Chapter 30
BLISSFUL WHILE IT LASTED
M r Bennet was at the breakfast table when Elizabeth came downstairs. It was a heartening sight, though she was unsure as to the wisdom of it. “Ought you to be up? You look very pale still.”
“If I do, ’tis only because I have not seen the light of day for a week. But rest assured, I am much better.”
Elizabeth sat down and poured them both a cup of tea. “Then I am pleased, but you must promise not to overexert yourself. You gave us all such a fright.”
“Yes, yes, you are quite right. I must do as little as possible. And really, given how much I have achieved thus far without lifting a finger—nurturing my youngest children into the most senseless, selfish creatures ever to walk the earth, consenting to a marriage I knew nothing about, allowing my youngest daughter to disgrace herself and all her sisters, acquiring a morally corrupt libertine as a son, and managing my estate in such a way as to ensure there is not a penny spare to help Lydia put food on her table—I can see that the very best thing to do now is even less than before.”
Elizabeth regarded him pityingly. He had lost weight, and possibly hair, and all the sport had gone out of his reflections, leaving only bitter sarcasm. “You were not to know—”
“You warned me though, did you not? You could not have said more plainly that Lydia’s behaviour would get her into trouble. Would that I had listened.”
Elizabeth felt again the regret that beset her upon first hearing of the elopement.
Yes, she had warned her father, but only about Lydia’s wild conduct.
She had said nothing against Wickham. How she regretted that decision!
Had she only told her father some part of his history with Darcy, or perhaps named Colonel Fitzwilliam as a second authority on the evils of his character, then Lydia might have been kept safely at Longbourn.
Time had tempered her regret with a little perspective, however.
She was of the opinion now that, if the disaster in Brighton had been averted, Lydia would only have found another, somewhere else, before long.
The only benefit to delaying the inevitable was that a different man would be Elizabeth’s brother, and her hopes might not have perished along with her sister’s virtue.
“None of us forced her into that carriage, Papa. Not even Wickham. The blame for that is Lydia’s alone.”
“Not so, though I thank you for trying to absolve me. But you said it yourself—I did not check Lydia’s behaviour.
I did not provide her with the information or understanding that would have prevented her from climbing into that carriage.
What came next, I blame wholly on Wickham.
Everything that came before, I must own to myself. ”
Elizabeth knew not how to respond, for she did not entirely disagree, but there was no point in worsening her father’s shame by saying so.
They ate their breakfasts without any more discussion until Mr Bennet asked a question that made it clear her silence was as strong an indictment as if she had simply concurred.
“Did your uncle think the same as you?”
“Pardon?”
“Come, Lizzy, I would think you a simpleton if you did not agree that I have let you and your sisters down. I would know what your uncle Gardiner had to say on the matter that he would not say to my face.”
“He was only concerned with assisting in the search,” she assured him. “If he was displeased with any party, he was too kind to say so. Unlike my aunt Wallis.”
Her father let out a bark of laughter. “I can well imagine! And pray, what has she to say on the matter?”
“Nothing that I think you would consider useful,” Elizabeth admitted.
“No, let me hear it. She no doubt thinks I ought to disown your sister, or something equally severe.”
“Actually, she suggested that you disown Mama. She said you could send her to keep house for Lydia and install Jane as mistress of Longbourn.”
“And what are her plans for you?”
“She wants me to go and stay with her.” Her father seemed to think this a hollow threat, and Elizabeth judged it the wrong time to inform him she was seriously considering accepting the invitation. “I am sorry for Lydia,” she said instead. “She has no idea how wretched her life will be.”
“Your sister is so utterly devoid of rational thought that I think her quite capable of blundering through every tribulation in complete ignorance.” He paused when Kitty came into the room, continuing once she had taken her seat at the table.
“Wickham seems an equal stranger to common sense. With any luck they may not notice each other’s deficiencies at all. ”
“They will notice when they cannot afford coal to burn.”
“If you are talking about Lydia and Wickham, they have money enough for all the coal they need now,” Kitty said.
Elizabeth exchanged a puzzled look with her father. “What do you mean?”
“Wickham has a new commission in the regulars. His cousin paid for it.”
It was swiftly established that Kitty had received correspondence from Lydia that morning, which she reluctantly handed over for Elizabeth to read the pertinent parts aloud to her father.
A cousin of Wickham’s has bought him an ensigncy.
It means we must move to Newcastle, but I do not mind, for I am grown tired of London.
It is full of foul-smelling smoke and half-finished buildings, and at night, people shout and fight in the streets and keep me awake.
Mrs Younge has refunded our rent—most of it, anyway—so we have plenty of money to spend.
We celebrated no longer being poor by drinking two bottles of fine wine.
The whole business has put Wickham in a better humour than he has been in since we left Longbourn.
I do not know why everyone had to be so horrid to him while we were there, it was quite unfair, but he is happier now, and he only got a bit cross that I have bought myself a new coat.
I hope you are not too fed up being stuck there with nothing to do.
Elizabeth let out an angry breath and handed the note back to Kitty. “Well, we can safely say she listened to none of our lessons about economy.”
“We can also safely say that Wickham has more relations on hand to bail him out than any man as despicable as he has a right to,” Mr Bennet added. “I am only vexed that I have ended up among their number.”
“I never heard of his having any relations except a father and mother, both of whom he told me had been dead many years.”
“I thought you would both be happy that Lydia’s prospects have improved,” Kitty said in a bewildered tone.
“Oh, I am,” Elizabeth replied with a resigned sigh. “But it does not solve as many problems as you might think. It does not make Lydia any more worldly-wise. It will not stop Wickham running up more debts.” It will not undo the fact that he is my brother!
“You were right, though, Lizzy,” her father said.
“I have only been keeping my promise not to exert myself for five minutes, and I have already achieved another feat of brilliance. Your sister is saved from destitution. Lord knows what I might accomplish were I to do even less.” With exaggeratedly slow actions and an expression of feigned trepidation, he set his knife and fork down and slowly leant back in his chair, clasping his hands across his stomach.
At which point, the door was flung open, and Mrs Bennet burst into the room.
“Such news, everyone! Such news! Hill has just returned from Meryton, and you will never guess what she has heard. Netherfield is being reopened! Mr Bingley is coming back!”
Much of the glee that had been missing from Mr Bennet’s countenance since Lydia’s misadventure began returned in that instant.
He pushed himself to his feet and regarded Elizabeth with a self-satisfied grin.
“And on that note, I am off to my library, where I shall endeavour to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day in the hopes that I might be able to remedy all our other troubles by dinner.”
* * *
The Wickhams’ windfall and Mr Bingley’s intentions were the focus of endless speculation at Longbourn, though Elizabeth spent most of her time quietly assuring Jane.
Her eldest sister was all apprehension for everybody’s certain expectations of what was to come, and whilst she was exceedingly hopeful that Mr Bingley yet admired her, she dreaded so much attention from her family and friends.
An entire day and evening talking about nothing else was too much for Elizabeth, and at noon the next day, she escaped Longbourn and walked to Oakham Mount.
She chose that destination deliberately, for it was a long way there and back, and she revelled in the bracing autumn breeze that harried her along the path, fussing at her bonnet and cuffs and loosening all her tightly held emotions.
She could congratulate or commiserate with Jane as the circumstance demanded; she could endure the whispers that came whenever Lydia’s name was mentioned; she could tolerate her father’s irreverence and her mother’s ignorance.
What she knew not how to contend with, was the sorrow that repeatedly crept over her, stinging her eyes with tears, and making her hands clumsy with tremors, every time she thought about the gentleman who was not coming back to Netherfield.
She did her best not to think about it most of the time, but when she returned home and heard Mr Bingley’s voice in the parlour, she almost put her bonnet back on and returned out of doors, for she did not think she had the strength to feign composure for the length of a call.
Only Jane’s nervous attempts at conversation, emanating timorously from the parlour, prevented her running away.
She knew not what her countenance showed when she saw that Darcy was there, but his altered from a grave expression to one of fiercely restrained gratification in an instant.
She doubted anyone else would notice, for as usual, he moved scarcely a muscle, but she saw it as clearly as if he had come to his feet and bellowed his relief to the room.
“There you are, Lizzy. Where have you been?” her mother enquired, though she did not wait for an answer before continuing, “Look who is come. Mr Bingley!”
Elizabeth curtseyed to that gentleman, said some words that she hoped were welcoming, and remembered to spare Jane an encouraging smile before turning back to Darcy.
She could scarcely believe he had come, yet there he was, his penetrating gaze as intimate and familiar as if she had never stepped out of his sight.
“Oh yes, and Mr Darcy,” Mrs Bennet added rudely, but Elizabeth had already left her behind and crossed the room.
“Mr Darcy. You are well, I hope.”
“Exceedingly now. And you?”
“Yes, thank you. How is Pemberley?”
His mouth twitched with a small smile. “Still standing. Just about.”
“Have they discovered what is causing the damage?”
“Subsidence has been confirmed.”
“That sounds serious. Do they know what has caused it?”
He smiled again, clearly gratified by something, though it could not have been what they were discussing. “No.”
“Can it be repaired?”
“Yes. In time.”
“I am so pleased. I should have been terribly upset to hear otherwise.” She wrinkled her nose in chagrin. “That is a foolish thing to say to you, is it not? I imagine you would have been a good deal more upset than I.”
He shook his head very slightly.
“Is Miss Darcy still at Pemberley?”
He confirmed that she was.
“I trust she is well. I hope my note reached her safely.” She detected a hint of something like annoyance in his expression, and though it was gone quickly, it nevertheless unnerved her.
“It was such a pleasure to make her acquaintance—I was sorry it was curtailed. I hope the note gave her some assurance to that effect.”
“Lizzy, what are you running on about to Mr Darcy? You have not stopped since you came in the door. Remember to whom you are talking and be quiet.”
Elizabeth felt herself blush at her mother’s coarseness—and blush again as she realised with deep mortification that she had been running on.
She was so elated to see Darcy, had so much to say to him, wished so dearly to return to the easiness they seemed to have reached in Derbyshire, that she had quite forgotten her manners.
Yet her mother was right—he had barely spoken, and she knew not whether that was because he rarely did, because he had not been able to, or because he did not wish to.
For the first time since setting eyes on him, it occurred to Elizabeth to question why he had come. Then, in the blink of an eye, all possible answers were rendered moot, for Mrs Bennet announced, “You have all heard, I suppose, that my youngest daughter is lately married? To Mr Wickham.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and lowered her chin as Mrs Bennet talked and talked about her new son.
It had been blissful while it lasted, but whatever Darcy’s reason for coming, it was sure to be his last visit now that he knew her connexions had sunk to a previously unthinkable low.
As if to prove it, Mr Bingley interrupted her mother a few minutes later to announce their departure.
Before the gentlemen left, Mrs Bennet invited them to dine at Longbourn in a few days’ time.
Mr Bingley accepted, and Mrs Bennet clearly considered that he meant to engage his friend as well as himself for attendance.
Elizabeth was under no such illusion, and her goodbye to Darcy was appropriately final.
She was pleased for the opportunity to say that which precipitance had not allowed when she left Derbyshire, but she found, when the time came, that her parting words did not convey even a tenth of her feelings, and that after he was gone, she was ten times more bereft than the last time they had been separated.