Lydia Bennet's Story

by Jane Odiwe

  Lydia was feeling far from well again and was just beginning to take it all in. She opened her mouth to speak and managed to whisper, “If this is true then I cannot be married.”

  Mrs Bennet writhed in her seat, threw back her head, and groaned, emitting huge sighing lamentations and crying out in hysterics before Lizzy could reach her side to calm and reason with her. “Not married!” Mrs Bennet cried. “Not married!”

  “I am not married,” muttered Lydia again.

  Darcy and Bingley appeared at the door. “He is gone!” Bingley shouted. “I have instructed the grounds to be searched, but his bed is untouched.”

  “If he was here,” declared Mr Darcy, “I think we may surmise his reasons for not stopping.”

  “He was here,” cried Lydia, “I saw him, spoke to him. But he has no money, nothing, not a penny.”

  “Well, it is certain that he has now,” Bingley continued. “He has had a change of my clothes and replenished his funds.”

  “She is not married!” shouted Mrs Bennet, pointing at her daughter and stabbing the air with a finger. “He has sullied my dearest girl and left her without a thread of decency or respectability. I rue the day you set eyes on him, Miss Lizzy!”

  “Mother, please! You will make yourself ill,” cried Lizzy, fetching out Mrs Bennet’s salts to waft under her nose.

  A servant appeared at the door. “Mr Bingley, sir, one of the horses is missing from the stables, but we cannot see anyone about the immediate area.”

  “Upon my word, Lydia,” wailed Mrs Bennet, “can it get any worse? Oh, I feel faint, my heart, such a pain. I think it’s stopped, quick, help me!”

  “Thank you, Thomson. Tell the men to keep looking,” Bingley said, with one eye on his mother-in-law who was now writhing in her chair.

  “I doubt very much if we shall see anything of Captain Wickham this evening,” said Mr Darcy.

  “No, I think it quite clear he has absconded. However, I feel I have neglected my guests for too long,” said Bingley. “Will you hold the fort here, Darcy? I will return, though heaven knows how this can be hushed up.”

  “I am sure you can think of something, my love,” Jane soothed. “I will stay here for the present and see to mama.”

  Darcy interrogated the woman once more, with the benefit of Mrs Bennet’s advice ringing in his ears. Molly Wickham was looking more terrified than ever and extremely cross to find out that her husband had disappeared.

  “Take pity on a girl, sir,” she appealed to Mr Darcy. Until that moment he had not considered what was to be done with the woman. “These pennies are all I have in the world!”

  “We cannot very well send her on her way at this time of night,” whispered Mrs Darcy, “and for all we know she may be telling the truth.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. Even if the only fact is that Wickham has had some dealings with her, we are obliged, I think, to ensure her safety and well-being,” answered her husband.

  “She will have to stay here,” said Jane.

  “No,” argued Darcy, “that is not to be borne. She will have the house stripped in hours; who’s to say she hasn’t a dozen accomplices waiting without, and whilst Wickham is not here to deny or confirm her story, I would prefer to be cautious of her claims. Perhaps I can get her set up at the inn at Meryton. In the morning I will put her on the first stage to London.”

  “We’ll all be murdered in our beds,” wailed Mrs Bennet. Jane left Lizzy in charge and went in search of a sedative. Mrs Garnett had some laudanum, and she was sure a few drops in a cup of tea would do the trick!

  Mr Bennet appeared at the library door at that very moment with a look of astonishment on his face and a glass of wine in his hand. He had come to escape the dreary company by whiling away a few hours with a fine drink and a good book. “What on earth are you all doing in here?” he asked. He had never seen so many members of his family intent on being in a library.

  “We have been tricked, Mr Bennet,” cried his wife. “Come, sit here and be some comfort to me whilst I tell you of our misfortunes, which are more vexatious than you can imagine!”

  Jane returned with the draught for her mother and Isabella for her sister. Though anxious not to be in the way, she was most concerned for her friend. Lydia gave her the worst of the details and could not help giving herself up to tears.

  “I will return in just a little while,” Isabella said gently, offering her handkerchief as Lydia sobbed once more. She left, returning two minutes later with her brother. Lydia was horrified. What on earth was Isabella doing? She could not bear to look at him. What must Alexander think of her now? Was it any wonder that he did not address her in any way or attempt to talk to her? He just went straight to Mr Darcy and spent the next ten minutes in conversation with him. No doubt they were both declaring that nothing less than this outcome would ever have surprised the pair of them.

  Isabella returned to her friend’s side. “We have arranged it all, Lydia,” she declared. “I hope it is to your satisfaction for it is our dearest wish to help you. You are to come back to the rectory now and stay with us for a while until it is all sorted out. Alexander has spoken to Mr Darcy and will speak to your father. Everyone is agreed it will be for the best. That is, if you wish it, my dear.”

  “But Alexander will not wish to become embroiled in my scandal, surely?” Lydia asked, looking up at her friend.

  “It was his suggestion. He is as anxious as I to help you. Believe me, Lydia; he would do anything for a friend of mine and especially for you. Now do not worry; all your bags are being taken care of and put into the carriage waiting at the door as I speak. Mrs Bingley seems to think you would prefer to leave by a side door; I am sure she is right.”

  Lydia hesitated. She did not know if she felt strong enough to face Alexander and his penetrating eyes. Surely they would reveal all he really thought on the matter. But she knew she could not refuse. “Thank you, Isabella. I do not deserve such a friend, truly.”

  Lydia thought she was fortunate indeed to have such friends, and though she found it difficult to believe that her removal to the rectory had been at the suggestion of Mr Fitzalan, she was grateful to be leaving Netherfield and the tittle-tattle behind her. She had been assured by Jane that, although speculation was rife, no one was any the wiser and not only had Mr Bingley been able to convince people that the woman was some poor family retainer who had run mad, but he had announced supper in the orangery with immediate effect. In their haste to fill their stomachs and their glasses and make the most of Mr Bingley’s generous hospitality, the company was occupied only for a few moments more with the odd woman who was clearly deranged. Soon after, she was quite forgotten as the heady consumption of copious amounts of food and the contents of the wine cellar rendered the majority insensible.

  Lydia was surprised at her family’s kindness on parting. Everyone had good wishes for her and even Mr Darcy bade her a cordial goodnight; no doubt, she thought, because if indeed it turned out she was not married to Captain Wickham after all, the connection with his family would be finally severed forever. Lydia was thankful that her mama had retired to her bed as soon as she could. She did not think she could have kept her composure. Her papa had the same weary expression on his face that he always reserved for her alone and could only say, “Never mind, Lydia, he duped us all.”

  Outside, Isabella was waiting in the carriage, and it only remained for Mr Fitzalan to hand Lydia in. He was very gentlemanly, and she knew he had behaved with consideration. She was unsure whether the extra gentle pressure of his hand was her imagination, but she was certain that the moonlight did not play a trick as he smiled reassuringly before she stepped up to take her seat. No doubt Isabella had told him to be kind.

  Saturday, May 14th

  I am relieved to have left Netherfield. Not only have I escaped the gossip and prying eyes but also I am pleased to have said goodbye to my
family, who I consider most trying at the best of times. I swear if my papa were to find me dying of a putrid infection he would only say, “nevermind.”

  However, despite the comfort of my room here in the rectory and the hospitality of my friends, I know I have to find some way to get out of the mess I find myself in and discover once and for all the true nature of the situation. My initial reaction was tears and mortification, though I am proud to say that I suffered such distress for no more than five minutes. To discover Wickham is possibly already married is a great shock and to be at the centre of yet more scandal knocks my pride, but after recovering from these first sensations, and before I lay down my head this night, I will acknowledge my true feelings. I am not ashamed to say I feel immense relief. I ceased to love George Wickham some time ago, and the thought of release from my marriage is to imagine I have wings and can fly away, free, despite the scandal that will inevitably ensue. I was certainly head over heels in love with him in the beginning, but there have been so many unpleasant discoveries and hints at infidelities that I am numbed by it all. Never was anyone so happy to learn of her unhappy predicament! My greatest fear is that Wickham might be found to be my husband after all; therein lies the key to my problems. It must be settled. I must find out the truth of the matter!

  Chapter 31

  ON ENTERING THE BREAKFAST parlour the following morning, Lydia sat down to stare at her empty plate and watch her tea go cold. “I must go to Bath, Isabella,” she said, looking at her friend’s countenance to judge her reaction. “I cannot rest until I know the truth of the affair.”

  “But is that wise?” her friend answered, brushing toast crumbs from her lap. “Surely someone could go in your place? I should think Mr Darcy is already making plans on your behalf.”

  “No, Isabella, I will not be easy until I have seen the marriage register for myself. Besides, I cannot just sit here and do nothing, I will go mad. Mr Darcy may go running after Wickham if he chooses, but I am only interested in the legalities.”

  “Are you really so disinterested in your husband?”

  “I would not care if I were never to see him again.”

  “And if he is innocent?”

  “If he is innocent, then I am a wealthy countess.”

  Isabella hooted with laughter. “I am sure I would not be so sanguine.”

  “You forget, Isabella, I have lived with his guilt for months now.”

  Alexander chose that moment to join them, helping himself to a dish of chocolate and fresh bread rolls.

  “Lydia means to go to Bath,” Isabella announced.

  Lydia searched his face, expecting the usual critical response and could not help staring when he answered most unexpectedly.

  “Yes, it is imperative; someone needs to go to Bath, and I understand you may wish to go yourself,” he said. He broke a piece of bread, and liberally buttering the generous portion, he went on gravely, “But you cannot go alone.”

  “I must go,” she said firmly, waiting for him to talk her out of her scheme.

  His cerulean eyes met hers across the table. “Then we will all go to Bath.”

  “All of us?” asked Isabella.

  “I had suggested that I make the journey to Mr Darcy,” Alexander continued. “He was willing to accompany me, but I assured him it was not necessary. Forgive me, but I had presumed to go myself. I will make any enquiries you wish on your behalf if you would like that, Mrs Wickham. It may be easier for me to obtain the necessary documentation we require. It will all be discreetly done, I assure you.”

  “Please call me, Lydia, Mr Fitzalan. I cannot bear to hear his name spoken. I hope you understand.”

  “If that is what you wish, Miss Lydia, and you must call me by my given name also. It is only fitting. You and Isabella have been as sisters for many years. I hope I may act for you as a brother might.”

  Lydia could not believe his kindness. That he understood the mention of her married name to be an anathema to her touched her beyond words, and that he had instigated help for her was a pleasant surprise. “I cannot thank you enough, Alexander,” she said, returning the compliment, and was rewarded with a smile.

  “I had best sort out the arrangements for mother with Bertha and think about packing,” Isabella said, rising from her seat. “Alexander, I think you need to have a few details from Lydia, do you not? I will leave you to it.” She left the room and there was an awkward silence.

  “I am so sorry to put you to so much trouble,” Lydia said at last.

  “You have no need to apologise. It is not your fault. Let me take some information about Captain Wickham and make sure I have everything I need, his full name, etcetera.”

  Mr Fitzalan took charge and, once started on the business in hand, achieved all with efficiency and thoughtful attention. He seemed more at ease now he had a job to do, as if he could finally talk without reserve, and Lydia was impressed with the confident way in which he proceeded. His manner was most congenial, his voice quiet, and his words carefully chosen.

  “I cannot thank you enough for all your help on my behalf,” Lydia responded. “I must be taking you away from your duties and from Miss Rowlandson.”

  “I have nothing much to do at present that will not keep for a day or two,” he answered. “And as for Miss Rowlandson, I am sure she will not be impatient for my return. I do not think she will want for company.” He busied himself by sprinkling sand on the paper in front of him. Picking up his pen, he wrote at a furious speed on a fresh piece.

  Lydia wished she had not mentioned Miss Rowlandson; he clearly thought that Eleanor had turned her attention elsewhere. She did wish she could help him, however. He was being so very kind and she wanted to show her appreciation.

  “Alexander, forgive me for being so blunt; I speak only as someone who wishes to help you. Love is not always a matter of chance you know. It requires a little nurturing to fan the flames along, which might otherwise die if left or neglected.”

  “I do not play games, Lydia.”

  “But are you content to let another steal the girl you admire? Will you not fight for her? Surely if you do not act now and claim her there is a danger that someone else may step in.”

  He looked up and gave a rare smile that reached his eyes. “I thank you for your concern, Lydia, but as you know, I do not rate the state of love highly. Miss Rowlandson will be better off with Ralph Howard, believe me.”

  She could not help but feel compassion for him. “Then indeed, I am truly sorry for you. Even in my reckless alliance, I believed I was in love and yes, a state of confusion it might be, but I submitted to it and felt my regard most wholeheartedly. And though I now believe my love was not truly returned, that I was misled, I still believe in the power of true love. To adore another person heart, body, and soul is a predicament worth enduring at least once in a lifetime. Believe me, I would suffer its pangs again for the happiness I felt, however fleetingly.”

  Alexander shuffled his papers together and coughed as if to cover embarrassment. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. As his face reddened, his looks told her that he was immensely displeased. Lydia could see how uncomfortable he felt and wished she had not said anything. She knew she had probably said too much. He ran his fingers through his dark mane before standing abruptly. He bowed and, without uttering another word, left the room.

  Lydia retired to her room to gather her thoughts and her belongings, wishing she could make the journey to Bath on her own, though she knew that would be impossible. She would never be allowed to travel such a distance by herself. Oh, to have to sit opposite Alexander Fitzalan and have him looking at her with such disapproval all the way; the thought was unbearable. She laid the last few things in her trunk, ready for their departure in the morning. She had always wished to go to Bath, but she could not imagine any circumstance more dreadful than the one she now faced and decided Bath would n
ever live up to any expectations she once had. It would be forever spoiled and she could not help but think of George Wickham with abhorrence.

  ***

  Their journey went off well with no delays. The roads were good despite the misery of rain and, thankfully, as far as Lydia was concerned, no one seemed eager for too much conversation. She tried not to dwell too much on the past as she stared out at the drizzle, but she could not help thinking back to a time just a short while ago when she had been the happiest girl alive, in love with the man she adored above any other.

  The horses were fast, and they reached Devizes with ease by four o’clock. Isabella and Lydia were to share a room at the Swan Inn and found themselves very pleased and comfortable in their room, which was quite large, with two beds and a view onto the street. Lydia changed her gown for a fresh, sprigged muslin and rearranged her hair with a white silk ribbon. Isabella was not ready to go downstairs for dinner, so Lydia thought she might have a wander round and get her bearings. Downstairs, there was the usual bustle to be found in such a place: strangers arriving or departing, servants hoisting baggage on their shoulders and admitting guests to their rooms or seeing them off into chaises.

  Lydia discovered a snug parlour off to one side with cosy chairs and sofas, a fireplace with a fire just lit against the cool, damp evening, jugs full of country flowers, and a table groaning with an assortment of newspapers and books. Best of all, there was no one sitting there, and she wondered if she was at liberty to go in. After some hesitation, deliberation, and then encouragement from a passing maidservant, she took herself in and sat down in a chair by the fire. She could see the rain was still teeming down outside and wondered whether she would have felt quite so miserable if the sun had been shining.