Brighton scheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at the inn,
was under frequent discussion between her parents. Elizabeth
saw directly that her father had not the smallest intention of
yielding; but his answers were at the same time so vague and
equivocal, that her mother, though often disheartened, had never
yet despaired of succeeding at last.
Chapter 40
Elizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened
could no longer be overcome; and at length, resolving to
suppress every particular in which her sister was concerned,
and preparing her to be surprised, she related to her the next
morning the chief of the scene between Mr. Darcy and herself.
Miss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessened by the strong
sisterly partiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear
perfectly natural; and all surprise was shortly lost in other
feelings. She was sorry that Mr. Darcy should have delivered his
sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them; but
still more was she grieved for the unhappiness which her sister's
refusal must have given him.
"His being so sure of succeeding was wrong," said she, "and
certainly ought not to have appeared; but consider how much it
must increase his disappointment!"
"Indeed," replied Elizabeth, "I am heartily sorry for him; but he
has other feelings, which will probably soon drive away his
regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?"
"Blame you! Oh, no."
"But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?"
"No - I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you
did."
"But you _will_ know it, when I tell you what happened the very
next day."
She then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents
as far as they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was
this for poor Jane! who would willingly have gone through the
world without believing that so much wickedness existed in the
whole race of mankind, as was here collected in one individual.
Nor was Darcy's vindication, though grateful to her feelings,
capable of consoling her for such discovery. Most earnestly did
she labour to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear the
one without involving the other.
"This will not do," said Elizabeth; "you never will be able to
make both of them good for anything. Take your choice, but
you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quantity
of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of
man; and of late it has been shifting about pretty much. For my
part, I am inclined to believe it all Darcy's; but you shall do
as you choose."
It was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted
from Jane.
"I do not know when I have been more shocked," said she.
"Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr.
Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered.
Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill
opinion, too! and having to relate such a thing of his sister!
It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it so."
"Oh! no, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing
you so full of both. I know you will do him such ample justice,
that I am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent.
Your profusion makes me saving; and if you lament over him much
longer, my heart will be as light as a feather."
"Poor Wickham! there is such an expression of goodness in his
countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner!"
"There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education
of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and the
other all the appearance of it."
"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the _appearance_
of it as you used to do."
"And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided
a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's
genius, such an opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind.
One may be continually abusive without saying anything just; but
one cannot always be laughing at a man without now and then
stumbling on something witty."
"Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not
treat the matter as you do now."
"Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable enough, I may say
unhappy. And with no one to speak to about what I felt, no
Jane to comfort me and say that I had not been so very weak and
vain and nonsensical as I knew I had! Oh! how I wanted you!"
"How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong
expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now they
_do_ appear wholly undeserved."
"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness
is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been
encouraging. There is one point on which I want your advice.
I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to make our
acquaintances in general understand Wickham's character."
Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, "Surely there can
be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your
opinion?"
"That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not
authorised me to make his communication public. On the
contrary, every particular relative to his sister was meant to
be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I endeavour to
undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will believe
me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that
it would be the death of half the good people in Meryton to
attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal to it.
Wickham will soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify to
anyone here what he really is. Some time hence it will be all
found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not
knowing it before. At present I will say nothing about it."
"You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin
him for ever. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done,
and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him
desperate."
The tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by this conversation.
She had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her
for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing listener in Jane,
whenever she might wish to talk again of either. But there was
still something lurking behind, of which prudence forbade the
disclosure. She dared not relate the other half of Mr. Darcy's
letter, nor explain to her sister how sincerely she had been
valued by her friend. Here was knowledge in which no one
could partake; and she was sensible that nothing less than a
perfect understanding between the parties could justify her in
throwing off this last encumbrance of mystery. "And then," said
she, "if that very improbable event should ever take place, I
shall merely be able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much more
agreeable manner himself. The liberty of communication cannot
be mine till it has lost all its value!"
She was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the
real state of her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She still
cherished a very tender affection for Bingley. Having never even
fancied herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of
first attachment, and, from her age and disposition, greater
steadiness than most first attachments often boast; and so
fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every
other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the
feelings of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of
those regrets which must have been injurious to her own health
and their tranquillity.
"Well, Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet one day, "what is your opinion
_now_ of this sad business of Jane's? For my part, I am
determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my
sister Phillips so the other day. But I cannot find out that Jane
saw anything of him in London. Well, he is a very undeserving
young man - and I do not suppose there's the least chance in the
world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his
coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have inquired
of everybody, too, who is likely to know."
"I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield any more."
"Oh well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come.
Though I shall always say he used my daughter extremely ill; and
if I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort
is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart; and then he will
be sorry for what he has done."
But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such
expectation, she made no answer.
"Well, Lizzy," continued her mother, soon afterwards, "and so
the Collinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only
hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte
is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as
her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in
_their_ housekeeping, I dare say."
"No, nothing at all."
"A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes.
_they_ will take care not to outrun their income. _They_ will
never be distressed for money. Well, much good may it do
them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn
when your father is dead. They look upon it as quite their own,
I dare say, whenever that happens."
"It was a subject which they could not mention before me."
"No; it would have been strange if they had; but I make no
doubt they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they
can be easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so
much the better. I should be ashamed of having one that was
only entailed on me."
Chapter 41
The first week of their return was soon gone. The second began.
It was the last of the regiment's stay in Meryton, and all the
young ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping apace. The
dejection was almost universal. The elder Miss Bennets alone
were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual
course of their employments. Very frequently were they
reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia, whose
own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such
hard-heartedness in any of the family.
"Good Heaven! what is to become of us? What are we to do?"
would they often exclaim in the bitterness of woe. "How can
you be smiling so, Lizzy?"
Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered
what she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five-and-twenty
years ago.
"I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when
Colonel Miller's regiment went away. I thought I should have
broken my heart."
"I am sure I shall break _mine_," said Lydia.
"If one could but go to Brighton!" observed Mrs. Bennet.
"Oh, yes! - if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so
disagreeable."
"A little sea-bathing would set me up forever."
"And my aunt Phillips is sure it would do _me_ a great deal of
good," added Kitty.
Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually
through Longbourn House. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by
them; but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew
the justice of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never had she been so
much disposed to pardon his interference in the views of his
friend.
But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared away; for
she received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the
colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This
invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately
married. A resemblance in good humour and good spirits had
recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their
_three_ months' acquaintance they had been intimate _two_.
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs.
Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of
Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her
sister's feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy,
calling for everyone's congratulations, and laughing and talking
with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless Kitty continued
in the parlour repined at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her
accent was peevish.
"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask _me_ as well as
Lydia," said she, "Though I am _not_ her particular friend. I
have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too,
for I am two years older."
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane
to make her resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation
was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother
and Lydia, that she considered it as the death warrant of all
possibility of common sense for the latter; and detestable as such
a step must make her were it known, she could not help secretly
advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all
the improprieties of Lydia's general behaviour, the little
advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman
as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more
imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the
temptations must be greater than at home. He heard her
attentively, and then said:
"Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some
public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with
so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the
present circumstances."
"If you were aware," said Elizabeth, "of the very great
disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice
of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner - nay, which has
already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in
the affair."
"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Bennet. "What, has she
frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do
not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be
connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come,
let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof
by Lydia's folly."
"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent.
It is not of particular, but of general evils, which I am now
complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world must
be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of
all restraint which mark Lydia's character. Excuse me, for I must
speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble
of checking her exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her
present pursuits are not to be the business of her life, she will
soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be
fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that
ever made herself or her family ridiculous; a flirt, too, in the
worst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction
beyond youth and a tolerable person; and, from the ignorance and
emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of
that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite.
In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever
Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled!
Oh! my dear father, can you suppose it possible that they will not
be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their
sisters will not be often involved in the disgrace?"
Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject, and
affectionately taking her hand said in reply:
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane
are known you must be respected and valued; and you will not
appear to less advantage for having a couple of - or I may say,
three - very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn
if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go, then. Colonel
Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real
mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey
to anybody. At Brighton she will be of less importance even as
a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find
women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that
her being there may teach her her own insignificance. At any
rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorising
us to lock her up for the rest of her life."
With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her
own opinion continued the same, and she left him disappointed
and sorry. It was not in her nature, however, to increase her
vexations by dwelling on them. She was confident of having
performed her duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or
augment them by anxiety, was no part of her disposition.
Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference
with her father, their indignation would hardly have found
expression in their united volubility. In Lydia's imagination,
a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility of earthly
happiness. She saw, with the creative eye of fancy, the streets
of that gay bathing-place covered with officers. She saw
herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of them
at present unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp - its
tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded
with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet; and, to
complete the view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly
flirting with at least six officers at once.
Had she known her sister sought to tear her from such prospects
and such realities as these, what would have been her sensations?
They could have been understood only by her mother, who might
have felt nearly the same. Lydia's going to Brighton was all
that consoled her for her melancholy conviction of her husband's
never intending to go there himself.
But they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and their
raptures continued, with little intermission, to the very day of
Lydia's leaving home.
Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time.
Having been frequently in company with him since her return,
agitation was pretty well over; the agitations of formal partiality
entirely so. She had even learnt to detect, in the very gentleness
which had first delighted her, an affectation and a sameness to
disgust and weary. In his present behaviour to herself,
moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure, for the
inclination he soon testified of renewing those intentions which
had marked the early part of their acquaintance could only serve,
after what had since passed, to provoke her. She lost all concern
for him in finding herself thus selected as the object of such idle
and frivolous gallantry; and while she steadily repressed it, could
not but feel the reproof contained in his believing, that however
long, and for whatever cause, his attentions had been withdrawn,
her vanity would be gratified, and her preference secured at any
time by their renewal.
On the very last day of the regiment's remaining at Meryton, he
dined, with other of the officers, at Longbourn; and so little
was Elizabeth disposed to part from him in good humour, that on
his making some inquiry as to the manner in which her time had
passed at Hunsford, she mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam's and
Mr. Darcy's having both spent three weeks at Rosings, and
asked him, if he was acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's
recollection and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly
seen him often; and, after observing that he was a very
gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him. Her
answer was warmly in his favour. With an air of indifference he
soon afterwards added:
"How long did you say he was at Rosings?"
"Nearly three weeks."
"And you saw him frequently?"
"Yes, almost every day."
"His manners are very different from his cousin's."
"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves upon
acquaintance."
"Indeed!" cried Mr. Wickham with a look which did not escape
her. "And pray, may I ask? - " But checking himself, he added,
in a gayer tone, "Is it in address that he improves? Has he
deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style? - for I
dare not hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone,
"that he is improved in essentials."
"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In essentials, I believe, he is very
much what he ever was."
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing
whether to rejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning.
There was a something in her countenance which made him listen
with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while she added:
"When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean
that his mind or his manners were in a state of improvement, but
that, from knowing him better, his disposition was better
understood."
Wickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and
agitated look; for a few minutes he was silent, till, shaking
off his embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the
gentlest of accents:
"You, who so well know my feeling towards Mr. Darcy, will
readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is
wise enough to assume even the _appearance_ of what is right.
His pride, in that direction, may be of service, if not to himself,
to many others, for it must only deter him from such foul
misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that the sort of
cautiousness to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is
merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion
and judgement he stands much in awe. His fear of her has
always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good
deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with
Miss de Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart."
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only
by a slight inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted to
engage her on the old subject of his grievances, and she was in
no humour to indulge him. The rest of the evening passed with
the _appearance_, on his side, of usual cheerfulness, but with
no further attempt to distinguish Elizabeth; and they parted at
last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never
meeting again.
When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to
Meryton, from whence they were to set out early the next
morning. The separation between her and her family was rather
noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the only one who shed tears; but
she did weep from vexation and envy. Mrs. Bennet was diffuse
in her good wishes for the felicity of her daughter, and
impressive in her injunctions that she should not miss the
opportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible - advice
which there was every reason to believe would be well attended
to; and in the clamorous happiness of Lydia herself in bidding
farewell, the more gentle adieus of her sisters were uttered
without being heard.
Chapter 42
Had Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family,
she could not have formed a very pleasing opinion of conjugal
felicity or domestic comfort. Her father, captivated by youth
and beauty, and that appearance of good humour which youth
and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak
understanding and illiberal mind had very early in their marriage
put an end to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and
confidence had vanished for ever; and all his views of domestic
happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a
disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his
own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which
too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice.
He was fond of the country and of books; and from these tastes had
arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wife he was very little
otherwise indebted, than as her ignorance and folly had
contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness
which a man would in general wish to owe to his wife; but
where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true
philosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.
Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of
her father's behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it with
pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate
treatment of herself, she endeavoured to forget what she could
not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts that continual
breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which, in exposing
his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so highly
reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as now the
disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a
marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from
so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents, which, rightly used,
might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters,
even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.
When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure she
found little other cause for satisfaction in the loss of the
regiment. Their parties abroad were less varied than before, and
at home she had a mother and sister whose constant repinings at
the dullness of everything around them threw a real gloom over
their domestic circle; and, though Kitty might in time regain her
natural degree of sense, since the disturbers of her brain were
removed, her other sister, from whose disposition greater evil
might be apprehended, was likely to be hardened in all her
folly and assurance by a situation of such double danger as a
watering-place and a camp. Upon the whole, therefore, she
found, what has been sometimes found before, that an event
to which she had been looking with impatient desire did not,
in taking place, bring all the satisfaction she had promised
herself. It was consequently necessary to name some other
period for the commencement of actual felicity - to have some
other point on which her wishes and hopes might be fixed, and
by again enjoying the pleasure of anticipation, console herself for
the present, and prepare for another disappointment. Her tour
to the Lakes was now the object of her happiest thoughts; it was
her best consolation for all the uncomfortable hours which the
discontentedness of her mother and Kitty made inevitable; and
could she have included Jane in the scheme, every part of it
would have been perfect.
"But it is fortunate," thought she, "that I have something to wish
for. Were the whole arrangement complete, my disappointment
would be certain. But here, by carrying with me one ceaseless
source of regret in my sister's absence, I may reasonably hope to
have all my expectations of pleasure realised. A scheme of
which every part promises delight can never be successful; and
general disappointment is only warded off by the defence of
some little peculiar vexation."
When Lydia went away she promised to write very often and
very minutely to her mother and Kitty; but her letters were
always long expected, and always very short. Those to her
mother contained little else than that they were just returned
from the library, where such and such officers had attended
them, and where she had seen such beautiful ornaments as made
her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new parasol, which
she would have described more fully, but was obliged to leave
off in a violent hurry, as Mrs. Forster called her, and they were
going off to the camp; and from her correspondence with her
sister, there was still less to be learnt - for her letters to
Kitty, though rather longer, were much too full of lines under the
words to be made public.
After the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health,
good humour, and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbourn.
Everything wore a happier aspect. The families who had been in
town for the winter came back again, and summer finery and
summer engagements arose. Mrs. Bennet was restored to her
usual querulous serenity; and, by the middle of June, Kitty was
so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton without tears;
an event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth hope that
by the following Christmas she might be so tolerably reasonable
as not to mention an officer above once a day, unless, by some
cruel and malicious arrangement at the War Office, another
regiment should be quartered in Meryton.
The time fixed for the beginning of their northern tour was now
fast approaching, and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when
a letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its
commencement and curtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be
prevented by business from setting out till a fortnight later in
July, and must be in London again within a month, and as that
left too short a period for them to go so far, and see so much
as they had proposed, or at least to see it with the leisure and
comfort they had built on, they were obliged to give up the
Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour, and, according
to the present plan, were to go no farther northwards than
Derbyshire. In that county there was enough to be seen to
occupy the chief of their three weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it
had a peculiarly strong attraction. The town where she had
formerly passed some years of her life, and where they were now
to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of her
curiosity as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth,
Dovedale, or the Peak.
Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had set her heart on
seeing the Lakes, and still thought there might have been time
enough. But it was her business to be satisfied - and certainly
her temper to be happy; and all was soon right again.
With the mention of Derbyshire there were many ideas connected.
It was impossible for her to see the word without thinking of
Pemberley and its owner. "But surely," said she, "I may enter
his county without impunity, and rob it of a few petrified spars
without his perceiving me."
The period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks were to
pass away before her uncle and aunt's arrival. But they did pass
away, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four children, did
at length appear at Longbourn. The children, two girls of six
and eight years old, and two younger boys, were to be left under
the particular care of their cousin Jane, who was the general
favourite, and whose steady sense and sweetness of temper exactly
adapted her for attending to them in every way - teaching them,
playing with them, and loving them.
The Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbourn, and set off
the next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and
amusement. One enjoyment was certain - that of suitableness
of companions; a suitableness which comprehended health and
temper to bear inconveniences - cheerfulness to enhance every
pleasure - and affection and intelligence, which might supply
it among themselves if there were disappointments abroad.
It is not the object of this work to give a description of
Derbyshire, nor of any of the remarkable places through which
their route thither lay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth,
Birmingham, etc. are sufficiently known. A small part of
Derbyshire is all the present concern. To the little town of
Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner's former residence, and
where she had lately learned some acquaintance still remained,
they bent their steps, after having seen all the principal wonders
of the country; and within five miles of Lambton, Elizabeth
found from her aunt that Pemberley was situated. It was not in
their direct road, nor more than a mile or two out of it. In
talking over their route the evening before, Mrs. Gardiner
expressed an inclination to see the place again. Mr. Gardiner
declared his willingness, and Elizabeth was applied to for her
approbation.
"My love, should not you like to see a place of which you have
heard so much?" said her aunt; "a place, too, with which so
many of your acquaintances are connected. Wickham passed all
his youth there, you know."
Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at
Pemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing
it. She must own that she was tired of seeing great houses; after
going over so many, she really had no pleasure in fine carpets or
satin curtains.
Mrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. "If it were merely a fine
house richly furnished," said she, "I should not care about it
myself; but the grounds are delightful. They have some of the
finest woods in the country."
Elizabeth said no more - but her mind could not acquiesce.
The possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place,
instantly occurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the
very idea, and thought it would be better to speak openly to
her aunt than to run such a risk. But against this there were
objections; and she finally resolved that it could be the last
resource, if her private inquiries to the absence of the family
were unfavourably answered.
Accordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the chambermaid
whether Pemberley were not a very fine place? what was the name
of its proprietor? and, with no little alarm, whether the family
were down for the summer? A most welcome negative followed the
last question - and her alarms now being removed, she was at
leisure to feel a great deal of curiosity to see the house herself;
and when the subject was revived the next morning, and she was
again applied to, could readily answer, and with a proper air of
indifference, that she had not really any dislike to the scheme.
To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.
Chapter 43
Elizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance
of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when at
length they turned in at the lodge, her spirits were in a high
flutter.
The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground.
They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some
time through a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.
Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and
admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They
gradually ascended for half-a-mile, and then found themselves
at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased,
and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated
on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some
abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome stone building,
standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high
woody hills; and in front, a stream of some natural importance
was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance.
Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth
was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature
had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little
counteracted by an awkward taste. They were all of them warm
in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that to be
mistress of Pemberley might be something!
They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the
door; and, while examining the nearer aspect of the house, all
her apprehension of meeting its owner returned. She dreaded
lest the chambermaid had been mistaken. On applying to see
the place, they were admitted into the hall; and Elizabeth, as
they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to wonder at her
being where she was.
The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking elderly woman,
much less fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of
finding her. They followed her into the dining-parlour.
It was a large, well proportioned room, handsomely fitted up.
Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy
its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, which they had
descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance,
was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was
good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees
scattered on its banks and the winding of the valley, as far as
she could trace it, with delight. As they passed into other
rooms these objects were taking different positions; but from
every window there were beauties to be seen. The rooms were
lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune
of its proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste,
that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine; with less of
splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.
"And of this place," thought she, "I might have been mistress!
With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted!
Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced
in them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle
and aunt. But no," - recollecting herself - "that could never
be; my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me; I should not
have been allowed to invite them."
This was a lucky recollection - it saved her from something
very like regret.
She longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master
was really absent, but had not the courage for it. At length
however, the question was asked by her uncle; and she turned
away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynolds replied that he was,
adding, "But we expect him to-morrow, with a large party of
friends." How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journey
had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!
Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached
and saw the likeness of Mr. Wickham, suspended, amongst
several other miniatures, over the mantelpiece. Her aunt asked
her, smilingly, how she liked it. The housekeeper came forward,
and told them it was a picture of a young gentleman, the son of
her late master's steward, who had been brought up by him at
his own expense. "He is now gone into the army," she added;
"but I am afraid he has turned out very wild."
Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth
could not return it.
"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the
miniatures, "is my master - and very like him. It was drawn at
the same time as the other - about eight years ago."
"I have heard much of your master's fine person," said Mrs.
Gardiner, looking at the picture; "it is a handsome face.
But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not."
Mrs. Reynolds respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this
intimation of her knowing her master.
"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?"
Elizabeth coloured, and said: "A little."
"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?"
"Yes, very handsome."
"I am sure I know none so handsome; but in the gallery
upstairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this.
This room was my late master's favourite room, and these
miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond
of them."
This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's being among them.
Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy,
drawn when she was only eight years old.
"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?" said Mrs. Gardiner.
"Oh! yes - the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and
so accomplished! - She plays and sings all day long. In the next
room is a new instrument just come down for her - a present
from my master; she comes here to-morrow with him."
Mr. Gardiner, whose manners were very easy and pleasant,
encouraged her communicativeness by his questions and remarks;
Mrs. Reynolds, either by pride or attachment, had evidently
great pleasure in talking of her master and his sister.