“Lydia!” Jane cried, rushing to her side. “Oh, dearest, what has happened?”
“I sprained my ankle! Look how swollen it is!” Lydia cried. She looked tired, pale, her hair in some disorder, and her face twisted in pain.
The room erupted in gasps as they entered together; Mr Gardiner’s coat was muddied from the road, his expression etched with fatigue yet resolute. Elizabeth noticed he exchanged some glances with his wife.
Mr Bennet rose unsteadily, his eyes wide. “My girl — thank God you are safe! Where have you been? Are you injured? Where did you find her, Brother?”
“We found her at an inn near Barnet,” Mr Gardiner answered. “She might be in pain, but the injury is not grave. A physician should see to it, though. Mr Darcy suggested we fetch his doctor again, so he can examine you and Lydia.”
Elizabeth was puzzled by her uncle’s cold tone and seeming indifference as he replied, in strange contrast with Lydia’s cries.
“Papa, I am hurt! I should have stayed in bed, as George told me, but Uncle forced me to come with him! My ankle might never heal now, and I shall not be able to dance ever again! And what if George cannot find me?”
“Do not worry. He will be found before he has time to search for you,” Mr Gardiner said sternly, then added, “We needsomething to eat and to drink. I shall pour myself some brandy this instant.”
“So Wickham was not there?” Mr Bennet asked, puzzled.
“No. He left Lydia there, proclaiming he would return for her soon.”
Lydia’s sobs filled the room, a mix of physical agony and childish despair. “He would have returned, as he said! My ankle hurts so! And you have taken me away — how will George find me now? He promised he would come back — he did! We were to marry at Gretna, and now…now everything is ruined!”
“We should take Lydia to the guest room,” Mrs Gardiner suggested gently. “She needs to lie down to rest her ankle and wait for the doctor to arrive.”
The sisters helped Lydia to the chamber, while she continued to whine and sob. Once inside, they put her into bed, and Jane tried to comfort her, while Elizabeth went to fetch her something to eat.
However, she first returned to the drawing room to talk to her uncle, who was already engaged in discussion with her father and aunt.
“Come in, Lizzy. I am sorry, but Lydia annoyed me exceedingly,” Mr Gardiner said. “That girl is as thoughtless and unreasonable and insensitive as my six-year-old son.”
“So, Uncle, can you tell me what happened?” Elizabeth asked timidly.
“As I said, we found her in an inn. Apparently, she arrived there with her ankle already sprained. Wickham left her there and travelled onwards yesterday. He told her he would return, but he left her with no money, no details of his whereabouts. If we had not arrived, Lydia would not have been able to pay forthe room or for food, and she would have been thrown out. But she refused to understand and see reason. We had to almost drag her into the carriage — it was quite a spectacle. I was deeply ashamed of her behaviour in front of Mr Darcy and Colonel Forster.”
“Dear Lord,” Elizabeth whispered, angry and frustrated.
“Dear Lord, indeed,” her uncle repeated.
“So what shall we do now? They did spend two nights together, so her reputation is already ruined, and—”
“Mr Darcy and Colonel Forster followed Wickham’s trail. I expect they will find him soon and bring him back — and throw him in prison with any luck! Can you imagine? He left this poor, silly girl in an inn, miles and miles away from her family, with an injured ankle, with no money, nobody to help her.”
“What a scoundrel! I should shoot him dead!” Mr Bennet shouted angrily. “And I still might, as soon as I lay eyes on him! This will not end well for him, mark my words!”
“We are all angry and frustrated, I grant you that,” Mrs Gardiner said, bringing a tray of food. “Let us try to calm ourselves. There is nothing else we can do for the moment but wait, pray, and hope.”
“Pray and hope for what?” Elizabeth asked. “He clearly has no intention of marrying her. Even if they find him and throw him in prison, Lydia’s reputation is already ruined, and so is that of our entire family. There is no escape from this misery…”
“Lizzy dear…” Mrs Gardiner tried to comfort her, but she turned her back to conceal her tears.
“If you do not mind, I shall try to rest a little. I did not sleep at all last night.”
With that, she quit the room without waiting for a reply. She was glad Lydia was home, relatively safe; everything else was lost.
Chapter 11
The Gardiner household awoke to a new morning of utter distress. The guest chamber at Gracechurch Street, once a sanctuary of quiet repose, now echoed with Lydia’s theatrical sobs, her swollen ankle propped upon a cushion like that of a tragic heroine in a poorly rehearsed farce. The girl clutched at her skirts, her face a picture of youthful indignation mingled with genuine pain, as the family gathered around her bed in a tableau of concern and exasperation.
“Oh, George! My poor George!” Lydia wailed, her voice piercing the air like a poorly tuned violin. “He will be lost without me — searching every inn from here to Gretna! And my ankle throbs so dreadfully. I shall never dance again, never!”
