Ring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear,
dear Lydia! -- How merry we shall be together when we meet!"
Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some relief to the violence of these
transports, by leading her thoughts to the obligations which Mr. Gardiner's behaviour
laid them all under.
"For we must attribute this happy conclusion," she added, "in a great measure
to his kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham
"Well," cried her mother, "it is all very right; who should do it but her own
uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children must have had all
his money, you know, and it is the first time we have ever had any thing from him,
except a few presents. Well! I am so happy. In a short time, I shall have a daughter
married. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds.
And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in such a flutter that
I am sure I can't write; so I will dictate, and you write for me. We will settle
with your father about the money afterwards; but the things should be ordered immediately."
She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin, and cambric,
and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders, had not Jane, though
with some difficulty, persuaded her to wait till her father was at leisure to be
consulted. One day's delay, she observed, would be of small importance; and her
mother was too happy to be quite so obstinate as usual. Other schemes, too, came
into her head.
"I will go to Meryton," said she, "as soon as I am dressed, and tell the good,
good news to my sister Phillips. And as I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and
Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage. An airing would do me a great
deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do any thing for you in Meryton?
Oh! here comes Hill. My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is
going to be married; and you shall all have a bowl of punch to make merry at her
Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy. Elizabeth received her congratulations
amongst the rest, and then, sick of this folly, took refuge in her own room, that
she might think with freedom.
Poor Lydia's situation must, at best, be bad enough; but that it was no worse,
she had need to be thankful. She felt it so; and though, in looking forward, neither
rational happiness nor worldly prosperity could be justly expected for her sister,
in looking back to what they had feared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages
of what they had gained.
<CHAPTER VIII (50)>
MR. BENNET had very often wished, before this period of his life, that, instead
of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum for the better provision
of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. He now wished it more than
ever. Had he done his duty in that respect, Lydia need not have been indebted to
her uncle for whatever of honour or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction
of prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be her
husband might then have rested in its proper place.
He was seriously concerned that a cause of so little advantage to any one should
be forwarded at the sole expence of his brother-in-law, and he was determined, if
possible, to find out the extent of his assistance, and to discharge the obligation
as soon as he could.
When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless;
for, of course, they were to have a son.
This son was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age,
and the widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters
successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for
many years after Lydia's birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at
last been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no
turn for economy, and her husband's love of independence had alone prevented their
exceeding their income.
Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and the
children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst the latter depended
on the will of the parents. This was one point, with regard to Lydia at least, which
was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet could have no hesitation in acceding to the
proposal before him. In terms of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his
brother, though expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect
approbation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfil the engagements
that had been made for him. He had never before supposed that, could Wickham be
prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be done with so little inconvenience
to himself as by the present arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a year
the loser, by the hundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and
pocket allowance, and the continual presents in money which passed to her through
her mother's hands, Lydia's expences had been very little within that sum.
That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was another
very welcome surprise; for his chief wish at present was to have as little trouble
in the business as possible. When the first transports of rage which had produced
his activity in seeking her were over, he naturally returned to all his former indolence.
His letter was soon dispatched; for though dilatory in undertaking business, he
was quick in its execution. He begged to know farther particulars of what he was
indebted to his brother; but was too angry with Lydia to send any message to her.
The good news quickly spread through the house; and with proportionate speed
through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the latter with decent philosophy. To
be sure, it would have been more for the advantage of conversation, had Miss Lydia
Bennet come upon the town; or, as the happiest alternative, been secluded from the
world in some distant farm house.
But there was much to be talked of in marrying her; and the good-natured wishes
for her well-doing, which had proceeded before from all the spiteful old ladies
in Meryton, lost but little of their spirit in this change of circumstances, because
with such an husband, her misery was considered certain.
It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been down stairs, but on this happy
day she again took her seat at the head of her table, and in spirits oppressively
high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her triumph. The marriage of a daughter,
which had been the first object of her wishes since Jane was sixteen, was now on
the point of accomplishment, and her thoughts and her words ran wholly on those
attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and servants. She was
busily searching through the neighbourhood for a "proper situation"
for her daughter, and, without knowing or considering what their income might
be, rejected many as deficient in size and importance.
"Haye-Park might do," said she, "if the Gouldings would quit it, or the great
house at Stoke, if the drawing-room were larger; but Ashworth is too far off! I
could not bear to have her ten miles from me; and as for Purvis Lodge, the attics
Her husband allowed her to talk on without interruption while the servants remained.
But when they had withdrawn, he said to her, "Mrs. Bennet, before you take any or
all of these houses for your son and daughter, let us come to a right understanding.
Into one house in this neighbourhood, they shall never have admittance. I will not
encourage the impudence of either by receiving them at Longbourn."
A long dispute followed this declaration, but Mr. Bennet was firm; it soon led
to another, and Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror, that her husband would
not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter. He protested that she should
receive from him no mark of affection whatever on the occasion. Mrs. Bennet could
hardly comprehend it. That his anger could be carried to such a point of inconceivable
resentment, as to refuse his daughter a privilege without which her marriage would
scarcely seem valid, exceeded all that she could believe possible. She was more
alive to the disgrace which the want of new clothes must reflect on her daughter's
nuptials, than to any sense of shame at her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight
before they took place.
Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of the
moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted with their fears for her sister; for
since her marriage would so shortly give the proper termination to the elopement,
they might hope to conceal its unfavourable beginning from all those who were not
immediately on the spot.
She had no fear of its spreading farther through his means.
There were few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended;
but at the same time, there was no one whose knowledge of a sister's frailty would
have mortified her so much. Not, however, from any fear of disadvantage from it
individually to herself; for at any rate, there seemed a gulf impassable between
them. Had Lydia's marriage been concluded on the most honourable terms, it was not
to be supposed that Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a family where, to every
other objection would now be added an alliance and relationship of the nearest kind
with the man whom he so justly scorned.