Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Later that afternoon, Bridges brought a packet of letters and a small parcel. “Mrs Reynolds sent these on from Pemberley, sir.”
Darcy flipped through the letters. They seemed to be the usual correspondence from distant acquaintances who would have no idea where he was staying at present. He would answer them in due course; none of them needed immediate attention.
He picked up the parcel. It was a box, enfolded in brown paper and tied with string.
Curious, he untied the string and unwrapped it, discovering to his amazement a collection of small items wrapped in tissue paper: a signet ring, an ancient verge fusee pocket watch and fob, as well as the small blue book he had left at Haye-Park, as a gift of sorts to Goulding.
In his last days, the man had remembered him and sent it back.
Darcy saw the inscription he had written just inside the front cover in November.
There was a loose bit of paper tucked in the pages.
He unfolded it. In faint, shaky handwriting, there was a quote.
Darcy,
A reminder of our discussion of Goldsmith: Remember, he wrote that ‘Success consists of getting up one more time than you fall’. He also wrote that ‘Hope is such an important thing; without it we are walking shadows’.
This is important, my boy. Keep trying; keep hoping. Do not give up on her.
Your Friend,
William Goulding
Goulding had sent it because he thought it was important.
Darcy stared at it in wonder. He knew. Goulding knew him, and he knew Elizabeth, very well. Did he mean that she had changed her feelings about Darcy?
The eastern sky was lightening. It was very early, and Elizabeth had not slept well.
Lydia’s return had brought all manner of noise and chaos with her, and her demands for money, despite their conversation, were driving Elizabeth mad.
Her friendship with Mrs Forster had not made Lydia better; it had only reinforced her worst behaviour.
How had the gentlemanly colonel married such an ill-mannered, childish woman?
Elizabeth had asked her parents to help her keep an eye on Lydia. She had told them as well as Uncle Philips about her encounter with Mr Wickham. Mrs Bennet thought Mr Wickham too much of a gentleman to mean anything by it until Mrs Hill instructed Davy to tell her what he had witnessed.
Giving up the attempt to sleep, Elizabeth rose and dressed but remained in her room. She would use the quiet time to complete a letter to Aunt Gardiner so it could go out with the day’s post.
My dear Aunt,
I think of you daily as you manage your household and children during my uncle’s prolonged absence. The girls are certainly old enough to understand, but I expect the boys dearly miss their papa. I was very glad to hear that his business in Glasgow went well and that he is on his way back to you.
Though I was disappointed that we were unable to travel north as planned this summer, in the end I believe that all’s well that ends well.
I would have been unable to join you at any rate, and I would have regretted you travelling without me.
The fates have conspired against us, but I will continue to hope for another chance to journey to the Lakes with you in future.
The work on Mr Goulding’s charitable society continues apace. I have learnt a very great deal. Uncle Philips is an excellent teacher and explains the law well, though it is quite a dry subject. I do not understand how he maintains his interest in it.
I wrote letters to several charitable societies and some have answered. They freely share the history of their organisations, how they came to be and how they set their rules and by-laws, chose their trustees, and planned their budgets.
Thank you again for your introduction to Mrs Sadler of the Education for the Poor Society. We have exchanged letters, and her description of their budgeting and accountability system was quite helpful.
We also received a detailed letter from a Mr Caswell in Staffordshire.
Uncle Philips did not write to him, nor did I.
We do not know how he found out about our enquiries, but we are glad that he did.
Mr Caswell manages a charitable organisation with a board of trustees.
He was especially enlightening about how they went about choosing trustees and doling out grants of money.
With her attention on her letter, it took her a moment to notice the sounds outside her room.
A creak on the stairs preceded a succession of thumping noises.
She silently opened her door to see Lydia, in her best travelling gown, tiptoeing down the stairs, a portmanteau in one hand and a band box over her arm, making for the door.
Lydia turned, met her eye, and exited through the kitchen door at a run.
Elizabeth ran after her, catching her up as she rounded the kitchen garden and holding tightly to her arm. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Let go of me! You may be too high and mighty to marry, but I am not.”
An unwelcome voice came from over her shoulder. “I have made Miss Lydia an offer of marriage, and we are for Scotland.” It was Mr Wickham, a smirk on his face, moving towards them, a small carriage and two horses behind him, partially concealed from view of the house.
Lydia broke free from her sister’s grasp. “Wicky loves me, and we will be married. When I get my dowry, we will move far away from you!” She ran to Wickham’s side, and he put his arm around her, grinning triumphantly at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth maintained her outward composure, but inside it stung.
This is all I am now, to my sister, to friends and neighbours, to the entire neighbourhood.
No longer Lizzy Bennet, sister, friend, neighbour; she was merely a potential source of money to single men and shopkeepers and to those who somehow felt entitled to it.
And so many of them felt entitled. People whom she had known all her life had changed their perception of her.
Lord, will I ever learn how to reckon with it!
She wanted to scream with rage, but strangely she felt a cold calm settle over her, as if snow was being wind-driven through her, clearing her mind and flowing through her veins. “Lydia, you assume too much. You do not have a dowry,” she said, her chin rising.
Wickham had moved to hand Lydia into the carriage but stopped and slowly turned around.
“Of course I have a dowry! You are rich—you will settle dowries on your sisters! You owe it to us! You are jealous, that is all! You fancied George for yourself!” Lydia shouted as Wickham leant away from her.
Elizabeth looked down her nose at her sister and said flatly, “Mr Goulding’s will stipulates that I and my advisors must carry out his wishes.
Dowries have nothing to do with it. He meant his fortune to be used for charity, not dowries!
Even if he had designated funds for that, they would be small, and it would not be until we are of age.
“And in your case, Lydia, it would also be dependent on your behaviour and who your intended is. Your actions are that of a spoilt child. Not only that, your so-called bridegroom does not love you. He tried to entrap me and failed. He affected to be in love with Mary King until her uncle recognised him for the villain he is and took her away so he could not get her ten thousand pounds. He has pretended to have tender regard for you, but he only wants money.”
Lydia wrapped her arms around Mr Wickham’s. “You know nothing of love! He loves me and does not need money to marry me! He will take me without any dowry. Come, George, let us leave!” She again turned towards the carriage, pulling at his arm, but Wickham did not follow.
In a soft, mocking voice, he said, “Hmm, no dowry, eh? Perhaps this is even better—the idea of being shackled to this stupid doxy was repulsive to me anyway. Though I would do quite well with her in Covent Garden, do you not think? I could sell her to the highest bidder. I know a woman there who could use another body in her establishment, and this wench has long been agreeable enough to the kisses and caresses of men. Many men, in fact. She certainly likes the attentions of soldiers.” He returned Elizabeth’s glare with a smirk of triumph.
The soft voice belied the hatred burning in his eyes as he roughly pulled Lydia against him, yanking her arms behind her back with one arm and wrapping the other around her throat. He began dragging her towards the carriage.
Lydia, confused, did not struggle at first. “George, no…you said we would be married!”
Wickham ignored her, still taunting Elizabeth. “Once she is sold to a house in town, the shame will prevent her sisters from ever marrying, dowries or not. Unless, of course, her family will pay to save her.”