CHAPTER IX.

Their sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her

probably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet

them at ----, and they were to return in it, by dinner-time. Their

arrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets; and Jane more especially,

who gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself, had _she_

been the culprit, was wretched in the thought of what her sister must

endure.

They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room, to receive

them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet, as the carriage drove up to

the door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed,

anxious, uneasy.

Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open, and

she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and

welcomed her with rapture; gave her hand with an affectionate smile to

Wickham, who followed his lady, and wished them both joy, with an

alacrity which shewed no doubt of their happiness.

Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not quite

so cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely

opened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was

enough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was

shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and

fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their

congratulations, and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly

round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and

observed, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had been

there.

Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners

were always so pleasing, that had his character and his marriage been

exactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he

claimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had

not before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down,

resolving within herself, to draw no limits in future to the impudence

of an impudent man. _She_ blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of

the two who caused their confusion, suffered no variation of colour.

There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither

of them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who happened to sit near

Elizabeth, began enquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood,

with a good humoured ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her

replies. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the

world. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led

voluntarily to subjects, which her sisters would not have alluded to for

the world.

"Only think of its being three months," she cried, "since I went away;

it seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there have been things

enough happened in the time. Good gracious! when I went away, I am sure

I had no more idea of being married till I came back again! though I

thought it would be very good fun if I was."

Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked

expressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard nor saw any thing of

which she chose to be insensible, gaily continued, "Oh! mamma, do the

people here abouts know I am married to-day? I was afraid they might

not; and we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was

determined he should know it, and so I let down the side glass next to

him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window

frame, so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like

any thing."

Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up, and ran out of the room;

and returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to

the dining-parlour. She then joined them soon enough to see Lydia, with

anxious parade, walk up to her mother's right hand, and hear her say to

her eldest sister, "Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go

lower, because I am a married woman."

It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment,

from which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good

spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Philips, the Lucases, and all

their other neighbours, and to hear herself called "Mrs. Wickham," by

each of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner to shew her

ring and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.

"Well, mamma," said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast

room, "and what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I

am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my

good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get

husbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did not all go."

"Very true; and if I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia, I don't

at all like your going such a way off. Must it be so?"

"Oh, lord! yes;--there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all

things. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down and see us. We

shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say there will be some

balls, and I will take care to get good partners for them all."

"I should like it beyond any thing!" said her mother.

"And then when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters

behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for them before the

winter is over."

"I thank you for my share of the favour," said Elizabeth; "but I do not

particularly like your way of getting husbands."

Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham

had received his commission before he left London, and he was to join

his regiment at the end of a fortnight.

No one but Mrs. Bennet, regretted that their stay would be so short; and

she made the most of the time, by visiting about with her daughter, and

having very frequent parties at home. These parties were acceptable to

all; to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as did

think, than such as did not.

Wickham's affection for Lydia, was just what Elizabeth had expected to

find it; not equal to Lydia's for him. She had scarcely needed her

present observation to be satisfied, from the reason of things, that

their elopement had been brought on by the strength of her love, rather

than by his; and she would have wondered why, without violently caring

for her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain

that his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances; and

if that were the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity

of having a companion.

Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every

occasion; no one was to be put in competition with him. He did every

thing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds on

the first of September, than any body else in the country.

One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two

elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth,

"Lizzy, I never gave _you_ an account of my wedding, I believe. You were

not by, when I told mamma, and the others, all about it. Are not you

curious to hear how it was managed?"

"No really," replied Elizabeth; "I think there cannot be too little said

on the subject."

"La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off. We were

married, you know, at St. Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings were in

that parish. And it was settled that we should all be there by eleven

o'clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others

were to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in

such a fuss! I was so afraid you know that something would happen to put

it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted. And there was my

aunt, all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking away just as if

she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in ten,

for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to

know whether he would be married in his blue coat.

"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual; I thought it would never

be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, that my uncle and aunt

were horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you'll believe

me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a

fortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or any thing. To be sure London was

rather thin, but however the little Theatre was open. Well, and so just

as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business

to that horrid man Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get

together, there is no end of it. Well, I was so frightened I did not

know what to do, for my uncle was to give me away; and if we were beyond

the hour, we could not be married all day. But, luckily, he came back

again in ten minutes time, and then we all set out. However, I

recollected afterwards, that if he _had_ been prevented going, the

wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well."

"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.

"Oh, yes!--he was to come there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me!

I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised

them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!"

"If it was to be secret," said Jane, "say not another word on the

subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further."

"Oh! certainly," said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; "we will

ask you no questions."

"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if you did, I should certainly tell you

all, and then Wickham would be angry."

On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her

power, by running away.

But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible; or at least it

was impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at her

sister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among people,

where he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go.

Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her

brain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her, as

placing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable. She

could not bear such suspense; and hastily seizing a sheet of paper,

wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what

Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been

intended.

"You may readily comprehend," she added, "what my curiosity must be to

know how a person unconnected with any of us, and (comparatively

speaking) a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such

a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it--unless it is,

for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to

think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied with

ignorance."

"Not that I _shall_ though," she added to herself, as she finished the

letter; "and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honourable

manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it

out."

Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to

Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of

it;--till it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any

satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.