The following day, Darcy could look forward to Miss Bennet and her relations dining at Pemberley.
However, he determined to ride to Lambton that morning in the hope of finding her there. If she would agree to take a turn in the open carriage with Georgiana and himself one afternoon, Darcy could rely on spending a couple of hours in the company of the two people he knew that he now held dearest in all the world.
At the Inn, the servant told Darcy that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had gone out, but that Miss Bennet had remained behind, to join them later. Darcy followed him upstairs to the room that he and Georgiana had visited the previous day.
He was met by the sight of Miss Bennet rising from a chair, with a letter in her hand, apparently in a state of great agitation.
Her pallor and manner startled him as he heard her exclaim on seeing him, “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose.”
“Good God! what is the matter?” he said.
Then, recollecting himself, he said “I will not detain you a minute, but let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.”
She hesitated, and then after a moment called back the servant, asking him, in tones of great distress, to fetch his master and mistress home, instantly.
On the servant leaving the room, she sat down, looking miserably ill. Without realising what he did, Darcy took the nearest chair and, leaning forward, took her hand in his.
She seemed unaware of his presence. After a few moments, her apparent distress made him say, very gently,
“Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take, to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill.”
“No, I thank you,” she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. “There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”
She then burst into tears, and for a few minutes could not speak another word.
Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. Eventually, she straightened herself in the chair and he reluctantly let go of her hand as she spoke.
“I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from any one. My youngest sister has left all her friends and has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of . . . of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to... she is lost for ever.”
Darcy could find nothing valuable to say.
“When I consider,” she added, in a yet more agitated voice, “that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it, only some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now.”
His first thought on hearing her speak was that she had kept the confidence that he had entrusted to her about Georgiana and Wickham.
The second was that his first thought was unworthy if, by maintaining that silence which he himself had asked, she had been unable to prevent what had now happened to her sister.
Unable to find any words to allay her distress and, as Miss Bennet seemed lost in unhappy thought, he at first kept silent. Then, lest he appeared unconcerned, he said with complete truth, “I am grieved, indeed, grieved and shocked.”
Seeking to give her something to hope for, he went on, “But is it certain, absolutely certain?”
“Oh yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland.”
“And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?”
“My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle’s immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. But nothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!”
As Darcy shook his head silently, his mind was busy.
Wickham, he recalled, had spent some time during the past few years in London. Indeed, it was there that Darcy believed he had met Mrs. Younge, who had taken charge of Georgiana with such unhappy results. It could be that his sister’s unfortunate experience might enable him to trace Wickham when Mr. Bennet and his brother Gardiner could not.
He was roused from his thoughts by Miss Bennet’s distressed tones, as she said,
“When my eyes were opened to his real character.—Oh! had I known what I ought, what I dared, to do! But I knew not,—I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched, mistake!”
Darcy made no answer. That she accepted his opinion of Wickham was so very welcome; his concern now was more for her distress than for the fate that might befall her sister.
However, there seemed to be nothing he could say which might not promise what might not be achievable, or appear facile when he wished to show his genuine anxiety.
At last, and after a pause of several minutes, he felt that he should intrude no longer, and said to her quietly,
“I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing, concern. Would to heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress. But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks.”
Her head was bowed, and she did not reply. After regarding her gravely for some moments, Darcy rose to his feet. Before he turned to leave the room, he suddenly recollected the plans which had been made for them to meet later.
“This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister’s having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley today.”
“Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long.”
He readily assured her of his secrecy and concern for her distress, wished for a happier conclusion than might appear likely, and left his compliments for her relations.
As he reached the door, Darcy could not bring himself to leave without turning to give her a last, long, look, for he knew not when he might see her again.
Miss Bennet had lifted her head and, just for a moment, he fancied that there was something in her expression that was more than anxiety; more than regret at his going.
But it was no time to linger, or indulge his own concerns. Without saying any more, he left the room and shut the door behind him.
25
