Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. The principal purport of his letter was to inform them that Mr. Wickham had resolved on quitting the militia.
It was greatly my wish that he should do so, as soon as his marriage was fixed on. And I think you will agree with me, in considering that he can do little good in the fight against the zombies given his present condition. It is Mr. Wickham’s intention to enter the priesthood; and among his former friends, there are still some who are able and willing to assist him in this endeavour. He has the promise of joining a special seminary for the lame in northernmost Ireland. It is an advantage to have it so far from this part of the kingdom. He promises fairly; and I hope among different people, where they may each have a character to preserve, they will both be more prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster, to inform him of our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the various creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton, with assurances of speedy payment, for which I have pledged myself. And will you give yourself the trouble of carrying similar assurances to his creditors in Meryton, of whom I shall subjoin a list according to his information? He has given in all his debts; I hope at least he has not deceived us. I understand from Mrs. Gardiner, that my niece is very desirous of seeing you all before she leaves for Ireland. She is well, and begs to be dutifully remembered to you and your mother.
Yours, etc.,
E. GARDINER.
Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham’s removal from England as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased with it. Lydia’s being settled in the north, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her company, was a severe disappointment; and, besides, it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted with everybody, and could instruct soldiers in new methods of annihilating the walking dead.
“She is so fond of Mrs. Forster,” said she, “it will be quite shocking to send her away! And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much.”
His daughter’s request, for such it might be considered, of being admitted into her family again before she set off for the North, received at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who agreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister’s feelings and consequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents, urged him so earnestly yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her and her husband at Longbourn, as soon as they were married, that he was prevailed on to think as they thought, and act as they wished. And their mother had the satisfaction of knowing that she would be able to show her married daughter in the neighbourhood before she was banished to St. Lazarus Seminary for the Lame at Kilkenny. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he sent his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that as soon as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn. Elizabeth was surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to such a scheme, considering what a dreadful visage he must present in his sorry condition.
CHAPTER 51
THEIR SISTER’S WEDDING DAY arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her probably more than Lydia felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet them, and they were to return in it by dinner-time. Their arrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets, and Jane more especially, who imagined the feelings which would have attended herself, had she been forced to marry her crippled abductor, and was wretched in the thought of what her sister must endure for the rest of her miserable life.
They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room to receive them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet as the carriage drove up to the door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy.
Lydia’s voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open, and she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture; gave her hand, with an affectionate smile, to Wickham, who was carried through the door by servants. Leather straps kept him fastened to his traveling bed, which was redo-lent of stale piss; and Elizabeth, who had been expecting as much, was nevertheless shocked at the severity of his injuries. His face remained bruised-his eyes half closed with swelling. His legs were broken and bent beyond hope, and his speech much affected. “Dear, sweet Wickham!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “What a fine priest you shall make! What a delightful husband!” Wickham replied with a polite moan.
Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not quite so cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely opened his lips. The stench of Wickham’s bed, indeed, was enough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations; and when at length they all sat down-save Wickham, who was placed by the fire-looked eagerly round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and observed, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had been there.
There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither of them talk fast enough. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the world. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led voluntarily to subjects which her sisters would not have alluded to for the world.
“Only think of its being three months,” she cried, “since I went away; it seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there have been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious! When I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of being married till I came back again! Though I thought it would be very good fun if I was.”
Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked expressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard nor saw anything of which she chose to be insensible, gaily continued, “Oh! Mamma, do the people hereabouts know I am married to-day? I was afraid they might not; and we passed William Goulding, whose curricle had been overturned and horses devoured, so I was determined he should know it, and so I let down the side-glass next to him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window frame, so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like anything. He yelled after us-something about his son being trapped; but oh! Mamma, I am sure he saw the ring. Oh! Think of how the news will spread!”
Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran out of the room; and returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to the dining parlour. She then joined them soon enough to see Lydia, with anxious parade, walk up to her mother’s right hand, and hear her say to her eldest sister, “Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go lower, because I am a married woman.”
It was not to be supposed that time or the odor of stale piss would give Lydia that embarrassment from which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Philips, the Lucases, and all their other neighbours, and to hear herself called “Mrs. Wickham” by each of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner to show her ring, and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.
“Well, mamma,” said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast room, “and what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did not all go.”