Much Ado About Lydia

Posted on November 24, 2008

Darcy was fixed in astonishment. "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."

"I am grieved, indeed," cried Darcy; "grieved -- shocked. 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!"

Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.

"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!" Her anger at herself could not prevent her anger at Wickham from surfacing, and she quietly but fiercely quoted to herself, "O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place."

Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation; his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed and instantly understood it. Her power was sinking; every thing must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She should neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain.

But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia -- the humiliation, the misery, she was bringing on them all -- soon swallowed up every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to every thing else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion, who, in a manner, which though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said, "Miss Elizabeth, have you wept all this while?"

In her confusion it took Elizabeth a moment to realize that he must have heard the quote in her last statement. She made the apt reply through her tears, "Yea, and I will weep a while longer."

"I will not desire that." The compassion in his words remained, but the restraint was gone.

Her head still bowed in sorrow, Elizabeth continued, "You have no reason; I do it freely."

"Surely I do believe your fair sister is wronged."

Elizabeth gasped in astonishment. Did he mean for her to continue the scene? Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, but the words came unbidden, "Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!"

Again Darcy replied with the next line, "Is there any way to show such friendship?"

What was he about? Did he mean to help her in some way? "A very even way, but no such friend."

"May a man do it?"

"It is a man's office, but not yours." As the words left her lips she realized what came next. Slowly, she turned toward him, and her eyes sought his.

He met her gaze with intensity, and then spoke, "I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?"

She smiled with delight and a hint of amusement. "It is well for you, Mr. Darcy, that my response is scripted this time. However, since you have already endured the test of many months suspense, I think I will skip directly to the part where I say, 'I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.'"