About five weeks after he had posted his letter to Mrs. Wentworth,
William Price was walking along Wigmore Street, on his way to the
Yates's house in Cavendish Square. It was a cold, foggy evening in
March, and the murky gloom of the wet streets, which the oil lamps at
intervals rather emphasized than relieved, seemed to William to be a fit
surrounding for anyone in his dreary frame of mind. He could not wish
the letter unwritten; it was better not to see Georgiana as long as
there was the barrier between them raised by what she had told him in
November, that she had never thought of caring for him, believing that
he returned Kitty's affection. And yet it was too hard a task not to
wish to see her again, since he was leaving England the following day on
a voyage which would last for many months. He had no longer any fear of
his cousin's rivalry, for during his last visit to Mansfield Tom Bertram
had replied, with great coolness, when anxiously interrogated, that on
the occasion of his going to Pemberley with the news of Colonel
Fitzwilliam's accident, he had come to the conclusion that he and Miss
Darcy would not suit. But even if by some dispensation of Providence she
had not married anyone else in the course of a year, how could the
situation be sufficiently elucidated to set William free ever to address
her again?
During the three months that had elapsed since the Pemberley ball his
simple and straightforward nature had wrestled with the most difficult
problem he had ever been called upon to face. The great events of his
life--the various steps in his career, his sister's marriage, his
father's death, and the providing for the family, had all come in the
natural order of things, and for him the right line of conduct, as of
feeling, had been at the same time the obvious one. And so he had
supposed it would be when it came to affairs of the heart. If a man fell
in love, he would try to win the affection of the woman he had chosen,
and ask her to marry him; and if she did not care for him enough, he
must either give it up, or wait awhile before making another effort. But
to be refused, because another woman happened to have fallen in love
with him! William had accepted his dismissal at the time in sheer
bewilderment; but the more he thought it over, the more inadequate the
reason seemed for separating him and Georgiana. She had not absolutely
said that it was impossible to care for him; she had only refused to
listen to him or talk of it, which was only natural if she thought him
in honour bound to Kitty; but William's conscience was perfectly clear
towards Kitty, and he tormented himself incessantly with the thought of
all that he might have done towards gaining Georgiana's affection,
during the weeks that they were together, had it not been for this
wretched misunderstanding. She had taken it all as intended for Kitty;
why had they not seen the truth? Kitty might have seen, everyone might
have seen, everyone was deserving of blame, except Georgiana. One moment
William was marvelling that anyone could have misunderstood what to him
was the simplest, most natural thing in the world, and the next had
dropped back with despair into the thought: "She might have cared, if
she had only known. And now she will not even have forgiven me for
making Miss Kitty unhappy, and I have no chance of setting that right."
"It is just like a ship that has run aground on a sandbank in the fog,"
mused William. "You can't do anything until it has cleared--at least, I
can't. If she had refused me out and out, I would have gone down to
Winchester and had another good try--a fellow who has only three months
on shore to every nine at sea deserves that, I think--but I can't face
her again as long as I can imagine her saying to herself, 'What about my
poor Kitty?' Oh, what a blind fool I was, and how I wasted those ten
days!"
He was so deep in thought that in crossing a side street he almost ran
into a gentleman who was going towards Portman Square. Recognition
followed on the mutual apologies, and Mr. Knightley exclaimed: "Why,
William! I am glad to see you again--if it can be called seeing in this
atmosphere; I thought you were gone."
"No, sir, but I sail to-morrow from Portsmouth: the _Medusa,_ you know.
They altered our destination at the last minute."
"And what is it to be?"
"Nova Scotia first, sir; we are taking out a draft to increase the
garrison there."
"Lucky fellow that you are; you will have seen the whole world in a year
or two. I'm afraid it sounds like a long absence this time, but you
never mind that, do you?"
"Well, sir--" William hesitated, then looked up with a frank smile--"it
won't be any good, but for once in a way I wish I could get to a home
station for a bit."
Mr. Knightley waited, but perceiving that he was not to hear any more,
said kindly: "Unless you are in a great hurry, come in and say good-bye
to Mrs. Knightley; she would be sorry to miss you, especially as you are
so near."
William readily turned back, for apart from the kindness of the
Knightleys, their house had a special attraction for him; and when a few
minutes later they entered the drawing-room, his thoughts flew back to
the moment when he had first seen Georgiana: she had been standing by
that very chair, that velvet screen had been the background to the
lovely figure in the white ball-dress. It was necessary to put such
thoughts as these resolutely away, and give his attention to Mrs.
Knightley, whom they found alone, reading some letters which had just
arrived by the country post. She greeted William cordially, without any
surprise at seeing him still in England; it was always a little
difficult for Emma to realize that people had important affairs of their
own; and that they should have had any existence apart from that which
she had chosen to imagine for them constituted the surprise. Therefore
she looked earnestly and inquiringly at William as he sat down, and made
so long a pause that he began to wonder what he was expected to say,
until Mr. Knightley came in from the hall, where he had been ordering
the servant to bring in lamps, and explained the circumstances of
William's call. It was then Emma's turn to be astonished: "Going to sea
again, Captain Price? That is indeed a sad thing; I thought you were
going to settle in England for a time; your friends have seen nothing of
you."
"There's no such thing as settling in England for a sailor, Mrs.
Knightley," returned William, trying to speak cheerily; "at least, not
at twenty-four. And I have been home for a long time now; the North Sea
cruise this winter counts for nothing, you know."
"The North Sea!" repeated Emma, still more overwhelmed. "I thought you
were with your mother, or in Derbyshire."
"Oh, no," replied William, in as indifferent a tone as he could. "I have
not been to Derbyshire since the middle of November. We were at
Copenhagen for three weeks, the rest of the time moving about, and I
have just come from spending a week at Mansfield."
Emma was then almost speechless with disappointment. Mr. Knightley,
regretful, but amused, drew his chair up to the fire and began asking
about William's plans, which were to leave London on the following
morning by the twelve o'clock coach, thus allowing ample time to reach
Portsmouth and bestow himself and his baggage on board before the ship
sailed at seven in the evening. Mr. Knightley inquired what would happen
if he arrived too late, but William could hardly picture the
consequences of such a breach of discipline. He had never known it to
happen; he supposed the culprit would be court-martialled, and probably
degraded three years; he imagined that no circumstances could possibly
be allowed to extenuate so grievous a crime. Mr. Knightley suggested
that a breakdown of the coach or other conveyance might cause inevitable
delay, and William's answer to this was that one took the risk of these
things in putting off one's return to the very last day of one's leave;
some accident, of course, might occur, but in general, those officers
who were not obliged to be on board earlier spent every moment of their
leave of absence on shore.
"I probably should have gone back yesterday, however," he added, "but
the mother of a friend of mine, Cooper, who is on board the _Queen
Charlotte_ at Southampton, is very ill in London, and he cannot come to
see her, so he asked me to call at the house and bring him the latest
reports. I was returning from there when I met you this evening. I
intended going earlier in the day, but I am glad now that I was
prevented from doing so."
"Emma, my dear," said Mr. Knightley, "you are not appreciating our
friend's pretty speeches." Emma started, smiled, then tried to rouse
herself and say something to William in the nature of cordial good
wishes for his voyage, and in moving her chair, the letters she had been
reading fell from her knee to the floor. William, as he picked them up,
reflected that probably something in their contents was occupying Mrs.
Knightley's mind; and he was beginning to think about making his adieux,
when Mr. Knightley continued, speaking to his wife: "Have you any
interesting news there, as a parting gift for a traveler?"
"No, I think not," replied Emma. "This is from Mrs. Weston, but there is
nothing but Highbury gossip in it, which Captain Price would not--and
this other one I have not read; I thought it was Harriet's writing. No!"
holding it up to a candle, "it is not, after all. It is--well--I can
hardly--it looks like--in fact, I believe it is from Kitty Bennet."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Knightley, and added, after a momentary pause: "We
have not heard anything of her for a great while."
Emma could not help glancing towards William Price, but her glance told
her nothing, for he sat perfectly passive, looking at no one, with
perhaps a trifle deeper tinge of colour in his cheeks. The pause
threatened to grow embarrassing, so she began to open the letter,
hurriedly saying: "Miss Bennet seems still to be in Derbyshire. I should
have thought she would have returned home before this."
"You stayed at Pemberley, did you not, William, as well as at Mr.
Bingley's?" inquired Mr. Knightley.
"Yes," said William. "Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were so kind as to invite me
there with the rest, for their ball. What a beautiful place it is! Even
at that time of year one was struck with it."
"And you have not seen any of them since, I conclude, as you have been
abroad," proceeded Mr. Knightley.
William was replying in the negative, when stopped by an exclamation
from Mrs. Knightley, who was reading the letter with every sign of
astonishment. "George!" she cried, "what do you think has happened? You
will never guess! It is perfectly amazing! I can hardly believe it
myself. Well--!" as she turned over a page, "if she had not told me
herself, I could never--was there ever anything so unexpected?"
"We shall know better when you have told us what this astounding news
is, my dear," said her husband. "Has Miss Bennett become engaged to be
married, by any chance?"
"How could you have guessed it?" exclaimed Mrs. Knightley, dropping the
letter to gaze at him. "It is the very last thing I should have thought
of. Oh, Captain Price!" remembering her visitor in some confusion. "But
I am sure you might know it, as she does not say it is private."
"The reason I guessed it," said Mr. Knightley, smiling, "is because no
other intelligence causes quite the same amount of excitement, as you
must admit, Emma. May we hear some more particulars, now that we have
got over the first shock?" Mr. Knightley was talking partly in order to
spare his young friend, thinking it just possible that the news of
Kitty's engagement might not be very welcome to the young man.
William, however, was leaning forward with an expression of eager
interest, and Mrs. Knightley, looking at her letter, went on: "She is
engaged to a Mr. James Morland, the rector of the parish in which Mr.
and Mrs. Bingley live. He is quite young--only appointed last year--she
met him first when she went down there in June--perfectly charming--the
most agreeable man she has ever met--does not disapprove of dancing--Mr.
Bingley and her sister so delighted--a lovely old house--so near to dear
Jane--exquisitely happy--she is going home directly, and hopes to come
to town and see me."
William could contain himself no longer. He sprang up, looked at the
clock, took a few quick steps through the room, then, coming back, he
abruptly asked: "Is this really true, Mrs. Knightley?"
"Quite true, Captain Price, I am afraid--at least, I mean there can be
no doubt of it; in fact, they are going to be married in June, she says.
I assure you, I had not the slightest suspicion. I have only heard the
gentleman's name once or twice, no more. It is so odd, so
inexplicable--"
Mr. Knightley could not forbear smiling at his wife's perplexity, for he
perceived that for some reason or other William was in no need of
commiseration, and, indeed, could hardly wait for Mrs. Knightley to
finish. Holding out his hand, he said: "Pray give Miss Bennet my
congratulations, and a thousand good wishes for her happiness. I fear I
must not stay longer now, so will say good-bye, Mrs. Knightley, with
many thanks for all your kindness--I am indeed grateful for all you have
done for me."
"But Captain Price, you are not going already?" exclaimed Emma, now
completely bewildered. "Do not, I beg, let me drive you away, we will
not talk about anything disagreeable. We were just going to have dinner;
it is late to-night on account of Mr. Knightley's having had to go out,
and I hoped you would have stayed to dine with us."
Mr. Knightley seconded the invitation, but William unhesitatingly
declined. "You are very good, but I must not delay so long. It is only
six, and I think I can catch the eight o'clock coach, if I hurry, as my
things are nearly packed."
"The eight o'clock coach?" repeated Mr. Knightley, helping his guest
into his coat when it became evident that he was determined to go. "I
thought you said you were not returning until to-morrow morning."
"Yes, I did, but I find now that I shall have to go to Winchester; I
shall just have time; it is the most fortunate thing that could have
happened."
"It is not very fortunate for us," said Emma. "But you surely will not
attempt to get to Winchester to-night?"
"No, but I shall get as far as Guilford, in all probability. I beg your
pardon, Mrs. Knightley, I am shockingly ill-mannered; what must you be
thinking of me? Do overlook it just this once; nothing but the most
urgent affairs would carry me away from here so much sooner than I had
intended."
His smile and winning manner were irresistible, and Emma was obliged to
let him go, saying she would expect to hear all about the urgent affairs
some day. William seemed to get to the front door in two strides, and
was fumbling with the lock before his host could reach him, with offers
of refreshment, which he would not stay to accept. Mr. Knightley shook
hands with him, saying kindly: "Well, William, I am sorry you had to run
away, especially as we shall not see you for so long. Besides, it is
really too cruel, after having whetted our curiosity by this mysterious
change of plan."
"Oh, sir, I know it is too bad--if I only had a little more time--but it
is the sailing to-morrow that is the very mischief--if you knew, you
would understand that my only chance is to go now, as quickly as I can.
I will write and tell you how I get on. Please make my apologies to Mrs.
Knightley."
"The only thing Mrs. Knightley will not forgive is your having no dinner
to-night. Yes, indeed, we shall look forward to hearing. Good-bye, and
good luck be with you."
The good luck had begun already, William thought, as he plunged into the
streets, which no longer appeared dark and foggy, since the aspect of
the whole world had changed to him in the last few minutes. Was it not
the most extraordinary stroke of good fortune which had led him to meet
Mr. Knightley that evening? He had not intended to call, for he had
believed them to be at their house in the country, and he would have
heard nothing, and would have passed through Winchester the next day,
within a mile of Georgiana, without knowing that he was free! A day
later--the horror of it was almost too great to contemplate--would have
been too late, too late to speak or write, even if anyone had troubled
to send him the information. Mrs. Knightley herself had not suspected
that Miss Bennet's engagement was a matter of such stupendous importance
to him. William did not trouble to think of what she had suspected, his
only idea being to make his way to Georgiana with all speed. He must see
her before he sailed--that was the pressing necessity; everything else
would right itself. What if he did not find her? If she were ill, or
out of the house, or gone home again? Every kind of apprehension sprang
up in his mind, to be reasoned away or fought down by vigorous action.
His impatience was so great that he hardly knew how he got through the
journey, beginning with the hasty drive to the coach office, the finding
there was a seat still vacant, booking it, and tramping about till the
time of starting; the innumerable frets and delays along the road; the
arrival at Guilford, the bespeaking of a post-chaise, and descending
before daylight the next morning to claim it; the hurried breakfast at
Farnham, and the last interminable twenty miles, until the moment when
he drove down the long hill into Winchester and heard the Cathedral
clock striking eleven.
Leaving his portmanteaux at the "George," he walked straight to the
Wentworths' house, which he knew well from previous visits, and was
shown into a room where Captain and Mrs. Wentworth sat together. His
early appearance created some surprise and excessive pleasure; they were
totally unsuspicious of its real cause, and concluded only that he had
reconsidered his refusal. His eager inquiry as to whether Miss Darcy
were still with them, and whether he could see her, aroused a momentary
fear that he had brought bad news for her, but it speedily became
evident that he was on quite a different errand.
"Oho, William, you sly fellow, so it is Miss Darcy you are come to see?"
exclaimed Captain Wentworth. "Well, we congratulate you upon your good
sense, do we not, Anne? But why in the world did you not come down weeks
ago, when you had the chance?"
William avoided answering this, and as his friends still did not
understand the urgency of the case, he was obliged again to go through
the particulars of the _Medusa_, and Portsmouth, and seven o'clock.
Now, indeed, were the precious moments not to be wasted; Anne left the
room, but returned directly, saying: "Captain Price, I am very sorry,
but I find Miss Darcy has gone out. She talked of wishing to do some
errands in the town, but I did not know she had already started. What is
to be done?"
William was quite clear that there was only one thing to be done,
namely, to go in search of Miss Darcy, and asked which shops she was
likely to have visited. Mrs. Wentworth named one or two, and called
after him as he was hurrying away, to suggest that if he was not
successful in finding her in either, it was possible she might, as the
day was so fine, have gone to finish her walk in the grounds of Wolvesey
Palace, a favourite spot of hers for a stroll. Armed with information
William was gone on the instant.
It was fortunate that he had obtained it, for his inquiries in the High
Street were fruitless, and he thereupon retraced his steps under the
archway and past the Cathedral, turned along College Street, and finally
found himself in the old Palace gardens, where, seated with a book among
a quiet part of the ruins, he presently came upon Georgiana. She did not
see him until he was close at hand, when she sprang up, scarce able to
believe her eyes, and the colour deepening in her cheeks; and William
forgetting all the lengthy explanations he had intended to make, darted
towards her, impulsively exclaiming: "Oh, how glad I am to see you
again! I came back--I could not help it--everything is all right--you
will let me speak now--am I too late? Have I the least chance--any
chance at all?"
Georgiana unconsciously yielded her hand to his, but shrank back a
little as she faltered: "But--but Kitty?"
Breathless from haste, and full of anxiety as to his reception, William
hardly knew whether he had been intelligible, but there was something
in Georgiana's look which showed him, even while she hesitated, that he
was understood--even more--welcomed. Her very question was an answer to
him, and that he quickly disposed of it, and yet in a manner entirely
satisfactory to her, could not be doubted, making thereby the glorious
discovery that his cause was won, when he had been almost ready to
despair of achieving anything in the short time at his command.
It seemed at first impossible that it could be true, but the surprise of
receiving a good fortune beyond one's deserts is one to which it is easy
to grow accustomed. The fact of Kitty's engagement, once realized, could
be put aside as something delightful to be thought over at leisure; but
for the present moment there were only two people in the world, and
those two could give themselves up, unchecked by any sense of guilt or
responsibility, to the exquisite happiness of love acknowledged and
returned. Perfect confidence might now exist between them; William might
repeat, and far more eloquently, all that he had said in the picture
gallery at Pemberley; and Georgiana might now venture to confess the
feelings which in that interview had awakened to life. To her, indeed,
it was easier to listen than to talk, for after her long
self-repression, the relief, the wonderful change, were almost
overwhelming; her heart had been too deeply stirred, and her habitual
shyness was not soon to be overcome. But William's joy in the fruition
of his hopes, so infinitely more complete than any he had dared to hope
for, and his gratitude to herself, had to be put into words in his own
frank and eager way, touched now with the earnest gravity befitting so
great an occasion.
It was one of those beautiful mornings which sometimes occur in the
ungenial early months of the year, as a reminder that spring is
actually on its way. By noon, the pale sunshine had some warmth, and the
lovers paced to and fro, or sat in the sheltered corner which had seen
their meeting, while a soft breeze rustled in the ivy and the murmuring
of the stream could be heard just beyond the old wall. Georgiana lifted
a face of delight to the blue sky, and watched the rooks busy in the elm
trees near, while occasionally other sounds came to them, unnoticed at
the time, but being woven into the picture which their memories would
always hold of that hour, voices, gay with youth and spirits, of the
college boys as they passed in and out of their gateway, and the slow
sweet chimes from the tower of the Cathedral.
Georgiana knew something of William's plans, but to learn that their
parting must take place almost immediately was indeed a blow, until
consoling reflections came, and they reminded each other of what a trial
of faith and patience his departure in other circumstances would have
meant. Of course, it would have made no real difference; neither would
admit the possibility of its having caused any change in their feelings,
but there was comfort in knowing that now theirs was an attachment which
separations could only strengthen, and in the light of which
misunderstandings could no longer exist. Both lamented William's being
unable to see Mr. and Mrs. Darcy before he sailed, but Georgiana
anticipated no opposition on their part, and this thought gave perhaps
the crowning touch to a felicity so intense that she could hardly
believe it to be hers.
Captain and Mrs. Wentworth's warmth of kindness was to be expected, in
view of their affection for both the young people. William stayed with
them until four o'clock, which gave time for many plans to be made, and
the more important letters to be written, and when at last he said his
farewells he buoyed himself and Georgiana up with the promise that it
should be no more than six months before he returned to claim her.
When he had actually gone, she went to her room, feeling in need of
solitude to compose her mind after a day of such wonders. It was
impossible that she should not let fall a few tears at the thought of
William's going every moment farther and farther from her when they had
only just begun to realize the delight, the security of their new
relation to each other, but they were not the bitter tears of
hopelessness that she had so often shed in the last few months.
Whatever the period of his absence, it would be long, and the lot of the
one left behind, inactive, would be the hardest; but Georgiana was
willing to wait in thankfulness and quiet trust for whatever the future
might bring. That there might be anxieties and alarms, she knew, but the
heart which had once and for all been given to William Price was strong
in courage as in tenderness, and the remembrance of the vows they had
exchanged had glorified her life.
Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy came to Winchester shortly afterwards, to take
her home. Her news, while explaining many things, had been a
considerable surprise to them, and Darcy deemed it necessary to make
further inquiries about the young man, who, it appeared, now desired to
be even more closely connected with his family than had at first been
thought. Though regretting, for his sister's sake, the profession of the
man she had chosen, he could not withhold his approval when she had
convinced him how completely her happiness was bound up in the affair;
and, indeed, he could hear nothing on any side but what was in Captain
Price's favour, so while Lady Catherine, who had made a show of
objection, was appeased by the substantial fortune and the relationship
with the Bertrams, Darcy and Elizabeth found contentment in their
knowledge of his character and position.
All went as delightfully as Georgiana could have wished. Darcy, who had
been inclined to regret Mr. Bertram's dismissal when he first heard of
it, became so entirely reconciled to the idea of his cousin as a
substitute, that Georgiana never heard a word of the dreaded scolding;
and Captain Wentworth promised that all his own, and his brother-in-law,
Admiral Croft's, interest should be used towards hastening William's
promotion and shortening his absence, for he declared it would be
impossible to do too much for a lady who, in spite of early prejudices,
was venturing to trust so far in the fidelity of sailors as actually to
be going to marry one of them.
Georgiana had many questions to ask about Kitty's engagement, and from
what Elizabeth told her of the particulars given by Jane, she was able
to piece the story together for herself. Morland had sincerely tried to
forget Kitty, but her return to Desborough, more bewitching than ever,
had shown him how vain had been his efforts. And when the intimacy
between the Rectory and the Park had been renewed under his sister's
auspices, what wonder if Kitty's feelings towards him changed somewhat
with the changed circumstances? If, touched by his continued devotion,
and a little piqued by the want of appreciation in another quarter, she
had allowed him to see that a second attempt would not be treated like
the first? Georgiana rejoiced to think that Kitty had the power of
consoling herself, and that she was at that moment adoring Mr. Morland
as whole-heartedly as she had ever adored Mr. Price.
The two girls exchanged letters of congratulations, but it was no longer
possible to write with quite the same openness as of old, though
Georgiana's good wishes lacked nothing of affectionate sincerity. Kitty
declared herself too busy with the preparation of her wedding clothes to
send a long letter, and perhaps also a small feeling of resentment
lingered in her mind, and prompted the remark: "I thought you must have
been in love with him all the time, though you would not admit it."
She had, however, nothing to envy Georgiana, for had she not achieved
the distinction of being the first of the three brides? The ceremony at
the parish church near Longbourn was fixed for Midsummer, and was
attended by a number of relatives and friends; while the Darcys soon
after had the pleasure of witnessing the marriage of Mary Crawford and
Colonel Fitzwilliam, which took place in London in the following month.
The latter couple settled in town, but also possessed themselves of a
small hunting lodge in Leicestershire, whence the road to Pemberley and
back was frequently traversed, though it is to be hoped with less haste
and agitation than by two persons who made the journey on a certain
melancholy day in January.
It was long before William learned the true history of his cousin's
second visit to Pemberley, but Georgiana could afford to smile at the
recollection of it, when, some three months after the announcement of
her engagement, the families of Darcy and Bingley received the wedding
cards of Mr. Thomas Bertram and Miss Isabella Thorpe.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Old Friends an New Fancies, by Sybil G. Brinton