It may be easily believed that, however little of novelty could be added
to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting subject by its repeated
discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during the whole of the journey.
From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never absent. Fixed there by the keenest of
all anguish, self-reproach, she could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness.
They travelled as expeditiously as possible; and, sleeping one night on the road,
reached Longbourn by dinner-time the next day. It was a comfort to Elizabeth to
consider that Jane could not have been wearied by long expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise, were standing on the
steps of the house as they entered the paddock; and when the carriage drove up to
the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their faces, and displayed itself
over their whole bodies in a variety of capers and frisks, was the first pleasing
earnest of their welcome.
Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them an hasty kiss, hurried into
the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down stairs from her mother's apartment,
immediately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the eyes of
both, lost not a moment in asking whether any thing had been heard of the fugitives.
"Not yet," replied Jane. "But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope every thing
will be well."
"Is my father in town?"
"Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you word."
"And have you heard from him often?"
"We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday, to say that he
had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions, which I particularly begged
him to do.
He merely added that he should not write again till he had something of importance
"And my mother -- How is she? How are you all?"
"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly shaken.
She is up stairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing you all. She does not
yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank Heaven! are quite well."
"But you -- How are you?" cried Elizabeth. "You look pale.
How much you must have gone through!"
Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well; and their conversation,
which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were engaged with their children,
was now put an end to by the approach of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle
and aunt, and welcomed and thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.
When they were all in the drawing room, the questions which Elizabeth had already
asked were of course repeated by the others, and they soon found that Jane had no
intelligence to give. The sanguine hope of good, however, which the benevolence
of her heart suggested, had not yet deserted her; she still expected that it would
all end well, and that every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia
or her father, to explain their proceedings, and perhaps announce the marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes conversation
together, received them exactly as might be expected; with tears and lamentations
of regret, invectives against the villainous conduct of Wickham, and complaints
of her own sufferings and ill usage; blaming every body but the person to whose
ill-judging indulgence the errors of her daughter must be principally owing.
"If I had been able," said she, "to carry my point of going to Brighton, with
all my family, this would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia had nobody to
take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out of their sight? I am
sure there was some great neglect or other on their side, for she is not the kind
of girl to do such a thing, if she had been well looked after. I always thought
they were very unfit to have the charge of her; but I was over-ruled, as I always
am. Poor dear child! And now here's Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight
Wickham wherever he meets him, and 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; and if
you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do."
They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas; and Mr.
Gardiner, after general assurances of his affection for her and all her family,
told her that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr. Bennet
in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.
"Do not give way to useless alarm," added he; "though it is right to be prepared
for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain. It is not quite a
week since they left Brighton. In a few days more, we may gain some news of them,
and till we know that they are not married, and have no design of marrying, do not
let us give the matter over as lost. As soon as I get to town, I shall go to my
brother and make him come home with me to Gracechurch Street, and then we may consult
together as to what is to be done."
"Oh! my dear brother," replied Mrs. Bennet, "that is exactly what I could most
wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out, wherever they may be;
and if they are not married already, make them marry. And as for wedding clothes,
do not let them wait for that, but tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she
chuses to buy them, after they are married.
And, above all things, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting. Tell him what a dreadful
state I am in, -- that I am frightened out of my wits; and have such tremblings,
such flutterings all over me such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such
beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear
Lydia, not to give any directions about her clothes till she has seen me, for she
does not know which are the best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind you are! I know
you will contrive it all."
But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours in the
cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well in her hopes as her
fears; and, after talking with her in this manner till dinner was on table, they
left her to vent all her feelings on the housekeeper, who attended in the absence
of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real occasion
for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to oppose it, for they
knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her tongue before the servants while
they waited at table, and judged it better that one only of the household, and
the one whom they could most trust, should comprehend all her fears and solicitude
on the subject.
In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been too
busily engaged in their separate apartments, to make their appearance before. One
came from her books, and the other from her toilette. The faces of both, however,
were tolerably calm; and no change was visible in either, except that the loss of
her favourite sister, or the anger which she had herself incurred in the business,
had given something more of fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for
Mary, she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance
of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table, "This is a most unfortunate
affair; and will probably be much talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice,
and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of sisterly consolation."
Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added, "Unhappy
as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson: that loss
of virtue in a female is irretrievable -- that one false step involves her in endless
ruin -- that her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful, -- and that
she cannot be too much guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to make
any reply. Mary, however, continued to console herself with such kind of moral extractions
from the evil before them.
In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets were able to be for half an hour
by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed herself of the opportunity of making
many enquiries, which Jane was equally eager to satisfy. After joining in general
lamentations over the dreadful sequel of this event, which Elizabeth considered
as all but certain, and Miss Bennet could not assert to be wholly impossible, the
former continued the subject by saying, "But tell me all and every thing about it
which I have not already heard. Give me farther particulars.
What did Colonel Forster say? Had they no apprehension of any thing before the
elopement took place? They must have seen them together for ever."
"Colonel Forster did own that he had often suspected some partiality, especially
on Lydia's side, but nothing to give him any alarm. I am so grieved for him. His
behaviour was attentive and kind to the utmost. He was coming to us, in order to
assure us of his concern, before he had any idea of their not being gone to Scotland;
when that apprehension first got abroad, it hastened his journey."
"And was Denny convinced that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of their intending
to go off? Had Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?"
"Yes; but when questioned by him, Denny denied knowing any thing of their plan,
and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not repeat his persuasion of
their not marrying -- and from that, I am inclined to hope, he might have been