Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Elizabeth
The journey from Bath to London, and from London to Hertfordshire, passed in a blur of coaching inns and dusty roads.
Jane spoke occasionally of Mr. Bingley’s promise to return to Netherfield, her voice soft with hope.
Elizabeth responded when required, but her mind remained elsewhere—on a man she would not see again for weeks, if indeed she saw him at all.
When the carriage finally turned onto the familiar lane leading to Longbourn, Elizabeth felt a strange mixture of relief and restlessness. Home, yet altered. The same hedgerows, the same brick facade, and yet entirely different, because she herself was no longer the young woman who had left it.
Mrs. Bennet met them at the door with her usual flood of exclamations.
“My dear Jane! My dear Lizzy! How well you both look! The Bath air has done you a world of good! And Jane, my sweet Jane, you are positively glowing! Come in, come in! You must tell me everything!”
They had scarcely crossed the threshold before Mrs. Bennet seized Jane’s hands and peered eagerly into her face.
“And is it true? Is Mr. Bingley to return to Netherfield?” Mrs. Bennet giggled.
“I got your letter Jane. I declare I shall faint from happiness if it is so! After all that nonsense last winter—well! I always knew it would come right in the end. A gentleman does not admire a young woman as he admired you and then forget her entirely. I said so at the time.”
Jane blushed but smiled with gentle composure. “He intends to return, Mama.”
“Intends! My dear, that is quite enough for me. Netherfield shall not remain empty long, I am certain of it. Oh, what will Mrs. Long say? And Lady Lucas! I shall call upon her tomorrow.”
Elizabeth could not help but smile at her mother’s unrestrained delight. Whatever uncertainty may occur in future, Jane’s happiness—at least for the present—seemed secure, and that was something.
Mr. Bennet emerged from his library to welcome them back, embracing both daughters with rare displays of affection. “So you have returned from your fashionable excursion. I trust you did not bankrupt your uncle with purchases of bonnets and ribbons?”
“We were quite restrained, Papa,” Elizabeth said, managing a smile.
Mary looked up from her book long enough to nod a greeting, while Kitty bounced excitedly, demanding to know every detail of the Pump Room and the assemblies. Lydia sprawled in a chair by the window, looking sulky.
“I suppose Bath was dreadfully dull,” Lydia said. “Nothing but old people and invalids. The militia provides far better entertainment here in Meryton.”
“Lydia talks of nothing but the officers,” Mrs. Bennet said with indulgent pride. “Particularly that Mr. Wickham. Such a charming young man! He asked after you both just yesterday.”
Elizabeth felt ice settle in her stomach, though she forced her expression into polite neutrality. “How very attentive of him.”
She cast a quick glance at Jane, and her sister merely raised her brows, as if to say that how she chose to manage the matter rested entirely within her own discretion. Elizabeth inclined her head slightly and resolved that she would address it once they were properly settled.
The afternoon passed in the comfortable chaos of Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet insisted on hearing every detail of their stay, interrupting constantly to exclaim over this or that, though she returned again and again to the subject of Netherfield and Mr. Bingley’s imminent return.
Mr. Bennet retreated to his library after a quarter hour, declaring himself quite satisfied that his daughters had returned safely and in possession of their wits.
It was not until evening, after dinner had been consumed and the family dispersed to their various occupations, that Elizabeth found her opportunity.
***
"Lydia," Elizabeth said quietly, catching her youngest sister in the hallway. "Might I speak with you privately?"
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Why do you look worried?—"
"Upstairs. Now, please."
Something in Elizabeth's tone must have penetrated, because Lydia followed her up to the bedchamber with only token grumbling.
Once the door was closed, Elizabeth did not waste time with preamble.
She told Lydia what she could about Mr. Wickham's true character—enough to warn her without betraying Mr. Darcy’s confidences.
She spoke of his patterns with young women, the danger he represented, the ruin that awaited any girl foolish enough to trust him.
Lydia protested at first, defending her favorite officer, insisting Elizabeth was mistaken or jealous or simply being disagreeable. But Elizabeth's certainty, the gravity of her tone, the knowledge that shone in her eyes—it finally penetrated her sister's willful blindness.
"You are absolutely certain?" Lydia's voice had lost its usual brashness.
"I am certain. I have it from the most reliable source."
By the time Elizabeth left the room, Lydia was shaken and tearful, but she had promised to be more careful. Whether that promise would hold remained to be seen.
***
Five days later, all of Meryton was in an uproar.
Elizabeth heard the news from Hill, who heard it from the butcher’s wife, who in turn had heard it directly from Mrs. King’s housekeeper: Mr. Wickham had attempted to elope with Miss King under cover of darkness.
The scheme had been discovered only because Miss King’s maid, grown uneasy at her mistress’s secrecy and whispered preparations, had confided her suspicions to Mrs. King.
The lady, alarmed and resolute, had followed her discretely to the appointed meeting place—a small coaching inn upon the London road—arriving just as Miss King was being urged into a hired carriage.
The scene that followed had been, by all accounts, most extraordinary. Mrs. King had raised such an outcry that nearly the entire inn had poured into the yard. Voices were raised, accusations exchanged, and more than one gentleman declared himself ready to detain Wickham then and there.
But Mr. Wickham, perceiving his design exposed and his advantage lost, had abandoned Miss King without ceremony and fled into the night.
By morning, he had quitted the neighbourhood entirely.
His debts—far more extensive than had been suspected—were left unsettled. Tradesmen who had long extended him credit now spoke freely of promissory notes and gaming losses.
Miss King’s fortune remained untouched, but her reputation did not escape so easily. Mrs. King removed her daughter at once to relations in the north, determined that distance, at least, might soften the sting of the affair.
When Elizabeth heard the news, she felt faint with horror. If she had waited even a few days longer to caution Lydia—if she had hesitated, doubted, or kept silent—
It might have been her own sister.
That evening, Lydia came quietly to Elizabeth’s room. Her face was pale, her eyes reddened from weeping—an expression so unlike her usual animated countenance that Elizabeth’s heart ached at the sight.
“You were right,” Lydia said in a low voice. “About Mr. Wickham. About all of it.”
Elizabeth drew her into an embrace at once. “I am so sorry, Lydia.”
Lydia clung to her for a moment before speaking again.
In halting phrases, she confessed that Mr. Wickham had, in recent weeks, begun to hint at a scheme of elopement.
He had spoken of the romance of it, of freedom from watchful mothers and meddlesome neighbours, of how easily a marriage might be secured once they were beyond Hertfordshire.
She had been flattered—more than flattered—by his attentions.
He had pressed her for an answer and expected her reply two days after Elizabeth and Jane’s return from Bath.
“I would have gone to him,” Lydia whispered at last. “If you had not warned me—if you had not told me what sort of man he truly was—I believe I should have gone.”
Elizabeth felt her breath leave her in a tremor.
Lydia went on to say that when she failed to send word at the appointed time, Mr. Wickham had not called at Longbourn again. Perhaps, she thought now, he had taken her silence as refusal and turned his designs elsewhere. It seemed that Miss King’s fortune had offered him a more immediate advantage.
Elizabeth could not help but feel a grim gratitude that she herself had not encountered Mr. Wickham during those intervening days.
She did not know how she might have borne his easy smile, his practiced charm, had she been forced to meet him while holding such knowledge within her breast. Whether she would have betrayed her disgust, or faltered in her composure, she could not say.
But Lydia was safe.
That, above all, was what mattered.
The sisters sat together for some time in sober reflection, understanding one another more fully than ever before.
***
A week after the Wickham scandal, Mr. Bingley returned to Netherfield.
The news arrived via Mrs. Bennet, who had it from Mrs. Long, who had seen the servants opening the house and airing the rooms. Within an hour, all of Longbourn was in a state of happy chaos as Mrs. Bennet prepared for the inevitable call.
“He will come today, I am certain of it!” she exclaimed, directing the servants to polish every surface and arrange flowers in every room. “Jane, you must wear your sprigged muslin! Lizzy, for heaven’s sake, do something with your hair!”
Elizabeth submitted to her mother’s ministrations with as much patience as she could muster. Her own thoughts were not on Mr. Bingley’s arrival, welcome though it was.
Would Mr. Darcy come with him?
The question plagued her through the morning. She told herself it did not matter. Told herself she was not watching the lane for a second gentleman’s figure. Told herself the anxious flutter in her chest was merely nerves.
But when Mr. Bingley’s carriage finally appeared at two o’clock, Elizabeth’s eyes went immediately to the window, searching.
Only one figure descended.
Mr. Bingley came alone.
Elizabeth felt disappointment crash over her, followed immediately by fear, followed by confusion about which emotion was more honest.
The maid showed Mr. Bingley into the drawing room. He looked well—happy, even, his usual cheerfulness restored to full brilliance as his eyes found Jane.
“Miss Bennet! Mrs. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” He bowed to each in turn. “Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine. I am delighted to see you all again.”
Mrs. Bennet practically vibrated with joy. “Mr. Bingley! How good of you to call! We heard you had returned to Netherfield!”
“Just yesterday evening. I could not wait to pay my respects.” His gaze returned to Jane. “I hope I do not intrude?”
“Not at all!” Mrs. Bennet gestured frantically toward the tea tray.
Mr. Bennet welcomed his guest with good humour, inquiring whether he had returned with his entire household, as on the former occasion.
Mr. Bingley laughed and assured him that he came alone this time, for his sisters were engaged elsewhere—Mrs. Hurst having gone to visit her husband’s family, and Miss Bingley accompanying her.
Elizabeth could not help suspecting that their absence owed less to family affection than to Mr. Bingley’s determination that they should not intrude upon his return.
Judging by the manner in which they had once endeavoured to separate him from Jane, she found this new independence very telling indeed.
“You must tell us everything!” cried Mrs. Bennet eagerly. “How did you enjoy your time in Bath? And Mr. Darcy—did he return with you?”
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
“Darcy is not with me at present,” Mr. Bingley said, taking the offered seat—as close to Jane as propriety allowed. “He sent word that he is still in Bristol attending to his friend. I expect him to join me at Netherfield as soon as he can, though he could not say precisely when.”
“I hope his friend recovers,” Jane said softly.
“As do I. Darcy was quite concerned about him.” Mr. Bingley’s expression grew more cheerful. “But he did mention he had some business in the neighbourhood he wished to attend to once he returns.”
Elizabeth’s heart gave a treacherous leap.
“How lovely!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “We shall be delighted to see Mr. Darcy again. Jane and Elizabeth spoke of his many kindnesses in Bath. Such a respectable gentleman!”
Elizabeth noted with some amusement that her mother’s opinion of Mr. Darcy had improved considerably now that his friend was paying Jane attentions of evident seriousness. She did not suppose that the account she had given of Mr. Darcy’s kindnesses in Bath was what effected so great a change.
The visit proceeded most pleasantly. Mr. Bingley was all that was attentive and cheerful, and his partiality could no longer be doubted by anyone who observed him. Though he spoke with the whole family, his eyes seldom strayed from Jane’s countenance.
In the course of conversation he mentioned that he had quitted Bath but three days after the departure of the Gardiners and the Bennet sisters.
Mr. Darcy, he explained, had written to say that he would not return until he was certain his friend was quite recovered; and as there seemed little purpose in remaining longer himself, he had gone first to London, before coming to Hertfordshire.
After an hour’s lively and agreeable discourse, Mr. Bingley at last took his leave, not without securing permission to wait upon them again on the following day.
Permission was enthusiastically granted.
As Elizabeth watched him depart, she felt happiness for Jane warring with her own anxious anticipation.
Mr. Darcy was not yet arrived. No one knew precisely when he might come, though Mr. Bingley assured them his friend had promised to follow as soon as he was able.
Elizabeth sighed. She would wait, she decided. And hopefully… hopefully, when he came, she might at last have the opportunity to speak all that had been gathering in her heart since Bath.
If only she could find the words.
If only he would listen.