Page 9 of It Taught Me to Hope
N o two sisters had ever been closer than Jane and Elizabeth before Jane’s marriage ended her residence at Longbourn. Only two years difference separated them, and with such a minor gap, they had grown to adulthood in each other’s confidence, each relying on the other to be their firmest supporter, their rock in a sea of doubt and uncertainty, especially in a house ruled by a mother of uncertain temperament and a father who preferred a stout door between himself and his family.
After Jane had left for her own home and subsequent events had proven the character of her husband, Elizabeth lost many hours of sleep anguished by the waste of Jane’s tender heart on Mr. Edwards. In looking back on the event, Elizabeth now suspected that Jane, having loved and lost Mr. Bingley, had accepted Mr. Edwards hoping to find the love she craved. The man had misled them all, leading Jane on a pretty chase professing his undying love, while coveting Longbourn and the increased prosperity the estate would bring him. While Elizabeth persuaded Jane to return to Longbourn for an occasional visit, Mr. Edwards had not graced Longbourn with his presence since soon after Mr. Bennet’s passing and his discovery of Elizabeth’s inheritance of the estate. Elizabeth preferred not to recall that conflict, for the man had not been temperate in denouncing what he considered a travesty, all for his selfish designs. Jane now endured the union, knowing she would not be free of him so long as they both lived, making the best of the situation in a fashion that was so like Jane.
“Do you suppose Jane saw anything of Mr. Edwards’s tendencies before she married him?”
Elizabeth could not answer the question with any confidence, though she turned a smile on Mary who had broken the silence. While Jane languished with only the comfort of her sisters’ letters to sustain her, Elizabeth was blessed with the proximity and support Mary provided, a situation for which she had always possessed an excess of gratitude. Without Mary’s steady presence, Elizabeth had often wondered what she would do.
“I must assume you refer to Jane’s perpetual propensity to see the good in others.”
“In some ways, I suppose. To own the truth, I was wondering more if Jane saw the deficiencies in her husband and ignored them or explained them away desperate to believe herself in love.”
It was so like Elizabeth’s thoughts on the subject as to cause her to wonder after the similarity. “I have wondered myself, Mary. It is as likely as any other explanation, though I also wonder if it was naught but Jane’s inability to see the shades in other’s characters. Then again, after the events with Mr. Bingley, followed by Mr. Wickham’s perfidy, I believe some part of Jane awoke to the possibility of evil in the world.”
“Lizzy!” exclaimed Mary, though laughter marred her sternness. “You make it sound as if Jane were naught but a trusting child!”
“No, Mary,” replied Elizabeth. “Jane is capable enough to see the faults in others. The question has always been whether she acknowledged those failings or set them aside in favor of her determination to see all as good or misunderstood.”
“That is a faithful enough portrait of our Jane, to be certain.”
Elizabeth nodded, considering their absent sister. “If one of us must endure a marriage without love, I must say that it is Jane who is more likely to bear it well.”
“Oh, aye,” said Mary at once before Elizabeth could explain her reasoning. “Jane is mild and patient, and optimistic about life.”
“Whereas I am a cynic, disinclined to withstand that which I dislike, which would lead to strife.”
When Mary made to protest, Elizabeth shook her head and offered a wan smile. “It is the truth, Mary, so you need not protest to spare my feelings. I mourn Jane’s situation and pity her, but I have no illusions that I would fare better than she were I in her position. For the love of my sister, I might exchange places with her if it was possible, but I know I would find it unendurable.”
“Perhaps you are correct, Lizzy, though I believe you are harsher on yourself than you should be. There is little enough reason to consider it to excess, for Jane’s situation is what it is, and nothing you or I can do will change it.”
“That is perhaps the greatest tragedy of all.”
“Let us change this gloomy subject, Lizzy, for I am far more interested in Mr. Darcy. Is his coming after all these years not a shock?”
Mary did not know of the scene in Hunsford, and Elizabeth was not eager to tell her, not after her confession the previous day to Charlotte. A time might come when Elizabeth felt easy enough with the past to inform her sister, but that time was not now.
“It is, to be certain.”
Her sister’s regard suggested she suspected something more than Elizabeth said, though Elizabeth could not understand how Mary could know anything of it.
“If you will pardon my saying it, Lizzy, Mr. Darcy appeared to pay most of his attention to you at Sir William’s party. When with anyone else, he was distracted at best, for his gaze always strayed back to you. If I may be so bold, it reminds me of those weeks he stayed with Mr. Bingley at Netherfield.”
Surprised, Elizabeth turned to her sister. Mary noted this and shook her head in exasperation.
“Lizzy, if you recall, I mingled little in those days.” Mary glanced heavenward, a hint of self-deprecation Elizabeth would not have expected from her sister only a few years before. “I do not think I was a misanthrope, but I gave the impression of it. Since I was so often alone amid the company, I developed the ability to observe, and my study at the time told me that Mr. Darcy looked at you a great deal.”
“As Papa said on one occasion,” replied Elizabeth, seeking to misdirect her sister, “the gentleman never looked at a woman except to see a blemish.”
“That strikes me as a silly, cynical sort of statement.” Mary regarded her with her typical earnestness. “While I could discern no hint of regard on the gentleman’s part, he regarded you far too often and with excessive contemplation than to imagine he looked on a woman he found ill-favored. What his return now suggests I cannot say. Do you have any notion of it?”
“I suspect, Mary, that we shall discover it before long. Then again, given the gentleman’s reticent character, perhaps he will remain inscrutable.”
“That is also a near likeness, indeed,” agreed Mary. “Then I hope you will share Mr. Darcy’s purpose with me when you learn of it, for I will own that I am afire with curiosity.”
Mary suspected more than she was saying, but she was also content to leave the matter be for the moment. Grateful for her forbearance, Elizabeth nodded and pressed her sister’s hands.
“You shall be the first to know, my dear Mary, though I will remind you of the gentleman’s stubborn and uncommunicative nature. He may have come for some purpose of his own he does not intend to reveal. If that be the case, I have little notion of ever discovering it.”
That was the end of their discussion about Mr. Darcy, though Elizabeth was certain the subject did not leave Mary’s mind. For the rest of Mary’s visit, they spoke of other inconsequential matters, and for a time they played with young master Hardwick, who was awake and alert that morning, of good humor, showing his toothless grin to the ladies as often as they provoked it with funny faces. When Mary went away, Elizabeth farewelled her, again reflecting on her appreciation for the presence of a sister living nearby with whom to condole.
Elizabeth was not long left to her own devices, for only fifteen minutes after Mary’s departure, the Darcys arrived at Longbourn for a visit. Having had some notion of the possibility, Elizabeth regarded them as they entered, offering her welcome as she invited them to sit. For some moments they appeared destined to remain in silence, for Elizabeth was not certain what to say, Mr. Darcy hesitant, while Miss Darcy watched them with evident mirth. It was Miss Darcy who broke the silence, unwilling to allow them to remain in that state for the entire visit.
“You have a lovely home, Miss Bennet.”
“Thank you, Miss Darcy.” Elizabeth offered a warm smile. “It has long been in my family. I am fortunate to have it at all, for when I was a girl, it was under an entail. My good fortune is my friend, Charlotte Collins’s misfortune, for Mr. Collins was to inherit Longbourn until his untimely passing.”
“Then there were no more heirs remaining under the terms of the entail?” asked Miss Darcy, understanding Elizabeth’s reference at once.
“That is correct. With no more heirs, my father determined to pass it to me to give me some security as my elder sister had married.”
For a time, they spoke of estates and situations, Elizabeth sharing something of her management of Longbourn, while Mr. Darcy mentioned his estate in Derbyshire. Since that fateful time of Lydia’s disappearance and the Gardiners’ canceled tour to the north, Mrs. Gardiner had told Elizabeth something of the place, reminiscing about the town in which she had lived. One bit of surprising information was that Lambton was only five miles from Pemberley, Mr. Darcy’s estate. Elizabeth did not know if she could discuss such a subject with the gentleman without appearing too interested in his position. Perhaps such concerns were silly, for Mr. Darcy had proposed to her, and she could not imagine his current presence in Hertfordshire was anything other than his wish to pursue her again. Elizabeth could not put a lifetime of good behavior aside, so she refrained from speaking of it.
Yet she could not quite suppress the curiosity she felt about the man’s estate. Miss Bingley had praised the place to the skies, and while her lust to become the estate’s mistress colored her opinion, a note of truth rang in her account. Mr. Darcy said something of the fields, the valley in which it lay, and some comments about the commodities that made up its wealth, but he said little of the house or grounds, not wishing to appear prideful or so Elizabeth suspected. Given what she had thought of him before, which she had not scrupled to throw in his face during their confrontation at Hunsford, it was not surprising he did not wish to be that man again.
“Of my sisters,” said Elizabeth in response to Georgiana’s brief comment about them, “there is much and little to be told. My eldest sister, Jane, is married and lives in Oxfordshire with her husband. Mary, as you know, is married to the parson of Longbourn parish and lives in the parsonage in the village, where Kitty married a gentleman who lives north of Luton in Bedfordshire.”
Elizabeth smiled at the thought of the youngest sister with whom she still had relations. “You would not recognize Kitty, if you saw her now, Mr. Darcy. Kitty is still lively and happy, but she now has three small children and is much occupied with them. Mr. Westbrook is not a wealthy man, for his estate is smaller than Longbourn. Thus, though Kitty has a maid who helps with the children, much of their care falls to her—I might never have expected it when she was young and wild, but she has taken to the life of a mother with enthusiasm.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, though given his memories of Kitty, she doubted he could fathom such a change. Elizabeth, who had witnessed it, had difficulty believing it herself.
“Mrs. Hardwick has one child?” asked the gentleman.
“Yes, and only a few months old. I appointed Mr. Hardwick to the position after my father passed away, and Mary did not come to his attention until after. Mr. Hardwick was a curate at a church in Gloucester near my Uncle Philips’s family. When I needed to appoint a man, Uncle Philips recommended him, and his family added their voice to his. It was fortunate, for to own the truth, I had no notion of how to go about finding a man to replace Longbourn’s former parson!”
“If nothing else,” said Mr. Darcy, “you could have written to a seminary for candidates.”
“That is true,” agreed Elizabeth. “In Mr. Hardwick, I have found an excellent parson, my sister has found a husband, and a man who toiled as a curate for several years found prosperity, so I believe all has worked out in the end.”
“With that, I must agree,” said Mr. Darcy.
The gentleman fell silent for a long moment, appearing deep in thought. When he seemed to reach a decision, he regarded Elizabeth, his expression containing a hint of apology.
“There is something you do not know, Miss Bennet, for I have some knowledge of your eldest sister.”
“London,” said Elizabeth, understanding him at once. “You met her in London?”
“I did,” confirmed Mr. Darcy. “It was at a ball not long after the season began. I do not suppose I need to speak of my surprise at seeing her.”
“Jane never dropped a word of it,” mused Elizabeth, wondering why her sister would stay silent.
Though she considered the matter, Mr. Darcy nodded as if he had expected it. “It is well that she did not, for I would not make you uncomfortable.”
“Mr. Darcy,” chided Elizabeth, “do you not suppose I am made of sterner stuff than this?”
“I have known you for but a day, and even I know the falsehood of such a supposition!” exclaimed Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth laughed with her, even Mr. Darcy allowed a few chuckles. Then the gentleman turned serious again.
“With Mr. Edwards, I have a passing acquaintance, though I do not know him well. Edwards is two years my senior; our time at Cambridge overlapped.”
There was in his tone a hint of distaste, and Elizabeth thought she understood as she had no good opinion of the man. A sense of unease settled over Elizabeth, for she thought she understood how it must appear to Mr. Darcy. After Elizabeth abused him for his misapprehension about Jane’s affection for Mr. Bingley, it must seem that Jane married whatever wealthy man she could find, giving the lie to Elizabeth’s words. How she could speak of the matter, defend Jane’s character she could not say, but it was unnecessary.
“Pardon me if I presume too much, Miss Bennet,” said the gentleman, his slow cadence that of caution, “but I sensed that Mrs. Edwards was not... pleased with her husband?”
Elizabeth sighed and offered him a wan smile. “You are perceptive, Mr. Darcy, though I cannot fathom your understanding, as even I often struggle to understand Jane. When she accepted Mr. Edwards’s proposal, I was convinced she thought it was a love match, but Mr. Edwards confounded us. When my father did not leave Longbourn to Jane it angered her husband, so I do not see her often as Mr. Edwards keeps his distance. To my certain knowledge, he decries us as not worthy of his time and speaks ill of my uncles.”
“It is what I might have expected from Edwards,” replied Mr. Darcy, shaking his head in disdain. “I always considered him rather ambitious. As I cannot imagine you hiding your connections before Mrs. Edwards married him, it is silly to protest the connection now, years after he married your sister knowing full well her connections would become his.”
“So I have always thought.”
“Mrs. Edwards has no children?” asked Miss Darcy.
“No, though I often thought children would bring her comfort.” Elizabeth offered them a melancholy smile. “Jane has such a good and generous heart that I have always thought any children of hers would be blessed. Should she have little ones to care for, I am certain it would make her happy, for her situation is one that has given me much concern.”
The Darcys nodded but did not speak. It was, perhaps, a weighty subject between acquaintances reunited after many years, though for Mr. Darcy to ask after her sisters with whom he claimed acquaintance, was only polite. Though Elizabeth had not thought to be this open with the gentleman, she felt comfortable with him that morning. Whether it was his sister nearby, who Elizabeth had already decided was a dear creature, she could not say, but it was strange, nonetheless.
“Excuse me, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, “but as I recall you have four sisters.”
The smile ran away from Elizabeth’s face, and she sighed, not wishing to speak of that sister. Mr. Darcy appeared to understand that something was amiss, though Elizabeth could not imagine he thought anything else. The truth might shock him, might send him fleeing away from her with all speed, but she could not refrain from answering now that he had asked.
“I hoped that you would not mention Lydia, for it concerns someone I believe we would all prefer not to remember.”
“Wickham!”
Miss Darcy gasped at the mention of the degenerate as well she might, given what Elizabeth knew of her experience with him. What Mr. Darcy had told her, he had done so in confidence, such that Elizabeth had never betrayed it to another living soul other than Jane. Elizabeth suspected that Miss Darcy was unaware of her knowledge of the event, and Elizabeth preferred to keep it that way.
“I apologize for speaking of such a man, Miss Darcy,” said Elizabeth, “but he played a large part in my sister’s fate. The connections with your family cannot be at all palatable, for I know how worthless he is.”
“Nonsense, Miss Bennet,” said Miss Darcy. “Mr. Wickham is a part of my family’s history, but I have not seen nor thought of him in many years. We are friendly enough now that I would dispense with formality if you agree.”
Pleased by her new friend’s overture, Elizabeth agreed. This all seemed to pass by Mr. Darcy, for he remained focused on Elizabeth, his anger contained with effort.
“What happened to your sister and Wickham, Miss Bennet?”
“The summer after you stayed with Mr. Bingley at Netherfield,” began Elizabeth, speaking with the greatest reluctance, “the regiment quartered here removed to Brighton for the summer. I am certain you recall that Mr. Wickham joined the corps that autumn.”
“Yes, I recall it.”
If anything, Mr. Darcy’s control was even tighter, as if he were a coil ready to leap from its confinement.
“Mrs. Forster, the colonel’s wife, invited Lydia to spend the summer in Brighton as her companion, and Lydia was eager to accept. Before the end of the summer, we received word from the colonel that Lydia had eloped with Mr. Wickham, leaving all her friends in Brighton and setting off with him.”
“Wickham has long lusted after wealth,” Mr. Darcy’s words were akin to the growl of some feral beast, “a means to live his life without restraint or need to concern himself with funds. With all due respect to your sister, she did not have the means to tempt him into marriage.”
“No, Mr. Darcy, for marriage was never his goal.”
Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. “The colonel followed their progress north of Brighton, finding some evidence of their passing. The trail, however, grew cold when they reached London, for he could discover no word of them beyond the outskirts of the city. He sent an express to my father, who met him in London and searched for her with the support of my uncle. Before long, however, the colonel was obliged to return to the regiment, leaving my father and uncle to continue the search alone. It all proved vain, for they could find no trace of her.”
“That surprises me not at all.” Mr. Darcy appeared ready to burst from some pent-up emotion, but he continued to speak in that controlled voice. “Had they any knowledge of Wickham’s past, his associates and habits, they might have found him—had I known of the matter, I might have offered my assistance, for I can think of several places he might have hidden himself, and one particular friend to whom he might have gone for succor.”
“Mrs. Younge,” gasped Georgiana.
Mr. Darcy offered her a tight nod and turned back to Elizabeth. “Then you never recovered her?”
“We did not, Mr. Darcy. To this day, none of us know if our sister is alive or dead, living in luxury or squalor, or whether she even remains in England. There was a vague report more than a year after her disappearance that suggested Mr. Wickham had boarded a ship for the New World, but whether Lydia went with him I cannot say.”
“I doubt it,” said the gentleman. “There would be little reason for Wickham to take her if he determined to try his luck in the Americas, for she would be one more mouth to feed, a burden as he would see it.”
“Unless my sister Jane’s opinion is, against all odds, the truth—that Mr. Wickham was in love with Lydia.”
Mr. Darcy snorted his disdain at the mere notion, while Georgiana said: “Mr. Wickham has never loved anyone other than himself.”
“That is blunt, but I expect it is true,” said Elizabeth with a nod
“There is little else to say of the matter. With Lydia’s disappearance, the Bennets’ position in the neighborhood suffered, and for a time our neighbors shunned us. It was hard on Kitty, who lost her closest sister, though we took up Kitty’s standard and helped her overcome her sorrow. I believe it was hardest on my mother, for she suffered because of Lydia’s disappearance. It contributed to her death when a nervous attack less than two years later ended her life, leaving my father a widower and her daughters without a mother. Then my father passed away too less than two years after that.”
“Oh, Elizabeth!” exclaimed Georgiana, grasping her hands. “How you have suffered from the actions of that wretched man. Would that he had met his end before bringing such calamities on you!”
“Thank you, my friend.” Elizabeth offered her a watery smile. “We have suffered our share of losses, I think, and our lives are not perfect. Yet we emerged from our trials far better than any of us expected. My sisters are all married in situations of their own, and I have a home for the rest of my life, something that was always in doubt when I was a girl. Though we lost almost half the members of our family, we have persisted and grown stronger, I think.”
“That is all for which one can ask,” nodded Georgiana.
Thereafter, the conversation between them all but ceased. Georgiana made a few remarks to Elizabeth in quiet tones, the majority expressing her regret or asking after Elizabeth’s current condition, and Elizabeth assuring her that all was well. Georgiana Darcy was a young woman of impeccable manners, breeding, and comportment, but she also appeared to have a soft side, one that sorrowed for the evils in the world and trials they all endured but also held a happy, positive demeanor. That combination was rare enough that Elizabeth thought it admirable.
As for Mr. Darcy, the gentleman said little, his focus inward at the events Elizabeth had related to him. What he thought and how he would react Elizabeth could not say, for the gentleman remained as much of an enigma as ever. There was about him a miasma of anger, for after so many years he must have thought he was well rid of any mention of Mr. Wickham. Underneath that, however, existed some other deep emotion for which Elizabeth had no name.
A short time later, the Darcys excused themselves and departed. Georgiana expressed a wish to again be in her company as soon as possible, but Mr. Darcy did nothing but bow over her hand, his eyes searching hers in a manner most disconcerting. More than once she thought he was about to say something, though he remained silent until the carriage departed in the end. What this meant for Elizabeth’s suspicions about his presence in the county she could not say, for he offered no clues. For a man of his position in society to marry a woman with a fallen sister, even if the fall had occurred many years earlier, was a perilous venture, for should it come to the ears of society, the gossip would sting. If he disappeared from Hertfordshire soon after, Elizabeth would not blame him. Any measure of regard must pause when confronted by such solemn communications.