For Elizabeth, forgiveness had been slower and even now it was not complete. She did not forgive Caroline Bingley at all, for Caroline had been driven by wholly selfish motives; unlike Mr Darcy, who had thought that Jane’s heart was untouched and who had therefore persuaded himself he was acting in the best interests of his friend.
‘Things are not so very bad,’ said Jane, slipping her hand through Elizabeth’s arm. ‘We still have each other.’
‘Yes. That is very true. Where would I be without you, Jane? You never give way to despair and you always see the best in things. You are right. We must be grateful for what we have. Our trip to London will soon be upon us. We will be with our Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and have some sensible conversation. Mama will enjoy the sights of London and the shopping will give a new direction to her thoughts. I only hope her cold does not develop and prevent her from going, for the visit will take her mind from less pleasant matters.’
‘And by the time we return home there will be Christmas to look forward to,’ said Jane.
The sky had by now clouded over and a cold wind had spring up. They had had the best of the weather and so they went back indoors. In the hall they removed their bonnets and then Elizabeth went over to the console table, where one of the servants had left a pile of letters. They were ready to be taken into the drawing-room and distributed to the family. Elizabeth picked them up and looked through them.
‘One from my aunt, a letter of business for Papa, a letter from Charlotte, a letter from . . .’
She suddenly fell silent and stood there, as still as a statue, staring at a letter.
‘What is it Lizzy? Are you ill?’ asked Jane in concern. ‘You have gone very pale.’
Wordlessly, Elizabeth handed the letter to Jane. Jane gasped.
‘This is our sister Lydia’s handwriting,’ she said.
‘I think so, too,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Mama must not see this letter, or at least not until we have seen what it says. If it contains any dreadful news the shock will be too much for Mama.’
Elizabeth took the letter back from Jane and slipped it into her pocket, then she returned the other letters to the table. Someone else would soon pass through the hall and sort them, taking them into the drawing-room for their recipients.
Jane and Elizabeth went upstairs, where they divested themselves of the remains of their outdoor clothing, then they sat on the window seat in Elizabeth’s bedroom. With nervous fingers, Elizabeth tore open the letter. She quickly scanned its contents, shaking her head and saying, ‘No! Oh no!’ as she did so.
‘Lizzy, what is it?’ asked Jane.
Elizabeth handed her the letter and Jane quickly read it. She gave a deep sigh as she folded it.
‘Let us give thanks that Lydia is alive, at least,’ she said.
‘But in what condition?’ asked Elizabeth.
The two of them looked at each other and Elizabeth consulted the letter again.
My dear Mama, she read. I am at my wits’ end and if you don’t help me, I don’t know what I shall do. My dear George and I are living together and we will marry soon, I am sure of it. I speak of it every day and George says that as soon as his business is in a better condition, we will be man and wife.
‘Foolish, foolish Lydia,’ said Elizabeth. ‘She ran away with Wickham in the summer and they are still not married, yet she speaks of it as if it will happen. Has she learnt nothing in all these months?’
‘You are too hard on her, Lizzy. I think it a good thing that Lydia expects to marry. It shows that she has not forgotten herself entirely. I am sure they will be married by and by. They must be married.’
‘Yes, they must be married. But how is it to be brought about?’
Elizabeth returned to Lydia’s letter.
Please, Mama, dear Mama, you must help me. Wickham and I are out of funds and I am with child. I am very frightened, Mama. My time is near and there is hardly enough money to pay for a midwife. There is no money for lodgings either, and if the innkeeper finds out we cannot pay then we might be turned out of the inn at any moment. It is all Mr Darcy’s fault. My dear Wickham said that if only Mr Darcy could see me, he was sure Mr Darcy would help, and so we came to Derbyshire. But Mr Darcy is not here. He is visiting friends in Scotland. George wants to return to London but I cannot travel in my condition. I thought I should have the baby in the carriage on the way to Lambton, I was so jolted about, but I survived the journey. Now I am further along and my time is very near. I have barely enough money to post this letter but after that, Mama, we are destitute. Help me. Your loving daughter, Lydia.
‘Lizzy, we must do something,’ said Jane.
‘Yes, we must,’ Elizabeth agreed.
‘Poor Lydia,’ said Jane.
‘Foolish Lydia,’ countered Elizabeth. ‘I never thought it was as bad as this. If Lydia’s time is near then she must have been with child before she went to Brighton. No wonder she was so anxious to follow Wickham.’
‘She might not have known about her condition at the time,’ said Jane.
‘She certainly knew of it by the time she ran away with him, at any rate,’ said Elizabeth. ‘No wonder she was so eager to throw caution to the wind and elope. She was ruined otherwise.’
‘I think we cannot show this letter to Mama, for in her nervous state it could make her truly ill, and Papa has forbidden us to mention Lydia’s name. We must think of something, for we cannot leave Lydia to her fate. She is our sister and she needs our help,’ said Jane. ‘Perhaps my Aunt Gardiner will help. We are going to London next week . . .’
‘If Mama is well enough,’ Elizabeth reminded her. ‘But even if she is, next week may be too late for Lydia.’
‘We could write to our aunt, then, and ask her advice,’ suggested Jane.
‘An exchange of letters would take days,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But a northbound coach leaves the inn at Meryton every morning. Somehow, we must think of a way that we can be on it tomorrow.’
Chapter Two
Elizabeth’s bedroom was growing cold. The two young ladies had been talking for some time and the sun was moving round, no longer sending its winter brightness through the window. The fire was banked down, as was customary with the bedroom fires during the day. Jane shivered and Elizabeth said they should go downstairs. Jane agreed, and they returned to the drawing-room, where they found their mother lying on the sofa. Mrs Bennet was clutching a handkerchief and complaining to the local apothecary, who had been sent for after breakfast.
‘My head aches and I cannot stop sneezing, but I am sure that no one cares,’ moaned Mrs Bennet.
She looked up as Jane and Elizabeth entered the room and said, ‘There she is! There . . . she . . . is! Miss Eliza Bennet. Aye, you may well look conscious, Miss, for if you had married Mr Collins then none of this would have happened. I do not blame Jane, for she would have got Mr Bingley if she could, but you turned down a perfectly respectable offer of marriage and now what is to become of us? It was only last year that we were all so happy, talking over the Netherfield ball. Jane was going to marry Mr Bingley – everyone said so – and you were going to be Mrs Collins and we should all have gone to Brighton together. Then my poor girl would not have vanished and instead we would have found husbands for Kitty and Mary. Ah! What a good girl my Lydia was! And now she’s gone and no one knows where, and you, Miss,’ she said, glaring at Elizabeth. ‘You are the cause of all this.’
‘Mama!’ exclaimed Jane.
‘I am very sorry to have vexed you, Mama, but once you are better you will see things more cheerfully,’ said Elizabeth.
Her sound good sense and her lively disposition allowed her to see the humour in the situation, for her mother’s recriminations were so exaggerated they were absurd. Besides, she knew that arguing would only make her mother worse.
‘And now I am ill with pneumonia and like to die and nobody cares,’ said Mrs Bennet mournfully, giving a loud sneeze to show how ill she was.
‘I have not despaired of y
ou just yet,’ said the apothecary. He had known Mrs Bennet for many years and he was used to her ways. ‘It is a cold, no more, but you must take care of yourself. You must take to your bed and stay there for the next week, otherwise something nasty could develop.’
‘There you are!’ said Mrs Bennet to Elizabeth. ‘Pneumonia is on its way, and no one cares a jot. Now I will miss my trip to London and who is to go to Grafton House and carry out my commissions? I cannot trust your aunt, she has no eye for colour, and always brings home something in white or grey or some such shade. You know how I need bright colours about me. I have my eye on a bright orange silk I saw the last time we were there.’
Elizabeth was seized with inspiration and said, ‘Jane and I can still go, Mama. We will bring our shopping expedition forward so that we can return the sooner with some things to cheer you.’
‘Nothing could cheer me,’ said Mrs Bennet woefully. ‘I am too ill for cheer . . . although if you could bring a new pair of gloves, for my old pair have a hole in them, and a length of the orange fabric . . .’
The apothecary exchanged a knowing glance with Elizabeth and Jane. He had attended Mrs Bennet for years and he knew how trying she could be. It was Elizabeth’s opinion that he had prescribed bed rest for Mrs Bennet in order to remove her from the drawing-room so that her family could have a break from her complaining.
‘But no, it will not do,’ said Mrs Bennet, breaking off from her happy thoughts of all her purchases by proxy. ‘If you and Jane go to London, who will there be to look after me? Kitty tries my nerves with her cough, and Mary’s sermons drive me to distraction. No, it will not do, Lizzy. You and Jane must stay here to look after me.’
‘Jane will stay then,’ said Elizabeth, with an apologetic glance at her sister. ‘But there is no reason why I should not go. Then you will have the best of both worlds. You will have Jane to attend you, and you will have me to carry out your commissions.’
Mrs Bennet looked hopeful, but she said, ‘You cannot go alone. I know you will be staying with your aunt and uncle, but it is not seemly for you to travel by yourself.’
‘I will take one of the maids,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Sally will go with me.’
‘And how are we to do without her here, pray?’ demanded Mrs Bennet. ‘Your father is so mean he will not hire a full complement of servants but leaves me to do just about everything myself. I declare my fingers are worn to the bone.’ She sniffed and put her handkerchief to her face for emphasis.
Elizabeth knew this was just posturing. Mrs Bennet was anxious for Elizabeth to go to London, and she was equally anxious for Jane to stay at home. A few minutes convinced Mrs Bennet that this was a suitable plan, and a few more minutes convinced her that it had been her idea in the first place.
‘I will go tomorrow,’ said Elizabeth.
‘But your aunt is not expecting you so soon,’ protested Mrs Bennet.
It was a very weak protest, however, made for the look of the thing rather than any other reason.
‘My aunt has never been one to stand on ceremony. She will not turn me away when she sees me and she will not object to the change of plan when she knows my reasons,’ said Elizabeth.
She glanced at Jane. Those reasons were far more serious than Mrs Bennet could guess.
‘No, and why should she indeed? If my own brother’s wife cannot extend her hospitality when I have been cruelly struck down with pneumonia – for whatever you say, I am convinced it is pneumonia,’ she said, turning to the apothecary. ‘If, as I say, my own brother’s wife cannot extend her hospitality to my daughter when I am so ill, then what is the world coming to?’
‘What indeed?’ said the apothecary, with a twinkle in his eye. He closed his bag. ‘I will send some medicine round at once. But remember, you must take to your bed and not come downstairs again until I say so. I will return tomorrow to see how you are feeling.’
‘Very well,’ said Mrs Bennet.
As soon as the apothecary had left, Mrs Bennet retired in all state to her room. She enjoyed the fuss that was being made of her and she basked in all the attention. Jane followed her mother upstairs but whispered to her sister as she went past, ‘Well done, Lizzy. We will speak before you go. I have some pin money saved and you will need it for your enterprise.’
So it was that Elizabeth found herself, the following morning, on a coach bound for Derbyshire, accompanied by one of the Longbourn maids.
Chapter Three
The journey from Hertfordshire to Derbyshire was long and Elizabeth had had to spend a night at a coaching inn, spreading her journey over two days. But at last she arrived in Derbyshire. How different was her arrival to the last time! Then, she had been travelling with her aunt and uncle and she had been enjoying her tour of pleasure. Now, she was anxious, and she was apprehensive about her visit. What would she find when she arrived at the inn?
If only my Aunt Gardiner were here now, she thought. But there had been no time to waste and so she had set off with only her maid as chaperon. Sally was a good sort of woman, but she did not have Mrs Gardiner’s fund of experience.
Elizabeth thought of the letter she had sent to her aunt, explaining everything and asking for a reply to be sent to the inn at Lambton. She had asked for her aunt’s discretion and knew that her aunt would keep her confidence, at least until matters had been resolved. Elizabeth hoped for a reply soon, giving her sound advice.
But for now she had to manage matters herself.
The stage coach began to slow. The pounding of the horses’ hooves grew quieter and at last they turned off the road and into the coach yard. It was a bustling place, with private carriages as well as stage coaches being attended to. Horses were being changed, ladies and gentlemen were alighting from their equipages, dogs were running between people’s feet and errand boys were dodging the mayhem as they earned their pennies.
The inn at Lambton was a beautiful building. Its black and white exterior was welcoming and, once inside, everything was clean and well ordered. The landlord came forward with a beaming face.
‘Why, I do declare it is Miss Bennet! How are you, Miss? Keeping well, I hope?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Elizabeth with a smile.
It was good to see a familiar, welcoming face at such a trying time. Her stay at Lambton in the early summer with her aunt and uncle had been particularly enjoyable. She had been apprehensive at one point, when her aunt had suggested visiting Pemberley, but she need not have worried. Mr Darcy had not been at home and they had toured the house and grounds without meeting him.
It seemed odd to be back in his neighbourhood, but Lydia had said he was in Scotland and so at least she would not have to worry about meeting him. That would be particularly humiliating at this time, when Lydia had confirmed all his harsh words about the behaviour of her family.
‘Are you here with your aunt and uncle?’ asked the innkeeper. ‘It will be an honour to serve them again.’
‘Not this time,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I am here to join my sister.’ Elizabeth had decided that she must act with decision and confidence at the inn. Any hesitation on her part would add to gossip, if there was any gossip about Lydia, and so she put a brave face on it and behaved as if nothing was wrong.
‘That would be Mrs Wickham?’ he asked.
Elizabeth realised there must only one young woman of the right age in residence and her heart leapt at the name Mrs Wickham. Had George Wickham finally done the decent thing and married Lydia? Or had Lydia simply claimed to be Mrs Wickham to make matters seem more respectable? The latter was only too likely. However, that was a problem for later. For now, Elizabeth needed to see her sister.
‘I am here with my maid. I would like a room – the room I had before if you have it; it was very pleasant.’
‘Of course!’ he said. ‘Would you like dinner in the parlour?’
‘Yes, thank you. I will eat as soon as I have seen my sister.’
‘Very good.’
The innkeeper led her up
stairs, talking all the time about her last visit and how pleased he was to see her again. He bowed her into the neat and pretty room, which had a smaller room leading off from it for her maid, and then took her to Lydia’s room with Sally following.
Elizabeth had not even stopped to remove her bonnet. Once the innkeeper had left, Elizabeth opened the door and went in. The room was warm and cosy. It was in good order and Elizabeth was pleased to see that Lydia had a maid with her. Lydia herself was sitting up in bed, propped on several pillows. She looked pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. She was not the cheerful, bouncing girl she had been the last time Elizabeth had seen her. Lydia turned her head at the sound of the door opening, then gave a cry of pleasure as she saw who it was.
‘Lizzy!’ she cried, reaching out her arms.
‘My dear Lydia,’ said Elizabeth.
She was part exasperated, part angry – for they had had no word from Lydia for months before her last letter – and part sympathetic for Lydia’s obviously weakened condition. She went over to her sister and embraced her.
‘Oh, Lizzy, I am so glad you have come,’ said Lydia, sobbing on Elizabeth’s shoulder. ‘I have been such a fool. I was so young and so naïve. I cannot believe I accepted everything George said to me without ever questioning it. I thought he was madly in love with me. He said he could not live without me and that we would be the happiest couple alive. I should have known he was a rake but he made me all sorts of promises and I believed them. What a fool I have been.’
‘There, there,’ said Elizabeth. ‘You are not the first woman to have been deceived by him,’ she admitted.
‘And I probably will not be the last,’ said Lydia, sitting back and wiping her eyes on a handkerchief drawn from her nightgown’s sleeve.
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4 Page 21
