Page 46 of Near Pemberley

One evening, after Mrs. Bennet had at last exhausted herself into uneasy silence, and Mary had retired with a volume of improving sermons which she appeared to think peculiarly suited to family disgrace, Elizabeth found Jane alone in the little sitting-room.

A single candle burned between them. The curtains had not yet been drawn entirely, and through the dimness beyond the window, the last melancholy light of evening still lingered faintly upon the fields.

Jane looked up as Elizabeth entered. “You ought to rest, Lizzy. You have hardly sat down all day.”

Elizabeth shook her head and moved towards the window instead. “I could not bear my room yet.”

Jane watched her anxiously. “You are exhausting yourself.”

Elizabeth gave a faint, humourless smile. “I think exhaustion would be preferable to thinking.”

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Then Jane said softly, “I cannot help still hoping that something may yet be better than we fear.”

Elizabeth turned sharply. “Better?”

Jane clasped her hands together tightly. “Colonel Forster may still be mistaken. Wickham may intend marriage after all. Why else take Lydia?”

Elizabeth stared at her almost in disbelief. “Jane.”

“I know appearances are dreadful – I know they are – but Lydia is very young, and Wickham may have acted rashly rather than wickedly.”

Elizabeth’s restraint, strained almost beyond endurance for days, gave way at last. “How can you still say such things?”

Jane started.

Elizabeth immediately regretted the sharpness of her tone yet could not wholly restrain herself now.

“How can you continue inventing excuses for people who deserve none? Wickham has deceived everyone who trusted him. He has debts everywhere, no principle, no honour – and Lydia has gone with him without marriage, without protection, without thought for anyone but herself. What possible interpretation remains to soften?”

Jane’s eyes filled instantly with tears. “I do not wish to excuse him… Only… only until we know everything with certainty…”

“With certainty?” repeated Elizabeth. “Must we truly wait until our disgrace is complete before admitting what is obvious already?”

Jane looked wounded now, though she still struggled for calm. “You are unjust to me, Lizzy.”

“Yes,” cried Elizabeth, pacing across the room, “perhaps I am unjust! But I am weary of hearing wickedness treated as mere thoughtlessness because it is painful to condemn it.”

Jane rose too then, distressed both for herself and for her sister. “I know it is dreadful.”

“No, Jane. You do not know it.”

The words escaped before Elizabeth could soften them.

Jane stood perfectly still.

Elizabeth pressed one trembling hand against her forehead.

“You still speak as though this misery concerns Lydia alone. It does not. It concerns all of us. Every hope we ever had.”

Jane’s face paled. “Lizzy…”

“No gentleman will willingly connect himself now with this family. No respectable person will forget what has happened. Lydia has not ruined only herself – she has ruined us all.”

Jane’s tears fell silently now.

“I cannot believe,” she whispered, “that everyone will judge so harshly.”