It could not have been, for no sooner had I lain down upon it than I found myself opening my eyes upon a room in which the shadows had lengthened considerably. Of Mrs Bennet there was no sign, but the sound of female voices along the corridor informed me that she was closeted with the girls, no doubt rehearsing their joint effusions for the evening.
I had barely registered this when there was a knock at the door, and a cadaverous individual in green overalls poked his head into the room, to say,
“Beg pardon, sir, but Captain Wickham’s compliments, and dinner will be served in ten minutes.”
I leapt to my feet and made haste to shift my coat.
“The ladies…” I cried.
“The ladies are ready, sir. They sent me to find you. I’m Roper, sir. I’m to be your batman while you stay here. Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”
“Thank you, no. But if you could show us to the Officers’ Mess in five minutes?”
The Officers’ Mess was as grand a dining room as I remember seeing. I believe it may even have been fit to compare with the small breakfast room at Rosings, but I have yet to make that comparison for myself. It was evident that whoever designed barracks for the army had a fine sense of priorities.
The room had been designed to house the full complement of officers of a battalion of foot, that is to say, fifty persons, each one with a guest, and, with only ten in it, it looked strangely bereft. This did not stop the proprieties being attended to, however. Wickham, as commanding officer took the head of the table, with Lydia on his left and myself, as guest of honour on the right. Mrs Bennet sat next to me, with an officer in a dark blue uniform on her right, with Kitty beyond him. An unfamiliar red-coated officer sat next to Lydia, and then came Mary, with another officer in a blue coat on her left. Young Mr Washington, as Mr Vice, sat isolated in solitary splendour at the far end of the table.
Wickham performed the introductions with polished ease, as if he had been acting the host all his life. The redcoat opposite Mrs Bennet was Lieutenant Pickersgill, of the Sixty-eighth. The gentlemen in the blue coats were Lieutenant Somers and Ensign Lutterell, from the gunnery brigade that was installing on the seaward side of the fort.
The meal was much as one might have expected, plain, nourishing and plentiful, accompanied by an excellent claret. The army certainly does not go short when not on active service.
When the Royal Toast had been drunk and the ladies retired, Lieutenant Pickersgill suggested a hand of whist, which conveniently drew the other four away to a card table, while Wickham and I were left in comparative privacy.
I believe I have Wickham’s character to a degree, and could not help suspecting that this had all been concerted to allow him to have me to himself, and I steeled myself to hear a request for money. I decided, however, that there could be no harm in postponing such an event as long as might be, and spoke first myself.
“I have not seen you in your regimentals since before you left Longbourn for Brighton Camp. But then, of course, you were but in the Militia, while now you are a regular soldier. Which reminds me, I have not yet given you joy of your promotion.”
He shrugged.
“It is brevet rank, and can be taken away whenever the powers that be wish. I rather suspect it is their design to do so when I have served their purpose and done their work here. In the meantime, I do not get a penny more in my pay.”
“Here it comes,” I thought, admiring the adroitness with which he had parried my move. But I was mistaken. It was not money he was after, but influence.
“Sunderland is well enough, but it is not home. It is not even Newcastle, where we had built up some connections. Here we know nobody, and Lydia never tires of reminding me. You have no influential connections yourself, Mr Bennet, I am aware of that, but we both know who does. We have had our differences in the past, I know, but could you not work upon Mr Darcy to do something more for us, especially now that we have another mouth to feed? Have we not deserved more of our family?”
I was at a loss how to reply to this, but, fortunately, I was saved the necessity of doing so by the entry of a servant bearing a note.
Wickham glanced at it, and rose, with a somewhat conscious smile upon his face.
“I am sorry to disturb you, gentlemen,” he announced. “Mrs Wickham requires our attendance next door. It is foolish, I know, for an old married couple to be so fond, but how can I blame her if she cannot bear to be without me. After all, we may all be sent off to fight any day, never to see our loved ones more.”
“We all know Mrs Wickham,” replied the gunnery Lieutenant, “and wherever she may be, she commands. Lead on then, Captain Wickham.”
So off we trooped into the room next door, where we found the ladies waiting for us with freshly-brewed coffee.
We also found young Master Francis Fitzgibbon who immediately began to shriek at the sight of me.
“Ah, did the nasty man frighten mama’s little lamb?” crooned Lydia, redoubling the speed at which she was joggling the infant on her knee. “Isn’t he a nasty man? Isn’t he? Yes he is. Yes he is.”
Her mother and Kitty joined in with similar placatory chants, but the only result was to make the screeches louder and more high-pitched than ever. I could quite see why this might be so. I, too, would have been tempted to object as vociferously as might be, were I to be tossed about in such a fashion. I ventured to suggest so to Lydia, but was met with a chorus that I knew nothing about how to handle babies.
“There, there,” continued Lydia, addressing the infant on her lap once more, “isn’t the nasty man silly as well as nasty? Isn’t he? Isn’t he silly? Isn’t he silly?”
Mary all the while looked on with a long-suffering air. The other ladies joined in, however, with injunctions to “Never mind” and similar.
What can it be that afflicts the female mind when confronted with a babe in arms? Even the most intelligent brains seem to turn to jelly, and feel the obligation to spout gibberish in the most cloying of accents.
“I cannot say that I approve of this modern practice of keeping infants about the house,” I said, perhaps rashly. “My brother and I were placed with a wetnurse and not suffered into the presence of our parents until we could walk and talk and behave in a reasonably rational manner, and I cannot see that it did either of us any harm. Nor have Jane or Elizabeth found it any great disadvantage, I think. I dare say I am nasty and silly, however. I must at least have been at any rate the latter to give way to Mrs Bennet’s pleas to have her three youngest daughters by her all the time, and I do not think the event would prove me wrong in that assumption.”
“Oh, Mr Bennet!” expostulated Mrs Bennet. “How can you say such things? And about your own daughters, too. Surely you cannot wish to return in such a way to the manners of the last age?”
“What I dearly wish to return to is some semblance of peace and reason. As for the manners of the last age, at least they ensured that children could not trouble their parents until they were at least house-trained. Mr Gisburne certainly has much to answer for.”
Perhaps fortunately, the infant prodigy took up his cue, and immediately, copiously and malodourously demonstrated his complete lack of house-training, necessitating his being carried off to be mopped up and changed. Of the ladies present, only Mary chose to forgo this exquisite pleasure, stepping to my side instead.
“It has been like this all evening, ever since we left the gentlemen,” she said. “Nothing else may be talked of or even thought of but baby Stupor Mundi. I was about to sink into a stupor myself when you came to our rescue. But do you think it altogether wise, in your condition, to get excited and speak out so?”
“Oh, as to that, all will be forgotten by the time they have finished paying court to his majesty,” said Wickham. “It is ever so. Besides, if I may paraphrase something I once heard from our connection in Derbyshire about your second daughter, sir, great amusement can be found in occasionally professing opinions which, in fact, are not your own. Bu
t what is this about ‘your condition’? We have barely exchanged two words uninterrupted since your arrival, and must have much to tell each other.”
“A man with a wife and five daughters, sir, very soon forgets what it is like to finish a sentence. But do not let Mary alarm you. A momentary weakness, that is all, quite passed by now.”
“Papa!” cried Mary. “How can you hope to deceive Mr Wickham so? My father is not at all well, Mr Wickham. He collapsed at home, and has since been taking the cure at Buxton, on his Doctor’s orders. That is why we took the opportunity of staying at Pemberley. But he is a terrible patient, and will not follow his regimen. I believe he left Buxton too early, but, then, we were obliged to move on, of course.”
“As to that,” I replied, “I believe Doctor Morland, at home in Meryton to be a gentleman, and sincere in his opinion that what it pleases him to call my nervous condition would benefit from a course of treatment at a spa. I cannot say that I agree about the quack into whose hands I fell in Buxton, however, and I admit I left there early, as I found his regime insupportable. Since then we have been travelling almost all the time, sometimes in the most extraordinary conveyance, and I have not had time to dwell upon any illness. Consequently I feel quite restored, and do not propose to trouble the medical profession again until I return home. I can quite believe that Mrs Bennet may have other opinions, however. She would have me never stir from my bed, eat nothing but pap, drink nothing but water or very weak tea, never do this, never do that – in short, I am never to do anything which I might particularly wish to do. All this has gone from her mind, however, with the arrival of your son, sir, and I thank you heartily for the distraction.”
“I rejoice that you feel recovered, sir, but we must not be over-confident. A relapse would be the last thing any of us should wish. I believe Sunderland has a spa of its own, sir, as, indeed, any coastal town with any pretensions of gentility must. I have never visited it, never having had occasion to, nor do I know its exact location, but I have heard tell of it. Perhaps you will allow me the gratification of making enquiries on your behalf, and perhaps of conducting you there one day while we have the pleasure of your company?”
“I thank you, sir, but my experiences at Buxton have not left me in any hurry to repeat the process.”
Chapter Twenty-three : Sunderland Spaw
Is it not strange how often fate makes liars of us all? I had vowed never to set foot in a spa town again, and yet here I found myself doomed to an indeterminate stay in just such a place, and perilously close to the very establishment itself. Exactly how close, I had, at first, no idea, but it could not be far, for the entire town is scarce more than a mile across.
In fact, it was not long before I found myself setting out in search of the very place itself. A solid week of unending nepotolatry had brought me to such a pitch of boredom that I looked set to bury myself.
Mrs Bennet could not be induced, under any circumstances, to take an interest in anything which did not involve attendance upon, or at least consideration of her new grandchild, and the girls were every bit as besotted. Even Mary had eventually succumbed to the evident partiality young Stupor Mundi displayed for her, or rather, I think, for her glasses.
Wickham was hardly better than his wife in the worship of his offspring, and the rest of the officers no different.
So desperate was I for rational conversation that I took to addressing the common soldiers, of whose speech I could not understand more than one word in three, in the hope of a response that did not involve babies. It soon became clear, however, that they were no more capable of understanding me than I was of comprehending their dialect, and after several totally incomprehensible dialogues I began to feel the impossibility of my position.
In the hope of inducing my family to think of anything at all beyond the cradle, I decided to have a relapse. I wasted several days wincing every time I got up from a chair, complaining of dizziness and pains in my chest, and panting loudly at every opportunity, but I might as well have stayed at home in Longbourn for all the notice anyone took. It appeared that nothing short of collapsing on the floor of the parlour and feigning death would avail to obtain any attention at all.
I became so desperate that I actually did collapse to the floor in the sight of all, clutching my chest and making choking noises.
I was rewarded by a cursory glance from Mrs Bennet and an injunction to “Do get up, dear, you’ll spoil your nice new coat. Besides, I want you to come and see what Baby is doing.”
I realize now that I became somewhat less than rational myself during that period, and can only allege as excuse that no-one who has not spent a solid week cooped up with four broody females and a baby can have any conception of how I felt. In fact, I was feeling badly done by, and sorry for myself, and resolved to do something about it, alone if need be.
We had now spent eight whole days in Sunderland, and seen no more than the barracks and the church we had attended, along with the entire garrison, on the Sunday. I knew nothing of the town other than its association with the Venerable Bede, whose monastery lay on the other side of the river. It would be a long, uphill walk to the bridge, and once ‘over the water’ I should have no notion which way to go. Whether there were any remains of this interesting site yet to be seen, to justify such an effort, was unknown to me, and information on the subject was completely lacking from the rude soldiery.
Mr Washington, however, was more forthcoming, with a promise to conduct me to view the church, which, he promised me, was still there, and ‘as queer an old place as ever you might see’.
“It cannot be today, however,” he continued, “ for Mr Pickersgill keeps me too busy. Why do not you walk about the town here, take a turn around the Moor, perhaps go down to the Spa and take the waters? You know the way to the Moor, and I am sure you would have no difficulty obtaining directions from there.”
Before leaving I looked in on the court of his infant majesty, and informed the company that I was not feeling well, and had gone to take the waters in the hope of some relief.
“Yes, dear, of course, dear, is he not lovely? Is he not absolutely the most darling?”
“He is a noisy, smelly, obnoxious brat,” I replied, being sure to keep my tones calm and reasonable, “and his continual company has at last induced me to go down to the cliffs and throw myself off them into the sea. That way, if I am not shattered by the fall, I shall at least drown.”
“Frown? He doesn’t frown, does he? No, he doesn’t! No, he doesn’t! Mamma’s little sweetikins doesn’t frown, does he? No, he never frowns, does he? He never cries, does he? Does he? No, he smiles, that’s what he does, doesn’t he. Just look at him, look at his little face! Couldn’t you just eat him?”
I should have sighed as I left the room, had there been any point in doing so. As it was, I took my hat and stick and walked across the courtyard and through the gate into Barracks Lane, that led down to the Town Moor.
The irregular, uneven space, dotted with pools and mysterious holes had previously, Wickham had informed me in a rare lucid interval while returning from church, been known as the Coney Warren and was still much frequented by those of a certain class, in search of meat for their tables.
One of these gentry was passing with a dog at his heel when I emerged onto the common, and I made to consult him.
“Can you direct me to the Spa?” I enquired.
“T’bar?” he replied. “There’s nae bar at the mouth o’t’Wear. They keep the harbour entrance properly dredged, man.”
“Not the bar,” I persevered, “the Spa.”
“Why, what sort of spar d’ye want? There’s any number of carpenters down the bank there will run you up any kind of spar you’ll pay them for. Or you can get one from a shipyard. But yer dinnat look like a shipman to me.”
“Not that kind of Spa. Sunderland Spa, where visitors take the waters, go to assemblies, and suchlike.”
“Ah’ve nivvor hord o’ nowt like that. Not round here,
like. Sounds like southern sorts of goings on.”
He scratched his head for a moment, and accosted a passer-by.
“Ow, Jackie! Gent here’s lookin’ for Sun’lan Spa. Says its where gents tak watter, and hald assemblies. Hev yer ivvor hord tell o’ owt like that?”
“Why, naw, man. What would we dae with that sort of thing round here, like?”
He looked around him with a wild surmise, as if expecting a set of assembly rooms to appear by magic before his eyes, and addressed a third stroller.
“Geordie, man, hev yer ivvor hord tell of Sun’lan Spa?”
This enquiry proved as successful as the previous one, and I soon found myself the centre of at least a dozen persons, of all shapes, sizes and degrees, all chattering away in dialects of which I understood, at best, one word in three. They were all, to do them justice, apparently eager to help, while being completely bereft of any knowledge which would enable them to do so.
It was a genuine fishwife, her basket under her arm, who suggested a solution to this knotty problem.
“Why divvent yer ask the parson?” she suggested. “He’s a educated man as knaas these things. He just went into the church five minutes gone, and Ah’ve not seen him come out since.”
I seized upon this suggestion with eagerness, if only to be gone before I found myself taken up by the constable for inciting a riot, the crowd having grown to such proportions, thanked my new friends, and headed across the green to Holy Trinity.
I had done my best not to sleep through the sermon the previous Sunday, but I cannot say that I had been inspired by it. On the content I cannot really comment, for I was prevented by the preacher’s weak voice and poor delivery from hearing most of it, and retained only an impression of a spherical gentleman of indeterminate age, with a pronounced sniff.
More Sport for our Neighbours Page 17
