Page 65

"I know. I needed to say it."

He kissed her forehead, after waiting long enough for her to lean toward him. Then he left. The sound of his horse faded beyond the gate, leaving Elizabeth with Jane's letter and his empty chair.

Elizabeth returned to the table and wrote to Jane. She did not promise that everything would be well. She told her what Darcy was doing, what she herself had remembered, and that Jane need not make her letters cheerful to spare her.

On the third day Elizabeth caught herself watching the door while Charlotte spoke. She apologized.

"You have done it six times," Charlotte said. "I shall finish the sentence after the next delivery."

"I am becoming very poor company."

"You are company. That is sufficient at present."

They sorted dried peas together that afternoon. Elizabeth dropped nearly as many into her lap as into the bowl, and Charlotte gave her a larger apron with the calm efficiency of a general correcting a weakness in her defenses. By supper they would at least have something to put in the pot.

Jane wrote that their mother had eaten a little soup. Elizabeth read the sentence aloud, relieved by a thing she could hardly have thought worth recording a fortnight earlier. Their father had joined Mr. Gardiner. Lydia remained unfound.

On the fifth day a short note came from Darcy: Found them. Lydia is safe for the moment. She has spoken with your aunt. Negotiations continue. I will write again.

Elizabeth wished he could have left out for the moment. She read the note again, grateful that he had not tried to comfort her by promising more than he knew. She pressed the paper flat and began a reply. At the bottom she wrote that Charlotte's peas had put up less resistance than his former friend was likely to offer. He might welcome one foolish sentence among the serious ones.

Mr. Collins contributed a speech on disgrace at dinner. Charlotte laid down her fork.

"My dear, Miss Elizabeth has received no new information since breakfast. Neither have you. Perhaps we might pass the potatoes."

He passed them. Elizabeth took a second helping out of gratitude.

On the seventh evening she and Charlotte played piquet. Elizabeth lost two games and won the third. She still wanted a letter from London. She was also pleased to have beaten Charlotte, who had been winning with quite unnecessary consistency.

"When this is over," she said, "will you come and stay with us? Not to discuss a chart. To visit me."

Charlotte gathered the cards slowly. "I should like that. I shall arrange it."

Charlotte began to sort the cards, then paused. "A fortnight, perhaps. Long enough for him to discover where I keep the clean linen."

"I shall have the room ready."

By the tenth day Elizabeth had written to Lydia three times and sent nothing. One letter scolded; one excused; one demanded reassurance from the person least equipped to provide it. She tore them up and began again: I wish you had told me. I am glad you have been found. I should like to hear from you when you can write freely. That one she sent through her aunt.

On the eleventh day Jane's express brought the settlement. Lydia had met privately with Mrs. Gardiner, had been offered a journey home under her uncle's protection, and had chosen to marry Wickham. Their wedding, by special license, would be held within the fortnight. Darcy had arranged money and safeguards; the matter was not a guarantee of happiness, but it was no longer a disappearance.

Elizabeth sat down before she had finished the last line. Charlotte took the letter when her fingers would not fold it neatly.

"She is alive," Elizabeth said.

"Yes."

"I kept knowing she would be. It did not help."

Charlotte sat beside her. Elizabeth leaned against her friend's shoulder and let the relief arrive without improving its appearance. There would be room later for anger at Wickham, worry about Lydia, and the daunting business of telling their mother. For now, there was this room, Charlotte's arm, and a sister who could answer a letter.

When Mr. Collins came in, he found both ladies with red eyes and a cold teapot. Charlotte told him the news. He did not deliver a sermon. He rang for fresh tea, then looked so surprised by his own usefulness that Elizabeth had to look at the teapot.

"Thank you, cousin," she said.

It was possible that even he possessed resources their first theory had overlooked.

CHAPTER 22