Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (27 page)

T
HE FIRST WEEK OF THEIR RETURN was soon gone and the second began. It was the last of the regiment’s stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in the neighborhood were feeling the sad effects. The dejection was almost universal. The elder Miss Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such hard-heartedness. Their affectionate mother shared their grief.

“I cried for two days when Colonel Miller’s regiment went away. I thought my heart broken,” said Mrs. Bennet.

“I am sure I shall break mine,” said Lydia.

“If one could but go to Brighton,” observed Mrs. Bennet.

“Oh, yes, if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable.”

“A little sea-bathing would set me up forever.”

“And my aunt Philips is sure it would do
me
a great deal of good,” added Kitty.

Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through Longbourn House. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them, but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy’s objections and never had she been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the views of his friend.

But Lydia’s gloom was shortly cleared away for she received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humor and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other.

The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Completely inattentive to her sister’s feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone’s congratulations. The luckless Kitty complained about her fate, “I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia. I have just as much right as she has. I am two years older.”

In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make Kitty reasonable, and Jane to make her resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia. She considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter. Lydia would have detested her if she found out, but Elizabeth could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia’s general behavior, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home.

After listening attentively, he replied, “Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances.”

“If you were aware,” Elizabeth said, “of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice of Lydia’s unguarded and imprudent manner, I am sure you would judge differently.”

“Has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! Do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths that cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia’s folly.”

“Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent.” Elizabeth refused to think of Mr. Darcy. There was no need to tell her father about the proposal. “It is of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world must be affected by the wild volatility, and the disdain of all restraint that marks Lydia’s character. If you will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of correction. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family ridiculous. Kitty will follow wherever Lydia leads — vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled. Can you suppose it possible that they will be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their sisters will often be involved in the disgrace?”

Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject, and affectionately taking her hand said in reply, “Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known you must be respected and valued. You will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief. She is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody. At Brighton she will be of less importance than she has been here. Let us hope that her stay may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without obliging us to lock her up for the rest of her life.”

With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content, but her own opinion continued the same and she left him disappointed and sorry.

During those last days before the soldiers were to leave Meryton, Elizabeth was frequently in the company of Mr. Wickham. Any agitation on her part did not last long. The very gentleness which had first delighted her, now filled her with disgust. The feeling was made all the more predominate by his testifying a renewal of those intentions which had marked the early part of their acquaintance. She had no wish to be the object of his idle and frivolous gallantry; and looked at him with renewed eyes at each and every meeting, and each time she found him lacking in another way.

On the very last day of the regiment’s remaining at Meryton, he dined at Longbourn with some other officers. Elizabeth was so little disposed to part from him in good humor, that on his making some inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam’s and Mr. Darcy’s having both spent three weeks at Rosings, and asked him, if he was acquainted with the former.

He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment’s recollection and a returning smile, replied that he had formerly seen him often. After observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in Fitzwilliam’s favor.

With an air of indifference he added, “How long did you say he was at Rosings?”

“Nearly three weeks.”

“And you saw him frequently?”

“Yes, almost every day.”

“His manners are very different from his cousin’s.”

“Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves upon acquaintance.”

“Indeed!” said Mr. Wickham with a look which did not escape her. “And pray, may I ask…?” But checking himself, he added, in a forced pleasant tone, “Is it in manners that he improves? Has he deigned to add civility to his ordinary style?”

“Oh, no,” said Elizabeth, “in essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was.”

Wickham looked as if scarcely knew whether to rejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning. There was a something in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention.

Elizabeth could not resist. She would not say exactly what she meant, but let Wickham wonder at how much she knew. “When I said he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that his mind or his manners were in a state of improvement, but that, from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood.”

Wickham’s alarm appeared in his heightened complexion, and she silently took the small victory. For a few minutes he did not speak. Then, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said, “You, who so well know my feeling towards Mr. Darcy, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right. His pride in that direction may be of service, if not to himself then to others. It must deter him from repeating such foul misconduct as I have suffered. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness to which you have been alluding is merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgment he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always been evident when they were together, and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart.”

Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only by a slight inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted to engage her on the old subject of his grievances, and she was in no humor to indulge him. The rest of the evening passed with the appearance, on his side, of usual cheerfulness, but with no further attempt to distinguish Elizabeth. They parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.

When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton from whence they were to set out early the next morning. The separation between her and her family was more noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the only one who shed tears, but she wept from vexation and envy. Mrs. Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her daughter, and impressive in her injunctions that she should not miss the opportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible — advice which there was every reason to believe would be well attended to.

D
espite her protests to Jane otherwise, Elizabeth found her mind occupied with thoughts of marriage and Mr. Darcy — not necessarily because she was convinced she wanted to marry Mr. Darcy, but because his asking her and the succession of information that followed caused her to reconsider her opinions of herself and what she truly wanted in her life.

Had Elizabeth’s opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could not have formed a very pleasing opinion of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her father married her mother because she was beautiful and had the appearance of a good nature. However, early in their marriage these qualities became tarnished by the reality of her weak mind and he lost what respect he had for her. Now, he was fond primarily of the country and of books, and from these tastes had arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wife he was little indebted, other than the fact her ignorance and folly often contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man would wish to owe to his wife but, where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true philosopher will derive benefit from those that are given.

Elizabeth had never been blind to the impropriety of her father’s behavior as a husband. She had always seen it with pain, but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavored to forget what she could not overlook. She tried to banish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so highly reprehensible. But, till now, she had never felt so strongly the disadvantages which must befall the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents — talents, which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.

On further contemplation, Elizabeth came to understand her own mind when it came to marriage. She had seen the folly of her parents’ union and from it came a fear of meeting such an end for herself. She wanted there to be love in her marriage, a fine, stout love that lasted beyond youth; but her fear of never finding such happiness or mistaking it as her father had done — who she resembled in nature more so than her mother — kept her from seeking it out. Only, instead of a foolish wife, she would be trapped with a foolish husband, the much worse fate of the two. For a foolish wife could be laughed at. A foolish husband could drive a family into complete ruin and poverty.

When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham’s departure she found little other cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties abroad were less varied than before, and at home she had a mother and sister constantly repining at the dullness of everything around them.

After three weeks of Lydia’s absence, cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn. The families who had been in town for the winter came back again, and summer finery and summer engagements arose. Elizabeth had real reason to rejoice. The time fixed for their northern tour was fast approaching, when a letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement and curtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business from setting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in London again within a month. As that left too short a period for them to go so far, they were obliged to give up the Lakes and substitute a more contracted tour. Accordingly, they were to go no farther northwards than Derbyshire. In that county there was enough to occupy the chief of their three weeks, and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attraction. The town where she had formerly passed some years of her life, and where they were now to spend a few days, was as great an object of her curiosity as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Peak.

With the mention of Derbyshire there were many ideas connected. Until the letter, Elizabeth had been able to convince herself that she might never see Mr. Darcy again, at least not for many years. He would not be coming back to Netherfield, she did not often go to London, and the chances of her visiting Charlotte while he was at Rosings were very slim. But now, it was impossible for her to see the change in plans without thinking of Pemberley and its owner.

“But surely,” thought she, “I may enter his county without impunity, and rob it of a few petrified spars without his perceiving me.”

When Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner appeared at Longbourn with their four children, Elizabeth had about given up on the day ever arriving. The children, two girls and two younger boys, were to be left to the care of their cousin Jane, who was the general favorite, and whose steady sense and sweetness of temper adapted her for attending to them.

The Gardiners stayed one night at Longbourn and set off the next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and amusement. Enjoyment was certain as was the suitableness of Elizabeth’s companions. Their route took them through many remarkable places — Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, Birmingham — and, having seen all the principal wonders of the country, they settled in a small part of Derbyshire in the little town of Lambton. This was the scene of Mrs. Gardiner’s former residence, and where she had lately learned some acquaintance still remained. But, to Elizabeth’s concern, she learned from her aunt that Pemberley was situated within five miles of the very place they were staying. Mrs. Gardiner expressed an inclination to see the place again, Mr. Gardiner declared his willingness, and Elizabeth was applied to for her approbation.

“My love, should you not like to see a place which you have heard so much of?” inquired her aunt. “A place, too, with which so many of your acquaintances are connected? Wickham passed all his youth there, you know.”

Distressed, Elizabeth felt she had no business at Pemberley and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing it. “I must own that I am tired of great houses, after going over so many. I really have no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.”

Mrs. Gardiner chuckled. “If it were merely a fine house richly furnished I should not care myself, but the grounds are delightful. They have some of the finest woods in the country.”

“Then perhaps we should merely wander the woods,” Elizabeth said. “There is no reason to trouble the occupants of Pemberley. It will surely be an imposition to the master of the house.”

“Nonsense!” declared Mr. Gardiner. “The house is open for visitors.”

“If that is your only objection, its being an imposition, than I shall consider it settled!” Mrs. Gardiner said.

Elizabeth said no more, but she worried of the possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy. The very idea was alarming. She would not know what to say to him or how to act. The last words they spoken were in anger. She had been mistaken about him, and his part in her sister’s unhappiness was unforgiveable. It was unforgivable, right? She was not so sure anymore. Though she did not appreciate his reasons, she understood how he had come to his conclusions. However, sisterly affection dictated she defend Jane out of principle.

When she retired that night, she asked the chambermaid whether Pemberley were not a very fine place? What was the name of its proprietor? And, with no little apprehension, whether the family was down for the summer? A most welcome negative followed the last question — and, her worry now being removed, she was at leisure to feel a great deal of curiosity to see the house herself. So, when the subject was revived the next morning, and she was again applied to, she could readily answer with a proper air of indifference that she was quite up to the scheme. To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.