Beginning, Previous Section, Section V
Part XL
It was late afternoon and Darcy had just settled himself in his study in the townhouse in London. They were to leave the following day to spend the next several weeks before his friend's wedding to Miss Bennet in Hertfordshire, and he wanted to remain at liberty to be able to spend most of that time with his wife. It was necessary, therefore, for him to dispose of his business commitments this afternoon, before they were to leave. It was fortunate also that Elizabeth had had another commitment this afternoon, leaving him at liberty to attend to his correspondence, because he had acknowledged to himself already in the short period in which they had been reconciled that it was impossible for him to attend to anyone or anything else while she was in his presence. It had been a blissful five days they had spent together; he could hardly believe that he had ever allowed her to leave, but he knew also that though they had been happy before they had never had anything like this. He had loved his wife for longer than he could remember, yet it was only now that he could say that he was beginning to know her, and he loved her all the more for it. And the marvel of it was that she seemed to feel the same for him, and that she was able to say so made him indescribably happy. He had loved her before when she had accepted his endearments and caresses - he had never imagined that there might be anything more to love than that - but he knew now that that had been only another symptom of his selfishness, and that it was nothing compared to the pleasure he experienced when she openly reciprocated his affection.
He smiled to himself as he realized that he had not even begun his work and already he was distracted with thoughts of her. It would be a marvel if he managed to accomplish anything. But he had barely started with his first letter when a knock at the door distracted him again. He was tempted to ignore the interruption, but it occurred to him that Elizabeth might have returned, and he would certainly never forego an opportunity to see her.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but Mrs. Darcy's uncle Mr. Gardiner is here to see her. I thought you might want to know."
"Thank you, Adams."
He paused for a moment, but came to the conclusion that he would have to go out and greet this uncle of Elizabeth's. After all, he had never met the man, and it seemed rather rude to keep him waiting like this when there was really no saying when Elizabeth would return. He sighed; tomorrow had seemed soon enough to have to confront her relatives, but it seemed he would have to start today. He made his way to the sitting room, hoping he would be able to extricate himself quickly.
"Mr. Gardiner."
He was rather surprised to see the man who returned his greeting. He recalled now that he had noticed him and his wife at the wedding, and had taken them for people of fashion. He would never have assumed that this was Elizabeth's uncle in trade.
"Mr. Darcy, it's good to see you."
"I'm afraid Elizabeth had some engagements this afternoon. She wasn't able to tell me quite how long it would take her to return."
"That is a pity. I had hoped to have a chance to speak with her before she left for Hertfordshire."
"I hope it is nothing very urgent."
"Actually, I believe it is. She asked for my help in a rather particular matter, and I would have felt far more comfortable had I spoken to her before I carried through her commission."
Darcy was impressed with the gentleman's manner, and more than a little curious as to what Elizabeth might have asked him to do. He did not for a moment believe that she would have kept something of a serious nature from him, but perhaps they had been so wrapped up in their happiness these last several days that there were subjects she had not gotten around to discussing. He was also a little jealous that she should have asked her uncle to carry out a particular commission, and felt that it was his own place to do so.
"Perhaps it is something I could help you with."
"In truth Mr. Darcy it is a matter I would want to discuss with you, since I am more than a little troubled at what Lizzy asks, but I must respect her wishes above my own."
"Did she instruct you to keep it from me?"
"No, but I do not believe she thought the opportunity would arise for me to tell you."
"Mr. Gardiner, I do not believe my wife would wish to keep any matter of gravity from me."
"I should hope not, Mr. Darcy, but excuse me for saying that I should be more troubled if she had your consent in this."
"Come, Mr. Gardiner, you have said enough to concern me, but I am sure Elizabeth cannot be doing anything so grave without my knowing anything about it."
"I consider it grave indeed that she insists on squandering the entirety of the money her father settled on her, and I find it difficult to believe, sir, that you would permit her to engage in something that leaves her penniless and utterly without resources."
"My wife, sir, will never be penniless while I have anything to do about it. But I must beg you to be more explicit. Why should she require a thousand pounds of her own money?"
"Very well, sir, you shall hear what I know of it. I hope I do not violate my niece's confidence too grievously in telling you, but I find it difficult to rely on her judgment alone in this matter. I believe you are acquainted with a young man by the name of Wikham? We made his acquaintance in Hertfordshire a few months ago, and he struck us then as a rather engaging young man, although I may say that he was not overly kind in what he had to say about you. We assumed later that Lizzy had learnt something to contradict his opinion of you when we heard about the wedding. Three days ago I heard from Lizzy, and I did not know what to make of her letter, although it did confirm my opinion that this Wikham was not to be trusted."
"What does this have to do with her settlement?"
"It has everything to do with her settlement, sir. She sent me a list of this man's creditors, saying that she herself had assumed the debt for him, and instructed me to use her money to pay these bills off, in addition to purchasing for the man a passage to Italy. These things I was to give to him, and to retrieve in return some papers which he was holding. I may tell you, Mr. Darcy, that I do not want to imagine what it is of my niece's that he is holding hostage. The man's debts themselves amount to somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand pounds, and along with the overseas passage the amount somewhat exceeds the amount of Elizabeth's settlement. Of course I would be more than happy to make up the deficit, but you see why I have some qualms about the whole matter."
Darcy, who had been agitated when the name of his bitterest enemy had entered the conversation, had collected himself by the time Mr. Gardiner had reached the end of his narrative. Reading between the lines of what Elizabeth had briefly mentioned to him and what her uncle had just recounted, he was able to plausibly reconstruct what must have occurred. He blamed himself for not pursuing the matter further with Elizabeth; he had been too wrapped up in their happiness to give much thought to her sister. Once again he had been guilty of selfishness, and once again, she was refusing to regard his money as her own. When it came to a matter concerning her own family, she still could not be confident in coming to him.
"Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. You could have done no better than to tell me this. I believe I may be able to ease your mind on some particulars. My wife did tell me rather recently that while they were in Brighton your youngest niece, Miss Lydia Bennet, was taken in by the wiles of Mr. Wikham. Elizabeth was fortunately able to put a stop to the matter before the young lady was in any danger. She did not tell me that there had been any financial component in securing Miss Lydia's rescue, but of course her money must not be touched. I can take care of the matter, sir, if you will just tell me how much it has put you out of pocket, and if you will let me have Wikham's address."
"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear that. I'm afraid my mind had leapt to rather more dire conclusions, but I can see how Lizzy would imagine that she needed to take full responsibility for it. But under the circumstances I think it might be best if I took care of the financial arrangements on Mr. Bennet's behalf."
"No, Mr. Gardiner, I must insist on the responsibility. I may tell you that this is not the first time Wikham has importuned an impressionable young lady with questionable advances. Had I made this information public he would never have had the opportunity of attaching himself to your niece in this manner. I'm afraid the fault in this matter is entirely my own."
"If you insist, Mr. Darcy, but I may say that you are quite as stubborn as your wife. You're both determined to take the blame and deal with this man independently, when the blame quite clearly rests with Wikham alone."
"Elizabeth, of course, is entirely blameless, but I'm afraid you cannot exculpate me quite so easily, Mr. Gardiner. I do appreciate the effort, though."
"I'm glad to have been of service, Mr. Darcy. And I may say that I have enjoyed finally meeting you. I was beginning to believe my niece had married a phantom."
"That is something else I must take responsibility for, Mr. Gardiner. I'm afraid I've quite monopolized my wife's time while she has been in London."
"I will take my leave now, Mr. Darcy. You have lightened my mind considerably about this matter. Do give my regards to Lizzy."
"It was an honour to meet you, Mr. Gardiner. I'm sure Elizabeth would join me in saying that we would appreciate the pleasure of your company for dinner when we are again in London. And your wife and children, of course."
"It will be our pleasure, Mr. Darcy. But I believe we will be seeing you before then in Hertfordshire at Jane's wedding."
"So we will, Mr. Gardiner. I look forward to it."
"As do I, Mr. Darcy. I hope you and Lizzy are very happy together."
"Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. I believe we are."
Darcy saw him to the door, and turned thoughtfully back to the house as he left. Whatever he had expected in meeting Elizabeth's uncle, this was not it. The man himself was more impressive by far than he had hoped to find, and of what he had to say Darcy had had not an inkling. Why had Elizabeth not confided this in him? He had not thought they could have been in more perfect confidence, yet again he found that she was keeping something from him. Was his money always to come between them? Surely she would see that the responsibility for this was his, and more than that, even if it had been a matter concerning none but herself or her family, did she not see that it was always his place to provide for her? His fortune was enough to cover any contingency, but even had it not been, surely she should know that she could by rights count on every last penny he could provide her before she needed to turn to her own. The fault could be no one's but his if she still considered herself separate from him in this way. And there was nothing for him to do other than to show her by his actions that she could count on him, even when she had not trusted in him enough to come to him herself. He looked at the papers that Mr. Gardiner had left behind, and asked for a carriage to be readied. It looked like he would be paying George Wikham another visit.
Part XLI
In a very short time Darcy found himself in the vicinity of the boardinghouse where Wikham was supposedly situated. If Darcy's coachman was at all surprised that his master should be visiting the address such an address he kept his qualms to himself. Darcy himself was hardly comfortable coming here in this fashion; the attention his carriage was drawing made it evident that the denizens were not accustomed to seeing a conveyance of such quality. The only thought that brought Darcy any relief was the knowledge that by taking this matter into his own hands he was protecting Elizabeth from any acquaintance with such a part of town. He could not fathom how he had let matters come to such a pass through his own neglect that she had been forced to play any role in such an unsavoury affair. He had dealt with Wikham before, and in a way he had always known that it was only a matter of time before Wikham would concoct a new scheme to extort his money and satiate his imagined need for revenge. He could handle this menace, although he knew that he would have to exercise caution, be on his guard for any new tricks, and rein in his temper. Knowing Wikham he could only guess at the sort of aspersions he would cast in his direction, and Darcy knew that he would have to remain focused on his purpose to refrain from getting carried away in his anger, for Wikham, better than anyone else, would be able to exploit that.
The carriage came to a stop on a crowded street, and coachman informed Darcy that the public house he had been directed to was in one of the alleyways that would not accommodate a carriage the size of his. Already his equipage was beginning to attract undue attention in that decrepit corner of the city, but when Darcy dismounted and made his way across the street he realized that he himself was quite an exceptional sight here simply by virtue of wearing clothes that were cut to fit him that had not run ragged through the ravages of time. That the fabric was also fine and his general deportment that of a man used to his means marked him out as a target, both for the helpless mendicants who intended him no harm and the thieves and pickpockets who invariably did. As he made his way over to the small alleyway that had been pointed out to him he was uncomfortably aware of all the eyes that were on him, and more so of the small crowd of children begging for alms that had gathered around him, yet the sensation seemed to him an oddly familiar one, until it occurred to him that he felt exactly this way at assemblies and large gatherings, especially when he was among strangers. The unlikely comparison remained with him as he made his way over to the public house, where, once again, his very entrance put a halt to the convivial bustle. He studiously ignored the curious eyes on him as he located the publican and asked for Wickham's quarters. The man was obviously surprised at the connection, but mercifully asked no questions as he directed him through the pub to a small staircase at the back.
He climbed, past the rooms to let and the publican's family quarters, until the staircase grew narrow and dank, and Darcy had to watch his step closely in order not to stumble. Obviously, even in this quarter of town all Wickham had been able to afford were rooms tucked away in a garret somewhere. He knew not from where his mind drew forth the thought of Mr. Collins, expanding at length on the suitability of the modest staircase at Hunsford Parsonage to his station in life, and he reflected that perhaps these stairs did capture something of Wickham. He remembered the parsonage at Kympton, an open airy structure with very well-situated rooms and a generous staircase through the center. How often had he and Wickham taken tea there with the rector and his wife, and how often had he expected to visit his friend in that very home! He wondered if it ever occurred to Wickham that he had chosen this life, that this penury and desperation had been brought about by his own greed and his selfish resolve to search for the easy way out.
There was hardly a landing at the top of the stairs, which led almost directly to a rather battered looking door. Darcy knocked twice, but didn't wait for a response before entering. He hardly expected Wickham to make him welcome here. The room was a small one, and the sloping roof rendered much of it cramped for a full-grown man. It could hardly have been described as clean under the best of circumstances, but now Wickham's things were strewn everywhere without regard to the general level of filth. The man himself was scrounging through one of his trunks, but as he looked up at the unexpected visitor he abandoned his task and stood, with a rather curious smile on his face.
"Darcy! This is an unexpected pleasure."
"And a dubious one, I am sure. We have known each other long enough to forego the civilities, wouldn't you say? I'm sure you know exactly what brings me here."
"As I said, Darcy, your presence is entirely unlooked for. I had some expectation that the charming Mrs. Darcy might be inclined to call. Perhaps you might tell me what kept her?"
It was at such times as these that Darcy was forced to concede that he had been fortunate in having had to deal with Wikham for as long as he had. It was more than any man should have to bear to hear such a man speak of his wife in this way, yet he was able to bear it, without losing either his head or his countenance. Indeed, a rather morbid sort of curiosity had awakened in his mind that allowed him to wonder with a remarkable degree of detachment how much further the man might be tempted to go. Darcy did not doubt that it would be very far indeed, and he was pleased to note that his confidence in Elizabeth's affection was such that the thought gave him barely a moment's pause. His Elizabeth could not have spared more than a passing glance at this man, however little she might have known of his infamous conduct. He could hardly begin to contemplate that he might very well have had to participate in this conference without such a surety. His reaction in such a circumstance did not bear thinking about.
"I'm sure you know that my wife has a great many things she would rather concern herself with than your company. As do I, I might add. If you will just give me what I'm here to collect I will be happy to leave you to your own devices."
"Running errands for the wife, are we? I somehow have trouble believing that your lovely Elizabeth put you up to this."
"If you know what's good for you, Wikham, you will never take her name again."
"I'm afraid that will be rather difficult. I'm sure you know that it's because of your wife that we are having this conversation at all."
There was something in the way that he uttered the word that was designed to provoke Darcy into a rage, and indeed he was quite amazed by his own capacity to remain calm. Elizabeth knew this man for a villain. Elizabeth had obviously played him in a masterly manner, to have secured her sister's release at so meager a sum. He could not allow himself to give any credence to such insinuations.
"Yes, I am aware that my wife has come up with the precaution of putting a continent between ourselves and you. I should have thought of it myself years ago. But I should warn you that I would be just as happy to have prison bars separating us instead. Let me have the papers, Wikham, or you know where you will find yourself."
"Not so fast, Darcy. I'm afraid you do not seem to know the whole of my arrangement with your dear Elizabeth. Did you really think you could be rid of me so easily? Why do you think I settled for your wife's little fortune? You should have known that I've never been particularly inclined to travel alone."
Darcy had known, somewhere inside of himself, that this moment would come. The fear had been lurking somewhere inside him since he had first heard Mr. Gardiner mention Wikham's name, and had realized that even now he was not in Elizabeth's total confidence. He had confidence enough to fight it - to argue reasonably to himself that this could not be what Elizabeth wanted. Were she truly the mercenary she had feared he would take her for, then she had right now what she wanted. If he were being played for a fool, he would be content to be played for a fool forever if he could allow himself to believe that she loved him. He would have been contented with far less, in fact, as he had been when they had first married, so there was no need for her to pretend. And if this man had been what she had wanted, she had had plenty of chances, at a time when she had had no expectation of receiving anything, neither money nor love, from him. Yet Darcy knew somewhere inside that it was ignoble of him to even reason in such a way, that he ought to trust without such justification. This had always been Wikham's game, to set him against those he loved; he knew for a fact that this man was a villain, and his Elizabeth deserved better than such cold-blooded scrutiny.
"I know perfectly well that my wife would like nothing better than to see you accompanied to Newgate. I would be very happy to arrange your escort if you try my patience any further. The papers, if you will, Wikham."
Wikham could see that this was not going entirely as he had planned. He still was not entirely sure how it was that Darcy had come here at all. From Elizabeth's handling of the matter it had been fairly clear to him that she intended to keep the entirety of it from her husband, and there was every reason to assume that she would not want Darcy to know how she had been taken in by him, even had they been on the best of terms. Having surmised long before that there had to have been some rift between Darcy and his wife, he had expected Darcy to rise to his bait long before this. Darcy's nonchalance threw him, and he could not determine whether it was caused by his absolute confidence in Elizabeth or an utter indifference as to what she might have done. Yet he was never a laggard when it came to spotting his own advantage, and if one this was clear to him it was that Darcy would likely put a much higher price on Georgiana's virtue than his wife, more concerned with herself, had done.
But Darcy was showing none of the desperation he had done on the previous occasion when his sister had been at stake. Then he had gone so far as to challenge Wikham, putting himself beyond the pale of the law for the sake of honour, and it had been Wikham himself who had fled, leaving Ramsgate in order to avoid facing Darcy in a duel. Surely this time he was willing to put down something more than a thousand pounds to secure her protection?
"For shame, Darcy. I thought you put a higher price on virtue than this. Or are you so taken with your wife that you cannot think of your sister anymore?"
It was ironic, from Wikham's perspective, that this was his first remark that was innocent of any insinuation against Elizabeth's fidelity. He had only meant to imply that he wished to renegotiate the price he had settled for Georgiana's protection. Darcy, who wished to believe that he was here to protect Lydia, and could not quite admit to himself the fear that it might be Elizabeth herself, heard it quite differently. Being blissfully unaware that the present crisis might have anything to do with his sister directly, he put quite a different construction on Wikham's words than he had intended. He was in no humour to negotiate with such a man as this, and he hoped that Lydia knew enough to appreciate the efforts that Elizabeth had taken to secure her rescue. It also occurred to him that short of actually eloping with such a man, there was little that Lydia could do that would particularly compromise her. He had certainly seen her take casual liberties with the militia officers often enough to know that her reputation was not likely to suffer overmuch from anything short of a drastic breach.
"You have tried my patience long enough, Wikham. If you will not give me those letters right now I will see to it that you are taken into custody within the hour. My man will wait downstairs to ensure that you do not escape from here in the meantime."
Wikham had been dealing with Darcy long enough to know when he was defeated. There was a resolve in Darcy's voice that told him that he would pay a heavy price for toying with him any further. Even now, Wikham could not credit that Darcy would take such a risk with his sister's reputation to sincerely threaten him with the prospect of prison, but though he would dearly have liked to have seen the Darcy family disgraced in that fashion, he had no intention of subjecting himself to a prison term in order to do it, and was not proof to the prospect of immediate relief. It was not such a bad thing to have his debts paid and a voyage to Italy secured. The alternative, even if the Darcys had not thwarted his original plans, after all, had been to remain in hiding from his creditors in this squalour indefinitely, and in such surroundings he knew that Lydia would quickly have become rather tiresome company.
He rummaged quickly through the disorderly trunk into which he had begun to gather his effects, and drew out a bundle of letters secured by a string.
"Very well, Darcy. You will find that I am a man of my word. Now, if you will let me have my things..."
Darcy was cautious enough to close his fingers around the bundle Wikham was still holding before he drew forth his own offering.
"Here is your passage to the continent. It is for tomorrow evening. I do warn you that I have retained a copy of your debts, and if you should ever be seen in either England or Scotland ever again I will not hesitate to haul you before a magistrate myself. I am sure my uncle the judge will be happy to oblige me."
"I do not expect that I shall need to return. Thank you, Darcy. You've been most obliging."
Wikham's manners were such as though this were a routine business transaction completed to the satisfaction of each, and that he had not, only moments before, cast unforgivable aspersions on his companions wife and sister. Darcy marveled at his manner, but contented himself with the thought that he would never have to deal with this man again. He thrust the bundle of letters into one of the pockets of his overcoat, and withdrew, eager to leave this place as quickly as he could. He descended to the tavern beneath to find his man waiting outside, and they walked briskly to the carriage. Darcy brought forth his watch to discover that it was nearing the time for dinner, and instructed the coachman to take the most expeditious route home. He would not wish for his family to think that anything extraordinary had occurred to keep him from home.
As the carriage drew rapidly towards the major thoroughfares of the City, and away from the squalid back roads, Darcy leaned back, and attempted to put from his mind what had occurred. It would not be for long, he knew; he and Elizabeth would have to talk about this soon enough, and he hoped that he could bring her to realize that there was nothing of this nature that she needed to keep from him. He would never think less of her for having a very silly sister - how could he, after all, when he had needed to intervene in exactly this fashion on his own sister's behalf. He wanted to rid himself of the weight of the bundle of papers he carried, to put it into Elizabeth's hands, for her to dispose of as she saw fit. She would wish to see that they had been recovered in fact, but after that they could be burnt, and perhaps they could learn to believe that all connection to Wikham had finally been severed.
Or had it? He knew that it had been his place to deal with Wikham, and to recover these papers, whatever they were, that he now held, but he also knew that without having specifically been authorized to do so, it was not his place to examine them. In Wikham's presence he had stood firm against any allegation against his wife; he knew enough not to take the words of a known villain against her, and he had done well to guard against an anger that may well have hindered his ability to act effectively to contain this menace. But now that danger and provocation were past, there was that within him which whispered that what he held in his hand was a surety - if he were only to look inside he could be perfectly secure of what might otherwise eat away at him inside, and Elizabeth would never know that such thoughts had ever crossed his mind. He could not even now entertain the possibility that he might look inside and find his worst fears confirmed.
He drew forth the packet and began to toy with the string, hating himself even as he did so. Elizabeth deserved far better than this; the weakness here was his. He wished that the knot might be recalcitrant, and not allow him to open it without exposing to her that he had seen the letters, but perversely, as though to exasperate him, it fell open with ease. He closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to remind himself of how he ought to act, but his eyes would open, and they would land upon those very folds of paper he held in his hands. There was nothing for it but to unfold the letters, and allow himself to read them. They were the very words he had hoped never to have to encounter, flowering with a depth of sentiment he did not wish to believe was within Wikham's ability to inspire, but they were not in the unfamiliar hand he would have expected his sister-in-law to possess. Neither did it resemble in any particular the elegant if exuberant writing he had learnt to associate with his wife, and for this his gratitude was unfailing. Nevertheless, it was not until he had turned the page over and seen the signature at the conclusion of the first letter that he would allow himself to believe that his sister had written such a thing. He checked the date on the letter, and hastily tore through the bundle, finding that all of the letters were along the same lines, but able to reassure himself at least Georgiana was not guilty of any fresh transgression.
His mind was working so rapidly he could not control the trajectory of his thoughts. Elizabeth had played out this elaborate scheme in order to protect his sister? Surely Georgiana knew absolutely nothing of this. He had not been so neglectful of his duties as to have failed to have spoken with her at length at their reunion, and he knew well enough to believe that had she even wished to keep such a thing from him she could not have kept her countenance so well. No, Georgiana was perfectly unaware of this present threat to her reputation, and Elizabeth had managed to protect not one but two young women from his clutches. How had she done it, and with such ease? He knew well enough that faced with such a threat to his sister he would not have hesitated to pay out ten times this sum, and he understood now slightly better Wikham's astonishment at his refusal to negotiate. But Darcy thought now also, with a security he had never expected to have, of the other things that he had implied. They proved, if nothing else, that Wikham was not indifferent to his wife, and Darcy knew him too well to doubt that with such a pawn as these letters in his hand, Wikham would have made his interest in Elizabeth known to her. What a desperate situation he had left her to be confronted with! He could not doubt that what she had done she had done for his family's sake, and she had done it without any expectation of gratitude or even acknowledgement, for she had wished for neither him nor his sister to know of it. What resourcefulness she had shown, in extricating herself and both their sisters from the clutches of such a man! It occurred to him that Elizabeth had demonstrated towards him the greatest steadfastness under the most trying of circumstances, and with no notion that he might hold her in any particular regard. And he had repaid her now by covertly suspecting her of the basest of transgressions, while congratulating himself on his liberality in exerting himself to protect her sister.
Darcy knew that he was only just coming to know his wife, and learning to trust in her affection for him. It was humbling to realize that he did not come even close to deserving her. Even now, he wished that she had trusted him in this, and had not felt that she needed to endure it alone, but for the first time now he was willing to realize that with his own unworthy suspicions, he did not merit her trust.
Part XLII
Darcy was determined not to draw any notice to himself upon entering the house, lest any of the ladies question his absence. He knew that he and Elizabeth needed to discuss this, although he had not yet framed the terms of that discussion in his own mind. But the very last thing he wanted was for either of the girls to realize with whom his errand had been. On entering the house, however, he was given to understand that the ladies had returned very soon after his own departure and had been awaiting him for some time. He was also informed that his steward, Mr. Yardley, had arrived at the previously appointed hour and was waiting in the study to discuss with him some particulars pertaining to the Pemberley estate with which Darcy had intended to acquaint himself that afternoon.
In his anxiety over Wickham, Darcy had entirely forgotten about the business with which he had previously busied himself, but it now returned to him in all its urgency. The matter would certainly have to be looked into before he could depart for Hertfordshire, for it was too complex and too immediate to be conducted entirely by correspondence, and he had no desire to postpone the journey. Darcy was very conscious of his own error in having separated his friend Bingley from Miss Bennet, and he wanted now to show them his support in every way. He did not want them to feel that he was reluctant to join in their happiness. Moreover, this would be Elizabeth's first opportunity to see her whole family since their short visit to London, when she had hardly had any time with them at all, and he did not wish to begrudge her even a day of it. This matter had to be resolved tonight, so that they could depart the following morning as planned.
Darcy asked that Mr. Yardley be informed of his return, and said that he would join him shortly. He then looked in on the ladies, intending to be with them only a short while before making his apologies.
"There you are, brother. Where have you been all this time?"
Though it was Georgiana who greeted him, it was to Elizabeth that Darcy's eyes strayed first. Her eyes were on him as well, her uncertain smile conveying all of the affection he had not yet grown accustomed to seeing, but something of concern as well. He wondered whether it was because she suspected something of his business, or whether she was simply concerned over his unexpected absence.
"I'm sorry, Georgiana. It was an unexpected matter of business across town that I thought I had best dispose of before we left London."
He went over and gave his sister an affectionate kiss, and did the same to Elizabeth. Lydia he greeted more formally.
"Miss Bennet, I hope you are enjoying your time in London with us."
"Why yes, Mr. Darcy. It is all so very splendid and grand. I dare say Longbourn shall seem very dull after the pleasures of London and Brighton."
"Why, Lydia, I must say I'm quite looking forward to returning to Hertfordshire."
"Aye, but you do not have to live there any longer, Lizzy. You will have Derbyshire, and London, and heaven knows what pleasures else. But I dare say Kitty will be jealous of me for my adventures."
"Fitzwilliam, will you not see our purchases? We bought such lovely presents for Jane, and for Mary and Kitty as well. And Lydia and I have new bonnets for the wedding, and we made Elizabeth buy one as well."
"I am sure they are all very lovely, my dear, but I must see them another time. You know that Mr. Yardley is waiting for me."
"You will be joining us for supper?"
"I think not. 'Tis a vexatious business, and I think it better that we take a little time to think it through."
"I'll have a cold supper sent in to the study for you and Mr. Yardley, then."
"Thank you, Elizabeth. I think that will be best."
He smiled fondly at her in parting, touched by her attention. She supported him in everyway, making sure that anything that could be done to make his life a little easier or more pleasant was done. He had known this, yet had had no conception of how far this dedication went. He did not think he had succeeded in showing her the same dedication. He was a more selfish creature. When it had been difficult for him to be near her, he had sent her away with his sister, without even ensuring that they would be safe where they went. He had suspected her of the basest of transgressions without even admitting to himself that he suspected her, while knowing himself to be the only recipient of her dedication and love. And all the while she had done everything she could to see to his own comfort, as well as the comfort and security of his sister, without expecting any gratitude or even acknowledgement, without accepting for herself anything that was his. He felt himself ennobled to have won the affections of such a woman, and yet he was chastened, for he knew that he did not deserve her.
He shook himself out of his reverie and went into the study where Mr. Yardley awaited him. The matter they needed to resolve was a tangled one, and his time and patience was required, especially since he had not had the afternoon to think it through. Yet they made good progress in resolving the dispute. Both he and Yardley appreciated the cold supper when it was laid out for them, for although it seemed as though they had only just begun they discovered that they were famished and very much in need of sustenance. Finally they accomplished all they had hoped to in one evening's discussion, and Yardley drew up the necessary documents for his master's perusal and signature. Yardley would carry them himself to Pemberley rather than rely on the post, for he had several other commissions there as well, and he would remain in that neighbourhood, for the Darcys would be returning to Derbyshire after the wedding as well.
When Darcy was finally able to retire, he knew that the rest of the family was already abed. Clearly, his conversation with Elizabeth would have to wait. He certainly had no intention of rousing her at this hour of the night. He went up to his dressing room, and changed into the nightclothes that had been laid out for him. He was pleased to note than his trunks had been prepared in readiness for their journey tomorrow, and his traveling clothes were already laid out. He crossed over into Elizabeth's chamber. The fire was burning low in the grate, and his wife was sound asleep. He climbed under the covers and drew them around him. As if sensing his presence, Elizabeth stirred, and turned towards him, though she did not wake. Drawing her closer to him, he marveled at how well she seemed to fit against him, a pleasant, comforting weight. Then, giving in to his exhaustion, he closed his eyes, and very soon was sleeping as deeply as she.
Part XLIII
The household rose early the following morning, for they wanted an early start for their day's traveling. Darcy's staff was prompt and organized as always in preparing for the journey, and the carriages were readied and the trunks were loaded before anyone had thought to ask. Knowing that the house would be shut for several months while she and Darcy traveled up to Pemberley, Elizabeth was very copious in instructing Mrs. Harris on how the house was to be tended to in her absence. The housekeeper good-naturedly took in these injunctions, which were perhaps not essential for one who had tended to the house practically single-handedly for many years, but which certainly confirmed her opinion that the new mistress was particular enough in her duties not to be taken in, but neither did she overstep her bounds in presuming to dictate too closely. Darcy himself had been uncharacteristically lax in his own instructions, having woken late enough that it was all he was able to do to ready himself in order to be able to leave at the hour they had agreed upon. The girls, for once, were also ready early enough, and Darcy was able to get the early start he had desired to reach Hertfordshire in good time.
Longbourn was an easy distance from London and in the comfort of Darcy's equipage the rigours of the journey were hardly felt at all by any in the party. Lydia and Georgiana were able to amuse themselves ably, and Elizabeth joined in their laughter more often than not. Darcy was more silent, although he was undoubtedly gratified to see his sister in such spirits. How much Elizabeth had done for her, that she should be so cheerful and open. He had known, of course, that they had grown close, and he with his fond affection for them both had regarded it as a natural development that they should like each other, but he reflected now that Elizabeth had been the one to make the effort to draw his sister out, and that probably, like himself, she had not been immediately approachable, or given the best account of herself. Yet Elizabeth had done this, this and so much more that could hardly be expected of a true sister, without requiring either her acknowledgement or his.
He wondered again when he would now find the time to speak with her uninterrupted, as they would need to do. It seemed absurd that a husband should have to create such opportunities when he wished only to speak with his own wife, but he knew that on this first visit back, and especially on the occasion of her sister's wedding, her time would hardly be her own. Nor was this a subject they could hope to exhaust quickly, and he had no desire to cause her worry by broaching the subject at a time when they would not have the chance to do it justice. Neither was he quite sure what would be appropriate for him to say, for he did not want her to believe that he blamed her in any way. And finally, he realized that it would need to be done quickly, for they were to meet the Gardiners in Hertfordshire quite soon, and it certainly would not do for her to learn, as she undoubtedly would, of his interference from her uncle.
Elizabeth, though she appeared the picture of calm, had her own anxieties as well. It troubled her to have to leave London without knowing for certain that the Wikham affair had been settled satisfactorily. She knew her uncle had called the previous day, undoubtedly in connection with that business, but she had missed him, and was consequently anxious to learn what he had intended to tell her. She wondered how much the transaction would exceed the value of her personal fortune, and how exactly she intended to repay the difference. She was worried in any case how her uncle would react to this business, for surely he would discern that there was something irregular about a transaction in which she would choose to exhaust her own modest fortune in preference to her husband's. She was not quite sure what she intended to tell him when he quizzed her about it, as he undoubtedly would be entitled to do. And moreover, she had not been able to dismiss a lingering suspicion that her uncle may already have shared something of his concern with her husband.
Not for the first time, Elizabeth wondered at the wisdom of her choice to keep all knowledge of this business from her husband. Certainly, his involvement might make everything easy in terms of the financial piece of the transaction, and she did not doubt that he would consider it his duty to resolve this matter. And Elizabeth was well aware that her secrecy in this matter constituted a breach of the trust that had been so newly reestablished between them. It was one thing entirely that she had not been able to take this matter to him at its inception, when she had considered them to be irrevocably separated in spirit, if not in legal fact. It was quite another matter now, when all was supposedly resolved between them, and when she had more than implicitly renewed her promise never to keep anything from him. And yet this was such a matter that she could not bring herself to share it, to occasion him the pain that he would undoubtedly feel in knowing how his sister had made herself vulnerable, or perhaps, though she hardly admitted as much even to herself, to expose herself to his suspicion for having fraternized with a man he could justifiably consider his only enemy. Her husband was a reasonable man, and more, a generous one - he had forgiven her such faults as she could scarcely forgive in herself, and she could not believe that he would now blame her or censure her now, when she was utterly blameless, but was it too much to hope that he ought never even have occasion to even contemplate such a possibility?
But it was entirely possible that her uncle had confided his concerns to Darcy already. She knew that they had met, she knew that this matter would have been foremost in her uncle's mind, and she found it unlikely that he would have left without seeing her if he had had no opportunity to share his concerns. She knew that all her uncle would have been able to share would have been the practicalities of the matter, but she knew also that these cast her in a worse light even than the entire truth did. There was no blame in her husband's looks that she could discern, but they had had no opportunity to speak in private, and she knew him to be very capable of keeping his own counsel if he so desired. Unless he were to broach the subject, she would never know what he knew.
Elizabeth was not of a disposition to be needlessly alarmed when circumstances did not warrant it. She did not assume that her husband would necessarily put the worst construction on her actions, for he had amply demonstrated that he was more than capable of giving her the benefit of the doubt. But she found that she was more troubled than she would have expected by the prospect of not knowing what he was thinking. It was an extraordinary thing to expect to know the thoughts and perceptions of another rational being - for though she was a student of character she could not claim such an intimacy with even her father or Jane. And certainly less than a week ago, she would have had no conception of what her husband might be thinking. But now she felt as though she ought to know - and that if she could not divine it for herself that she should hear it from him. And it was unsettling in this context to realize that she felt herself entitled to something she was not able to freely offer him. It brought her back uncomfortably to the early days of her marriage, when she had not been able to completely requite her husband's affection, and though she had then been superficially happy, she knew now that it had been nothing to what she had now. And what she had now was contingent on their mutually requited affection, but equally on their mutually requited trust, and for her to refrain from sharing this with him would damage that trust, and would ultimately threaten her happiness.
Regardless of whether or not he already knew, Elizabeth realized that she really had no choice but to share this with him. The thought could not make her comfortable, for surely he would be saddened, and perhaps he would be angry. And yet it settled something in her mind to come to this conclusion. She would be worthy of his trust in her - surely he deserved no less than that. But with so momentous a decision made, it seemed insupportable to her that she should now be constrained by a matter of timing. The disclosure would have to be soon made, and she could not fathom where she might procure the opportunity now of speaking to him at length and privately. She had had such opportunities before when the disclosure might easily have been made. She would not say those chances had been squandered, because it was a great deal already in how much that time together had served to build their intimacy, but surely had she arrived at this resolution earlier there would have been time for this as well. But she had been scared, and perhaps even now would not have at this bold conclusion had it not been for her fear that her uncle might have disclosed some of the truth already. She would not allow that fear to guide her - whatever the cause of it, her resolve now was right and honest, and she would find a way to abide by it.
Had their minds not been so heavily occupied the journey might have been called restful, but the day that followed certainly was not so. It was Mrs. Darcy's first visit back to her parental home, and of course she had to be shown off in all her new finery to all the neighbours who had heard of little else since she had left. Mrs. Bennet's current frenzy exceeded even that which she had exhibited prior to Elizabeth's own wedding, for then she had had but one daughter to concentrate her efforts on, while now Jane's wedding could not be neglected, but Mrs. Darcy and her dear husband absolutely had to be exhibited. Certainly the Gouldings, the Hays, the Longs, and of course the Lucases were adequately impressed, and indeed how could they not be? For Mr. Darcy had always been acknowledged as a fine figure of a gentleman, and Mrs. Darcy, after all, had been one of their most fondly regarded local beauties. It was a fine thing to know that one of their own had connected her lot with such wealth and distinction, and even more so to recognize something of the regard that was palpable between the couple. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were in truth quite exhausted by the time the last of the guests departed Longbourn. One final call remained, to Aunt Phillips in Meryton, and as it was not yet dark, and the distance but a mile, the Darcys opted to walk that way, offering their coach to Mrs. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet could not fathom why anyone would choose to walk when such fine conveyance was available, but she knew better to question the whims of her illustrious son-in-law, and only silently pitied her daughter for having to endure such vagaries, which in truth she seemed very happy to do. The Darcys, in all fairness, where perhaps not always so whimsical, but on this day in particular they each felt the necessity of a modicum of privacy over comfort, though each was perhaps a little surprised to find the other so.
Bingley and Jane, who had also chosen to walk, soon outstripped them, while Kitty, Lydia, and Miss Darcy were traveling with Mrs. Bennet. But the Darcys were silent, not knowing how to speak of what needed to be said. Elizabeth was forming a desperate resolution, and her husband might perhaps have been doing the same, though it was she who spoke first.
"Mr. Darcy, I am a selfish creature, and for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, I do not know how I affect yours. There is something I must tell you, though I cannot believe that you will enjoy hearing it."
"My dearest, you know that can tell me anything you wish."
"I do not know that I wish to tell you this, but I know I ought to, and that I ought to have done so long before. It is unforgivable of me to have kept it from you all this time."
She tried to form the words she knew she ought to, and yet she struggled to form the name she knew he would not want to hear connected to any of his family. He watched her struggle, and he knew of course that he had a fair idea of what she wished to speak of, and though he was gratified that she should wish to tell him after all, he did not know how much she meant to reveal.
"Does this perhaps have something to do with the matter over which your uncle called on us yesterday?" he prompted gently.
"Then he did speak with you! I cannot imagine what you must think. What did my uncle tell you?"
"He told me what he knew, which was not a great deal. He was very worried. I believe I was able to ease his mind."
"How so?"
"Do you remember what you told me when I went to Ramsgate, about how you found out about my history with Wikham? You told me something about his interest in your sister that I thought were appropriate to pass on to your uncle. It allayed his anxiety a great deal."
Elizabeth was immeasurably relieved, though she could not quite explain why. She had thought too well of him to believe that he might cast any aspersions on her character, even knowing what her uncle would have had to say, yet the relief she felt in having this confirmed - in knowing that he had immediately assumed that she had acted to protect her sister rather than herself was considerable. Yet she knew her task was not yet over - there was more that he needed to know, and even without needing to worry about how he regarded her, she was sorry for what he would endure on his sister's behalf.
"I am afraid that there is a little more to it than that, Fitzwilliam. It is true that he did convince Lydia to elope with him, to Gretna Greene, as she supposed. But when she declined - no, I must tell you the entire truth, shameful as it is - he made a similar proposition to me as well. Lydia overheard it; that is how she learnt of his duplicity to her. But when I refused his offer, he attempted to force my hand by bargaining for some letters..."
"I have failed you so miserably. I would have wished not to expose you to anything in the world that would give you a moment's distress, yet through my negligence you were exposed to a blackguard's immodest advances."
"You did not fail me, Fitzwilliam. It was my own failure not to credit your words. You gave me every reason in your behaviour why I should take your word over his."
"But I gave you no word. I did not even attempt to contradict your opinion. I assumed that you should know that he was not to be trusted without having any reason for it."
"Let us not quarrel over who should assume the greater portion of blame over our misunderstanding. We have, I hope, both improved in our understanding since then. But there is more that I must tell you - he had some letters of Georgiana's that he was holding guard. That is why he felt able to dictate my actions, and that is why I had to negotiate with him. Otherwise I should not have entertained him for a moment. I hope you can believe that."
"Of course I believe it, Elizabeth. You have played him masterfully."
"Did my uncle tell you about that?"
"He did. There is something I must tell you as well, Elizabeth. I knew about Georgiana's letters already. When I learnt of this from your uncle I went to see Wikham yesterday, and obtained them from him."
"Then you have handed the settlement with him?"
"I cannot have you squandering your own fortune on this, Elizabeth, my love, it was never intended to be used for such a purpose. Why will you not accept that you have as much money as you may require at your disposal? What good is all my wealth to me if you will not share it?"
"You are always more than generous, Fitzwilliam, but I needed to make restitution for my own mistakes."
"Even if that were the case I should hope that you know that it is all our money, not yours or mine. But the matter at hand is patently my responsibility."
"That is not so. He would never have had occasion to impose himself in such a way had I not admitted his friendship and allowed my sister to be in his company."
"Elizabeth, if he had retained those letters you may depend on it that he would have come to me with them whenever he needed the money. And I would have happily paid him ten times the amount you agreed on."
"I had to hold him to it. I had no more than that to offer. Even so my fortune did not cover the entire sum."
"You were beyond brave, my love, to have handles all of this alone."
"I was not wholly alone. Lydia was horrified at Wikham's callousness after she overheard it, as I told you, and Colonel Forster assisted me as well. I saw no reason to worry Georgiana with it - she has endured too much at his hands already."
"No more than you have, my love. I am so sorry that you had to endure it."
"The folly was all my own. I cannot begin to contemplate what you might have thought of me. You had every reason to imagine the worst."
"I had no right at all - not when you undertook it to protect me and my sister. Elizabeth, you are too good to even note my faults. You did not even wonder that I should have opened the letters, when as I thought they were your sister's, I should have left them untouched for you."
"Did you wonder then if they were mine?"
"I did not truly, yet I could not prevent myself from looking. I found myself soundly rebuked when I did look, for I thought myself then so noble to be undertaking this on your sister's behalf, and then to find that you had done so, without even telling me, for mine. I am so sorry, Elizabeth, I swear to you that I did not believe it for a minute, but I was not strong enough to resist the confirmation."
"You had every reason to require it. I have given you so much cause to doubt me."
"You must not believe that, for truly you have not. You have done more for me than I could have dreamt of, and you have been so selfless in trying to spare me any worry, only..."
"Only what?"
"Only that I wish you would never feel as though you needed to keep anything from me. I should wish for us never to have any secrets, and to share especially all our burdens between us."
"I should wish the same, Fitzwilliam, though I know I have not observed it. It is why I started to tell you earlier. I was wondering if you already knew something of it from my uncle, and I realized then that I should like to know always what you were feeling."
"You will know it, my love, and I should wish also to know your heart. I know you are quite capable of fending for yourself and all the rest of us quite ably, but I want you to know that you can always come to me."
"I will attempt to remember it."
They walked on farther, without knowing where they went, and spoke of many matters, most pleasanter than the serious subjects that had so far occupied them. Perhaps they found some secluded nooks and Mr. Darcy's bride was amused that her husband should still try to steal kisses as he had done when they were merely betrothed. She learnt also that her lessons had been effectual and that he had learnt already to be laughed at a little, at least if she were the one to laugh. Eventually they did recall that they were expected at the Phillipses and found their way to Meryton, where they found Mrs. Bennet quite vexed at their delay, but she and her sister were soon mollified by Mr. Darcy's most gracious apology.
What else remains to be said? The day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her oldest daughter was perhaps the happiest she had ever yet known, for she was able to exult for Jane's happiness and point to the fineries that Elizabeth had already acquired. What pleasure she took in visiting with Mrs. Bingley and writing to Mrs. Darcy may well be imagined. The Darcys did not stay long in Hertfordshire after the Bingleys were married; they departed for the north, and finally did Elizabeth see the magnificent estate which was to be her primary home. What pleasure Mr. Darcy took in acquainting her with the house and its grounds may well be imagined, and it was not long before Elizabeth came to love it as much as he did. With her brother married and settled in the country Georgiana made it her primary home as well, and the love between the sisters grew stronger than ever, and Darcy delighted in how his wife brought out the best in his dear sister. Her younger sisters were frequent visitors, and it may be hoped that in the more refined society they encountered they improved some of their manners. Her father, too, delighted in visiting, with or without his wife, and often without notice, and Darcy and he rose rapidly in each other's esteem, joint in their quiet observant humour and their great love for Elizabeth, and perhaps Mr. Benne took a lesson from his most valued son and learnt to be a little less capricious. As for Jane, she and Bingley did not remain long in the near vicinity of Longbourn, and removed to the north within a year of their marriage. Then was the closest wish of the two sisters granted, and they were settled within thirty miles of one another. Not all of Darcy's family was so easily satisfied. Notwithstanding her token of acknowledgement, Lady Catherine's disapprobation persisted, and Darcy would have been tempted, as he had earlier been, to drop the connection altogether. Elizabeth protested, and though she never again went directly against his wishes she did attempt to persuade him by all the means at her disposal that he should not cast off his family in his manner. Ultimately, as good wives do when they are in the right, she prevailed, perhaps only because she pointed out that Lady Catherine's great condescension in admitting her company in Kent had been after all the means of uniting them.