he had something of importance to relate. No further news followed, and Elizabeth shook her head in unhappy comprehension that the silence indicated a complete lack of success in his efforts.
“And my mother—how is she?”
“She is tolerably well, though her spirits are greatly shaken. She is upstairs and will have great satisfaction in seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room.”
“And my sisters? How are they?”
“Both Mary and Kitty are quite well.”
“But you—how are you?” Elizabeth asked intently. “You look pale. All of this has to have been most distressing.”
“I am well enough,” Jane replied, but the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of their aunt and uncle. It was clear Jane was very much relieved by her uncle’s arrival, and she welcomed and thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears indicating the depth of her relief.
The party adjourned to the drawing room, where Jane repeated what she already told Elizabeth, and the disappointment of her aunt and uncle at the lack of new intelligence was not enough to dissuade Jane’s fervent hope that everything would still end well. She proclaimed her hope a post might be received any morning with news from either Lydia or her father informing them of the location of the couple or their marriage.
Elizabeth could entertain no such hopes and rather dreaded the prospect of having to meet and deal with her mother. Her fears were confirmed when they all repaired to Mrs. Bennet’s apartment, where her mother received them with tears and lamentations of regret, with invectives against the villainous conduct of Wickham, and with complaints against the actions of everyone except herself, whose indulgence of Lydia’s foolishness was most to blame for the situation in which all were embroiled.
Elizabeth was hard-pressed to hold her tongue when her mother suggested the entire problem would have been avoided if her husband had simply taken the whole family to Brighton. But she desisted, well knowing her mother had not the capability of actually understanding any correction that might be offered, only to have her indignation set alight by her mother’s assertion that her husband would surely challenge Wickham to a duel and be killed, thus beggaring the whole family.
Her Uncle and Aunt Gardiner did their best to offer more thoughtful advice, but Elizabeth was relieved to quit the chamber to take dinner downstairs, even though she was forced to listen to moral extractions from her sister, Mary. She was not able to find a private moment with Jane until the afternoon when they were able to be alone for a half-hour.
“Oh, Jane,” lamented Elizabeth, “I am so dreadfully afraid we are never going to find Wickham.”
“But with my uncle’s help—” Jane started to protest, but Elizabeth interrupted her, shaking her head unhappily.
“I am sure Uncle Gardiner will do his best, but you know how large London is, and you also know the kind of man Wickham is. If he would attempt to elope with Miss Darcy in hopes of getting his hands on her fortune or to marry Miss King for a lesser amount, why would he ever marry Lydia? She has no money, no connections, nothing that would solve his problems. What chance could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue?”
“But there must have been at least an intent to marry,” Jane said desperately. “He did elope with her, after all.”
“Did he? Elope, that is? Or did he just take her along for idle diversion? Do you not think him capable of that, knowing what we know? I have not shared everything with my aunt and uncle; only you know all I know.”
Jane looked severely distressed at having to think so ill of another person, but even she could not summon a sustainable refutation of Elizabeth’s fears, knowing as she did of Wickham’s malfeasances, and Elizabeth pressed her for further information she had not already
“And my mother—how is she?”
“She is tolerably well, though her spirits are greatly shaken. She is upstairs and will have great satisfaction in seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room.”
“And my sisters? How are they?”
“Both Mary and Kitty are quite well.”
“But you—how are you?” Elizabeth asked intently. “You look pale. All of this has to have been most distressing.”
“I am well enough,” Jane replied, but the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of their aunt and uncle. It was clear Jane was very much relieved by her uncle’s arrival, and she welcomed and thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears indicating the depth of her relief.
The party adjourned to the drawing room, where Jane repeated what she already told Elizabeth, and the disappointment of her aunt and uncle at the lack of new intelligence was not enough to dissuade Jane’s fervent hope that everything would still end well. She proclaimed her hope a post might be received any morning with news from either Lydia or her father informing them of the location of the couple or their marriage.
Elizabeth could entertain no such hopes and rather dreaded the prospect of having to meet and deal with her mother. Her fears were confirmed when they all repaired to Mrs. Bennet’s apartment, where her mother received them with tears and lamentations of regret, with invectives against the villainous conduct of Wickham, and with complaints against the actions of everyone except herself, whose indulgence of Lydia’s foolishness was most to blame for the situation in which all were embroiled.
Elizabeth was hard-pressed to hold her tongue when her mother suggested the entire problem would have been avoided if her husband had simply taken the whole family to Brighton. But she desisted, well knowing her mother had not the capability of actually understanding any correction that might be offered, only to have her indignation set alight by her mother’s assertion that her husband would surely challenge Wickham to a duel and be killed, thus beggaring the whole family.
Her Uncle and Aunt Gardiner did their best to offer more thoughtful advice, but Elizabeth was relieved to quit the chamber to take dinner downstairs, even though she was forced to listen to moral extractions from her sister, Mary. She was not able to find a private moment with Jane until the afternoon when they were able to be alone for a half-hour.
“Oh, Jane,” lamented Elizabeth, “I am so dreadfully afraid we are never going to find Wickham.”
“But with my uncle’s help—” Jane started to protest, but Elizabeth interrupted her, shaking her head unhappily.
“I am sure Uncle Gardiner will do his best, but you know how large London is, and you also know the kind of man Wickham is. If he would attempt to elope with Miss Darcy in hopes of getting his hands on her fortune or to marry Miss King for a lesser amount, why would he ever marry Lydia? She has no money, no connections, nothing that would solve his problems. What chance could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue?”
“But there must have been at least an intent to marry,” Jane said desperately. “He did elope with her, after all.”
“Did he? Elope, that is? Or did he just take her along for idle diversion? Do you not think him capable of that, knowing what we know? I have not shared everything with my aunt and uncle; only you know all I know.”
Jane looked severely distressed at having to think so ill of another person, but even she could not summon a sustainable refutation of Elizabeth’s fears, knowing as she did of Wickham’s malfeasances, and Elizabeth pressed her for further information she had not already
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