Mr. Darcy's Diary

I could not sleep last night, but this time the cause was happiness. I think Elizabeth is not averse to me. In time, I think, she might come to like me. I thank the happy fate that brought her to Derbyshire, and the happier one that prompted me to ride ahead of the rest of my party, in time to meet her. In London, I tried to forget her, but it was impossible. Now, I must try to win her.

I went to the inn, therefore, this morning, hoping to sit with her. I was shown up to the parlour by the servant. As we went upstairs I wondered what expression would cross her face when I entered the room. By that, I might know much. A smile would show I was welcome. Embarrassment would give me leave to hope. A cold look would dash me completely.

The door opened. But instead of seeing Elizabeth sitting with her aunt, I saw her darting towards the door, her face pale and her manner agitated. I started, thinking some great calamity must have befallen her to produce such a look, but before I had a chance to speak she turned anguished eyes to mine and exclaimed: ‘I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose.’

‘Good God! What is the matter?’ I asked, longing to be of service to her. As soon as the words were out, I knew how unhelpful they had been. Collecting myself, I said: ‘Let me, or let the servant, go after Mr Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.’

‘Oh, yes, the servant. ’ She called him back and said breathlessly: ‘You must find my uncle. Fetch him at once.

It is a matter of the utmost urgency. Send a boy. Tell him his niece needs him immediately. Tell my aunt. She must come, too.’

The servant promised to do so, and left the room.

I saw Elizabeth’s knees tremble and I moved forward, ready to lend her my assistance, but she sat down before I could reach her, looking so miserably ill that I could not have left her, even if I had wanted to.

‘Let me call your maid,’ I said gently, feeling suddenly useless. I knew nothing about helping ladies in such circumstances. A sudden thought hit me. ‘A glass of wine, shall I fetch you one?’

‘No, I thank you,’ she said. I saw her wrestle with herself and control the worst of her agitation. ‘I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.’

She burst into tears. I longed to go to her and comfort her. I longed to put my arms around her and ease her pain. But I could do nothing. For the first time in my life I cursed civility, good manners and breeding. They had always seemed so important to me, but they now seemed valueless because they were keeping me from Elizabeth.

A moment longer and I believe I would have thrown convention to the wind, but she recovered herself and said: ‘I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. My youngest 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.

You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him – she is lost for ever.’

I could not believe what I was hearing. This was perfidy indeed. To steal a young girl away from her relatives and friends. And yet he had done it before, or at least he had tried to do it and would have succeeded if he had not been foiled in the attempt.

‘When I consider that I might have prevented it! I who knew what he was,’ she said.

No, I wanted to say. You are not to blame. I should have made his nature known. But the words were pouring out of her in a torrent, and I could do nothing but let her speak. At last, her flow came to an end.

‘But is it certain, absolutely certain?’ I asked.

News travels fast, especially bad news, but it is often distorted along the way. I could not think that Wickham would elope with Miss Lydia Bennet. She had nothing to tempt him, and he had no score to settle with the Bennets. He must know that such behaviour would make him an outcast. It was too great a price to pay for the pleasure of marrying a silly young girl with no name and no fortune. And then, indeed, how could he marry her?

She was under age. He could take her to Gretna Green but the journey would cost a great deal, and I knew he would not spend half that amount unless his bride was a considerable heiress.

‘They left Brighton together on Saturday night and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland.’

I began to gain an idea of what must have happened.

Wickham knew London. He knew where he could lie concealed. And when he had taken his pleasure, he could abandon Miss Lydia Bennet with impunity.

All this had followed from my insufferable pride. If I had made Wickham’s character known it could not have happened, but I had disdained to do it, and in consequence I had hurt the woman I loved.

‘What has been done, what has been attempted to recover her?’ I asked.