Page 24 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
I must tell you first, before the pressing news, that when I was staying with you in the spring, Mr Darcy asked me to marry him. I turned him down.
You will wonder why I did not tell you at the time, and the answer is here: the morning after his proposal, he handed me a letter that contained such revelations that I was in a stupor of a kind, wrestling with the mistakes I had made – including, perhaps, my refusal of him. It was shortly before I was due to leave, and I was quite ill with it, Charlotte, as you will recall. I could not add to that the task of sharing it – I have told no one but Jane, and even she had to wait a few days.
In short, the letter marked Wickham as a cad – I cannot go into the particulars, but it confirmed he has seduced young women, racked up large debts, is a drinker, a gambler and lied with such ease about his relations with Darcy that I know not how he maintained his composure. The Wickham I knew was a fantasy, a concoction, but recent events must confirm that he is not imaginary but all too real: a living, breathing monster.
My opinion of Mr Darcy changed upon reading his history. I have had cause to spend more time with him in Derbyshire, and either he has altered or I have understood him better. Perhaps a little of both.
Anyway, that is all for nought now, because he will never ask me again once I tell you what has come to pass.
The militia were posted to Brighton. Lydia was allowed to go with them, as the special companion to Colonel Forster’s wife, which I counselled my father against. But even I could not have predicted what has since come to pass.
We have lately learned that Lydia and Wickham have eloped. They have not even gone to Gretna Green as everyone supposed but are residing in London. You can imagine the rest. They have been there a fortnight and, as far as we know, remain unmarried.
She is lost, Charlotte, and I know not how we can forgive her. I cannot say this to Jane; she is all sympathy and ‘Poor Lydia’, but I hope I can say to you that I am so angry with her, I feel like my skin must be hot to the touch. You know her – silly, foolish, thoughtless Lydia! – all her instincts were always to do something daring and outlandish that would amaze us all, and now she has. She will have no thought of what it will cost us, what it already has. Not just reputationally but in body, in spirit.
My mother has taken to her bed – that will not surprise you, but Jane tells me that my father visibly shrank upon hearing the news. She says that, before he left for London (he is there now), his skin turned grey. He was weakened, could hardly walk. I fear what will greet us upon his return.
Oh Lydia! I should pity her, but I cannot help but rail against her stupidity, her selfishness. And when we meet her – God knows when that may be – she will laugh about it. I know her too well to doubt otherwise.
Of course, of course, I am angrier at Wickham – he will have seduced her using all the charms at his disposal, of which I have been party to and fallen for, and which you, so wisely, never did. It need not be said that I will now despise him always. But I also cannot imagine finding love for Lydia. I can say these dreadful things to you only – they are unchristian and unsisterly and probably unfair. But I can say them to you, my dear friend, for I know you will not judge me.
I am sorry for not writing to you before catastrophe has befallen us. I should have. I will write again soon, when we have more news.
Your affectionate friend,
Eliza
CHAPTER XI
Charlotte sat with her mouth open. This was shocking indeed, and she grieved for her friend’s prospects – but then she also was astounded at the revelation of Darcy’s proposal.When I was staying with you,the letter said. But how? Where? Was it here, under this roof? Charlotte had guessed at an attachment on his part but not that he would go so far, and with so little encouragement. But now, she feared such an advantageous match would be impossible. If Lydia truly was lost – if she did not marry Wickham – it would bring the whole family down. Bingley would not be allowed near Jane; nor would any other gentleman of good standing.
And she felt, too, her friend’s anger at Lydia. She had always thought Lydia foolish – she had even said so to Mr Collins once. But in the moment, now, she had the distance to feel sorry for her. Wickham, it seemed, was practised at this – Lydia had not stood a chance against his persuasion. He would have chosen a vulnerable animal for his prey and recognised such a one in Lydia. She might not have been weak in body or in spirit, but she was vulnerable to flattery and to desire.
Charlotte wished to reply immediately, so she left her sitting room to look for a pen in the study, taking the letter with her.
She returned to her sitting room with a clean sheet and a pen and began her response. It took over an hour, on and off; the balance of reassurance and honesty was difficult to get right.
When the letter was nearly complete, she heard the front door open and close and stood up to see whom it was. As she passed into the hall, she saw Mr Collins through the open doorway to his study, reading something and making small exclamations.
Curious, she went over and asked, ‘Mr Collins? What is it you are—’
And then she paused, for she saw that it was her letter from Elizabeth.
‘How did you get that?’ she asked crossly.
‘Why, I found it here on my desk, my dear. I assumed it must be intended for me, and then, after reading a very little, I considered it my duty to continue – this is, after all,myfamily.’
Charlotte must have left it on the desk when she had been searching for a pen, but it should have been obvious that an opened, crumpled letter was not for him. She was incensed.
‘That is private correspondence, Mr Collins – it is for my eyes only.’
‘I’m afraid news such as this will not long be concealed.’
She looked at him very sternly. ‘That is private – please stop reading it.’
‘I’m afraid it is too late for that, my dear; this is my second perusal, and I assure you, what it relates is even more shocking the second time.’
‘Then, I ask you this, very seriously: if you value me, do not act on this. Tell no one, I beg you. It is not finished yet – we do not know the outcome. The Bennets’ reputation will be harmed, yes, but more grievously if news gets out prematurely.’
