Elizabeth stopped short at that. “I suppose you are right,” she said at last. “Very well, Mary. If you insist, I shall take a little — a very little — of the credit. But then you and Jane must take some, too.”
Mary smiled at that. “Thank you, Lizzy.” They began to walk again, this time together and at a more moderate pace.
“I cannot help thinking,” Mary continued after a moment, “that this is precisely what Mr Greene meant. He warned me that to repeat what cannot be properly proved is of no use, however strongly one may believe it to be true. But this, this is something entirely different. There has been an examination. There has been judgement. It is not gossip, but justice.”
Elizabeth glanced at her. “You remember his advice very exactly.”
Mary coloured a little, but said stoutly, “It seemed well worth remembering.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
Mary did not answer, but there was a quiet satisfaction in her expression that left Elizabeth pleased for what she imagined of her sister’s futurehappiness.
For her own part, Elizabeth’s thoughts had already moved beyond the immediate fact of Wickham’s disgrace to consider what must have brought it about. There could be little doubt on that point. No one in Meryton possessed both the knowledge and the authority required to produce such a result. The intervention must have come from elsewhere, and from someone who had both reason and power to act. She could not mistake whose hand had moved in it.
Mr Darcy had done all this because his sense of honour required it, but also because she had asked it of him. He had taken her into his confidence because he could not bear to see her put in danger, and when Elizabeth had asked him to extend his protection beyond herself, he had done so. She did not delude herself that it could have been without cost.
Elizabeth found her heard beating faster. He had done this for her, at least in part. It meant something, but she could not begin to say what.
By the time they reached Longbourn, the house had already taken on the great animation of any piece of intelligence considered too important to be delivered calmly. The door had scarcely been opened before the sound of voices met them, rising and falling without order, each speaker evidently more intent on being heard than on understanding what others said.
Their mother was perhaps the loudest of all, and her voice carried a tone of triumphant vindication. “I always thought there was something particular about him,” she was saying as Elizabeth and Mary entered. “Always. I said so from the first, and nobody would attend to me. Such manners may do very well for a time, but manners are nothing if a man has no principle. I have always observed that. Is not that so, Hill?”
Hill, who stood nearby with a composure that suggested long practice in receiving such declarations, inclined her head. “You did remark on it, ma’am.”
“I did more than remark on it,” Mrs Bennet continued. “I was quite certain of it. It is of no use to have the finest manners in the world if a gentleman is not to be trusted. I am very glad it has all come out. Very glad indeed.”
At this, Lydia, who had stationed herself near the window as if proximity to the road might somehow restore what had been lost, turned with visible impatience. “It has not come out,” she said. “Not properly. It is all exaggerated, I am certain of it. People are forever saying such things, and half of them are not true.”
“My dearest Lydia,” Mrs Bennet replied, “you must allow that there may be some truth in it, or the officers would not behave in such a manner. They would not place him under restriction withoutreason.”
“They may do as they please,” Lydia returned. “It does not signify. I am sure he will be restored very soon. There is no one in the regiment half so agreeable.”
Standing beside her, Kitty looked uncertain, her opinion shifting with every new assertion. “It does seem very odd,” she said. “But everyone is talking of it.”
“Everyone is often wrong,” Lydia insisted. “I shall not believe it unless I hear it from him.”
Elizabeth removed her gloves slowly as she listened, her attention divided between the words themselves and the manner in which they were delivered. Mrs Bennet’s satisfaction, Lydia’s indignation, Kitty’s wavering uncertainty, and Mary’s composed approval formed a picture so complete that it required no comment to make its meaning clear.
There was no room in such a scene for quiet understanding.
Mrs Bennet turned toward Elizabeth at last. “You have heard, I suppose. A most shocking business, though I cannot say I am surprised. There was always something in his manner that I did not like.”
Elizabeth answered as was proper, neither confirming nor contradicting her mother’s claim to foresight, and for some minutes allowed herself tobe drawn into the general conversation, which consisted chiefly of repetition with slight variations. Lydia persisted in defending Wickham with increasing warmth, while Mrs Bennet, encouraged by each contradiction, became more resolute in her certainty that she had long suspected the truth.
Mary, who had taken a position somewhat apart from the rest, observed the discussion with an air of thoughtful satisfaction. “It is not surprising,” she said thoughtfully, “that a character founded on appearance alone should not bear examination. There are many who mistake ease of manner for integrity.”
Lydia gave a short laugh. “Then I am glad to be among them. I would rather have an agreeable man than a disagreeable one, whether he has integrity or not.”
Elizabeth shook her head. That Lydia would say such a thing in all apparent seriousness made her more grateful than ever that the truth had come out. However Lydia might protest, she would be safe now. The fact itself required no argument. It had already produced its effect. Whether Lydia accepted or resisted it would not alter the reality upon which it was founded.
The hubbub was still ongoing when a servant entered with a message. “Mr Bennet wishes to see Miss Elizabeth in his study.”
With a word of thanks to him, Elizabeth left the room. She did not bother to excuse herself, as no one would have heard her.
As always, Mr Bennet’s study was in better order than the rest of the house. Its quietness stood in marked contrast to the confusion Elizabeth had just left behind. Books lined the walls in comfortable abundance, and the writing table, though not without its papers, bore none of the agitation that seemed to have taken hold of every other room. Mr Bennet himself was seated as usual, though he was not reading. He looked up as Elizabeth entered, and the expression with which he regarded her was more thoughtful than she had expected.
“Well, Lizzy,” he said, “we are all become very wise this morning.”
