Gay Pride and Prejudice (34 page)

As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than the last; and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long, was not long enough to determine her feelings towards
one
in that mansion; and she lay awake two whole hours endeavouring to make them out. She certainly did not hate Caroline. No; hatred had vanished long ago, and she had almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against her. The respect created by the conviction of her valuable qualities, though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some time ceased to be repugnant to her feelings; and it was now heightened into somewhat of a friendlier nature, by the amiability the lady had displayed on meeting again. But above all, above respect and esteem, there was a feeling within her of gratitude; gratitude, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of Elizabeth’s manner in rejecting her, and all the unjust accusations accompanying that rejection. She who, Elizabeth had been persuaded, would avoid her as her greatest enemy, seemed, on this accidental meeting, content to preserve the acquaintance, and without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion of her friends, and seemed bent on making her better known to her own. Elizabeth respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to Caroline, she felt a real interest in the lady’s welfare; and she only wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and how far it would be for the happiness of both that she should employ the power, which her fancy told her she still possessed, of bringing on her the renewal of Caroline’s addresses.

It had been settled in the evening between the aunt and the niece, that such a striking civility as Miss Darcy’s in coming to see them on the very day of her arrival at Pemberley, for she had reached it only to a late breakfast, ought to be imitated, though it could not be equaled, by some exertion of politeness on their side; and, consequently, that it would be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the following morning. They were, therefore, to go. Elizabeth was pleased; though when she asked herself the reason, she had very little to say in reply.

Chapter Forty-Five

I
N THE MORNING, UPON REACHING
P
EMBERLEY,
Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner were shown through the hall into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows opening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts which were scattered over the intermediate lawn.

In this house they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there with Mrs. Annesley, the lady with whom she lived in London, and Miss Bingley. Georgiana’s reception of them was very civil, but attended with all the embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the fear of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior the belief of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner and her niece, however, did her justice, and pitied her.

By Miss Bingley they were noticed by a polite curtsey; and, on ascertaining the coolness in the lady’s regard, Elizabeth wondered if she might not have been mistaken in her thoughts the previous evening. On their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pauses must always be, succeeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a genteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind of discourse proved her to be more truly well-bred than either of the others; and between her and Mrs. Gardiner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage enough to join in it; and sometimes did venture a short sentence when there was least danger of its being heard.

After a few minutes, Elizabeth steeled herself and said to Caroline: “Mr. Darcy tells me your sister has returned home for the summer.”

At this, Caroline’s coolness waned, and she smiled a little. “My sister allowed herself to be convinced that her attentions were needed elsewhere, and so she left my brother and I to one another’s charge.”

“Indeed.” Elizabeth inclined her head. “I must offer congratulations, then, on achieving a goal close to your heart.”

Caroline looked quickly at Miss Darcy, who appeared occupied in pouring more tea for the gathered party.

Elizabeth lowered her voice. “She does not know?”

“Not of my situation.”

“And her brother?”

Caroline’s brow furrowed briefly. “What of him?”

“Does he know of your situation?”

“Oh. Yes, he knows all.” And here she fixed a serious look upon Elizabeth, a faint frown still darkening her countenance.

Elizabeth was saved from the need to say anything further by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the finest fruits in season; but this did not take place till after many a significant look and smile from Mrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been given, to remind her of her post. There was now employment for the whole party—for though they could not all talk, they could all eat; and the beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches soon collected them round the table.

While the ladies were thus engaged, Mr. Darcy and a gentleman Elizabeth did not recognize entered the room. They were laughing as they came in, Darcy’s hand on the other man’s shoulder, and Elizabeth was struck by the sense of ease apparent in the master of the house, his very real happiness evident as he introduced his friend to the party. Monsieur de Laurent, a handsome man with delicate features and a warm smile, was an intimate friend with whom Darcy had only recently been reunited in London, where the Frenchman had been forced to flee to avoid the trouble on the continent. Elizabeth, watching them together, began to entreat suspicions of her own, much along the line of those of her aunt and uncle; though with a far different pairing in mind.

Darcy, unlike previous occasions in Elizabeth’s experience, proved most talkative as the two men joined the party. He and his friend had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, who, with two or three other gentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river; and they had left the fishermen only upon learning that the ladies of the family intended a visit to Georgiana that morning. No sooner did Darcy appear than Caroline glanced from him to Elizabeth, her expression seeming marked by the very opposite humour from his. Elizabeth, who could not account for Miss Bingley’s vagaries of temperament, resolved to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed; a resolution the more necessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily kept. Miss Darcy, on her brother’s entrance, exerted herself much more to talk, and Elizabeth saw that he seemed to be encouraging his sister to get better acquainted with her, and helpfully forwarded every attempt at conversation on either side. Miss Bingley saw all this likewise; and, Elizabeth noted, grew more thoughtful as the visit wore on. After a few minutes, Monsieur de Laurent pulled Caroline to one side and engaged her in what Elizabeth felt to be a remarkably familiar manner; causing Elizabeth, similarly, to become more pensive than social.

While she was trying not to watch Caroline in her tête-à-tête with the Frenchman, Elizabeth overheard her aunt mention to Mrs. Annesley, with whom she had been discussing the fighting between Napoleon and what seemed to be nearly the entirety of the world, that the ——shire Militia had recently stayed some months in Meryton, where Elizabeth’s family made their home.

Elizabeth felt a blush steal across her face at this reminder of her younger sisters’ “vulgar behavior,” as Caroline had termed it in her letter. An involuntary glance showed her Miss Darcy also with a heightened complexion, overcome with confusion and unable to lift up her eyes. Caroline was looking at the young lady, too, with a look of such pity that Elizabeth immediately knew her suspicions of Wickham’s behavior toward the girl to be accurate. Mrs. Annesley’s quick change of topic further underscored the exactness of her suppositions, while Mrs. Gardiner appeared not to notice the veer away from territory she could have no idea was fraught with danger. After a moment, Caroline seemed to become aware that Elizabeth was watching Georgiana, and her eyes grew a bit darker as her mind supplied her with the cause of this observation. Elizabeth’s collected behaviour, however, soon quieted Miss Bingley’s anxiety; and as the conversation turned to lighter things, Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able to speak any more.

Their visit did not continue long after this episode; and when it came time to take their leave, Caroline gave Elizabeth a bow and a slight smile that had the latter smiling in return and clasping her hand in real affection for a moment, before releasing her fingers quickly and turning away. The memory of Hunsford Parsonage again intruding, Elizabeth fixed her attention on Mr. Darcy, his sister, and the Frenchman, treating them rather more warmly than she might have otherwise. The last thing she wished for was to stir up any remembrance of hurt in Caroline, which she must do if she appeared to encourage her previous attachment after so cruelly rejecting her—even if rejection was no longer such a fixture in her own mind.

Caroline, meanwhile, lingering in the saloon afterward, could not help saying to Georgiana: “How very pretty Miss Eliza looks this morning. She is quite altered since the winter, and not a little brown from her summertime travels under the sun. But I find it brings a glow of health to her features, contrary to the general opinion.”

Smiling at her affectionately, Georgiana, who, like her brother, was far more at ease in the company of intimates, said: “You would think so, would you not?” with a pertness that brought a smile of surprise to the lips of her companion. Perhaps Georgiana was not as innocent or unaware as she seemed, after all.

Caroline saw Mrs. Annesley eyeing them curiously, and said quickly, “Well, of course—I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how when we all discovered that she was a reputed beauty, the general consensus was in agreement. But I particularly recollect your brother saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, ‘
She
a beauty! I should as soon call her mother a wit.’ But afterwards she seemed to improve on him, and I believe even he thought her rather pretty at one time.”

Georgiana lifted an eyebrow. “‘Rather pretty’? A compliment, indeed, coming from my brother.”

“Indeed,” echoed Caroline, and looked toward the window, where sunlight poured in unobstructed.

Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their visit, as they returned, except what had particularly interested the latter. The look and behaviour of everybody they had seen were discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged Elizabeth’s attention. They talked of Darcy’s sister, Mrs. Annesley, Mr. Darcy and Monsieur de Laurent, the house, the food—of everything but Miss Bingley; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of her, and Mrs. Gardiner would not have been alarmed by her niece’s beginning the subject, given her misplaced suspicions of Elizabeth’s affections.

Chapter Forty-Six

E
LIZABETH HAD BEEN A GOOD DEAL DISAPPOINTED
in not finding a letter from Jane on their first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there; but on the third her repining was over, and her sister justified, by the receipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been missent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.

They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and her uncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. The one missent must first be attended to; it had been written five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their little parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect:

“Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I that we never let them know what has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written.”

Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this letter instantly seized the other, written a day after the first, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows:

“By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter; I wish this may be more intelligible, but though not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as the marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia’s short letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set off from B. intending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no further; for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney coach, and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after this is, that they were seen to continue the London road. I know not what to think. After making every possible inquiry on that side London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success—no such people had been seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F., but no one can throw any blame on them. Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it more eligible for them to be married privately in town than to pursue their first plan; and even if
he
could form such a design against a young woman of Lydia’s connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to everything? Impossible! I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother is really ill, and keeps her room. Could she exert herself, it would be better; but this is not to be expected. And as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes; but now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu! I take up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not; but circumstances are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. My father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her. What he means to do I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again to-morrow evening. In such an exigency, my uncle’s advice and assistance would be everything in the world; he will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness.”