by Jane Odiwe
Mr Wickham was not in church—I feel his absence most pertinently.
Tuesday, May 11th
I am torn between wanting to spend every moment with my friends and feeling that to have them leave might lessen this pain I suffer. Every time I look upon their sweet countenances, I try to memorise every feature, every hair on their head. It is too cruel, and papa has no idea what we suffer!!!
Kitty has sat on my best bonnet and crushed it beyond repair. She clearly has no feeling in her nether parts, for the abundantly large cherries adorning it would have alerted a more sensible person with immediate effect. I have appealed to mama for recompense!
Wednesday, May 12th
Tomorrow, Jane and Lizzy are to return at last. Papa, in his eagerness to have Kitty and I out of the house (he has likened the house to a mausoleum and has hinted that the company of Mr Collins would provide more cheerful diversion), has suggested that we may have the carriage to meet our sisters at the George in Hoddesdon. He has even provided us with the means to do a little shopping and procure a meal for us all to enjoy before returning home. I would think him a very kind papa if it were not for the fact that he is so very keen to be rid of us!
I own I am quite excited at the prospect of a little jaunt out. What fun!!!
Thursday, May 13th
We reached Hoddesdon within three quarters of an hour and were unceremoniously handed out of the coach with little decorum by that insolent stable boy Ned, who left to see his cousin at the Black Lion as soon as he could shift himself, it being market day, his cousin being a maltman, and the Lion being a favourite haunt.
We entered the George and were shown a commodious dining room just fit to receive our sisters by a “glad-eyed” serving boy with a hideously long chin and then ordered some platters of cold meat and salad to be brought up at midday. We ventured into the High Street, where, despite Kitty’s scolding, I could not resist a chip and satin bonnet with a plume of green feathers on the top, although it has to be said that as soon as I had made purchase of the hat, it became a very ugly object. Kitty, not to be outdone, spent the rest of our money on a tortoiseshell hair comb and a piece of lace trimming, and so the problem of how to pay for the awaiting repast at the inn soon arose. However, it immediately occurred to me that Jane and Lizzy would no doubt be flush from receiving a generous pocket allowance from our affable uncle and be pleased to lend the money for the food, so thoughtfully and kindly ordered on their behalf by their dutiful sisters.
By midday, having run out of money and with no familiar beaux to abuse, we returned to the George to sit by the window and spent an amusing half hour trying to catch the eye of and waving at the sentinel opposite, who ignored all our gesticulations and marched up and down when he became troubled at losing his resolve.
The serving boy appeared once more and thought he would frighten us with local tales of madman Tommy Simmons, a knife-wielding murderer responsible for slitting the throats of three Hoddesdon ladies a few years back. Having entertained us with an amusing interpretation of the poor unfortunates, doomed forever to wail in the upper rooms of the Black Lion, he called our attention to the window.
Dear Jane, Lizzy, and Maria had arrived and joined us in five minutes, only to abuse my new bonnet and express little surprise when I announced that the nuncheon treat must be paid by themselves. I informed them about the regiment being encamped near Brighton and of our hopes of spending the summer there, but Lizzy did not seem to be as excited at the prospect as I had hoped. I kept my news about Mary King and Mr Wickham till last, divulging that Lizzy’s favourite is safe at last, now that Mary has gone to her uncle in Liverpool. Of course, I added that he had not cared for her in any case, but Lizzy very typically made little comment.
We had such a giggle trying to accommodate us all into the carriage, with so many bandboxes and purchases, but at length we were off, stopping to pick up Ned from the Black Lion (where I scanned the upper storey for signs of bloody apparitions) and joining the other coaches that were now leaving together for fear of meeting highwaymen on Hertford Heath. We were soon home safely, unravaged by masked men of any description on the journey home, despite having to stop near that wasteland so that Ned, who had consumed too much porter, could be sick into a wayside ditch!
What happy scenes there were on our return. My father became the jovial, playful pater we have not seen these last two months, so glad was he to see his girls, and especially his Lizzy. We had a noisy dinner with the Lucases who came to meet their Maria, and the atmosphere was only spoiled when my suggestion to go to Meryton to see the officers was flatly refuted by Lizzy. Her sojourn with the serious Collinses has not improved her humour. She declared that it would be noted by all of Meryton’s residents that the Miss Bennets could not be at home for half a day before they were off chasing officers. What else is there for a girl to do, I ask?
Friday, May 14th
Since returning home, Elizabeth has been no assistance in our scheme for an expedition to Brighton, although mama and I have frequently brought up this topic in conversation, indeed at almost every opportunity! We were counting on her help with papa, but though he looks to be attending and nodding in all the right places, his affirmation of the scheme is not firm and he has become so vague in his answers that it is impossible to know what will be the outcome. Mama thinks he may yet give way but I know him better; unless Jane and Elizabeth insist upon us going, we are done for. Whatever shall I do?
Saturday, May 15th
Jane and Elizabeth have soon slipped into their old ways and are forever closeted within the chamber of one or the other of them and speak in such inaudible whispers that it is impossible to know what they are about.
Lizzy has only walked into Meryton on one occasion to visit our aunt to relate her gossip. Jane is almost as unsociable, but I suspect she is still suffering from her disappointment. As far as we can tell, she saw nothing of Mr Bingley and not very much of his sister when she was staying with my aunt and uncle in London. She has a melancholy air, which, added to our own, makes our home seem quite miserable. Oh! For the happy times of our carefree youth—that they could be revisited, when all was gaiety and laughter resounding!!!
Tuesday, May 25th
I am the happiest creature alive! Long live the Colonel and his adorable wife! I am to go to Brighton!!!
My dearest, most wonderful friend Harriet has arranged it all with an invitation to accompany her, the Colonel, and the entire regiment to that haven of pleasure, that paradise by the sea, beautiful, brilliant Brighton!! I know how it all will be, lines of gaily coloured tents, thousands of handsome redcoats, everyone of them in splendid admiration of me at my most scintillating best, as surely I shall be in such company. I am so excited I cannot speak and I just want to laugh out loud at everything today. Nothing and no one can upset me, not even Kitty who is vexed not to have received an invitation also. I cannot feel too sorry for my sister; after all, I am Mrs Forster’s particular friend whom she cannot do without!
I am to go to Brighton—even as I write the words, I cannot believe it. Oh! Should something happen to prevent my going I should just die!!!!!
Monday, May 31st
Harriet and I have at last said goodnight and come to bed, so that we may be up early tomorrow for the long journey to Brighton. How I shall sleep when my feelings are so aroused with anticipation I can only wonder; with such flutterings all over me that I know I shall not be able to close my eyes.
Mama gave a farewell dinner for our favourites at Longbourn this evening before I left for the Forsters, and everyone was in high spirits, except of course for Kitty who has become exceedingly tiresome on the subject of her misfortunes. It is not my fault that she cannot come with me!
Lizzy and Mr Wickham spoke together for not more than five minutes during the whole evening, and their manner of speaking was such that I was left in no doubt that my sister does not want him to resume
paying his addresses to her; more than that, although perfectly civil, I would go so far as to say that their behaviour towards one another was quite cold. I am convinced it will come out sooner or later: Lizzy must have a secret passion; she must be in love with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Why else would she give up on her only chance to become a bride and ignore the only good looking man in the room?
Mr Wickham said he would like to show me Brighton, especially as I am a stranger to that part of the world and have never even seen the sea, but I do not know if I shall accept his invitation, kindly meant or not. That gentleman has a habit of teasing me, and though he can be the most diverting company, I am determined to find myself new favourites.
I cannot wait for tomorrow. I am the luckiest girl in the world!
Chapter 3
LYDIA WAS AWAKE JUST after dawn for the start of the journey to Brighton, checking her luggage twice through in case she had forgotten anything. Harriet was up early too, having said goodbye to Colonel Forster, who was obliged to travel with his regiment, leaving in the small hours by horse, carriage, and wagon train to set up camp on Brighton’s Downs. “Poor things,” Lydia cried, “what an arduous journey they will have to endure and what’s more, it will not be eased by the delight of our company!”
The girls set off in the Colonel’s coach for London, along dry roads in good weather, and soon entered the yard of the Bell Inn at Holborn to change the horses and take some much needed refreshment, for having been so excited before leaving Meryton, they found that they could not face a morsel on rising. “Lord, I’m starving,” Lydia shouted above the din. “I hope there will be some food left after these wretches have gone.”
“Do not worry. I am sure we will be well catered for,” Harriet insisted, “and we have plenty of time. How I long for a cup of chocolate and some hot buttered toast!”
All was bustle and confusion. A stagecoach was leaving for Brighton as they alighted; young maids dashed about with pitchers of porter, snatching them from the hands of those about to be bundled into and onto their conveyances, lovers were unwillingly prised apart, babies bawled and children mizzled, whilst a red-faced coachman twitched and snapped the ribbons to the call of the horn and the clatter of hooves on the cobbles. A very smart curricle, all gleam and polish, arrived just as Lydia and Harriet were handed out of the carriage by a surly boy who offered them breakfast, newspapers, and a chair in which to rest. The owner of this splendid vehicle was clearly not only a soldier of rank but a man of fashion, impeccably dressed from head to foot in beautifully cut and fitted apparel, with his curricle, horses, and even his boy servant all in shades of the same buff and blue to match his uniform. The small boy who held the ribbons leapt down before his master had stirred and, with a one-handed flourish, accomplished the task of quieting the horses and opening the door. All eyes were turned on this gentleman, for it was clear he was a rich man with a very decided air, and as he rose out of his seat, he caught Lydia’s eye and stared at her in a way that she confessed was not unpleasant to her.
“Did you ever see such a fine-looking gentleman, Lydia?” Harriet indulged in another fit of giggles, punctuated with winks and nudges in the direction of the beau in blue as they made their way into the breakfast room. A few passengers were seated at a large table by the window, hurriedly consuming their rolls and coffee before they were called to the next coach.
“He is rather handsome, I grant you,” Lydia agreed, “and next to a scarlet coat, I would say that blue is very becoming!”
They sat in a corner which afforded an excellent view of the company and noted that their fellow traveller, who had followed them in, sat opposite, where he continued to quiz them and unnerved Lydia to the point where she could scarcely meet his eyes. This encouraged Harriet to abuse her further.
“You’ve made a pretty conquest there,” said Harriet, out of the corner of her mouth, as she spread her toast with thick yellow butter. “I’ve never seen such behaviour in all my life; such open admiration, he can hardly keep his eyes off you. I do hope that he is for Brighton and that we shall see him again, do not you?”
Lydia fiddled with her napkin. “I do not think he is looking particularly at me; he is looking at you just as much,” she whispered, knowing that this was not entirely true. Indeed, she was quite taken aback, as she did not remember inciting such interest since Captain Carter had decided to look her way. She tried not to stare back but the man really was a most prepossessing gent, with blond locks, a firm chin, and eyes the colour of an Italian lake (at least the colour that she imagined that might be). He was obviously in a hurry, drinking two large cups of thick black coffee before he was on his way in a most urgent manner, with a nod and a bow in their direction.
“I will ask the boy if he knows who that gentleman is and where he is headed. It would be interesting to know a little more, don’t you think, Lydia? Such a manner as one never sees in Hertfordshire, and he was so absorbed in his observation of you that I swear I could see Cupid’s arrow sticking out of his heart! Clearly he is a single man, he is of a very suitable age, and he certainly has the appearance of wealth and good fortune too by the look of him!” Before Lydia had a chance to speak, she had summoned over their glum waiter and made her enquiries.
“That was Captain Trayton-Camfield, ma’am,” he answered. “Captain James Trayton-Camfield. A very wealthy gentleman by all accounts. He has a big estate somewhere near Brighton at Wilderwick, I believe, and is an officer in Prince George’s own regiment. He keeps horses for racing, which I know to be one of his passions.”
“And is Mrs Trayton-Camfield at home at present?” asked Lydia’s devious friend.
“I can’t say as I have ever heard about the gentleman having a wife, ma’am. He is always busy hunting, shooting, and racing his horses with the Prince of Wales and his set. He is up and down from Brighton to London a vast deal and is a regular here. I cannot tell you any more, except to say he owns a fine set of horses.” The boy, who had become almost animated when started on the subject of horses and of his being once invited to watch them race on White Hawk Down near Brighton, was soon dismissed by Harriet who could not keep her countenance much longer.
“The perfect match,” she declared. “Lydia, with her wit and beauty, captivates the race-horse-owning Captain who has royal connections. I can see it now: Lady Lydia Trayton-Camfield—at home to her friends, who include Prince George and his lady, Lord Alvanley, Lord Barrymore, and Letty Lade, who exhibits her highwayman’s manners by riding at breakneck speed around Wilderwick estate in her phaeton!” Lydia could not help but laugh at her companion’s enthusiasm for this ridiculous picture of matrimonial bliss but admonished her when she persisted.
“Harriet, our paths will likely never cross again. I daresay he only looked at me because I am in your coach and he naturally assumes that I am a lady of means. He is probably a huge flirt and philanderer, which all young men seem to be! I will not even join you in your musings. Lord, now I have eaten too many muffins, and I shall have to sleep them off in the coach. Shall we go? You never know, perhaps we may catch up with him and he can make his offer as we pass by!”
With Harriet’s scolding retort assailing her ears, Lydia settled back into the coach for the next leg of the journey, and, as they crossed Blackfriars Bridge and took the road south, they felt they were really on their way. The tantalising rows of London’s shops were soon far behind, and now they were bowling along the quieter country roads of the old route, Harriet eager to avoid the worst of the stagecoaches and military wagons that would be descending on Brighton from all over the country. Even so, the presence of several officers, driving in their own curricles, was to be seen as they stopped in Croydon at the Crown. They too were of Prince George’s own regiment, all very handsome, very merry with liquor, and not in the least too abashed to give Lydia and Harriet the “glad eye.”
Back on the road, they cantered through the hills onto Godstone Green where t
hey sat in the beautiful flower garden of the inn for luncheon just before noon. After a refreshing glass of lemonade and some bread and cheese, they travelled up the long hill and headed for East Grinstead. Through picturesque woodland and forest, over heathland and past huge black, rugged rocks, they journeyed through Uckfield and down the valley into Lewes, with its castle and pretty shops. From here, winding their way up and between the hills of the South Downs, Lydia started to feel most excited; everywhere was bathed in sunshine, the beautiful landscape was verdantly green, and the hills dotted with sheep. Then, as they neared their destination, they saw their first views of the encampment, row upon row of military tents, flags waving, horses braying, and soldiers marching. Lydia hung out of the window, trying to take it all in.
“Cannot we stop to find the Colonel?” she asked. “I’m longing to see our friends.”
“No, Lydia,” Harriet replied laughing. “We should never find Henry’s regiment on our own, and in any case, he is to come to us later, when he has made sure that the men are comfortable.”
Just as Lydia thought the views could not be improved and their felicity complete, they took in their first real glimpse of the sea, and the town of Brighton unfurled like a Chinese carpet of shimmering silks before them. The Marine Pavilion nestled at its heart, a range of bow windows gracing either side of a domed building, faced with cream glazed tiles. Along the Steyne they trotted, past elegant houses, past people parading and coming and going from their doors with such an air of fashionable disdain as to make Lydia ache to be one of them. Salty breezes wafted away the girls’ fatigue as they turned onto the seafront, and so dense were the crowds that one might have thought they were in London but for the purity of the air and the freshness of the scene. They were soon admiring the sweet bow-windowed houses on one side and the handsome visions of the redcoats against the watery backdrop on the other, as they stepped out to find their rooms at the Ship Inn at five o’clock on the seafront at Brighton!
