settle with the Bennets. He must know that such behaviour would make him an outcast. It was too great a price to pay for the pleasure of marrying a silly young girl with no name and no fortune. And then, indeed, how could he marry her? She was under age. He could take her to Gretna Green but the journey would cost a great deal, and I knew he would not spend half that amount unless his bride was a considerable heiress.

‘They left Brighton together on Saturday night and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland.'

I began to gain an idea of what must have happened. Wickham knew London. He knew where he could lie concealed. And when he had taken his pleasure, he could abandon Miss Lydia Bennet with impunity.

All this had followed from my insufferable pride. If I had made Wickham's character known it could not have happened, but I had disdained to do it, and in consequence I had hurt the woman I loved.

‘What has been done, what has been attempted to recover her?' I asked.

I needed to know, so that I would understand how best to use my time, and how to conduct my own search. I would not rest until Elizabeth's sister was returned to her.

‘My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour.'

Half an hour! After all my hopes, to lose Elizabeth so soon, but of course it must 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 horrible!'

I could say nothing, do nothing, but give her my silent sympathy and hoped it strengthened her. I longed to embrace her, but her uncle would be returning at any minute, and to do so would make the situation worse.

‘When my eyes were opened to his real character. Oh! Had I known what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not. I was afraid of doing too much Wretched, wretched mistake!'

I knew she must be wanting me gone. It was I who had enjoined her to secrecy; I who had said she must tell no one. And this had been the result. A sister ruined, a family in turmoil…. She would not look at me. I was not surprised. I managed a few incoherent words, telling her I had nothing
to plead in excuse of my stay but concern.

‘This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley today?'

As soon as I spoken, I thought how ridiculous the words were. Of course it would prevent it. She did not seem to mind, however, for she answered me directly.

‘Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long.'

‘You can rely on my secrecy. I am sorry it had come to this – I wish you a happier conclusion to events than now seems possible.'

Because if a happy conclusion is possible, I will contrive it somehow, I thought.

With that I left her to her solitude and returned to Pemberley.

‘You have been abroad early,' said Caroline as I entered the saloon. ‘You have been visiting Miss Eliza Bennet, perhaps?'

I saw the jealousy in her eyes, and heard it in her voice. I had never realized until that moment how deeply she wanted me. Or perhaps it would be fairer to say, how deeply she wanted Pemberley. Without it, she would have regarded me as nothing. My handwriting could have been the most even in the world and she would not have thought fit to comment on it.

‘Yes, I have,' I returned.

‘And how is she this morning?'

‘She is very well.'

‘And we will be seeing her later, I suppose? How these country people bore one with their visits.'

‘No, she will not be calling.'

‘Not bad news from home, I hope?' asked Caroline. ‘Lydia Bennet has not run off with one of the officers?'

I started, but then controlled myself. She could not have heard about it. Elizabeth had told no one but myself. Caroline's words were the result of spite, and their accuracy was nothing more than luck.

‘Or perhaps her
accomplished
sister – Mary, is it not? – visited Lydia in Brighton and attracted the attention of the Prince of Wales? Perhaps he has invited the whole family to stay with him, so that they can share in Mary's triumph as she entertains him at the Marine Pavilion,' she said in a droll voice.

‘Her uncle has had to take her home. He has been forced to curtail his holiday, as an urgent business matter has called him back to London.'

‘These city men and their urgent business,' said Caroline, conveniently forgetting, as is her habit, that her father made his fortune from trade.

‘That is what comes of having an uncle in Cheapside,' said Louisa. ‘I
pity Miss Eliza Bennet. It must be mortifying to have to cut short a holiday on account of business.'

‘It reminds me that I, too, have business, to attend to, which I have neglected for too long,' I said shortly. ‘You will excuse me for a few days, I am sure.'

‘You are going to London?' asked Bingley.

‘Yes.'

‘What a good idea. I should love a few days in London,' said Caroline.

‘In all this heat?' asked Louisa.

‘The heat is nothing,' she said.

‘Can your business not wait?' said Bingley to me. ‘I have to go to London myself at the end of the month. We could go together.'

‘Unfortunately it is urgent. Stay and enjoy Pemberley. There is plenty for you to do here, and my sister will make sure you are well looked after. I will not be away very long.'

‘I think I will take advantage of the opportunity to go to London with you and do some shopping,' said Caroline, standing up. ‘I will call in on my dressmaker. You would not object to taking me with you in the carriage, I am sure.'

‘You will not wish to leave Georgiana,' I said. ‘I know how much you enjoy her company.'

Caroline was silenced. She quite doted on Georgiana, or so she was fond of saying, and she could not pursue me without revealing her friendship to be false. She might betray Miss Bennet, but she would not care to betray Georgiana, particularly since I knew a plan fermented in her brain, similar to one I had once entertained, of Georgiana becoming her sister-in-law.

I felt a moment of compunction for abandoning my sister to such ill-natured company, but reflected that she would have her music and sketching to occupy her, and would have Bingley to amuse her, as well as Mrs Annesley, so that she would not be too sorely tried. Besides, I had no choice. I must find Wickham and repair the damage he had done.

I wanted to leave straight away, but various preparations had to be made, and I resolved to leave first thing in the morning.

I arrived in London today and I knew where to start my search: with Mrs Younge. It was fortunate that I had turned her off without giving her a chance to pack her bags, because it meant that she had had to leave an
address to which they could be sent. I found it soon enough, a large house in Edward Street.

‘Mr Darcy!' she said in astonishment when she opened the door. Then she became wary. ‘What are you doing here? If it is to accuse me of taking the silver serving-spoons when I left Ramsgate, then it is a lie. I never touched them. I had my suspicions of Watkins—'

‘My visit has nothing to do with serving-spoons,' I said, grateful that this was one domestic trouble I had been spared. ‘May I come in?'

‘No, you may not,' she said, drawing herself up and pulling her shawl about her shoulders. ‘It's lucky I have a roof over my head after you turned me off so cruelly, without even a reference. I had nowhere to go—'

‘But you seem to have done well for yourself,' I remarked. ‘Tell me, Mrs Younge, how did you afford to take a house like this?'

She licked her lips. ‘I was left a legacy,' she said. ‘And a good thing I was, after—'

‘I am looking for George Wickham,' I said, not wanting to waste any more time on listening to her lies and deciding it would be useless to try and persuade her to let me in.

She looked surprised. ‘Mr Wickham?'

‘Yes. George Wickham.'

She became tight-lipped. ‘I haven't seen him,' she said.

It was obvious she was lying, but I knew I would get no more from her for the present.

‘Tell him I am looking for him. I will call back later. Good day.'

I knew that, eventually, greed would compel her to seek me out. And with that I returned to Darcy House.

Mrs Younge came to see me this morning, as I knew she would.

‘You said you were looking for Mr Wickham?' she asked, as my butler showed her in.

‘I am.'

‘I know where he is. I happened to meet him by chance in the park yesterday,' she said. ‘I mentioned that you were in town, and he said he would be delighted if you would call on him.'

He thinks he can extract money from me, no doubt.

‘Very good. What is his address?'

‘Well, now, let me think. It was a funny name,' she said, holding out her hand.

I put a sovereign into it.

‘If I can just remember it.'

It took me five sovereigns, but at last I found out what I wanted to know.

I went immediately to the address she had given me, and found that Wickham was expecting me.

‘My dear Darcy,' he said, looking up at my entrance. ‘How good of you to find time to visit me.'

I looked around his lodgings. They were small and mean, and told me his situation must be desperate. I was pleased, as I knew it would make him more compliant.

‘Do sit down,' he said.

‘I prefer to stand.'

‘As you wish'

He himself sat down and lolled in his chair, resting his legs over the arm.

‘What brings you here?' he asked, smiling up at me.

‘You know what brings me.'

‘I confess I am at a loss. You have decided to give me a living, perhaps, and have come to tell me the good news?'

His insolence angered me, but I kept my temper.

‘I have come to tell you what your own conscience should have told you, that you should never have abducted Miss Bennet.'

‘Miss Bennet?' he asked, feigning astonishment. ‘But I have not seen Miss Bennet. I have been in Brighton, and she remained at Longbourn.'

‘Miss Lydia Bennet.'