Chapter 21
NOTHING TO BE DONE
L ongbourn was strangely muted, given the extraordinary circumstances.
Mr Bennet remained in London, and thither, too, had gone Mr Gardiner.
Mrs Bennet kept to her chambers. Without her favourite sister to conspire with, Kitty made a good deal less noise than she was generally wont to do.
Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary, all conscious of the implications for them of a sister’s fall from grace, were vastly subdued.
The whole family was avoiding social engagements, and by such means, all difficult questions.
The only liveliness in the house came from the Gardiner children, and their mother spent most of her time attempting to dampen that, for fear of upsetting the rest of the household.
“Shall we take them out to play in the garden?” Elizabeth suggested, seeing the littlest of her cousins begin to work himself up to tears upon being hushed for the fourth or fifth time.
Mrs Gardiner readily agreed, and between them, they bundled all four children, several toys, and a blanket outside.
The three eldest children dispersed across the lawn, whilst little Matthew began lining up his toy soldiers on the hills and valleys of the blanket-landscape.
It was a mild day, not cold but not sunny either, and the stiff breeze picking at the corners of the blanket reminded Elizabeth of the picnic at Pemberley.
That had been less than a week ago, yet it felt a lifetime removed.
Separating that moment from the present were three miserable days of rain-plagued travel, followed by two even longer days spent absorbing all the distressing details of Lydia’s elopement.
Elizabeth would not have been surprised had she woken that morning to discover her entire stay in Derbyshire had been a dream.
She wished she had kept Darcy’s coat. It had smelled wonderful. She would have taken solace in wrapping it around herself, perchance to pretend she was in his arms as she had come so close to being.
“I hate to see you so downcast, Lizzy,” Mrs Gardiner said gently. “I am more used to you finding the humour in things.”
“I do not know that things have ever seemed less humorous.”
“These are not ideal circumstances by any stretch of the imagination. But I am sure your father and uncle will find Lydia.”
“Then you are more confident than I am.” Elizabeth righted several of her cousin’s soldiers that had fallen over.
They all toppled over again directly, for she was too angry to place them with any care.
“Stupid, stupid girl! To go, and go willingly, into such a situation—and with such a man! What possessed her?”
“Youth. Fancy. Inclination. Do not fool yourself into believing that passion is the sole province of men. Women are just as susceptible.”
Elizabeth did not need to be persuaded of that.
When Darcy had pulled her towards him in his coat and looked at her as though she were a siren from whose song he was struggling to break free, her body had responded compellingly.
Sensations she had never felt before but were instinctively understood left her flushed, light-headed, and unsatisfied.
She had wanted him to kiss her with a fervency that startled her still, so yes, she knew very well what it was to be carried away by passion.
She knew it so well, had dwelt on it so long, in fact, that she had begun to doubt her understanding of everything else.
She fretted that she, like Lydia, had allowed her fancy to overtake reason—allowed herself to see admiration where, in truth, there was only civility.
For she knew now that Darcy could be so very attentive, so very gentle, so very generous.
It was perfectly possible that he had not wanted to kiss her at all; that he had meant only to shield her from the rain; that, not wishing to appear resentful, he had merely been tolerating her company all along.
“Perhaps he is relieved I am gone. He certainly will be when he finds out what has happened.”
“Who?”
“Mr Darcy.”
“Oh. We are talking about him now, are we?” Mrs Gardiner had taken over straightening the fallen soldiers, passing every other one to her son for him to position. It nevertheless seemed that her small smile was not for him. “If you are lucky, he will not find out.”
“Lucky?” Elizabeth said with a bitter laugh.
“I suppose it would prevent him discovering yet another reason to object to my family, but it would not explain to him why I left, just when—” She bit off her words and exhaled in exasperation.
There had been no question of explaining the matter in her note to his sister—the risk to Lydia’s reputation hardly as great a consideration as the pain to Miss Darcy that any mention of Mr Wickham’s name must give.
It had never been her intention to leave without any explanation at all, though.
Not when she and Darcy had seemed so close to an understanding.
She could not bear to think what his feelings towards her must presently be.
“Would that I could have talked to him.”
“I know you wanted to, and that your uncle and I agreed to it, but in retrospect, I am not sure it is a bad thing that you did not get the chance. What would you have said?”
“That I—That Lydia—Oh! I do not know!”
“Exactly. It is better this way. Let us find your sister and bring her home first. Then, once everything has settled down, your uncle can write to Mr Darcy and invite him to dinner when he is next in London, and the acquaintance can be renewed that way.”
“Only if Lydia is not married to Mr Wickham. If she is, it is all lost.” It was not to be supposed that Darcy would have anything to do with her if she were connected so closely to the man he so justly scorned.
“If she is not married to Mr Wickham, it may still all be lost.”
Her aunt’s sombre tone was humbling.
“Forgive me, I do not mean to be selfish. You must know I am concerned about what will happen to Lydia. But I cannot pretend it does not pain me that Mr Darcy does not know why I left. He will think I do not care.”
“Oh, Lizzy. We could all see that you cared. If he could not, then he must be blind.”
Elizabeth shook her head emphatically. “He assumed I admired him the first time he proposed, and I spurned him. He is not likely to risk making the same mistake again. He cannot have lost that much of his pride.”
“But did you not say in your note to Miss Darcy that you hoped to see him again?”
“I did, but what good will that do? He will not seek me out while there is any doubt as to my feelings, and my uncle will not write to him while there is any doubt as to Lydia’s virtue.
My only hope is that Lydia can be found unruined and unmarried.
And soon.” Or that, by some miracle, the message she had sent to Darcy would be sufficient to convey her feelings.
The strength of those feelings was somewhat alarming, considering their newness, but she did not question them.
She had never missed anybody so much that it physically hurt, not even Jane.
That was not something she could disregard.
Her aunt squeezed her hand gently. “Your uncle can write even if they are married if that is what you wish.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, and another. At least that way, she supposed, Darcy would know she had not abandoned him willingly. “I should like that. Thank you.”
“Look what I found in the parlour, Matthew.”
Elizabeth looked up in surprise as Jane folded herself elegantly onto the blanket and handed Matthew a toy soldier.
“How is your mother?” Mrs Gardiner enquired of her.
“Much the same. Hill has given her some tonic to help her sleep. Who is my uncle writing to?”
Mrs Gardiner glanced at Elizabeth in question.
“Mr Darcy,” she admitted.
“Mr Darcy?” Jane exclaimed. “Why?”
“To explain our sudden departure.”
Confusion clouded Jane’s countenance, but Thomas, Mrs Gardiner’s other son, chose that moment to run across the blanket, knocking soldiers in every direction and drawing a shrill scream from his brother.
Mrs Gardiner announced that she would return both boys to the house and after a sympathetic glance at Elizabeth, took them both by the hand and led them away.
“Lizzy, I have been very remiss,” Jane said at once. “I have not asked a single thing about your travels since you got home, but now I am anxious. What on earth happened that requires my uncle to write to Mr Darcy, of all people?”
There had scarcely been a minute these past few days when the conversation was not centred on Lydia’s plight, and neither had Elizabeth been sure how much she ought to say of those people she had met in Derbyshire, for fear of giving her sister any distress.
Yet the longer she was away from Darcy, the more certain she became of her heart, and she could never withhold sentiments of such moment from her dearest sister.
Beginning with Mr and Mrs Gardiner’s fateful decision to visit Pemberley on their way to Lambton, Elizabeth relayed the events of the last week, concentrating on her dealings with Darcy and making no mention, for now, of his friends.
Her sister could not conceal her astonishment, and by the time Elizabeth came to describe her confrontation with Pemberley’s housekeeper on Monday afternoon, her hands were firmly in Jane’s clasp.
“Poor, poor Lizzy. I am sure our uncle will smooth things over when he writes. And I am not as convinced as you that Mr Darcy will not come sooner than that. Not if he loves you as much as it sounds as though he does—which is only as much as you deserve.”
Jane’s compassion made Elizabeth suddenly tearful, and her voice wavered as she replied. “I wish I could send word myself, but I dare not write to him, and it would be unpardonably cruel to embroil Miss Darcy in anything in which Mr Wickham is involved.”
“What has Aunt Gardiner advised?”
“Only what you heard—that our uncle will write to Mr Darcy once Lydia is found.”
“Have you written to Mrs Wallis? She always has sound advice.”
“Not yet, but I owe her a letter. I have not written to anyone since before I went away. I shall not do it today, though. My head is too jumbled. I thought a few days would clear it, but—” She sucked in a deep breath to prevent a sob. “I think I love him even more than when I was there.”
Jane tilted her head and smiled kindly. “Then I pity you, Lizzy, for I know that feeling all too well.”
A shard of guilt pierced Elizabeth’s sadness. She adjusted her grip so that Jane was no longer holding her hands, but she Jane’s, and squeezed them tightly for a moment while she gathered her courage.
“There is something else. Mr Bingley was among the friends staying with Mr Darcy.” She allowed a few seconds for that news to sink in, then continued, “I do not know what I can tell you except that he is still single, and I was right about him and Miss Darcy. There is nothing between them.”
Jane nodded. She had gone quite pale. “Did he ask about me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you—do you think he still loves me?”
It was the question Elizabeth dreaded, but she answered as honestly as she could. “I do not know. He did not say so, but I would not expect him to tell me if he did. I looked for it, but it was impossible to tell without you there. I am sorry.”
“Oh, do not be sorry for me,” Jane said with a sigh. “I have had plenty of time to become accustomed to my disappointment. Yours is much fresher.” She tucked Elizabeth’s hair behind her ear and cupped her chin. “But I am confident you will not be unhappy for long.”
Elizabeth did not feel consoled. “We shall never see either of them again if Lydia cannot be found.”
“Of course she will be found! She and Wickham must make a handsome couple— somebody will remember seeing them.”
“What if she is not with him anymore?”
“You cannot believe him so bad as to abandon her!”
“I am sorry to say it, but I do.”
“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane covered her mouth with her hand. On anybody else, the gesture would have looked affected. It made her sweet, unsuspicious sister look truly horrified.
“I know,” she whispered. “She is so na?ve. She would not understand the danger she was in until it was too late.”
“I cannot bear to think what that would do to Papa. You should have seen him when the express came. I never saw anyone so shocked.”
“I cannot bear to think what it would do to any of us, Jane. There would be no gentlemen callers from Derbyshire or anywhere else. We would all be ruined. And as for our poor, reckless sister? Well, we had better pray that our uncle knows where to look for her. It is the only hope for any of us.”