Page 44 of Near Pemberley

Soon, Elizabeth learnt another misery.

The news had begun spreading through Meryton.

At the beginning, only uncertain rumours circulated, but Mrs. Bennet, incapable of restraint even in calamity, spoke so continually and so loudly of Lydia’s disappearance that concealment soon became impossible.

Within days, the consequences became insufferably visible.

Calls ceased.

Neighbours who had formerly visited almost daily now found reasons to remain away. Acquaintances greeted the Bennet sisters with constrained civility or hurried reserve. Even those who pitied them appeared anxious not to be too closely connected with disgrace.

Kitty wept frequently from mingled shame and mortification.

Mary delivered solemn reflections upon female impropriety with an earnestness which rendered them almost unbearable.

Mrs. Bennet alternated between hysterical grief and feverish hopes that Wickham would yet marry Lydia honourably.

And Mr. Bennet…

Elizabeth’s disappointment in her father grew more and more painful each day.

Initially, she had looked towards his journey to London with desperate expectation. Surely, he, at least, would act decisively now. Surely the danger would awaken him at last from that habitual indifference which had governed so much of Lydia’s upbringing.

But even before his return, she began gradually understanding the truth. He searched because duty required it. Not because hope animated him.

Letters from Mr. Gardiner revealed far more exertion than any undertaken by her father himself. Mr. Bennet wrote briefly, impatiently, almost hopelessly from the beginning.

And when at last he returned to Longbourn without success, after a mere ten days, the full bitterness of Elizabeth’s disappointment could no longer be resisted.

He was tired. Tired of London, tired of enquiries, tired of humiliation.

He spoke of Wickham with contempt, Lydia with anger, and the whole business as though it were some exhausting absurdity inflicted upon him by fate rather than the consequence of years of negligence.

“I have learnt my lesson at last,” he said once with bitter irony. “No officer is ever again to enter this house except by my express permission, and whichever of you girls mentions Brighton shall be confined upstairs for a fortnight.”

Jane looked distressed.

Elizabeth was obliged to bite her tongue with considerable force. Once, such irony from her father might still have provoked reluctant amusement even amidst distress; now she could hear in it only the bitter consequence of years spent laughing where he ought to have governed. Several replies rose to her lips – replies far less dutiful than any daughter ought to utter – but she suppressed them all, knowing that reproach, however deserved, could no longer undo the ruin already wrought.

Nonetheless, for the first time in her life, she felt something dangerously near resentment towards her father.

He had laughed where he ought to have governed. Now they all suffered for it.

Meanwhile, Wickham’s true situation became increasingly dreadful.

Debts everywhere. No intention of marriage. Companions equally disreputable. Lydia carried off not from passion perhaps, but from vanity, recklessness, and selfish amusement. And no word from her either.

Elizabeth sometimes found herself unable to endure the house for long together. The atmosphere of Longbourn – once merely foolish and noisy – now seemed charged with shame.

At times, the future appeared entirely hopeless.

Who would connect themselves with such a family now?

Jane, though still lovely and gentle as ever, must surely suffer from the disgrace. Kitty and Mary would likewise bear its consequences. And Elizabeth herself…

She barely allowed herself to think of marriage any longer.

Instead, another idea gradually began presenting itself more frequently to her imagination.