Pride Prejudice and Perjury

Elizabeth's Lament

Chapter 13 ~ Elizabeth's Lament

Elizabeth was happy to be back at Longbourn. If it sometimes felt a little dull and lacking in excitement, it was a welcome respite from the emotional turmoil and social complications of the past several months. The home scene was very different from when she had last lived at length in Longbourn with her sisters Mary and Kitty. Mary – now Mrs. Tiddlington – was happily installed at the parsonage, and Lydia was once more at Longbourn, now the mother of a delightful little girl, Eleanor.

“Are you not astounded, Lizzy, at the change in Lydia?” her father inquired one afternoon in his library, a week after her return.

“Indeed, Father, I am. The alteration is astonishing, and entirely for the better. Lydia is totally devoted to little Eleanor, and has become quieter and more serious – not to mention sober. When my mother or a visiting lady offers advice concerning some efficacious method of managing the baby, she listens attentively. One cannot but admire the way in which she strives so diligently, and with good sense, to do what is best for her child. I never would have believed that motherhood could have wrought such a change in a person.”

Mr. Bennet nodded in agreement, and with a wry smile, he said, “Sadly it was not the case with your mother, and so I am vastly surprised that it should be so for her daughter. And Kitty, who has forever been influenced by her younger sister, has likewise become somewhat more serious and sensible. Even Mary is no longer quite so blinkered and silly as heretofore – although that is doubtless due to the influence of her husband, and perhaps also, the responsibilities of running a household. Yes, I can, in all honesty, declare myself pleased with all my daughters.”

“It is indeed fortunate, Father, that Lydia is by nature confident and jolly, for it seems that she may face the daunting task of raising her child alone.”

“Yes, what you say is most probable. From what I can make out, though she has written to Wickham repeatedly – both before and after the birth of the child – she has received not a single letter from the scoundrel. It would appear that he has determined to abandon both wife and child.”

***

Elizabeth loved helping Lydia with little Eleanor and developed a closeness with her younger sister which she could not have imagined possible. One day, Lydia asked Elizabeth if she had learned anything further with regard to the business she had observed between her husband and Miss Bingley in London. Elizabeth revealed the gist of Wickham's letter to Mr. Darcy, and that it had been written at Miss Bingley's behest.

“Mr. Darcy refused, point blank, to pay Wickham, and promised, instead, to call him out if he put about the lies contained in his letter. Wickham then threatened to reveal the whole deceit to Mr. Darcy unless Caroline Bingley paid him to keep his silence.”

Elizabeth chose not to reveal Lady Catherine de Bourgh's part in the scheme, nor anything of the letters that Darcy received from Mr. Collins or his aunt. Nor did she wish to disclose the abominable way in which Mr. Darcy had subsequently behaved towards her; it all being entirely unknown in Hertfordshire.

“How shocking! Although, I must tell you that nothing can any longer surprise me concerning Wickham. I know it is a terrible thing to say, Lizzy, but I wish that Mr. Darcy had challenged Wickham to a duel. Oh, how could I have been so foolish to believe that I would be happy with such a selfish, dishonest man?”

“Do not blame yourself, Lydia. George Wickham is a most plausible deceiver; almost every lady in Meryton was taken in by him – myself included.”

“But only I was foolish enough to elope with him,” said Lydia, remorsefully.

“Lydia, my dear, I have a confession I must make. Before you went off to Brighton with the officers last year, I learnt the truth about Wickham's character, but because the story was revealed to me in confidence, and concerned another young lady, I did not feel authorised to make it known. So you see, it was my fault, Lydia; had I told you what I knew of Wickham you would never have been deceived into eloping with him.”

“Do not blame yourself, it was my own stupidity; no one else is to blame but me. Lizzy, this account you heard of Wickham, was it perchance from Mr. Darcy that you heard it?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Mr. Darcy seems to know a great deal about Wickham, and though Wickham hates him and is forever flaming his character, he is nevertheless very wary of him. Does this information you heard from Mr. Darcy perhaps explain why he spent so much money settling Wickham's debts and purchasing him a commission in the regulars?”

“Yes, it does. Mr. Darcy believed that had he made public what he knew of Wickham, no respectable young lady could possibly have been deceived by him. He felt responsible for your elopement. When he learned of it, he immediately set out for London to find Wickham, and then bribed him to marry you.”

“Was it done just for me, Lizzy?” asked Lydia with a curious smile.

“What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth quickly.

“Well, from what you told me of Wickham's letter, Caroline Bingley wished to defame you in Mr. Darcy's eyes. Obviously she wants to marry him, and must have somehow come to believe that he might prefer to marry you instead.”

Elizabeth did not wish to reveal all the details of her long and painful history with Mr. Darcy. Though Lydia's character was much improved, Elizabeth was not certain that she could rely upon her younger sister's discretion, and the last thing she wanted was for any of it to get back to her mother, who disliked Mr. Darcy with a passion, and would seize upon his cruel and unjust treatment of her daughter to flame him endlessly; there would be no peace, and very soon, the whole neighbourhood would know it all.

“Caroline Bingley has, I believe, a very jealous nature,” replied Elizabeth. “I imagine that Mr. Darcy asking me to dance at the Netherfield ball was probably sufficient reason for her to imagine me as a competitor.”

***

On her previous visit to Longbourn, in June, Elizabeth had cleverly avoided her mother's matrimonial campaigning on her behalf by hinting that she had met a number of eligible young gentlemen in London, which had the desired effect of allowing Mrs. Bennet to persuade herself that a proposal must be imminent.

Unfortunately, it now being six months since she was in London, without receiving a single offer of marriage, her mother decided that it was time to take matters in hand herself.

“It is a pity, Lizzy,” she remarked as the two of them sat together one day, “that you did not return to Longbourn several weeks earlier, when your Uncle Phillips first introduced his new law clerk, Jonathon Chester, to us. I am certain that he must have preferred you to your sister Kitty – and I would naturally have directed his interest towards you, being the eldest – but as it was, there was only Kitty, and he is a most eligible young man with a most promising future, according to your uncle.”

Elizabeth had met Mr. Chester at her Aunt Phillip's house, and thought him a very agreeable and well-favoured young man. What impressed her most of all, was his steadiness and good sense. Had it not been for Kitty's recent improvements, on account of Lydia, Mr. Chester might have found her sister a little too foolish for his taste. “I am very pleased on Kitty's account; he is a fine young man, and she seems well pleased with him,” replied Elizabeth.

“But it shall be most vexing to have your three younger sisters all married before you. If you are not careful, Lizzy, people will begin to speak of you as an old maid.”

“But, Mamma, I am but two-and-twenty!”

“Nevertheless, it would not be right to have all your younger sisters married first. I know – perhaps it is not too late. You must put on that lovely pink muslin gown you received from Jane; for Mr. Chester is invited to dine with us today. I will seat him beside you at the table, instead of your sister – surely he must see that Kitty is nothing compared to you.”

“Mother!” exclaimed Elizabeth, rising to her feet in distress. “I will not hear of it! I am not interested in Mr. Chester – not in the least bit – and Kitty is a fair way to being in love with him! Promise me that you will do nothing of the kind – or I shall leave Longbourn immediately!”

“Oh, very well, Lizzy; if you insist upon being an old maid, there is nothing I can do to help you – but it is most provoking. All that beauty for nothing!”

***

Late one morning, as Elizabeth was sitting in the parlour with her mother, Kitty, and Lydia – who was cradling little Eleanor in her arms – the sound of a carriage was heard. Kitty rose from her chair and looked out the window; but the carriage, which struck her as rather fashionable, was unfamiliar, and its occupants had already alighted and entered the house, thus denying her a glimpse of them.

“Who can it be?” asked Mrs. Bennet, straightening her cap and quickly taking up her sewing, “I am not expecting visitors today, and it is rather late to be calling. Lydia, my dear, take the baby upstairs. People who travel in fashionable carriages and think nothing of calling at whatever hour they please, are very likely persons of rank and importance; and not accustomed to the presence of an infant in the parlour.”

Lydia rose with the baby in her arms, but before she could leave, the door opened and Hill announced, “Mr. Darcy, ma'am.”

Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and Kitty rose to their feet in astonishment and curtsied, together with Lydia. Mrs. Bennet was speechless; whatever did that awful, arrogant, unpleasant Mr. Darcy mean by calling upon her? What could the odious man be wanting?

Elizabeth's emotions were in such a flurry at this inexplicable visit that she found herself quite unable to speak. When she briefly allowed herself to look in Mr. Darcy's direction, he appeared equally ill at ease and embarrassed. They were all of them so discomfited, that for some moments, they all stood staring at the floor.

Finally, Mr. Darcy, aware that it was incumbent upon himself to offer some explanation for his unexpected visit, addressed Mrs. Bennet. “I would be most obliged, madam, if I may be permitted to speak privately with your daughter.”

Mrs. Bennet was dumbfounded. To which of her three daughters was he referring? She could not imagine what possible business he could have with any of them – let alone the need of a private conversation!

It dawned upon Mr. Darcy that he had failed to be explicit, and he quickly added, “If Mrs. Wickham would do me the honour.”

Mrs. Bennet stared unmoving and uncomprehendingly at Mr. Darcy for some moments until Elizabeth, recovering herself, approached Lydia and gently took the baby from her arms. This had the desired affect upon her mother and Kitty, who joined her in wordlessly retreating from the room.

They repaired to Mrs. Bennet's upstairs sitting-room where her mother gave voice to her considerable dislike of the man – and what on earth could he be thinking of, arriving unwanted and uninvited upon her doorstep in so extraordinary a manner? When she was finished with his character she began speculating wildly upon what could be the meaning of his astonishing request for a private conversation with Lydia; for when a gentleman makes such a request with regard to a lady it is generally assumed that his intention is to pay her his addresses – did he not know that Lydia already had a husband?

Elizabeth had superior information to her mother and sister upon which to conjecture the meaning of Mr. Darcy's unexpected arrival, but she chose not to give voice to her meditations. It must concern George Wickham, she surmised, for Mr. Darcy could have no other concern in common with my sister. What has Wickham done that would cause Mr. Darcy to come all the way to Longbourn? she wondered.

Of course! Wickham will not have received the quarterly p*****t of one hundred and fifty pounds, that was due in October; for Caroline Bingley no longer has reason to continue paying him, now that Mr. Darcy is aware of the whole deception – she will have kept it herself! Wickham was doubtless desperate for money, and so attempted to extort it from Mr. Darcy… who will have made good his previous promise to challenge Wickham to a duel.

My God! gasped Elizabeth. He must have killed him! And he has come to Longbourn to inform Wickham's widow; and to express his condolences and regrets – unaware of how entirely unnecessary such a declaration would be, for Lydia will be delighted.

However, in those awkward few moments between Mr. Darcy entering the parlour and the surprising revelation of his desire to speak privately with Lydia, an entirely different idea had formed in Elizabeth's mind. She felt certain that the object of his visit must be herself – there seemed no other rational explanation – and his purpose, in coming all the way to Longbourn, could only have been to pay her his addresses. In that brief moment of confusion, Elizabeth felt outraged at his audacity in believing that he could have been so easily and quickly forgiven – the presumptuous, arrogant man! It showed not the least consideration of her feelings!

But now, realising that his purpose in coming to Longbourn was in fact to speak with Lydia, Elizabeth found herself feeling something akin to disappointment, and not a little jealousy towards her younger sister, who was presently engaged in conversation with him. Her mother's endless babble became unbearable, and she wished to be alone. Handing little Eleanor to Kitty, she said, “I am in need of fresh air, Mamma; I shall take a turn in the garden.”

As she strolled along the path, Elizabeth reflected on her reaction upon first seeing Mr. Darcy. How could she have been foolish enough to believe that he had come to pay her his addresses? Quite aside from the arrogant presumption and lack of consideration for her feelings it must imply on his part, upon what evidence could she have possibly construed the notion that he might still wish to marry her? For indeed there was none.

In truth, she had very little idea of what were Mr. Darcy's feelings for her – which was hardly surprising, as it must be fourteen months, she calculated, since they had last conversed. Yes, it was in September the year before, when Mr. Darcy came to Longbourn with Bingley, for a very brief morning visit and then again to dine. They scarcely spoke with each other on either occasion; it had all been most awkward and unsatisfactory. She had to go back a further two months to her time in Derbyshire with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner to recall the last time that she and Darcy had really engaged in conversation. She had, at that time, come to believe that he still loved her and indeed was intent on paying her his addresses.

But that was all of sixteen months ago, and so much had occurred since. There was Lydia's elopement, which at first seemed certain to sink all her hopes. When later she received her Aunt Gardiner's letter and learned what Mr. Darcy had done for her sister, and of her aunt's understanding of his true motivation, she began to believe that his regard for her had remained constant. Her subsequent attempts at forming a better understanding of what were his feelings for her, during those two visits to Longbourn in September, came to naught, as neither provided an opportunity of engaging him in conversation; and his behaviour had been so awkward and unfathomable.

Then Lady Catherine's wicked deception had been executed, and for the past twelvemonth Darcy had believed the lies of his aunt, and imagined her to be unchaste and disreputable. That he had allowed himself to be thus persuaded by his aunt's fabrications was itself evidence that his love for her had not been strong and steadfast from the outset. And whatever it may once have been, it could not have survived a full twelvemonth of his believing her to be the immoral and defiled woman of George Wickham's letter.

Even though Darcy now knew that it was all an elaborate deception to ensure that he would not consider marrying her, the repugnant image of her that he had held in his mind for the entire year must have destroyed every feeling of affection for her that he had heretofore felt.

In his three brief speeches as they danced recently at Fendalton Park, Darcy had certainly sounded remorseful and contrite, and his resolution to depart immediately after the ball so that she might remain a few days longer to enjoy the company evinced consideration, to be sure. But none of it spoke of love – only of guilt, regret, and repentance.

As she walked up and down the path which ran close to the house, Elizabeth's mind was fixed upon Mr. Darcy who remained within, and she seemed somehow incapable of moving more than a short distance away.

Each time she passed the front door, she glanced through the window beside it, which afforded a view of the hallway. Eventually she spied Lydia coming out of the parlour, followed by Mr. Darcy. Lydia immediately ascended the stairs, no doubt to relieve her mother's burning curiosity regarding her conversation with Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth was about to turn and walk quickly around the house to avoid being seen by Mr. Darcy as he emerged from the front door to enter his carriage; but to her surprise, he crossed the hall instead. Elizabeth crept closer to see what he could be doing. He was knocking on the door of her father's library. It opened, and Mr. Darcy entered!

Elizabeth was stunned at what this might mean. She turned and ran to the wilderness where she seated herself on a bench, but she could not remain still, so agitated were her emotions. She rose and began pacing up and down the path. Darcy had proposed to Lydia! Why else would he trouble Mr. Bennet, if not to beg him to sanction the marriage? She shook her head and sighed – there was no other explanation. Darcy still felt guilty and responsible for Lydia's elopement with Wickham and now he had killed her husband and left her a widow, alone with a child. Evidently, he had chosen to make amends for both wrongdoings by marrying her!

She should have felt respect and gratitude at so noble an act of restitution; but all she felt was empty and hollow, with nothing to look forward to but grey, dull, insipid days that disappeared into obscurity. Elizabeth collapsed onto a bench and cried until her tears were exhausted. The day was cold and gloomy, and her shawl was not thick enough to keep her warm as she sat huddled on the bench, her body becoming numb, like her mind. At length, the sound of Darcy's departing carriage roused her, and she walked slowly back to the house. Encountering Hill, she asked her to tell her mother that she would not join them for the meal, as she was somewhat tired, and felt the need to rest.

Elizabeth lay on her bed and covered herself with a thick shawl, trying to get warm, but the chill was not of the body. Visions of Lydia and Darcy beset her mind, and she was powerless to prevent them: The bride and groom beaming happily in the church in Longbourn, with herself as bridesmaid; Lydia presiding merrily over the dining table at Pemberley, while she was seated, sad and silent, beside a disappointed Georgiana; Lydia and Darcy dining at Willowbank and strolling arm-in-arm beside the river; dancing gaily together at Pemberley, Willowbank, Fendalton Park, and London.

Lydia will, at least, make him a better wife, and Georgiana a more amiable sister than Caroline Bingley ever could, she reflected, but I could not bear to witness it; I shall remain here at Longbourn, for I cannot live at Willowbank.