21 • Forward

Two days after Mr. Bennet’s return, as Jane and Lizzy were walking together in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw Hill coming towards them. Expecting him to herald them for their mother, they went forward to meet him, but instead of the expected summons, he said, “I beg your pardon for interrupting you, but I was in hopes you might have got some good news from town? I took the liberty of coming to ask.”

Brother and sister glanced at each other before the latter answered, “What do you mean, Hill? We have heard nothing from town.”

“Dear madam,” he said in great astonishment, “there is an express come from Mr. Gardiner. Mr. Bennet has had the letter for a good half hour. I thought you would have seen the delivery and inquired further.”

Away ran the Bennets, too eager to have time for speech. They ran through the vestibule into the breakfast room, and from thence to the library. Their father was in neither, and they were on the point of seeking him upstairs when they were met again by Hill, who laughed apologetically. “You have changed places with him. He is now outside, walking towards the little copse.”

Reversing through the hall, they ran across the lawn after their father, who was pursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the padlock where an iron bench was nestled in the shrubbery.

Jane was not as much in the habit of running as her brother, who lagged behind while James, panting, cried out, “Papa? What news? Have you heard from uncle?”

Mr. Bennet was as stoic as ever, the letter in his hands. “Yes, I have had a letter from him by express.”

“Well,” James huffed impatiently as Jane joined him. “What news does it bring? Good or bad?”

“What is there of good to be expected?” he said, relinquishing the paper. “Perhaps you would like to read it.”

James caught it from his hand while Jane pressed herself against him, not inclined to wait a second. Their father insisted, “Read it aloud, for I hardly know myself what it is about.”

So James read:

My dear brother—

At last I am able to send you some tiding of my niece, and such as, upon the whole, I hope will give you satisfaction. Soon after you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what part of London they were. The particulars I reserve till we meet. It is enough to know they are discovered. I have seen them both—

Jane interjected, “Then it is as we hoped? They are married?”

James continued:

I have seen them both. They are not married, nor can I find there was any intention of being so; but if you are willing to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on your side, I hope it will not be long before they are. All that is required of you is to assure to your daughter, by settlement, her equal share of the five thousand pounds secured among your children after the decease of yourself and my sister. Moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her, during your life, one hundred pounds per annum.

These are conditions, which, considering everything, I had no hesitation in complying with, as far as I thought myself privileged, for you. I shall send this by express, that no time may be lost in bringing me your answer. You will easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wickham’s circumstances are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to be. The world has been deceived in that respect. I am happy to say there will be some little money, even when all his debts are discharged, to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune.

If , as I conclude will be the case, you send me full powers to act in your name throughout the whole of this business, I will immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper settlement. There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming to town again; therefore, stay quietly at Longbourn, and depend on my diligence and care. Send back your answer as soon as you can, and be careful to write explicitly. We have judged it best that my niece should be married from this house, of which I hope you will approve. She comes to us today. I shall write again as soon as anything more is determined on.

Yours, etc.

Edward Gardiner.

James’ head snapped up, simultaneously hopeful and livid. “Is it possible? He will marry her?”

Jane seconded, “Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as we have thought him. Dear papa, I congratulate you.”

“Congratulate,” James scoffed, throwing the paper onto the bench. “We are to pay Wickham’s salary for the rest of our lives at the credit of our sister. Marriage is a business deal, as it ever is. Have you answered the letter?”

Jane defended, “We always knew Lydia’s security would only come after money was supplied.”

Their father answered, “No, but it must be soon.”

Jane then swept up the letter and eagerly handed it out to him. “Come back and write immediately! Consider how important every moment is in such a case. Let me write for you, if you dislike the trouble yourself.”

Mr. Bennet had not looked at them much during this whole exchange and he did not accept the letter from her now. He nodded solemnly. “I dislike it very much. But it must be done.”

And so saying, he heaved himself up, and walked towards the house. James leapt into stride with him. “The terms, I suppose…must be complied with?”

“Complied with!” his father scoffed. “I am only ashamed of his asking so little.”

James’ boots halted in the overgrown grass. “What?”

Mr. Bennet only paused long enough to say, “There is nothing else to be done. But there are two things that I want very much to know: how much money your uncle has laid down to bring it about, and how I am ever to repay him?”

Jane had caught up with James. “Money — uncle?” she cried, looking between them. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that no man in his senses would marry Lydia on so slight a temptation as one hundred a year during my life, and fifty after I am gone.”

Jane sighed, “His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain... I am afraid uncle has distressed himself. A small sum could not do all this.”

“No,” their father agreed without turning around. “Wickham’s a fool if he takes her with a farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so ill of him in the beginning of our relationship.”

“Ten thousand!” Jane cried as he disappeared into the house.

James stopped her, the breath leaving her throat at the sight of  his countenance. “Darcy,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Jane’s features opened. “You think so?”

“Who else has that sort of sum? Our uncle does not. And he said it: We judged it best. Lord Darcy is with him.”

He scrubbed a hand over his forehead as he marveled, “And they are to be married…for this we are to be thankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice.”

His sister absorbed this and then voiced, “I must admit that I’ve comforted myself with thinking that he would not marry Lydia if he had not a real regard for her. Now I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or anything like it, has been advanced for a match doomed for unhappiness. You’re right. How would uncle even begin to supply that amount when he has children of his own, and may have more?”

James landed on the bench and set his elbows on his knees to rub his eyes. “If we were ever able to learn what Wickham’s debts have truly been, we would know exactly how far Darcy has saved us.”

He heard Jane’s boots rustle through the grass as she neared him. “We cannot live by assumption anymore. Though I do think you’re right, his lordship has probably done us an immense kindness, but we must behave as if it is our uncle’s doing; for both of our parents. Papa may settle comfortably thinking he owes a debt to his brother-in-law, but never if it is to Lord Darcy. And anyhow, it is our aunt and uncle who have Lydia now. Their kindness can never be requited. They’re taking her home, and affording her their personal protection — by this time she is with them! If such goodness does not make her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happy. What a meeting for her, when she first sees our aunt!”

James was silent as his sister loosely paced in front of him. “We must endeavour to forget all that has passed on either side. I hope and trust they will yet be happy. His consenting to marry her is a proof, I will believe, that he has come to a right way of thinking. Their mutual affection will steady them and potentially grow. They will then settle quietly, live in a rational manner, and may in time make their past imprudence forgotten.”

James stared at her incredulously. “Your innate habits are coming forth, and as ever, deluding you. Their conduct has been such as neither you, nor I, nor anybody, can ever forget. It is useless to talk of it.”

Jane’s eyes found him, and he could see the same impasse between them as had ever been. But it had cracks in it now. Jane was unsure, and her brother could only soften his gaze in understanding. Lydia’s mistakes had inserted her into circumstances ripe with misfortune and difficulty. They could only focus on the sources of light and foster them, for their sister’s sake.

“Who is going to tell mama?” James asked after a time.

Jane sighed, “Papa will not be speaking to anyone for a while.”

It was left to them. Ascending to their mother’s room, Mary and Kitty were already with Mrs. Bennet; one communications would, therefore, do for all. Jane read the letter aloud, and with every word their mother could hardly contain herself.

As soon as Jane read Mr. Gardiner’s hope of Lydia’s being soon married, her joy burst forth, and every following sentence added to its exuberance. James leaned against the wall as his mother was brought to almost violent delight, her fidgets and irritation now on the side of happiness instead of anguish. To know that her daughter would be married was enough. She was disturbed by no fear for her felicity, nor humbled by an remembrance of her misconduct.

“Dear, dear Lydia!” she cried, fluttering to her closet and back. “This is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how it would be — I knew he would manage everything—”

Mary and Kitty could only keep out of the way while Jane otherwise silently met her brother’s tired eyes.

“How I long to see her, and to see dear Wickham too! But the clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister Gardiner about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him how much he will give her for them —Stay! Stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell, Kitty, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!”

She flew from the room, leaving it vacant despite the four people remaining.

Mary was the one who spoke, “I must admit to my usual inability to read an atmosphere…but I do not recognize a great amount of merriment for Lydia’s marriage. After so long waiting in great hope for Jane’s matrimony…this seems a sad irony.”

A mutual exhalation passed among them, slow nods silently agreeing before Jane left to chase after their mother and soften her impact around the house. James raked a hand through his hair, briefly considering how long it had grown, but the thought passed as soon as it arose. He heard Kitty say his name, but he gently shook his head as he left the room.

Slowly wandering through the corridor, he heard pieces of his mother’s and Jane’s speech through the house. “For we…attribute this happy conclusion…that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham with money.”

“…all very right! Who should do it but her own uncle?...had not a family of his own, I and my children would have had all his money, you know…have a daughter married! Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds…will settle with your father about the money afterwards, but things should be ordered immediately.”

She was then proceeding to all the particulars of calico, muslin, and cambric, and would shortly have dictated some very plentiful orders had not Jane persuaded her to wait till her father was at leisure to be consulted. Her mother was too happy to be quite so obstinate as usual, as other schemes soon came to her head.

“I will go to Meryton! As soon as I am dressed, and tell the good news to my sister Philips. As I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty! Kitty run down and order the carriage! An airing would do me a great deal of good. Girls, can I do anything for you in Meryton? Oh! Here comes Hill. My dear Hill…”

James, meanwhile, closed the curtain over his and Jane’s window. Shielded from the light, he slumped in his bed, returning to its soft comforts while his boots clattered on the floor. Mary had quite said it all: so tossed and turned as they had been, James simply wanted the matter to end. Lydia’s situation must, at best, be bad enough, and for now was becoming no worse. So he chose to be thankful for that, though in looking forward, neither rational happiness nor worldly prosperity could be expected for his sister…

But looking back, as it so often does, held only pains he wished to forget in slumber.