“Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia, I don’t at all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?”
“Oh, Lord! Yes-there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all things. You and papa, and my sisters, must come to the seminary and see us. We shall be at Kilkerry these next three years, and I will take care to get good husbands for them all.”
“I should like it beyond anything!” said her mother.
“Oh! So many young priests! And each of them in dire need of a loving, caring wife!
I dare say I shall see each of my sisters married before winter!”
“I thank you for my share of the favour,” said Elizabeth; “but I do not particularly desire the rest of my life spent emptying piss pots.”
Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham had received his letter of acceptance to Kilkerry, and given his condition, the journey North would be frightfully slow.
No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would be so short; and she made the most of the time by visiting about with her daughter, and having very frequent parties at home, so that their neighbors might congratulate Mr. Wickham, who remained by the fire during the whole of their stay.
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every occasion. He did every thing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more zombies this season, than any body else in the country, in spite of the fact that he had no use of his arms. One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth:
“Lizzy, I never gave you an account of my wedding. Are not you curious to hear how it was managed?”
“No really,” replied Elizabeth; “I think there cannot be too little said on the subject.”
“La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were married, you know, at St. Clement’s, because it had the fewest steps to carry my beloved up. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven o’clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others were to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fuss! I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to put it off, for there had lately been some trouble on the east wall, and everywhere one heard talk of relinquishing the neighborhood for safety. And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat, or if he had soiled it like the others.”
“Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would never be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle and aunt were horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you’ll believe me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or anything. To be sure London was rather thin because of the attacks, but, however, the Little Theatre was open. Well, and so just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business to that horrid powder factory. Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my uncle was to give me away; and if we were beyond the hour, we could not be married all day. But, luckily, he came back again in ten minutes’ time, and then we all set out. However, I recollected afterwards that if he had been prevented going, the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well.”
“Mr. Darcy!” repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.
“Oh, yes! He was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!”
“If it was to be secret,” said Jane, “say not another word on the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further.”
“Oh! Certainly,” said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; “we will ask you no questions.”
“Thank you,” said Lydia, “for if you did, I should certainly tell you all, and then Wickham would surely punish me with an ill-timed soiling.”
On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her power by running away.
But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least it was impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at her sister’s wedding. What possible motive could he have had? Conjectures, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her, as placing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She could not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what Lydia had dropt.
“You may readily comprehend,” she added, “what my curiosity must be to know how a person unconnected with any of us, and (comparatively speaking) a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it-unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied with ignorance.”
“And my dear aunt,” she added to herself, as she finished the letter; “if you do not tell me in an honourable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it out.”
CHAPTER 52
ELIZABETH HAD THE SATISFACTION of receiving an answer to her letter as soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it than, hurrying into the dojo, where she was least likely to be interrupted, she sat down and prepared to be happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not contain a denial.
Section Six East, Sept. 6.
MY DEAR NIECE,
I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will not comprise what I have to tell you.
On the very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked as yours seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting for them. Mr. Darcy felt himself to blame for not making Wickham’s worthlessness more known-for if he had, no young woman of character would have dared love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to the world. He called it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself.
There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward Street, and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs. Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he went to her for intelligence of him as soon as he got to town. But it was two or three minutes of savage beating before he could get from her what he wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without an application of severe blows about the head and neck. At length, however, our kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in Hen’s Quarry Street. Mr. Darcy saw Wickham, and with no want of force, insisted on seeing Lydia. His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her, offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends; she wanted no help of his; she would not hear of leaving Wickham, who, in spite of his abducting her, she claimed to love more than anything on earth. Since such were her feelings, Mr. Darcy had but one choice to restore her honour-to secure and expedite a marriage between she and Wickham. But the latter had no intentions of marrying, and as to his future situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have nothing to live on.