Pride and Prejudice (Clandestine Classics) (33 page)

“We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there twice. How much I shall have to tell!”

Elizabeth added privately, “And how much I shall have to conceal!”

Their journey was performed without much conversation, or any alarm, and within four hours of their leaving Hunsford they reached Mr Gardiner’s house, where they were to remain a few days.

Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her spirits, amidst the various engagements which the kindness of her aunt had reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with her, and at Longbourn there would be leisure enough for observation.

It was not without an effort, meanwhile, that she could wait even for Longbourn, before she told her sister of Mr Darcy’s proposals. To know that she had the power of revealing what would so exceedingly astonish Jane, and must, at the same time, so highly gratify whatever of her own vanity she had not yet been able to reason away, was such a temptation to openness as nothing could have conquered but the state of indecision in which she remained as to the extent of what she should communicate, and her fear, if she once entered on the subject, of being hurried into repeating something of Bingley which might only grieve her sister further. There was one thing, however, she knew unequivocally she would not disclose to Jane, and that was the intimacy she and Darcy had shared.
That
was something Elizabeth would take to the grave, and it grieved her it was something she would not experience with him again—however much she desired it.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street for the town of ——, in Hertfordshire, and, as they drew near the appointed inn where Mr Bennet’s carriage was to meet them, they quickly perceived, in token of the coachman’s punctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining-room upstairs. These two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.

After welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table set out with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaiming, “Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?”

“And we mean to treat you all,” added Lydia, “but you must lend us the money, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there.” Then, showing her purchases—”Look here, I have bought this bonnet. I do not think it is very pretty, but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any better.”

And when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with perfect unconcern, “Oh! but there were two or three much uglier in the shop, and when I have bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it with fresh, I think it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify what one wears this summer, after the ——shire have left Meryton, and they are going in a fortnight.”

“Are they indeed!” cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.

“They are going to be encamped near Brighton, and I do so want papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme, and I dare say would hardly cost anything at all. Mamma would like to go too of all things. Only think what a miserable summer else we shall have!”

“Yes,” thought Elizabeth, “
that
would be a delightful scheme indeed, and completely do for us at once. Good Heaven! Brighton, and a whole campful of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor regiment of militia, and the monthly balls of Meryton!”

“Now I have got some news for you,” said Lydia, as they sat down at table. “What do you think? It is excellent news—capital news—and about a certain person we all like!”

Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told he need not stay.

Lydia laughed, and said, “Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse things said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well, but now for my news. It is about dear Wickham. Too good for the waiter, is it not? There is no danger of Wickham’s marrying Mary King. There’s for you! She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool. Gone to stay. Wickham is safe.”

“And Mary King is safe!” added Elizabeth, “safe from a connection imprudent as to fortune.” Elizabeth could not have been more relieved. She pitied any woman who were to fall for Wickham’s charms and, horror of horrors, be obliged to marry him.

“She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him.”

“But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side,” said Jane.

“I am sure there is not on
his
. I will answer for it, he never cared three straws about her—who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?”

Elizabeth was shocked to think that, however incapable of such coarseness of
expression
herself, the coarseness of the
sentiment
was little other than her own breast had harboured and fancied liberal!

As soon as all had ate, and the elder ones paid, the carriage was ordered, and after some contrivance, the whole party, with all their boxes, work-bags, and parcels, and the unwelcome addition of Kitty’s and Lydia’s purchases, were seated in it.

“How nicely we are all crammed in,” cried Lydia. “I am glad I bought my bonnet, if it is only for the fun of having another bandbox! Well, now let us be quite comfortable and snug, and talk and laugh all the way home. And in the first place, let us hear what has happened to you all since you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any flirting? I was in great hopes that one of you would have got a husband before you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid soon, I declare. She is almost three-and-twenty! Lord, how ashamed I should be of not being married before three-and-twenty! My aunt Phillips wants you so to get husbands, you can’t think. She says Lizzy had better have taken Mr Collins, but
I
do not think there would have been any fun in it. Lord, how I should like to be married before any of you, and then I would chaperon you about to all the balls. Dear me, we had such a good piece of fun the other day at Colonel Forster’s. Kitty and me were to spend the day there, and Mrs Forster promised to have a little dance in the evening—by the bye, Mrs Forster and me are
such
friends!—and so she asked the two Harringtons to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen was forced to come by herself, and then, what do you think we did? We dressed up Chamberlayne in woman’s clothes on purpose to pass for a lady, only think what fun! Not a soul knew of it, but Colonel and Mrs Forster, and Kitty and me, except my aunt, for we were forced to borrow one of her gowns, and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When Denny, and Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they did not know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed! and so did Mrs Forster. I thought I should have died. And
that
made the men suspect something, and then they soon found out what was the matter.”

With such kinds of histories of their parties and good jokes, did Lydia, assisted by Kitty’s hints and additions, endeavour to amuse her companions all the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth listened as little as she could, but there was no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham’s name, and it stirred up all her feelings of vexation and regret. She was severely tempted to tell the entire party about Mr Wickham’s transgressions to put paid to Lydia’s constant praise of him, but to do so, she would have to admit how she discovered the information and she refused to break Mr Darcy’s confidence. She would, she had decided, tell Jane the majority of the story, for she knew her sister would be discreet with the information presented to her. For the rest of the journey, Elizabeth amused herself by watching the view from the carriage and wondering what Mr Darcy was doing presently, but that only served to dampen her spirits further until at last she felt quite despondent.

Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs Bennet rejoiced to see Jane in undiminished beauty, and more than once during dinner did Mr Bennet say voluntarily to Elizabeth, “I am glad you are come back, Lizzy.”

Their party in the dining-room was large, for almost all the Lucases came to meet Maria and hear the news, and various were the subjects that occupied them. Lady Lucas was enquiring of Maria, after the welfare and poultry of her eldest daughter; Mrs Bennet was doubly engaged, on one hand collecting an account of the present fashions from Jane, who sat some way below her, and, on the other, retailing them all to the younger Lucases; and Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other person’s, was enumerating the various pleasures of the morning to anybody who would hear her.

“Oh! Mary,” said she, “I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun! As we went along, Kitty and I drew up the blinds, and pretended there was nobody in the coach, and I should have gone so all the way, if Kitty had not been sick. And when we got to the George, I do think we behaved very handsomely, for we treated the other three with the nicest cold luncheon in the world, and if you would have gone, we would have treated you too. And then when we came away it was such fun! I thought we never should have got into the coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so merry all the way home, we talked and laughed so loud, that anybody might have heard us ten miles off!”

To this Mary very gravely replied, “Far be it from me, my dear sister, to depreciate such pleasures! They would doubtless be congenial with the generality of female minds. But I confess they would have no charms for
me
—I should infinitely prefer a book.”

Elizabeth privately thought that she too would have preferred a book. But of this answer Lydia heard not a word. She seldom listened to anybody for more than half a minute, and never attended to Mary at all.

In the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the rest of the girls to walk to Meryton, and to see how everybody went on, but Elizabeth steadily opposed the scheme. It should not be said that the Miss Bennets could not be at home half a day before they were in pursuit of the officers. There was another reason too for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Mr Wickham again, and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible. The comfort to
her
of the regiment’s approaching removal was indeed beyond expression. In a fortnight they were to go—and once gone, she hoped there could be nothing more to plague her on his account.

She had not been many hours at home before she found that the Brighton scheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at the inn, was under frequent discussion between her parents. Elizabeth saw directly that her father had not the smallest intention of yielding, but his answers were at the same time so vague and equivocal, that her mother, though often disheartened, had never yet despaired of succeeding at last. Elizabeth retired early to her chamber, and while she readied herself for bed, her thoughts, as was usual, turned to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. She wished in part to see his handsome and proud face again, but very quickly despaired of the idea. She had slighted Mr Darcy so badly that he must indeed think ill of her and would be well within his rights to never want to set eyes on her again. The idea hurt more than she could put into words.

Chapter Forty

Elizabeth’s impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no longer be overcome, and at length, resolving to suppress every particular in which her sister was concerned, and preparing her to be surprised, she related to her the next morning the chief of the scene between Mr Darcy and herself—leaving out certain details for obvious reasons.

Miss Bennet’s astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly partiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly natural, and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. She was sorry that Mr Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them, but still more was she grieved for the unhappiness which her sister’s refusal must have given him.

“His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,” said she, “and certainly ought not to have appeared, but consider how much it must increase his disappointment!”

“Indeed,” replied Elizabeth, “I am heartily sorry for him, but he has other feelings, which will probably soon drive away his regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?”

“Blame you! Oh, no.”

“But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?”

“No—I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did.”

“But you
will
know it, when I tell you what happened the very next day.”

She then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents as far as they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was this for poor Jane! who would willingly have gone through the world without believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was here collected in one individual. Nor was Darcy’s vindication, though grateful to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery. Most earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear the one without involving the other.

“This will not do,” said Elizabeth, “you never will be able to make both of them good for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them, just enough to make one good sort of man, and of late it has been shifting about pretty much. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Darcy’s, but you shall do as you choose.”

It was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted from Jane.

“I do not know when I have been more shocked,” said she. “Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill opinion, too! and having to relate such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it so.”