Page 36 of Near Pemberley

Mrs. Gardiner attempted to calm her, but Elizabeth could not listen.

Every recollection connected with Wickham now returned with painful clarity: his easy manners, his practised openness, the false confidence with which he had gained favour wherever he went. And she, who had once defended him so warmly, now saw too late the full danger of his character.

Her shame seemed almost unbearable.

“We must leave,” said Mr. Gardiner decisively. “There is not a moment to lose.”

“Yes,” cried Elizabeth. “Today… this instant.”

Mrs. Gardiner was already giving orders for servants to begin packing.

The quiet expectation of the morning vanished at once into confusion and alarm. Drawers were opened hurriedly; trunks brought down; footsteps sounded continually upon the stairs.

Elizabeth stood motionless amidst it all, one hand still clutching Jane’s second letter. The paper had become crumpled in her hand before she realised she was crushing it.

And then another thought struck her with sudden force.

Pemberley. Mr. Darcy. The invitation.

Everything around her seemed still.

He would know. Sooner or later, he must know everything. Wickham’s elopement. Lydia’s disgrace. The ruin brought upon her entire family.

A violent blush of shame rose over her face.

Only yesterday she had begun – foolishly, dangerously – to hope that something between them might yet be repaired. She had seen his altered manner; she had begun to suspect he might still feel for her, and despite every warning, her own heart had begun at last to soften towards him with an openness she had never expected to feel again.

Now all such hopes appeared not only impossible, but humiliating.

How could she ever endure his pity?

Worse – how could she bear his recollection that he had once warned her against Wickham, and been rejected for it?

For one desperate instant, another thought arose.

Darcy might help them.

The possibility appeared before her so suddenly, so temptingly, that for one desperate instant, she believed he alone might help them find Wickham.

He knew Wickham. Better than anyone.

If there existed some clue to be followed, some acquaintance to be consulted, some place in London where Wickham might be found, Darcy might know it already.

For one desperate moment, she imagined what relief it would be simply to place the letters in his hands and ask for help.

Then pride checked her at once.

No.

She could not expose herself so completely.

She could not carry her family’s disgrace voluntarily before the man whose good opinion she had only just begun to recover. She could not bear to owe him such an obligation – or endure the humiliation of seeing compassion replace whatever esteem he might still once have felt.

And perhaps worst of all was the fear that he would now repent ever having renewed their acquaintance at all. She was startled by the severity of the pain the idea occasioned.

Mrs. Gardiner approached her again gently. “Lizzy, we must send some explanation to Pemberley.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. “Yes,” she said faintly. “Yes, of course.”