Chapter 5
Mr. Gardiner pacedthe modest parlor of the Lambton Inn, his brow lines creased and lips pursed. The letter to his sister lay open before him on the small writing desk, the words mocking him with their casual brevity.
Your daughter Elizabeth fell into a stream...
He shook his head, a wave of guilt washing over him. If only he had not insisted on dallying by the bridge, admiring the scenery. Elizabeth would not have had cause to stand so perilously close to the rushing waters.
Mr. Darcy’s arrival at the brook had been nothing short of providential. Yet even with his swift actions, Elizabeth now lay abed, stricken with fever.
Someone knocked on the sturdy oak of the guest room’s door. “Come in,” he called, his voice gruff with worry.
The door opened to reveal the young manservant, Berry. “The express rider is ready, sir. He awaits your letter.”
Gardiner snatched up the folded parchment, tucking it into an oiled leather pouch to protect it. “Thank you, lad. Here.” He pressed a few coins into Berry’s palm.
The boy’s eyes widened, and he bobbed his head. “Much obliged, sir. I’ll see the letter is delivered with all haste.”
As Berry scurried off, Gardiner turned his gaze towards the window. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay his sister’s home in Hertfordshire. He could only pray the letter would bring her swiftly to her daughter’s side and that Elizabeth would rally before long.
Mr. Gardiner methodically folded his wife’s muslin gowns, taking care not to crease the delicate fabric. His fingers traced the fine embroidery adorning the collar of her favorite day dress—a subtle touch of elegance that spoke of her refined taste.
Another brisk rap on the door startled him from his reverie. “Enter,” he called, turning towards the sound.
The chambermaid bobbed a quick curtsy as she stepped inside, two folded letters clutched in her work-worn hands. “Begging your pardon, sir. These just arrived by express for Miss Elizabeth.”
“All manner of expensive post is flying about today, isn’t it?” Mr. Gardiner crossed the room in two strides, accepting the proffered letters with a nod of thanks. The script on both resembled Elizabeth’s, so he surmised the letters were from Jane, her elder sister.
He slid them into the leather carrying case alongside his wife’s belongings, resisting the temptation to glimpse at their contents. Elizabeth would read them herself once she had recovered her strength.
“My gratitude,” he murmured to the maid, dropping a few coins into her hand to more than compensate for her labor and the rider’s.
Her cheeks flushed, and she bobbed another curtsy before scurrying from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Gardiner turned his gaze to the modest chamber, ensuring nothing had been overlooked. Satisfied, he grasped the handles of the case and strode towards the door, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the bare wooden floors.
They had lost enough time already. He must return to Pemberley with all haste and ease his wife’s worries over their dear niece’s condition.
Mr. Gardiner settledinto the plush upholstery of the family coach, the gentle sway and creak of the carriage lulling his frayed nerves. He cradled the leather case bearing Jane’s letters against his chest, his thumb idly tracing the embossed initials.
What news could those folded pages contain to prompt such haste from Jane? Good tidings, he hoped, though his gut twisted at the notion of further turmoil befalling the Bennet clan.
The verdant landscape rolled by, vivid shades of emerald and jade painting the rolling hills and dappled woodlands. Mr. Gardiner drank in the tranquil scenery, trying to calm the tumult of emotions roiling within.
All too soon, the stately facade of Pemberley came into view, its elegant lines and warm stone beckoning like a siren’s call. He could scarcely credit their good fortune—to find sanctuary in such splendor, all by the grace of the very gentleman his niece had once described to his wife as “a very proud man.”
The carriage rolled to a halt, and he alighted, letters retrieved and in hand. Mrs. Gardiner hurried to greet him, her brow creased with worry.
“From Jane,” he explained, pressing the folded parchments into her waiting palms. “For Elizabeth, once she is recovered.”
“You have a look about you that is more perplexed than grim, husband,” Mrs. Gardiner said. Sensing his possible misinterpretation, she continued, “I would not fault you for it. Our sojourn in Derbyshire has proved more eventful than I could have anticipated. More exciting, I think, than I would ever wish a vacation to be.”
Mr. Gardiner forced a smile. “Yes. Excitement beyond expectation.”
An understatement if ever there was one. Still, as they mounted the broad steps towards the imposing oak doors, Mr. Gardiner could not shake a sense of foreboding.
“Oh,Lizzy, thank goodness you are awake!” Mrs. Gardiner could not keep the relief from her voice, though her joy at seeing her niece’s open eyes tempered once she approached the bed.
The young woman had lost most of her rosy color; her hair was damp and matted against the pillow, and her form looked small and frail in the grand bed. But she was conscious, or at least more conscious than she had been in the early morning hours, and so Mrs. Gardiner would be grateful.
“Barely,” Elizabeth croaked. “Dr. Ferren says my leg is swollen. He is trying several compresses to treat the wound. I told him I liked the one with honey the best because it smells better than the others.”
“Excellent taste as always, Lizzy.” Mr. Gardiner tried to look more relieved than he felt. “I will find him and tell him you prefer the honey treatment.” He followed the maidservants out of the room, leaving the two women alone.
“I have news from home, dear Lizzy,” said her aunt. “Letters from Jane. May I read them to you?”
“Of course,” replied Elizabeth. Mrs. Gardiner noted both the muted excitement and the exhaustion in Elizabeth’s voice; they would probably only finish the reading of one before the patient’s desire for rest overtook her curiosity at news of the parties and engagements that Meryton afforded.
After dispensing with the beginning of the first letter, in which Jane reviewed the happenings at home in Elizabeth and Lydia’s absences, the handwriting changed to a rushed scrawl, which, from Mrs. Gardiner’s recollection, was unusual in her eldest niece’s missives.
“‘Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia.’”Mrs. Gardiner paused, and she heard a distinct groan from Elizabeth.
She continued reading. “‘An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham!’”
“What?” Elizabeth tried to sit up, but the effort was clearly too much for her. “Lord, what has she done?”
“Calm yourself, Lizzy.” Mrs. Gardiner gently pushed her back into a reclining position. “Save your strength. I will read all.”
“‘Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood.’”
“Not likely,” muttered Elizabeth.
“‘Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step—and let us rejoice over it—marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I that we never let them know what has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves.’ Lizzy, what does Jane mean, ‘what has been said against him’?”
“It would take more than my strength allows to explain fully,” Elizabeth said. “Suffice it say, he is a scoundrel and squanders every chance he has at redemption.” She gave her aunt a sidelong glance. “I confess, it pains me greatly that our family is to be joined to him in any way.”
Though it shocked Mrs. Gardiner to hear her niece speak so plainly, she did not merely dismiss such unabashed criticism as a byproduct of her fever but took her words as she would a declaration from Elizabeth in her optimal state of being. “Well, perhaps it is not as bad as it seems. Lydia and Mr. Wickham will probably be married in Gretna Green, and the next we hear of it, they will be settled back in with the Regiment.”
“Hmm.” Elizabeth closed her eyes.
Mrs. Gardiner briefly excused herself to use the privy. By the time she returned, Elizabeth was fast asleep. She sat down at her bedside and stared at the second missive on the table next to her.
It was toomuch suspense for her nerves to bear, and after a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Gardiner opened the second missive from Jane Bennet, hopeful that it contained a resolution to the troubles described in her previous correspondence.
It was not good news.
Dearest Lizzy,
I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as a marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland.
Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia’s short letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set off from Brighton intending to trace their route.
He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no farther, for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney-coach and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after this is that they were seen to continue the London road. I know not what to think. After making every possible enquiry on that side of London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success; no such people had been seen to pass through.
With the kindest concern, he came on to Longbourn and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F., but no one can throw any blame on them.
Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it more eligible for them to be married privately in town than to pursue their first plan, and even if he could form such a design against a young woman of Lydia’s connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to everything?—Impossible. I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother is really ill and keeps her room. Could she exert herself it would be better, but this is not to be expected. As to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder.
“Disaster,” Mrs. Gardiner breathed, clutching the missive as if it were a cursed object. Could such ill news come at a worse possible time?
She glanced over at Elizabeth, who even in her sleep was starting to sweat through her linens again.
No. She could not tell her. Not now. Not until the worst had passed. Her conscious state today was promising, but her fever had not yet broken. If such news weighed upon Elizabeth on top of her perilous state, her aunt feared her niece’s constitution could suffer such a cataclysm that she might never recover.
Racing from the room, Mrs. Gardiner nearly tripped over a startled maid outside the door. She offered a hurried apology and directed the young lady to fetch the doctor and have him check on Elizabeth again before setting off to consult with her husband.