Mr Gardiner returned home with Lydia, and from every bosom broke sighs of relief—but only for a moment, for the anger and mortification of the past days were far from extinguished.
Elizabeth congratulated herself that she had persuaded her father to return to Longbourn the day before, under pretencethat her mother’s letters were desperate. She preferred to hear the whole tale herself, and then to write to them only what was necessary.
What astonished all the household was the look of shameless happiness upon Lydia’s face.
“Lydia, how can you smile so?” cried Jane resentfully, unable to restrain herself; but Mr Bingley, who was also present, gently took her hand and led her to a sofa.
Mrs Gardiner understood at once and sent Lydia upstairs to refresh herself, which the girl did, casting one last smile at her family.
“She is mad,” Jane said.
“She is to be married,” Mr Gardiner explained quickly, for it was the only news that could soothe them. “All the way from that miserable place where we found her, she could scarcely cease singing for joy.”
“She is to be married!” repeated Jane, now calmer. “Thank Heaven she is to be married.”
“But does she not see what she has done—what she has done to us? How can she smile happily when she has almost destroyed us?” Elizabeth cried, choked with anger.
“That girl is reckless and without shame,” Mr Gardiner said, and left the room in disgust, after briefly recounting what had occurred. “Colonel Fitzwilliam discovered them, but it was Mr Darcy who spoke with him; for the colonel might have killed the scoundrel.”
In brief: by his firmness and his purse alike, Mr Darcy effected what persuasion alone could not accomplish. All Wickham’s debts were paid; a commission was purchased; and by the promise of immediate marriage, the scandal, though never forgotten, was at least repaired.
“Who paid his debts?” cried Elizabeth.
But Mr Gardiner said nothing more. Weary, he went to write to Mr Bennet, leaving the ladies with more questions than answers. Yet Lydia was to be married—whatever the reason—and the world would know only that.
“Who paid his debts?” repeated Elizabeth.
“Probably your uncle,” her aunt replied.
“But Mr Darcy found them...in that wretched place!” Elizabeth hid her face in her hands, for she burned with shame.
“There are many things we do not know,” Jane observed.
“And they should remain so,” Mr Bingley decided gently but firmly, though in truth he longed for knowledge. He wished only that his dear fiancée might be calmed and forget that dreadful week; yet he was resolved to see Darcy, for he had his suspicions. When they had had spoken a few days ago of Wickham’s debts, known through Colonel Forster, Darcy had uttered a remark full of anger: “It shall be the last time I do it...but this time I shall do it as it ought to be done.”
Chapter 29
Lydia descended after a while, radiant and joyous. Though still angry, the ladies agreed that this marriage was the only means by which their family might be saved from dishonour and continue along the promising path upon which it had lately entered.
Swallowing their vexation and disappointment, Jane and Mrs Gardiner began to consider a small wedding trousseau that would soon be required.
Bingley departed for Darcy’s house as soon as tranquillity was somewhat restored at the Gardiners’. Bingley found Darcy and the colonel in the library before a glass of cognac, yet there was not the faintest trace of good cheer in the room.
“This marriage may appear a suitable remedy at present,” Darcy said to Bingley, while the colonel nodded, a sign that the subject had already been discussed between them. “I am glad it will shield Miss Elizabeth and Miss Jane from disgrace; yet, in the long run, this young man is a barrel of powder that will, fromtime to time, explode and bring upon their family grievous losses in fortune.”
“Mr Bennet has no money,” Bingley said.
“Precisely. Each time he exhausts his own means, he will turn to the young Bennet ladies—some of whom will, by then, have married.”
“He shall never set foot in my house,” Bingley said; and Darcy believed him. His friend might be somewhat flighty when it came to women and affection, yet he was the son of a tradesman who knew the value of money well. Servants might cheat him of a few pence, for his heart was kind and indulgent, but it was not ignorance that made him so. Moreover, a promise made to his dearest friend was sacred.
“But what will you do when new debts appear?” the colonel asked.
“The debtor’s prison exists not only in London,” Bingley said, and his friends saw in his eyes a spark that had long been absent. He was marrying the woman of his life, and by becoming a husband, he accepted with full awareness the duty of protector. They rejoiced for him and for his future wife.
Yet Darcy had a surprise. He handed him a document which stated that Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy had purchased Mr George Wickham’s debts.
“What is this?” Bingley asked in astonishment. “Have you paid his debts?”
