Darcy was far from reassured. He exchanged a worried glance with Elizabeth, unsure how to respond to his little sister. Georgiana had been through such extremes of emotion in the last half hour, none of them typical of the shy, quiet sister he was accustomed to: she had been impertinent, cheeky, demanding, distraught, resentful and now courageous. Would her bravery last? If he took her to Meryton and she suffered another collapse on encountering that cad Wickham, would she ever recover from the embarrassment? Would her reputation survive? After seeing Georgiana weeping inconsolably only half an hour before, he could not take the risk of assuming her current confident calm would be a lasting condition.
"I do not know if that is wise, my dear," he said gently. "Let us wait a few days before deciding."
Georgiana looked a little sullen at his prevarication, but Elizabeth spoke up quickly, once again diffusing the tension between the siblings: "Indeed, Mr Darcy, I am glad to see you fulfil your promise to take Miss Darcy's views into account before rushing to a decision. Of course, you must also consider my opinion, and I am inclined to agree with you that after all the emotions the last two days have brought to all of us, it might be best to allow things to settle down a bit before we all make plans for the future."
"Oh!" Georgiana realised that it might not only be her own feelings that were at issue. She was already in the habit of viewing Darcy and Elizabeth's courtship as a settled thing. It had seemed only a matter of time before she would be welcoming them home to Pemberley as a married couple. She had forgotten that the lady herself had not yet agreed to such a conclusion, only to a courtship. "Of course we should wait."
The rush of events had been such as to prevent Elizabeth from imparting a key piece of information before, but in the silence following Georgiana's comment, she felt it an opportune time to put at least one of Mr Darcy's concerns to rest. "You must also allow that you do not always have all the relevant information, sir," she said. "As it happens, the regiment has left Meryton. I believe they have gone to Brighton for the summer, and I neither know nor care where they are to be billeted after that. They are not expected to return to Meryton, in any case. I would never have suggested that you and Georgiana visit were they still in residence."
Darcy sighed a great huff of relief. "In that case, I am certain that Georgie and I will have our trunks packed and be ready to accompany you and your aunt and uncle to Hertfordshire at a moment's notice!" he said.
Deciding a change of subject was called for, Elizabeth declared that while she found Lambton an enchanting village, and the Darcys most excellent guides, she suspected that their morning's stroll had exhausted its possibilities for exploration. "After we have finished here," she suggested, "might we gather some supplies for a picnic and take a stroll along the stream towards the woods I spied in the distance?"
Georgiana was enthusiastic, and Darcy, who had been pondering how he might possibly entice Elizabeth into continuing to walk with them now that they had already crossed the length of the village three times, was quick to agree. He suggested dispatching a footman to Pemberley to obtain a picnic basket, but Elizabeth decried such a plan. "Your poor cook! To supply a picnic for her master with sufficient notice I am sure would not test her at all, but to require her to conjure a picnic on the spur of the moment could only cause upset. The kitchen of a great house is a finely tuned machine, sir. Sudden demands throw careful plans into disarray. We will be easily able to shift for ourselves with just a few purchases, I am sure."
And with that, she led the Darcys to the bakery, the green grocer and the dairy, emerging triumphantly with a fresh loaf of bread, several apples and some carrots, and a wedge of hard cheese. "Do you have a knife on you, sir?" she asked Darcy. He confirmed that he carried a pocketknife about his person, and she was satisfied. She distributed the load, smiling when Darcy insisted on carrying it all, but not contesting the issue. "You may be our pack horse if you wish, Mr Darcy," she said, and gave him the bag of fruit and vegetables she had taken up to carry.
They walked for nearly an hour along the gentle stream that passed through one end of Lambton, strolling through well-tended paddocks and past two farmhouses. Darcy spoke knowledgeably about the farms they passed. He described the families, the crops and livestock they raised, where the estate boundaries lay, and how, when he had been two years of age, this usually placid stream had swollen to a raging torrent and swept away two cows and several fences. He spoke of the drainage and embankment works that all the surrounding landowners had contributed to in order to prevent such a disaster recurring, and expressed his heartfelt relief – even at such a distance from the event – that no lives had been lost.
Georgiana listened with interest – having spent several years away at school and then, after Ramsgate, having avoided leaving Pemberley as much as possible – she did not have her brother's encyclopaedic knowledge of the surrounding district, and was eager to learn more about her neighbours and tenants.
Elizabeth was pleased to see Darcy's obvious care for the people in and around his estate. He spoke of tenant farmers and small-holders as people worthy of respect and compassion. He might preserve the distinctions of class and position, but he clearly did not disdain those less fortunate than himself. Elizabeth could barely recall why she had ever thought him to be like his arrogant aunt. She had read haughtiness into his silence in company, contempt into his discomfort with strangers, and a satirical eye into his enamoured gaze at her. Oh, how badly she had mistaken his character! The man she had perceived through his letter, and the man she had come to know over the past two days, was at ease in his own place in the world, an engaging conversationalist, and obviously eager to please.
She liked this Mr Darcy very well indeed.
Eventually, they reached an area where natural beauty had been little counteracted by the hand of man: a broad meadow fringed by verdant forest sloped gently down to the banks of the stream. Elizabeth spied a grouping of stones, and suggested they would make a perfect place for their picnic. As they approached, she realised it was an ancient stone circle, left there by people long forgotten, or perhaps by fairy folk. Several of the stones had fallen, making comfortable benches on which to sit and spread their bounty.
They tore chunks of bread and deployed Darcy's knife to pare the apples and slice the cheese. It was simple fare, but satisfying, and they all ate heartily before Georgiana dispersed the last crumbs to a family of sparrows hopping hopefully nearby.
Darcy was pleasantly surprised that Elizabeth was happy with such a plain meal. He was used to much better, himself. A picnic at Pemberley was a fancy affair, involving servants, blankets, napkins, and several baskets of fine food prepared by the kitchens. Even when he took a snack with him on a long ride or a day of fishing, he was given a parcel containing cold meats, sweet buns, biscuits and other delicacies. He could not recall the last time he had dined on bread, cheese and apples. Yet the bread had been fresh, the apples crisp and the cheese sharp. He had shared it with the two people who meant most to him in the world, on a perfect, sunny day. He had seldom enjoyed a meal so much.
Perhaps it was a fairy circle, or perhaps it was just the effect of exercise, food and good company, but the trio managed to set aside the difficulties of the morning and enjoy an idyllic afternoon, laughing easily in each other's company, chatting about the Darcys' experiences of school and London society and Elizabeth's childhood adventures in the fields and woods around Longbourn, discussing some of the sights to be seen in Derbyshire and Hertfordshire, and even talking about the pleasures of the seaside at Ramsgate. By the time they wandered back to the village to meet the Gardiners at the inn, Elizabeth and Georgiana were on a first name basis, and Darcy had convinced Elizabeth to begin calling him William.
While they had been out, some mail had been delivered, including two letters for Elizabeth. She had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from her beloved sister, Jane, on her party's first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there; but now her repining was over, and her sister justified, by the receipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been misspent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised, at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.
While Darcy and Georgiana chatted amiably with the Gardiners, Elizabeth begged their indulgence to allow her to read her letters, and retired to a quiet corner of the room to enjoy them in peace. Darcy glanced indulgently at her preoccupation, imagining her engaged in just such an activity in the study at Pemberley, and returned his attention to a discussion of angling with Mr Gardiner.
The first letter, dated five days earlier, began with an account of all the little parties and engagements which her family had partaken of, and with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect: their youngest sister, Lydia, who had lately removed for a holiday at Brighton in the care of Mrs Forster, wife of the Colonel of the Militia regiment so recently posted in Meryton, had run away in the night with Lieutenant Wickham. The foolish child had left a note claiming the intention of going off to Scotland to marry over the anvil.
A small gasp escaped Elizabeth, garnering the attention of the rest of the room, who looked to her with concern, but she was too preoccupied to notice. Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this letter instantly seized the other, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read it. It had been written a day later than the conclusion of the first, and contained even worse news: From a combination of intelligence garnered from Wickham's comrades in arms and Colonel Forster and Mr Bennet's investigations along the roads, it seemed that the Bennet family were not even to have the comfort of a daughter scandalously eloped. Instead, the couple had been traced so far as London, but not beyond. They had certainly not gone to Scotland. In the metropolis, all trace of their journey had disappeared. They had gone to ground and would be near impossible to smoke out. Wickham, it seemed, had never harboured any intention of marriage, and Lydia – impulsive, thoughtless Lydia – had placed herself entirely into his power.
Jane tried to find some hope in the situation, but Elizabeth, who knew more of Wickham's true character, could not credit the fanciful possibilities that Jane still clung to: that perhaps they had married privately in town, that Wickham must truly love Lydia for she had no fortune to tempt him, that Lydia could not be so lost to everything proper as to allow him to take liberties…
As she read the second letter, tears streamed silently down Elizabeth's cheeks, and on finishing it, she crumpled the parchment in her hand as she turned her grief-stricken face to her companions. "It is such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger sister has left all her friends – has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of – of Mr Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton." Raising her eyes to meet Darcy's, she added, "You know him to well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to … she is lost forever."
Darcy and Georgiana were fixed in astonishment. The Gardiners were astounded that Elizabeth was airing such news in front of their visitors, but before anyone could speak, Elizabeth continued in a yet more agitated voice: "When I consider 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 their trail led almost to London but not beyond."
"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?" asked Mr Gardiner.
"My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg your 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! 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!"
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. Mr Gardiner looked in confusion between him and Elizabeth, not certain why, even in her heightened distress on first reading the letters, his niece had shared such private family news with two comparative strangers.
All this while, Georgiana had sat slumped in her chair and white with shock. Mrs Gardiner was torn between tending to her niece or to her guest. As Elizabeth seemed to have the undivided attention of Mr Darcy and Mr Gardiner at the moment, she decided her efforts might be best directed to Miss Darcy, and she did her best to distract and comfort her, while the gentlemen continued to question Elizabeth and ponder their options.
Darcy was the first to speak again. "I must accompany you to London, Mr Gardiner. I may be of assistance in locating Wickham as I know of some of his associates, and am familiar with his usual haunts."
"Are you, indeed, sir? I will not ask how. But surely you could simply supply me with the details? This is a family matter, Mr Darcy. I admit I am not eager to bring someone so little connected with the Bennets into a search. Take a moment to think: this scandal may put an end to any prospect of furthering your courtship with Lizzy. If you will cry off as a result, I would rather you left us to our own devices now. Are you willing to see this through, whatever the outcome, sir?"
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