JANE AUSTEN 24 страница

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, and then I should have gone quite distracted. 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."

 

"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 any thing. To be sure London was rather

thin, 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 man Mr. Stone. And then, you

know, when once they get together, there is no end of it.

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 be angry."

 

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. It was exactly a scene, and

exactly among people, where he had apparently least to do, and

least temptation to go. Conjectures as to the meaning of it,

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, if it were compatible with the secrecy which

had been intended.

 

"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."

 

"Not that I _shall_, though," she added to herself, as she

finished the letter; "and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me

in an honourable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks

and stratagems to find it out."

 

Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to

Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was

glad of it; -- till it appeared whether her inquiries would

receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a

confidante.

 

__

 

<CHAPTER X (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 little copse, where

she was least likely to be interrupted, she sat down on one of

the benches and prepared to be happy; for the length of the

letter convinced her that it did not contain a denial.

 

"Gracechurch-street, 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. I must confess

myself surprised by your application; I did not expect it from

_you_. Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let

you know that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary

on _your_ side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive

my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am --

and nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned

would have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are

really innocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit. 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 _your's_ seems to

have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had found out

where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that he had seen

and talked with them both; Wickham repeatedly, Lydia once.

From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day after

ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting for

them. The motive professed was his conviction of its being

owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so

well known as to make it impossible for any young woman of

character to 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. His character was to speak for itself. He called it,

therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavour to remedy an

evil which had been brought on by himself. If he _had_

_another_ motive, I am sure it would never disgrace him. He

had been some days in town, before he was able to discover

them; but he had something to direct his search, which was more

than we had; and the consciousness of this was another reason

for his resolving to follow us. 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 days before he

could get from her what he wanted. She would not betray her

trust, I suppose, without bribery and corruption, for she

really did know where her friend was to be found. Wickham

indeed had gone to her on their first arrival in London, and

had she been able to receive them into her house, they would

have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our

kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in

---- street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards 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. She was sure they

should be married some time or other, and it did not much

signify when. Since such were her feelings, it only remained,

he thought, to secure and expedite a marriage, which, in his

very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt had

never been his design. He confessed himself obliged to leave

the regiment, on account of some debts of honour, which were

very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the ill-consequences

of Lydia's flight on her own folly alone. He meant to resign

his commission immediately; 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. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your

sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very

rich, he would have been able to do something for him, and his

situation must have been benefited by marriage. But he found,

in reply to this question, that Wickham still cherished the

hope of more effectually making his fortune by marriage in some

other country. Under such circumstances, however, he was not

likely to be proof against the temptation of immediate relief.

They met several times, for there was much to be discussed.

Wickham of course wanted more than he could get; but at length

was reduced to be reasonable. Every thing being settled

between _them_, Mr. Darcy's next step was to make your uncle

acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch-street

the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not be

seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that your father

was still with him, but would quit town the next morning. He

did not judge your father to be a person whom he could so

properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed

seeing him till after the departure of the former. He did not

leave his name, and till the next day it was only known that a

gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again.

Your father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said

before, they had a great deal of talk together. They met again

on Sunday, and then _I_ saw him too. It was not all settled

before Monday: as soon as it was, the express was sent off to

Longbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy,

Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character,

after all. He has been accused of many faults at different

times, but _this_ is the true one. Nothing was to be done that

he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do not speak it

to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it), your uncle

would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it

together for a long time, which was more than either the

gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your

uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be

of use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the

probable credit of it, which went sorely against the grain; and

I really believe your letter this morning gave him great

pleasure, because it required an explanation that would rob him

of his borrowed feathers, and give the praise where it was due.

But, Lizzy, this must go no farther than yourself, or Jane at

most. You know pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for

the young people. His debts are to be paid, amounting, I

believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds, another

thousand in addition to her own settled upon _her_, and his

commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done

by him alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to

him, to his reserve and want of proper consideration, that

Wickham's character had been so misunderstood, and consequently

that he had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there

was some truth in _this_; though I doubt whether _his_ reserve,

or _anybody's_ reserve, can be answerable for the event. But

in spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest

perfectly assured that your uncle would never have yielded, if

we had not given him credit for _another_ _interest_ in the

affair. When all this was resolved on, he returned again to

his friends, who were still staying at Pemberley; but it was

agreed that he should be in London once more when the wedding

took place, and all money matters were then to receive the last

finish. I believe I have now told you every thing. It is a

relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise;

I hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure.

Lydia came to us; and Wickham had constant admission to the

house. _He_ was exactly what he had been when I knew him in

Hertfordshire; but I would not tell you how little I was

satisfied with her behaviour while she staid with us, if I

had not perceived, by Jane's letter last Wednesday, that her

conduct on coming home was exactly of a piece with it, and

therefore what I now tell you can give you no fresh pain.

I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,

representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done,

and all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she

heard me, it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not

listen. I was sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected

my dear Elizabeth and Jane, and for their sakes had patience

with her. Mr. Darcy was punctual in his return, and as Lydia

informed you, attended the wedding. He dined with us the next

day, and was to leave town again on Wednesday or Thursday.

Will you be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this

opportunity of saying (what I was never bold enough to say

before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has, in every

respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire. His

understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but

a little more liveliness, and _that_, if he marry _prudently_,

his wife may teach him. I thought him very sly; -- he hardly

ever mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray

forgive me if I have been very presuming, or at least do not

punish me so far as to exclude me from P. I shall never be

quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low

phaeton, with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very

thing. But I must write no more. The children have been

wanting me this half hour. Your's, very sincerely,

 

M. GARDINER."

 

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter

of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether

pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and

unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what

Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match,

which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness

too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be

just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their

greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to

town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification

attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been

necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and

where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with,

persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished

to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to

pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could

neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had

done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other

considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was

insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her

-- for a woman who had already refused him -- as able to

overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against

relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every

kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had, to be

sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he

had given a reason for his interference, which asked no

extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he

should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had

the means of exercising it; and though she would not place

herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps,

believe that remaining partiality for her might assist his

endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be

materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to

know that they were under obligations to a person who could

never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia,

her character, every thing, to him. Oh! how heartily did she

grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged,

every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For

herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that

in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get

the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation

of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased

her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with

regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had

been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between

Mr. Darcy and herself.

 

She was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some

one's approach; and before she could strike into another path,

she was overtaken by Wickham.

 

"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister?"

said he, as he joined her.

 

"You certainly do," she replied with a smile; "but it does not

follow that the interruption must be unwelcome."

 

"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. _We_ were always good

friends; and now we are better."

 

"True. Are the others coming out?"

 

"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in the

carriage to Meryton. And so, my dear sister, I find, from

our uncle and aunt, that you have actually seen Pemberley."

 

She replied in the affirmative.

 

"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would

be too much for me, or else I could take it in my way to

Newcastle. And you saw the old housekeeper, I suppose? Poor

Reynolds, she was always very fond of me. But of course she

did not mention my name to you."

 

"Yes, she did."

 

"And what did she say?"

 

"That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had

-- not turned out well. At such a distance as _that_, you

know, things are strangely misrepresented."

 

"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she

had silenced him; but he soon afterwards said,

 

"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed

each other several times. I wonder what he can be doing

there."

 

"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh," said

Elizabeth. "It must be something particular, to take him there

at this time of year."

 

"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you were at Lambton?

I thought I understood from the Gardiners that you had."

 

"Yes; he introduced us to his sister."

 

"And do you like her?"

 

"Very much."

 

"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within

this year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very

promising. I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn

out well."

 

"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age."

 

"Did you go by the village of Kympton?"

 

"I do not recollect that we did."

 

"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have

had. A most delightful place! -- Excellent Parsonage House!

It would have suited me in every respect."

 

"How should you have liked making sermons?"

 

"Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my

duty, and the exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought

not to repine; -- but, to be sure, it would have been such a

thing for me! The quiet, the retirement of such a life would

have answered all my ideas of happiness! But it was not to be.

Did you ever hear Darcy mention the circumstance, when you were

in Kent?"

 

"I _have_ heard from authority, which I thought _as_ _good_,

that it was left you conditionally only, and at the will of the

present patron."

 

"You have. Yes, there was something in _that_; I told you so

from the first, you may remember."

 

"I _did_ hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making

was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that

you actually declared your resolution of never taking orders,

and that the business had been compromised accordingly."

 

"You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may

remember what I told you on that point, when first we talked

of it."

 

They were now almost at the door of the house, for she

had walked fast to get rid of him; and unwilling, for her

sister's sake, to provoke him, she only said in reply, with

a good-humoured smile,

 

"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know.

Do not let us quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we

shall be always of one mind."

 

She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate

gallantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they

entered the house.

 

__

 

<CHAPTER XI (53)>

 

MR. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation

that he never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear

sister Elizabeth, by introducing the subject of it; and she was

pleased to find that she had said enough to keep him quiet.

 

The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came, and Mrs. Bennet

was forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by

no means entered into her scheme of their all going to

Newcastle, was likely to continue at least a twelvemonth.

 

"Oh! my dear Lydia," she cried, "when shall we meet again?"

 

"Oh, lord! I don't know. Not these two or three years,

perhaps."

 

"Write to me very often, my dear."

 

"As often as I can. But you know married women have never much

time for writing. My sisters may write to _me_. They will

have nothing else to do."

 

Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectionate than his

wife's. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty

things.

 

"He is as fine a fellow," said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were

out of the house, "as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and

makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy

even Sir William Lucas himself to produce a more valuable

son-in-law."

 

The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for

several days.

 

"I often think," said she, "that there is nothing so bad as

parting with one's friends. One seems so forlorn without

them."

 

"This is the consequence, you see, Madam, of marrying

a daughter," said Elizabeth. "It must make you better

satisfied that your other four are single."

 

"It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is

married, but only because her husband's regiment happens to be

so far off. If that had been nearer, she would not have gone

so soon."

 

But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into

was shortly relieved, and her mind opened again to the

agitation of hope, by an article of news which then began to be

in circulation. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received

orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was coming

down in a day or two, to shoot there for several weeks.

Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and

smiled and shook her head by turns.

 

"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister,"

(for Mrs. Phillips first brought her the news). "Well, so

much the better. Not that I care about it, though. He is

nothing to us, you know, and I am sure _I_ never want to

see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to

Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what _may_

happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we

agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so,

is it quite certain he is coming?"

 

"You may depend on it," replied the other, "for Mrs. Nicholls

was in Meryton last night; I saw her passing by, and went out

myself on purpose to know the truth of it; and she told me that

it was certain true. He comes down on Thursday at the latest,

very likely on Wednesday. She was going to the butcher's, she

told me, on purpose to order in some meat on Wednesday, and she

has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed."

 

Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming without

changing colour. It was many months since she had mentioned

his name to Elizabeth; but now, as soon as they were alone

together, she said,

 

"I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of

the present report; and I know I appeared distressed. But

don't imagine it was from any silly cause. I was only confused

for the moment, because I felt that I _should_ be looked at.

I do assure you that the news does not affect me either with

pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone;

because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of

_myself_, but I dread other people's remarks."

 

Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen

him in Derbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of

coming there with no other view than what was acknowledged; but