Chapter 26
Only two days before the departure, which had already been announced, Elizabeth received a letter from her father. As it had been delivered by express, she withdrew at once to her study to read it, suspecting that it might contain some extraordinary news. Yet nothing could have prepared her for its contents.
My dearest Lizzy,
Something dreadful has occurred, and I scarcely know how to write it. Prepare yourself for a most distressing piece of intelligence. Lydia has run away with Mr Wickham. She left Brighton with him on Sunday night, and they are thought to have gone to London. Colonel Forster came with this awful news to see your mother and me this morning, and I am preparing to leave for London as soon as this letter is sent.
At first, I hoped they were gone merely to be married, but no such thing appears to have taken place. From all that Colonel Forster could learn, there was not the slightest intention of marriage on Mr Wickham’s part. I am afraid theywent to Scotland to be married, if they are not somewhere in London, where Lydia’s dishonour is, I fear, in progress. The colonel says that Wickham has left his regiment, and that debts of honour and of another kind are pressing upon him.
Mrs Bennet is wholly destroyed. She cannot be comforted and declares that Lydia is ruined for ever, and that the whole family will be disgraced. Nor am I myself in any calmer disposition. Lydia’s folly drives me to despair, and the thought of the misery she has brought upon us all makes me wretched indeed.
I cannot help but fear that they will not be easily found. I mean to visit all Mr Wickham’s acquaintances in London and to make every inquiry that may lead to their discovery. I have also sent a letter to Mr Gardiner, whom I am certain will come to London at once. Speak with him; his letter conveys the same intelligence, containing all that we have been able to learn.
I do not know what to advise you to do, nor whether you should inform Jane, for it is on her account that I am most uneasy. I wish we had not delayed her marriage. Yet, I trust that Mr Bingley, in this instance, will do what is honourable, whatever may befall our family.
We shall, in all likelihood, see each other soon in London.
Your affectionate,
Papa
Almost at the moment when she laid down the letter, entirely ravaged by its contents, her uncle entered, conducted by Mrs Robertson.
He still held Mr Bennet’s letter in his hand and showed it to her, while Elizabeth raised her own from the desk.
“Heavens,” she whispered in despair, “I might say that I had not expected such a thing…but it would be a falsehood.”
“Lizzy, what do you mean?”
Elizabeth breathed as one who had climbed a steep hill—or rather descended into an abyss.
“Ever since the winter, when the officers appeared in Meryton and the neighbourhood, this dreadful suspicion has haunted me…that she would do something foolish…that she would disgrace herself with one of them and bring ruin upon us all. I spoke with her, but…I believe nothing reached her any longer, save her wild desire for adventure.”
“What are we to do?” murmured Mr Gardiner, and Elizabeth felt the same deep gratitude as upon many other occasions when he had regarded the Bennets’ difficulties as his own and had acted accordingly.
“We must all hide ourselves,” she said with a bitter irony. “What else remains? Can you imagine me here, with a sister dishonoured? Let us hope, as my father also writes, that Mr Bingley will not…draw back from the marriage.
“Let us hope his sisters may not discover it, to press him anew…for this time they would indeed have reason to oppose an alliance with us.”
“Enough, my dear—let us not lament further. What is to be done?”
Elizabeth reflected for a few moments, yet her decision was already formed. They required someone acquainted with the militia officers, their habits in London, and the lodgings they frequented in town.
“There is but one man who might assist us…Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Mr Gardiner assented. He, too, had thought of that gentleman, yet knew not how they might reach him.
“I have his address at the War Office. He is Miss Darcy’s guardian, and when Mr Darcy is absent from London, he attends to her affairs.”
“The first good piece of news in this mess,” Mr Gardiner said.
“But…” Elizabeth hesitated, yet she had to speak her thoughts to the end, “What shall we do about Jane and Mr Bingley?”
The answer presented itself, for at that instant Jane entered the study like a storm, her countenance disfigured by distress, followed by Mr Bingley, almost unrecognisable from despair.
Yet to the relief of Elizabeth and her uncle—indeed, their only comfort on that dreadful morning—he scarcely comprehended what had occurred; his whole soul was occupied by Jane’s suffering.
“She cannot have done such a thing! That mad girl will destroy us all!” cried Jane, in a fury such as Elizabeth had never before witnessed. Gazing at her sister, she beheld for an instant an image of herself when she had cried out at Mr Darcy in the Parsonage. But Jane, who had ever been the embodiment of calm, even through months of sorrow, had hitherto remained free from anger. This, however, was too much even for her.
