Mr. Gardiner added in his letter, that they might expect to see their father at home on the following day, which was Saturday. Rendered spiritless by the ill-success of all their endeavours, he had yielded to his brother-in-law’s entreaty that he would return to his family. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she did not express so much satisfaction as her children expected, considering what her anxiety for his life had been before.
“What, is he coming home? And without poor Lydia?” she cried. “Sure he will not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry her, if he comes away?”
As Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, it was settled that she and the children should go to London, at the same time that Mr. Bennet came from it. The coach, therefore, took them the first stage of their journey, and brought its master back to Longbourn.
Mrs. Gardiner went away in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy that had attended her from that part of the world. His name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece; and Elizabeth had received no letters since her return that could come from Pemberley.
The present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse for the lowness of her spirits unnecessary. Elizabeth, who was by this time tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia’s infamy somewhat better. It would have spared her, she thought, one sleepless night out of two.
When Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appearance of his usual philosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever been in the habit of saying; made no mention of the business that had taken him away, and it was some time before his daughters had courage to speak of it.
It was not till the afternoon, when he had joined them at tea, that Elizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on her briefly expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, “Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? ‘For every rod of wet bamboo upon the student’s back, the teacher deserves two.’ Did not Master Liu say as much?”
“You must not be too severe upon yourself,” replied Elizabeth.
“You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. For it was I who resolved that you should be warriors, and not ladies. It is I who saw to your instruction in the ways of death, while neglecting to teach you anything of life. Grant me my shame, for it is most deserved.”
“Do you suppose them to be in London?”
“Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?”
“And Lydia used to want to go to London,” added Kitty.
“She is happy then,” said her father drily; “and her residence there will probably be of some duration.”
Then after a short silence he continued:
“Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, shows some greatness of mind.”
They were interrupted by Kitty, who came to fetch her mother’s tea.
“This is a parade!” he cried. “Can I have not a moment’s peace in which to suffer my misfortune? Tomorrow I will sit in my library, in my nightcap and robes of silk, and remain there till Kitty runs away.”
“I am not going to run away, papa,” said Kitty fretfully. “If I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia.”
“You go to Brighton. I would not trust you so near it as Eastbourne for fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter into my house again, nor even to pass through the village. Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters. And you are never to stir out of doors till you can prove that you have spent ten hours of every day in pursuit of your studies.”
Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.
“Well, well,” said he, “do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them.”
CHAPTER 49
TWO DAYS AFTER Mr. Bennet’s return, as Jane and Elizabeth were tracking a buck through the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper coming towards them, and, concluding that she came to report their mother’s latest fit of vomiting, went forward to meet her; but, instead of the expected news, when they approached her, she said to Miss Bennet, “I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some good news from town, so I took the liberty of coming to ask.”
“What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town.”
“Dear madam,” cried Mrs. Hill, in great astonishment, “don’t you know there is an express come for master from Mr. Gardiner? He has been here this half-hour, and master has had a letter.”
Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have time for speech. They ran through the vestibule into the breakfast-room; from thence to the library; their father was in neither; and they were on the point of seeking him upstairs with their mother, when they were met by the butler, who said:
“If you are looking for my master, ma’am, he is walking towards the dojo.”
Upon this information, they instantly passed through the hall once more, and ran across the lawn after their father, who was deliberately pursuing his way toward the modest building.
Elizabeth came up with him, and eagerly cried out:
“Oh, papa, what news-what news? Have you heard from my uncle?”
“Yes I have had a letter from him by express.”
“Well, and what news does it bring-good or bad?”
“What is there of good to be expected?” said he, taking the letter from his pocket. “But perhaps you would like to read it.”
Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand. Jane now came up.
“Read it aloud,” said their father, “for I hardly know myself what it is about.”
Section Six East, Monday,
August 2.
MY DEAR BROTHER,
At last I am able to send you some tidings of my niece, and such as, upon the whole, I hope it will give you satisfaction. Soon after you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what part of London they were. The particulars I reserve till we meet; it is enough to know they are discovered. I have seen them both-
“Then it is as I always hoped,” cried Jane; “they are married!” Elizabeth read on:
I have seen them both. They are not married, nor can I find there was any intention of being so; but I can happily report that Mr. Wickham has lately undergone a most remarkable change of heart on the subject, and wishes they be wed with the utmost expediency. He is in a most dreadful state, however, for a carriage accident has left him bedridden and unable to move his limbs, or control his personal business. I am afraid his doctors are of the opinion that he shall remain thus for the whole course of his life; but imagine their relief to know that he shall have a devoted wife to attend to his every need till death do they part. He wishes no share of your daughter’s five thousand pounds, nor does he require more than five pounds per annum to offset the cost of his linens. These are conditions which, considering everything, I had no hesitation in complying with, as far as I thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send this by express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me full powers to act in your name throughout the whole of this business, there will not be the smallest occasion for your coming to town again; therefore stay quiet at Longbourn, and depend on my diligence and care. Send back your answer as fast as you can, and be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it best that my niece should be married at Wickham’s bedside, of which I hope you will approve, as there is little chance of his being moved. She comes to us to-day. I shall write again as soon as anything more is determined on.