These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  “He brought me a whole trousseau of fresh garments, for mine had mostly been left in Brighton, and he gave me note paper to send a letter to all of you, and such a fine carriage to ride in to Cheapside. Why, he even paid for a trained ladies’ maid to come to my aunt’s house while I lived there! You know, I begin to doubt whether he ever owed George any money. I tend to believe the opposite was the case. At any rate, he was certainly generous toward me.”

  Elizabeth offered a wan smile, her eyes beginning to burn. And to think such a man should be forever lost to me! “I am glad to hear it, Lydia,” she managed in a garbled voice. “He behaved as every gentleman ought, and as few ever would.”

  “He was a regular brick,” Lydia agreed. “Such a pity that he took that fall!”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Oh! Do you not remember when Mr Bingley explained it all to us? I suppose not, for you had gone upstairs with the head ache. He had it from Mr Darcy’s cousin—a colonel, he said, and I wish I could meet him, for a colonel’s uniform is so much more dashing than a lieutenant’s!”

  “Lydia!” pleaded Elizabeth.

  “Oh, well it was only that Mr Darcy was on his way to my wedding that morning when his dog tripped him on the stair. The butler said he fell all the way down and was killed instantly.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. So, that was the official story, was it? No, she had not heard that version of events, for she had fled to her room all the rest of that horrible day to exhaust her despair into her pillow. Since then, she had assiduously avoided any public conversation where Mr Darcy’s name might be mentioned. It was Jane’s private report—also from Mr Bingley—which had broken her heart and plunged her even deeper into the wretched despondency that had plagued her for two months.

  “So… he was at his home, you believe?” Elizabeth rasped, trying to regulate herself.

  “Of course,” Lydia answered stoutly. “Why, where else would he have been?”

  Elizabeth clenched her eyes. Out trying to rescue you! resounded on her tongue, but she could not dare voice it. What right had she to burden Lydia with the misdeeds of back alley tyrants and vagabonds? Lydia had been careless, but she was a child! Darcy’s death was not her doing. Someday, perhaps, Elizabeth might also learn to pardon herself in the matter—but that would be a day far in the future. While she could still blame herself, his memory remained fresh and alive, and she rather preferred that bitterness to the emptiness that would surely follow.

  “Lizzy? Why, Lizzy, whatever is the matter?” Lydia had straightened in some alarm. “You think me the most miserable creature alive, do you not?”

  Elizabeth jerked her head slightly, trying to conceal the fact that she was wiping moisture from her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Why would you assume that, Lydia?”

  “It is true, you know. I have been insufferable and ungrateful. You always did say I was rash and unruly, and now I see it. What I might have given for a real gentleman to take notice of me, for now I understand the difference. Alas, I seemed to only attract the wrong sort, and it is too late now to mend my ways!”

  “You do not know that. Mr Wickham was brought up in good company with noble expectations. It is not impossible that he might one day repent of his wrongs.”

  Lydia snorted. “Oh, yes, it is.”

  “Well, let it not be said that I wished for any man’s demise, but many things can happen to an officer of the Regulars—if, indeed, he did join his regiment. It is doubtful, but not impossible, I suppose. I have heard that war can break a man’s heart and shatter his bravado, so that even the fiercest fighter returns eagerly to the comforts of wife and home.”

  “I should not give him so much as a blanket by the hearth,” snapped Lydia. “He can sleep in the stables for all I care!”

  Elizabeth permitted herself a slight tug at the corner of her mouth. “I would not even spare the straw, but that would be your business.”

  Lydia giggled nervously, her tension at finally conversing with her most disappointed sister somewhat eased. As she did so, her gangling adolescent frame quivering with shy merriment, she clasped a hand protectively over her middle.

  Elizabeth froze in horror. “Lydia,” she whispered, staring at her sister’s hand. “Why are you holding your stomach? Tell me you are not with child!”

  Lydia blanched, dropping the offending hand and trying to appear nonchalant. “No! Of course, I’m not!”

  Elizabeth’s gaze hardened. “You are!” she hissed. “How long have you known?”

  “Oh!” the girl buried her face in a palm. “I ought to have expected that you would guess. You always were the cleverest of—”

  “Lydia! How long?”

  She passed a hand under her nose, blinking. “A few weeks, I think. I was not sure at first. Aunt told me the signs, but I did not experience all of them.”

  “But I thought you had your courses! Mama made a particular note of the linens, you must expect, and we all heard of it.”

  Lydia shrugged. “I faked them. When Mrs Hill killed the rooster, I… oh, Lizzy, please may we not speak of this any further?”

  “When were your last courses?” Elizabeth demanded—rather harshly, it must be said.

  “Just after I arrived in Brighton.”

  Elizabeth groaned. “Have you told anyone? Mama and Papa must hear the truth! You have not been ill as they expected, and they believe by now that you escaped such a fate.”

  “No.”

  “No! Lydia, it will not be long before it will be obvious to the world!” Elizabeth made hastily to rise. “I am going to our aunt. Perhaps she can advise us.”

  “No!” Lydia objected. “Lizzy, do not tell her!”

  “We must, Lydia! You cannot change matters now. We must determine how you are to go on. At least you are known to be married, but would you do better to remain here, or to go to London with—”

  “Lizzy, please,” begged the girl. “There can be no hurry! Mama and Papa have not yet recovered from Jane’s wedding, and it will be months yet for me. Besides, many things can happen during a pregnancy.”

  Elizabeth stilled. “Oh, Lydia,” she breathed. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing! I only meant as a general thing—Lizzy, no, please stop!”

  Elizabeth was on her feet now and searching about the room. “Lydia! Where is the laudanum you begged of Aunt Philips last week? You are not truly having ‘headaches,’ are you?”

  Lydia’s face went white to the lips. “Lizzy!” she gasped, “I beg you, do not—”

  Elizabeth pushed past her sister and jerked open the top drawer of her vanity. There, hidden beneath a handkerchief, was a large brown bottle. She snatched it up and spun round. “Were you going to drink this? Lydia, how could you even dream of it!”

  Poor Lydia was shaking, tears streaming down her youthful face. “What business is it of yours?” she sobbed.

  “It is in every way my business! Girls die every year by drinking too much of this—and for what, Lydia? To kill a babe whose only fault was to be conceived by a worthless father? Do you truly think that robbing your child of life will heal your own wounds?”

  Lydia crumpled to her knees on the floor, both hands cupping her face. Her body convulsed with shrieking cries, too powerful for her weakened spirits to overcome. “I cannot do it, Lizzy! I cannot carry his child!”

  “You must, Lydia. It is too late to undo what has been done!”

  “How easy it is for you to say! It is not you who have been abandoned! You are not the one who will have to birth and raise a child alone, with no father to even pay a visit—oh, how everyone will talk!”

  “Talk! You are suddenly concerned with what others think, are you? Where was this fear when you were letting that man seduce you?”

  “I never thought it could go so far!” Lydia heaved miserably, bowing her face low over her lap. “I just want it all to stop, to go back to what I was before. I cannot have a baby!”
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br />   Elizabeth sank wearily to the floor, torn between outrage at Lydia’s plan and pity for her impossible situation. “Lydia,” she forced herself to lift a hand to pat her sister’s shoulder. “You must promise me not to harm yourself or the babe.”

  Lydia made no response but a deep, heartrending moan. She bent more tightly to her own knees, quivering uncontrollably.

  Elizabeth’s own stomach knotted in guilt. For better than two months, she had lectured and ignored, and now, when Lydia most desperately needed unflagging loyalty and affection, her efforts seemed hollow. “Shhh,” Elizabeth soothed, her attentions growing more sincerely gentle. “I know you are afraid.”

  A new sound trembled in Lydia’s throat—a confirmation that Elizabeth’s words had struck a chord of truth.

  “Yes, of course you are afraid,” Elizabeth repeated, “and rightly so. But promise me, Lydia—let me help you! Let me help your child. You can do this, Lydia. You are the bravest girl I know!”

  Lydia stilled, and Elizabeth could hear her sniffling. After a moment, she raised a tear-soaked face. “Do you really think I am brave, Lizzy?” she rasped.

  Elizabeth searched in the hidden pocket of her gown and found her own handkerchief to wipe her sister’s face. “Indomitable,” she whispered firmly. “And I will stay here and help you, as much as you will allow.”

  Lydia blinked, sitting up and gazing down at her hands. “I do not know what to do!” she whimpered.

  “Have your child. Raise him up to be better than his father, for there could be no more truthful testimony to your courage and Mr Wickham’s failings.”

  Lydia sniffled again, and Elizabeth pulled her close to her own shoulder. “Do you know, Lizzy, you begin to remind me of Mr Darcy.”

  Elizabeth’s heart squeezed—that same, deliciously stinging ache which always accompanied his name. But to be once again compared to Darcy! A bittersweet longing compelled her to hear more. “How so, Lydia?”

  Lydia pulled her knees to her chest and crossed her arms over them, dropping her face to the safety of darkness. Another sob shook her, then came the muffled reply. “You both demand the impossible.”

  ~

  Birmingham

  Richard sagged in the tavern chair, casually lifting his mug for slow, apathetic draws of the flavourless ale. Strange, how going about in the dress of a common tradesman rather than his military uniform, or even in his own gentle attire, could have such a pronounced effect on his demeanour. It was uncomfortable, in a way, to behave with such offhand dispassion, but his typical manner of precision and his own sharp red uniform would have marked him instantly as a man of interest to anyone who cared to notice.

  He faced forward, his eyes unfocused as he contemplated the generous form of the barmaid. A dwindling stream of coins from him had diverted her to better paying customers, and she occasionally sent him glances of annoyance for continuing at the tap. She was only slightly mollified when another man roughly squeezed between him and the man in the next seat, and Richard obligingly made way.

  The man rolled a few coppers on the counter, gruffly ordering a drink and minding no one else. Richard spared him only sufficient attention to be certain that the man did not upset his own drink. The fellow remained long enough to decently finish his mug, dropped another coin on the counter by way of a gratuity, and lurched from his seat.

  “Excuse me, my good fellow!” Richard took his attention. “I think you have upset my drink. It is rather close here, after all.”

  “Beg your pardon, sir. I’ll buy you another.” The man fished within his purse and produced a copper coin, which he deposited directly into Richard’s hand.

  “Jolly good of you, my man.” Richard pocketed the coin and shifted fully out of the other’s path. “Madam?” he gestured to the woman serving drinks. “Another, please.” He paid her and settled in for another easy quarter of an hour.

  When he did finally depart, Richard ambled in his most leisurely mood toward his lodgings. He paused outside of a tobacconist’s shop, fingered the watch fob at his waist coat, and decided against entering. He tipped his hat toward the innkeeper’s wife as he mounted the stairs, then cast off his hat and overcoat upon his bed when he entered his room.

  Instantly, he began searching the pocket of his coat, laughing softly when he withdrew a slim letter. “The devil, Broderick, you never disappoint,” he murmured. He had never even felt the missive sliding into his pocket, but had he, Broderick would not have been the right man for the job. Quickly he broke the seal.

  Dear Sir,

  Regarding the individual you apprehended on Brook Street some weeks ago; I began searching for him by observing the establishment belonging to a Mrs Y—. As you testified you had also done, I soon witnessed a man matching your description of being a smaller man of little account, appearing to engage in some argument with one of the maids employed there. He desired admittance to the back door of the house, but she repeatedly denied it until he went away. I was later able to identify him further by your claim of having knocked out his upper right tooth. I spoke with him only in passing to verify these facts, and he has not seen my face, for I assumed a rather bad cough when I spoke.

  I followed him for eight nights to learn his habits. He frequents a room on Birchin Ln, of which he does not appear to be the primary tenant. There is another chap, quite a large fellow, who keeps company with merchants from the shipyard. Unfortunately, he does not seem to be more intimate with one set than he is with any other, but I am to understand that he has twice escaped the press-gangs by the help of his informants at the docks. His work appears to consist of riffling through other men’s pockets and taking odd jobs of ill repute. I shall continue to learn what I may.

  Since there does appear to be a connection to the docks, I have taken the liberty of procuring for you a list of all ships departing between 28 August and 1 September. Perhaps the information may be helpful.

  Your request to exhume Mr D—’s body is unusual in the extreme, sir. The hiring of grave robbers is a simple enough matter, and I have the proper individuals already in mind. However, the D—crypt at the estate is not a humble earthen tomb. It will be a matter of some delicacy to perform the task without drawing notice. As you have already assured me that the cost is no object, I shall proceed with your directions. I shall have the preparations made within a few weeks, and shall send word when all is in readiness.

  R. B.

  Richard released a shaking sigh and folded the letter. He turned next to the long list of ship names with departure times and destinations. The list itself was two full pages of closely written print, front and back. Richard examined it until he felt his eyes wandering blindly over the latter entries. All were meaningless to him without some further information, but Broderick had hit upon a capital idea in procuring the list. It might yet be of some use.

  7

  Pemberley

  Richard’s return to Pemberley revealed the whole of the estate in an uproar. It was still mid-morning when his coach rolled to the door, to be met and attended only by the men from the stables. The outer steps to the house itself remained curiously unguarded but for the groundskeeper, who only passed by in the course of his other duties. The door to the great house was opened to him before he was obliged to knock like a beggar at an hostel, but only just.

  In bewilderment Richard handed off his gloves and hat to the lone footman present, searching about for the others all the while. None of the usual staff were at their assigned posts! Three of the upstairs maids hurried by him with harassed pink cheeks and hardly a deferential glance, clearly set about some task of great import. He stared in amazement, wondering where the devil Mrs Reynolds or Hodges could be. Was it not typical for one of them, at least, to greet him upon his arrival? And where was Georgiana?

  “Do you wish to remove your coat, Colonel?” the footman reminded him politely.

  “What?” He spun to face the young man. “Yes, my coat, of course. Where i
s your mistress? What is happening here?”

  The footman permitted himself a brief expression of chagrin—which, Richard noted, would never have been tolerated under Darcy’s authority. “The lady desired that some improvements be made to the house, sir.”

  “I presume you do not refer to Miss Darcy.”

  “No, sir,” the footman kept his eyes straight forward, but he swallowed unhappily.

  “I see. Where might I find your mistress?”

  “She has not stirred from her apartment these four or five days, sir.”

  “Good heavens! She is not ill?”

  “No, sir,” was the clipped response.

  Richard squinted in irritation, divining that some curiosity must be at work within the halls of Pemberley. “I think I must speak with Mrs Reynolds. Please send word for her to meet me in the library.”

  “I am afraid, sir….”

  “Afraid of what? Speak up, man!”

  The footman’s tight collar worked uncomfortably. “The library is in some disarray, Colonel.”

  Richard swore under his breath. Darcy’s meticulously ordered library! Lady Catherine had salt indeed to meddle with such precision. “Very well, I shall go to her desk in the servant’s quarters! Has my aunt come down yet this morning?”

  The footman’s gaze assumed the glassiness accustomed to one of his station when attempting not to voice that which might be unpleasant to his superior’s ears. “No, Colonel,” was the simple reply.

  Richard narrowed his eyes. “I see. Thank you, young man, you have been most helpful. What was your name?”