It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment from
which she had been so wholly free at first.
Her ease and good spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs.
Phillips, the Lucases, and all their other neighbours, and to hear herself called
"Mrs. Wickham" by each of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner to shew
her ring, and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.
"Well, mamma," said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast room, "and
what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I am sure my sisters
must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck. They must all go
to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did
not all go."
"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia, I don't at all
like your going such a way off. Must it be so?"
"Oh, lord! yes; -- there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all things. You
and papa, and my sisters, must come down and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all
the winter, and I dare say there will be some balls, and I will take care to get
good partners for them all."
"I should like it beyond any thing!" said her mother.
"And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters behind you;
and I dare say I shall get husbands for them before the winter is over."
"I thank you for my share of the favour," said Elizabeth; "but I do not particularly
like your way of getting husbands."
Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them.
Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left London, and he was to
join his regiment at the end of a fortnight.
No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would be so short; and she made
the most of the time by visiting about with her daughter, and having very frequent
parties at home. These parties were acceptable to all; to avoid a family circle
was even more desirable to such as did think, than such as did not.
Wickham's affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected to find it;
not equal to Lydia's for him. She had scarcely needed her present observation to
be satisfied, from the reason of things, that their elopement had been brought on
by the strength of her love, rather than by his; and she would have wondered why,
without violently caring for her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not
felt certain that his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances;
and if that were the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity of
having a companion.
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every occasion;
no one was to be put in competition with him.
He did every thing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds
on the first of September, than any body else in the country.
One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two elder
sisters, she said to Elizabeth, "Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wedding,
You were not by, when I told mamma and the others all about it.
Are not you curious to hear how it was managed?"
"No really," replied Elizabeth; "I think there cannot be too little said on the
"La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off.
We were married, you know, at St. Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings were
in that parish. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven o'clock.
My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others were to meet us at the
church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid, you
know, that something would happen to put it off, and then I should have gone quite
distracted. And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking
away just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word
in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know
whether he would be married in his blue coat."
"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would never be over;
for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle and aunt were horrid unpleasant
all the time I was with them. If you'll believe me, I did not once put my foot out
of doors, though I was there a fortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or any thing.
To be sure London was rather thin, but, however, the Little Theatre was open. Well,
and so just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business
to that horrid man Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get together, there
is no end of it.
Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my uncle was to give
me away; and if we were beyond the hour, we could not be married all day. But, luckily,
he came back again in ten minutes' time, and then we all set out. However, I recollected
afterwards that if he had been prevented going, the wedding need not be put off,
for Mr. Darcy might have done as well."
"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.
"Oh, yes! -- he was to come there with Wickham, you know, But gracious me! I
quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully!
What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!"
"If it was to be secret," said Jane, "say not another word on the subject. You
may depend upon my seeking no further."
"Oh! certainly," said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; "we will ask
you no questions."
"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, I should certainly tell you all, and
then Wickham would be angry."
On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her power,
by running away.
But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least it was impossible
not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at her sister's wedding. It was exactly
a scene, and exactly among people, where he had apparently least to do, and least
temptation to go. Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into
her brain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her, as placing
his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She could not bear such
suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt,
to request an explanation of what Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the
secrecy which had been intended.
"You may readily comprehend," she added, "what my curiosity must be to know how
a person unconnected with any of us, and (comparatively speaking) a stranger to
our family, should have been amongst you at such a time. Pray write instantly, and
let me understand it -- unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the
secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied
"Not that I shall, though," she added to herself, as she finished the letter;
"and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable manner, I shall certainly
be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it out."
Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to Elizabeth privately
of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of it; -- till it appeared whether
her inquiries would receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.
<CHAPTER X (52)>
ELIZABETH had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter as soon as
she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it than, hurrying into the
little copse, where she was least likely to be interrupted, she sat down on one
of the benches and prepared to be happy; for the length of the letter convinced
her that it did not contain a denial.
"Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.
MY DEAR NIECE, I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will not comprise what
I have to tell you. I must confess myself surprised by your application; I did not
expect it from you. Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you
know that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your side. If you
do not choose to understand me, forgive my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised
as I am -- and nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned would have
allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and ignorant,
I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your
uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was shut up with him
several hours. It was all over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully
racked as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had
found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that he had seen and talked
with them both; Wickham repeatedly, Lydia once.
From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day after ourselves, and
came to town with the resolution of hunting for them. The motive professed was his
conviction of its being owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been
so well known as to make it impossible for any young woman of character to love
or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and confessed
that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to the
world. His character was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty
to step forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself.
If he had another motive, I am sure it would never disgrace him. He had been
some days in town, before he was able to discover them; but he had something to
direct his search, which was more than we had; and the consciousness of this was
another reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs.
Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her
charge on some cause of disapprobation, though he did not say what. She then took
a large house in Edward-street, and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings.
This Mrs. Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he went to
her for intelligence of him as soon as he got to town. But it was two or three days
before he could get from her what he wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose,
without bribery and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to
be found. Wickham indeed had gone to her on their first arrival in London, and had
she been able to receive them into her house, they would have taken up their abode
with her. At length, however, our kind friend procured the wished-for direction.
They were in ---- street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade her to quit her
present disgraceful situation, and return to her friends as soon as they could be
prevailed on to receive her, offering his assistance, as far as it would go.