Chapter 28
Indeed, there followed days of torment, when each evening came without the least intelligence of the fugitives.
One day, Mr Gardiner arrived in haste, and though they tried in vain to detain him in the drawing-room or make him speak a moment, he said only, “I came to fetch something from my office; Mr Darcy awaits me in the carriage.”
“Mr Gardiner!” cried his wife. “What manners are these? Invite him in, I beg you.”
“I tried,” he said, “but he would not, though I pressed him.”
Elizabeth blushed violently. That man never ceased to astonish her. Plainly, he had declined to enter only that she might not be distressed; so, without a word, and under her aunt’s approving glance, she left the parlour. A moment later, the front door was heard to close.
She hurried into the street, where the gentle wind loosened her heavy hair, which the bonnet could scarcely restrain. She saw him at once, and he descended from the carriage. They greeted one another gravely, their eyes fixed with painful attention.
“I am most sorry that we meet again under such circumstances,” he said gently, without the least trace of anger or reproach.
“Not so sorry as I am,” Elizabeth answered. “Good Heaven,” she said despairingly. “I am so ashamed!”
“Elizabeth,” he whispered—only for her, for he could call her by no other name—yet people were passing who looked upon them. “I entreat you, do not think so. Remember what I told you...when we last met.”
“I remember, but that was a beautiful thought—” she said.
“No, by no means; it was a solemn promise. I am ready to do anything for you.”
“But not this,” she said, almost in tears, caring nothing that her despair was visible, for with this man she had long passed the moment when concealment was possible. The rules of decorum no longer existed for them when they were alone.
“Anything means anything,” he replied with a sad smile.
“Still...I am utterly ashamed—”
“You need not be. Remember that I, too, have gone through something similar with Georgiana.”
“Miss Darcy had sense; she is a modest girl. Lydia is shameless, and I cried out at you when you said you disliked my family...only to reach this disgrace,” she said bitterly, revealing the anguish of her heart and mind.
“I was wrong, Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “Every family has its sinners, great or small. I should not have judged them all alike, and...above all...I should not have spoken as I did...then.”
They were silent, for their emotions had become unendurable.
Happily, Mr Gardiner appeared soon after, and in a short time the carriage drove away.
Only when it was out of sight did Elizabeth return indoors and go straight to her chamber, where, thanks to Mrs Gardiner, no one disturbed her throughout the day.
∞∞∞
At length, after many fruitless endeavours and days of distressing uncertainty, it was discovered that Lydia and Mr Wickham had indeed not gone to Scotland, as her letters to Mrs Forster had pretended, but were living together in London in a most improper manner.
For a time, all attempts to trace them were vain, and even Mr Gardiner, though indefatigable in his efforts, began to despair.
It was then that Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, by means which they never chose to disclose, at last succeeded.
They found the fugitives—disgraced, concealed, and in circumstances that no friend could contemplate without shame—in a lodging so wretched that it was difficult to conceive how any human being could inhabit it.
Mr Darcy entrusted her to Mr Gardiner before returning to speak with Wickham, who, during all that time, had been kept under the colonel’s watch, for Richard would readily have drawn his sword had the scoundrel attempted any movement.
Yet Wickham was cowardly as well as base—or perhaps he already perceived, in Darcy’s presence, a way out of his difficulties which had not before occurred to him, and began to hope that this time he might profit from Darcy’s evident wish to avert a scandal.
Mr Gardiner returned home with Lydia, and from every bosom broke sighs of relief—but only for a moment, for the anger and mortification of the past days were far from extinguished.
Elizabeth congratulated herself that she had persuaded her father to return to Longbourn the day before, under pretence that her mother’s letters were desperate. She preferred to hear the whole tale herself, and then to write to them only what was necessary.
What astonished all the household was the look of shameless happiness upon Lydia’s face.
“Lydia, how can you smile so?” cried Jane resentfully, unable to restrain herself; but Mr Bingley, who was also present, gently took her hand and led her to a sofa.
Mrs Gardiner understood at once and sent Lydia upstairs to refresh herself, which the girl did, casting one last smile at her family.
“She is mad,” Jane said.
“She is to be married,” Mr Gardiner explained quickly, for it was the only news that could soothe them. “All the way from that miserable place where we found her, she could scarcely cease singing for joy.”
“She is to be married!” repeated Jane, now calmer. “Thank Heaven she is to be married.”
“But does she not see what she has done—what she has done to us? How can she smile happily when she has almost destroyed us?” Elizabeth cried, choked with anger.
“That girl is reckless and without shame,” Mr Gardiner said, and left the room in disgust, after briefly recounting what had occurred. “Colonel Fitzwilliam discovered them, but it was Mr Darcy who spoke with him; for the colonel might have killed the scoundrel.”
In brief: by his firmness and his purse alike, Mr Darcy effected what persuasion alone could not accomplish. All Wickham’s debts were paid; a commission was purchased; and by the promise of immediate marriage, the scandal, though never forgotten, was at least repaired.
“Who paid his debts?” cried Elizabeth.
But Mr Gardiner said nothing more. Weary, he went to write to Mr Bennet, leaving the ladies with more questions than answers. Yet Lydia was to be married—whatever the reason—and the world would know only that.
“Who paid his debts?” repeated Elizabeth.
“Probably your uncle,” her aunt replied.
“But Mr Darcy found them...in that wretched place!” Elizabeth hid her face in her hands, for she burned with shame.
“There are many things we do not know,” Jane observed.
“And they should remain so,” Mr Bingley decided gently but firmly, though in truth he longed for knowledge.
He wished only that his dear fiancée might be calmed and forget that dreadful week; yet he was resolved to see Darcy, for he had his suspicions.
When they had had spoken a few days ago of Wickham’s debts, known through Colonel Forster, Darcy had uttered a remark full of anger: “It shall be the last time I do it...but this time I shall do it as it ought to be done.”