Chapter 11
The Gardiner household awoke to a new morning of utter distress.
The guest chamber at Gracechurch Street, once a sanctuary of quiet repose, now echoed with Lydia’s theatrical sobs, her swollen ankle propped upon a cushion like that of a tragic heroine in a poorly rehearsed farce.
The girl clutched at her skirts, her face a picture of youthful indignation mingled with genuine pain, as the family gathered around her bed in a tableau of concern and exasperation.
“Oh, George! My poor George!” Lydia wailed, her voice piercing the air like a poorly tuned violin. “He will be lost without me — searching every inn from here to Gretna! And my ankle throbs so dreadfully. I shall never dance again, never!”
“I am sorry to hear your ankle hurts still, my dear,” Jane said softly. “Last night you slept very well, after I gave you the medicine the doctor recommended. Both Lizzy and I looked in on you several times, and you were soundly asleep.”
“Yes, but it still hurts! And I could hardly sleep for the distress! What shall I do now? I do not understand why Mr Darcy would search for George? Has he not had enough of torturing him these many years and condemning him to poverty? If not for Mr Darcy, George might have been rich by now, or at least had a living that allowed him to marry as he pleased!”
Mr Bennet, pressing his palm over the wound that had not healed yet, remained stoically silent for a while.
Then suddenly he turned and fixed his youngest daughter with a frown, a gaze Elizabeth hardly recognised in her father.
A gaze that blended paternal sorrow with the sharp edge of irony.
But as Lydia’s cries increased, he lost his patience, and he answered in a rare outburst from a man who preferred wit to wrath.
“Enough of this nonsense, Lydia! Cease your caterwauling at once!” he shouted, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic fury.
The room fell silent, save for a faint gasp from Jane.
Lydia blinked, her tear-streaked face frozen in astonishment. “Papa? But—”
“But nothing, child! Wickham is no gallant suitor. He is a scoundrel through and through, laden with debts from all across England, with creditors baying at his heels. He abandoned you at that wretched inn like a forgotten glove — left you penniless, injured, and alone! Do you truly believe he would marry you of his own free will? Ha! The man has no income to speak of, can scarcely support his own vices, let alone a wife. And you, with your giggles and flirtations, threw yourself into his snare like a witless bird!”
Lydia’s lower lip quivered, her wide eyes reflecting the horror of his words. “But…I love him! I have never loved anybody as much!”
“For Heaven’s sake, you are only fifteen! You do not know what love is — I hardly know myself!”
“But he said we would marry… He promised… When he said he must leave the regiment, I asked whether I could join him, and he said I could. He said we could marry even sooner than Jane and Mr Bingley, which might displease them.”
“Lydia, what on earth are you talking about?” Jane asked with astonishment. “I have no betrothed! Mr Bingley has said nothing of the kind! Where did you hear such nonsense?”
“That is probably the reason why he eloped with Lydia,” Elizabeth whispered, loud enough to be heard by everyone.
“He knew Mr Bingley was calling on you, that we had dined at his house, and he assumed you were to be engaged soon. The idea of having a rich brother-in-law must have been very attractive to him.”
“I am sure Jane does not love Mr Bingley as much as I love George! He promised we would be married within a week!” Lydia repeated.
“Promises from Wickham are worth less than fool’s gold, my child,” Mr Bennet said. “How can you not understand? He planned to marry you because he hoped for a connection with Mr Bingley, which might never happen.”
“Why would I care? As long as we marry, I am happy! Mama always said she would be happy if I married a handsome officer!”
“That is what your mother said?” Mr Bennet cried.
“Well, she should be happy now, since you have ruined your life with this folly — and dragged the family’s reputation into the mire with you!
That scoundrel will not marry you because he will be thrown into prison for his debts!
And you will be the lost girl who spent two nights with a man, then was abandoned by him afterwards!
You will never marry a respectable man, nor will any gentleman consider marrying your sisters!
I shall die soon, and Mr Collins will throw you all, including your mother, out of Longbourn to starve on the streets, or you will have to find employment as maids, while your mother will beg for food — fair compensation for her advice to you!
Can you not see the price you will all pay for your thoughtless caprice! ”
Mr Bennet’s extraordinary speech had turned his face red, and he leant on the back of a chair for support, while Elizabeth hurried to help him.
The room hung heavy with his declaration, the air thick as a summer storm. Lydia stared at her father, stunned into momentary silence, before the floodgates burst open anew. Great heaving sobs wracked her slight frame, her hands covering her face as if to shield herself from the truth.
Jane, ever the gentle soul, rushed to her side, enfolding Lydia in a tender embrace. “Hush now, dearest. All will be well — we shall see you through this. Cry if you must, but know we love you still. We should have taken better care of you, all of us.”
“That is true,” Mr Bennet replied weakly. “The greater part of the blame is mine and your mother’s, not yours. Sadly, the shame will not just be rightfully yours but your sisters’ too. We shall not easily pass through this — we all must be aware of that fact.”
Mr Bennet, his energy spent, suddenly paled, his good hand pressed to his forehead. “I…I feel unwell. I need to rest a moment. This wretched business has quite undone me.”
“Papa, your wound is bleeding!” Elizabeth cried. “I shall send for the doctor immediately,” she said, paying no mind to his opposition.
Her own mind was caught in a storm of thoughts, questions, fears, disappointment, and pain that forbade her from thinking properly.
All questions focused on how the dreadful situation would be settled and what Mr Darcy would do afterwards.
That he would find Wickham, Elizabeth did not doubt.
But what next? Her heart ached when she recollected how she had accused him of such vile conduct, taking Mr Wickham’s side during his failed proposal.
Most men in his place would have said she had got what she deserved by believing the scoundrel, which was in fact true.
Mr Darcy had not said or done anything to indicate that he blamed her, but who knew what was in his mind?
Elizabeth and her uncle guided her father towards his chamber with firm insistence.
“Let me look at your wound. There was some new bleeding, but it seems to have stopped,” Mr Gardiner said. “Rest now, Brother. We shall manage until you recover. The doctor should be here soon.”
“I do not need a doctor, Brother. Even you said the bleeding has stopped. Let us not call Mr Darcy’s physician for nothing. We have already abused the gentleman’s generosity too much.”
“Let us not argue on this. I shall, of course, pay the doctor’s fee myself. I do not intend to put that expense on Mr Darcy. Just rest. You must recover before you consider further actions.”
When they had closed the door behind them, Elizabeth looked at her uncle, who returned an anxious glance.
“What shall we do, Uncle?” she whispered.
“Hope and pray, my dear. I wish I could be of more help to you all, but in truth, I do not know how. But for now, let us wait for Mr Darcy and Colonel Forster to return with news and for the doctor to examine your father.”
“I see no good resolution to this situation, Uncle. Mr Wickham will never marry Lydia, but perhaps that is better than a lifetime of misery for her. On the other hand, as Papa said, this might bring a lifetime of misery to all of us.”
“Come, dearest, let us not fall into despair. You are the strongest member of your family, and they depend on you.”
Elizabeth chose not to reply. She did not feel strong, quite the opposite, she felt as if she was about to cry at every moment and did not even know why.
They returned to the drawing room, but Lydia was no longer there, and Jane explained she had gone to rest. Soon afterwards, the doctor arrived and went directly to examine Mr Bennet, as well as Lydia, only to return with a hopeful conclusion: both of them were on the path towards recovery and needed rest, which brought Elizabeth some slight relief.
Yet more reasons for distress appeared when, some time later, a letter was delivered for Mr Gardiner. Intrigued, the gentleman opened it while the ladies waited nervously.
“It is from Mr Bingley. He apologises that he was unable to call over the last two days due to some urgent business that demanded his attention. He sends his regards and hopes to visit soon.”
The words hung like a pall. Jane’s fair cheeks drained of colour, her voice a whisper. “Business… Oh…he must have found out. The report about Lydia’s elopement must have reached him already. Perhaps Mr Darcy informed him… Dear Lord, I can only imagine what his sisters have said…”
“Jane, all you know is that he had the courtesy to inform us about his delay,” Mrs Gardiner said gently. “Let us not assume the worst.”
“In the last two days, things have proved to be even worse than we assumed,” Jane whispered, and Elizabeth could not even contradict her.
“I fear I shall never see him again,” Jane continued, stirring Elizabeth’s guilt even more.
If not for her ridiculous trust in Mr Wickham, this would not have happened, and Jane would have eventually found her happiness.
She had done more harm to her sister than Mr Darcy when he advised Mr Bingley to leave Netherfield.
When Jane hurried to their room, Elizabeth hesitated a moment before she followed her. What could she say to comfort her without raising unreasonable hopes?
Jane was already sitting by the window, gazing out, and Elizabeth joined her; the afternoon light cast a soft glow that belied the storm within.
“That man, Mr Wickham, such deceit…” Jane mumbled with a bitterness unlike herself. “To toy with Lydia’s affections, then abandon her so callously… I can scarcely comprehend it. How dare he! What did he imagine would happen? Is he hoping for money? He must know Papa has so little.”
“George Wickham is a horrible man whom I foolishly trusted, and I shall never forgive myself for that. I have been such a ridiculous simpleton! I even had the audacity to accuse Mr Darcy of cruelty! Mr Darcy should laugh at me. I deserve as much.”
“Mr Darcy did not seem tempted to laugh at you, or to blame you, Lizzy. How did it happen that we misjudged those two men so utterly and completely? The whole of Meryton did, not just us! How were we all fooled so easily?”
“You, dearest Jane, were far less fooled than me and many others. You warned me not to trust Mr Wickham so easily and told me that I was too hasty in thinking ill of Mr Darcy. I arrogantly assumed it was just your kind heart that induced you to see the best in people. In fact, it was wisdom, prudence, and common sense — something I have lacked.”
They embraced each other, sharing fear and disappointment.
“Mr Bingley is an honourable man with a kind heart,” Jane whispered.
“He is, indeed,” Elizabeth replied, squeezing her sister’s hand. Mr Darcy was even more so, and his image raced through her thoughts like a gallant figure from a romantic tale. One she had rejected, and in doing so, she had likely ruined her best chance at happiness.
Hours passed, and evening draped Gracechurch Street in twilight hues; the children were prepared for the night, and dinner was served, though their appetites had long been lost. Lydia preferred to eat in her room, but Mr Bennet joined them.
Pale, suddenly aged, he poured himself a drink, paying no heed to Elizabeth’s reproachful glare.
They ate in relative silence until the uneasy quietude was stirred by a sudden rap at the door. The servant’s announcement sent a ripple of shock through the room: “Sir, Mr Darcy has arrived.”