“Lizzie, I think our sister will enjoy that—she will feel quite honoured to be so grandly conveyed to the wedding in a carriage from Pemberley. It is very kind of you, I am sure,” she said with that look of innocence that characterised Jane's nature, and Elizabeth had to struggle to suppress a mischievous smirk.
Afterwards, she discussed the detail of their plan with Mrs Grantham.
It was quite simple: her nephew Dan would take the brougham, which was unlikely to be required on the day, and proceed to Ashford Park on the previous evening. On the morrow, after breakfast, he would leave with Mrs Wickham and her daughter and, as instructed, would arrange to stall the vehicle somewhere between Ashford Park and the Gardiners' place.
“Dan is good with the horses, ma'am; he could very easily discover that one had lost a shoe or gone suddenly lame and needed attention,” said Jenny reasonably, as she proceeded to explain that Dan would then set off to get help and delay his return until it was past midday. At which point, it was hoped, Mrs Wickham, realising it was too late to attend the wedding, would choose to return to Ashford Park. Indeed, Dan would suggest that he drive them there, where they could take some rest and refreshment and await the return of the Bingleys.
It sounded to Elizabeth like a capital scheme.
“Are you sure it will work?” she asked with almost girlish glee. “Dan will not get cold feet?”
“No indeed, ma'am,” Mrs Grantham replied. “It is simple enough, and Dan is no fool—he knows he will be rewarded for his trouble.”
“Does he know that I am aware of the plan?”
Jenny was appalled. “Certainly not, ma'am, he believes it is entirely my wicked idea, because I know how unhappy both you and the master will be if Mrs Wickham turns up at the wedding uninvited. He is not unaware of her previous conduct and her low standing in the family, ma'am. I have led him to believe she can be a difficult guest.”
“We shall have to ensure he says nothing to anyone,” Elizabeth warned. “If Mr Darcy were to learn of it, he would be very cross indeed, and as for Mrs Wickham—Lord help us all if she were to discover my part in this. I may tell my husband later, but that will be after the wedding and no great matter.”
Mrs Grantham assured her mistress that Dan could be trusted with their secret.
Jane Bingley's relief had been short-lived.
Under normal circumstances, the arrival of one or two unexpected guests at Ashford Park would not have been cause for concern. The Bingleys were sufficiently well placed to accommodate such persons without additional strain upon their resources or their staff.
Besides, Mr Bingley was a genuinely hospitable man and welcomed visitors with great cordiality. Nothing was too good for those he entertained in his elegant home. However, when the uninvited persons were Lydia Wickham and her family, it was quite another matter.
Having, by various means, discovered the date of the impending marriage of Julian and Jessica, Lydia had been determined that she would attend. Claiming that as Julian's aunt and Jessica's cousin she had a dual interest in the proceedings, she was unlikely to be deterred by distance or the lack of a formal invitation.
In truth, Lydia cared less about the couple who were getting married and more about appearing at a family function, at which she hoped to advance her cause. A widow since the death of her husband George Wickham, from the consequences of an ill-spent and intemperate life, Lydia had made a practice of appealing to all her relatives and some of her friends for assistance. She had deemed that a wedding such as this one, at such an elegant venue as Pemberley, would afford her a rare opportunity to pursue her object of obtaining for herself and her daughter a regular allowance contributed to by all her sisters and their husbands. She considered them to be more affluent than herself and therefore duty-bound to assist her in maintaining her own somewhat perilous lifestyle.
Lydia's arrival at Ashford Park some days before the wedding was both unexpected and inopportune. Mr Bingley had been troubled by a persistent cough since the beginning of Winter, and Jane was concerned that she may need to send for the physician if he did not respond to the usual remedies. So concerned was she with his condition, she had quite forgotten about Lydia, expecting that she would write before leaving Meryton for Leicestershire. However, arriving without prior warning, Lydia had secured for herself and her daughter a ride in the hired vehicle of a gentleman she had met on the train, who happened to be travelling in the direction of Ashfordby and had kindly offered to take the ladies to Ashford Park, a few miles from his own destination.
Jane, returning from a visit to the apothecary, who had given her a potion to be used to relieve Mr Bingley's cough, was surprised to hear from her housekeeper that Mrs Wickham and Miss Fanny Wickham had arrived already and been lodged in the rooms prepared for them, where they were resting after their long journey.
Her surprise was even greater when the maid who had been sent to assist them revealed that she had unpacked two elaborate gowns, which were clearly to be worn to the wedding.
“They are ever so grand, ma'am,” she said in awe—her mistress always dressed simply and in impeccable taste, and Nellie was not accustomed to seeing such elaborately beaded and embroidered ensembles.
“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Jane as she went upstairs. “Lizzie will hate it, I am sure, and Mr Darcy will look very grim indeed if Lydia appears at the wedding dressed like a duchess at a coronation. Jessica was so particular that they should have a simple family wedding… oh dear me!”
At dinner that night, Lydia could not say enough in praise of the man who had let them share his carriage.
“He was so well mannered and polite, he insisted that we should not get out at the gate and walk up your long drive, Jane. He had the driver bring the gig right up to the entrance and was most gallant in the way he helped us out. I wish I could recall his name—he did tell me on the train, but I am afraid it has gone right out of my head!” she said as she chattered on throughout the meal, leaving poor Jane feeling very tired indeed. How they would get through the week and the wedding with Lydia for company, she could not imagine.
But Jane's kindliness and general tolerance overcame her irritation, and she gave orders that everything be done to make her sister and niece comfortable, before retiring to her apartments on the other side of the house, where she set about attending on her husband, whose ill health had enabled him to make an early retreat.
She had only two prayers for the Almighty that night: that Mr Bingley should recover quickly, shaking off his cough, and Lydia should not make too much of a scene at the wedding. It was useless to pray that she would not make a scene at all—Jane knew not even heavenly intervention could achieve that.
On the morning of the wedding, Elizabeth, awaking to a fine Spring day, experienced a sense of almost childish excitement, the reason for which she succeeded in concealing from her husband, who put her general good spirits down to her pleasure in seeing their son Julian genuinely happy again. He was certainly right in assuming that it was the root of her happiness, but Elizabeth's determination to avert the disaster of Lydia's unwelcome attendance at the wedding had even overshadowed the preparations for the function, as she checked and re-checked the details of the plan with Mrs Grantham to ensure that nothing went awry.
Jenny Grantham assured her that everything was proceeding according to plan. Dan had been duly dispatched the previous evening and would probably be preparing the brougham to start the journey from Ashford Park about now, she said, and Elizabeth thought no more of it. She did not expect to see or hear anything more about it until they returned to Pemberley that evening, after the wedding.
By then, she supposed, Lydia would be safely back at Ashford Park.
She was glad that no one else knew anything of the plan she had hatched with Jenny Grantham. Certainly not Mr Darcy, who was busy entertaining two illustrious academic friends of Julian's, who had made the journey from Cambridge to support their former colleague and had stayed overnight at Pemberley. Th
ey had heard of its many treasures, and their host was pleased to show them around his library and gallery.
Julian, meanwhile, had repaired to his rooms to dress, and Jessica had gone home to her parents at Oakleigh, where preparations were well in train.
Her mother Emily Courtney, now the mistress of Oakleigh, to the great chagrin of her sister-in-law, Rose, had with her own staff and others lent by her sister Caroline done her daughter proud. Jessica and Julian had wanted a simple family wedding, and Emily aimed to provide exactly that. But, at Oakleigh, with much of her late mother's tasteful furnishings, chinaware, and napery to help her, she had produced an impressive function which happily combined simplicity with elegance.
The parties from Pemberley, Camden House, Matlock, and Ashford Park had all arrived well in time, and the village church was almost full.
As is customary on such occasions, no one was in any doubt that the bride was the loveliest young woman to walk up the aisle in years and the groom, whose usually serious countenance was transfigured with delight when he saw her enter the church, was universally acknowledged to be a most fortunate fellow. Around them, Elizabeth noted with satisfaction, was not a single contrary face in sight, nor one discordant voice to be heard.
Only Jane was concerned that Lydia and her daughter had not as yet arrived at the church.
“I cannot imagine what has happened to them, Lizzie,” she said as they made their way to the house after the ceremony. “I saw their gowns made ready, and the brougham from Pemberley was waiting in the drive for them, although I did not see Lydia before we left for Oakleigh, I was sure they would not be far behind.”
Elizabeth urged her not to worry. “Perhaps Lydia was late having breakfast—you know how much she enjoys her food—or maybe she could not fit into her gown!” she said lightly. Jane laughed, but then went on to say how very grateful they were that Elizabeth had sent the vehicle from Pemberley to transport the two ladies.
“Louisa and Sophie were especially pleased. With Lydia and Fanny both being quite stout, there would not have been room in the landau, and we would surely have been crushed, if they'd had to squeeze in, too. It was a very sensible idea of yours, Lizzie, to send the brougham,” she said, and Elizabeth swiftly gave the credit where it was due.
“Do not thank me, Jane; it was Jenny Grantham's idea—she planned it all,” she said to her sister's surprise, “and it has worked out rather well. I cannot imagine what I would have done without her help.”
By the time the wedding party was over and the wedded couple had been driven away to their secret destination, it was late afternoon and the guests were beginning to disperse.
There was still no sign of Lydia and Fanny, a circumstance that affected Jane and Elizabeth in two completely divergent ways.
The former was worried that her sister, who had been so determined to attend the wedding, had not appeared at all, and this must mean something dreadful had happened to her; while the latter was confident that it meant everything had gone exactly to plan. Lydia, she decided, must by now be back at Ashford Park, in a state of high dudgeon at having missed the wedding, but probably partaking of afternoon tea!
While some younger family members were inclined to continue celebrating, others with less stamina left for home. The Darcys and the Bingleys returned to Pemberley together, while Sophie, Louisa, and their families proceeded to their respective homes. It had been, they all agreed, a perfectly simple family wedding, just as Julian and Jessica had wished.
Arriving at the entrance to Pemberley House, the party of Darcys and Bingleys were surprised to see a rather irritable-looking young woman in a somewhat crushed velvet gown, sitting outside. She got to her feet and glared at them as they alighted from their carriage.
No one knew who she was except Jane, who recognised her immediately.
“Why, Lizzie,” she cried, “that's Fanny—Lydia's girl. Now what on earth could she be doing here, and what could have become of Lydia?”
“I cannot imagine,” whispered Elizabeth, and then Jane said with a gasp, “Good Lord, look, there's Lydia!” and indeed, standing beneath the great Palladian entrance, like some grotesque figure in a comic opera, all dressed up in finery that had begun to look rather tired at the end of a long day, was none other than Lydia Wickham.
She looked and very soon sounded furious!
As Jane alighted from the carriage and went towards her, she screamed, as though in mortal agony, “Why, Jane, you horrid, horrid creature, why did you not tell me that the wedding was not at Pemberley?!”
There followed a moment of absolute silence, after which Mr Darcy turned to his wife and asked in a tone of voice that defied description, “Lizzie, have you any idea what this is all about? What is she doing here?”
Elizabeth answered truthfully, “No, I do not know what on earth Lydia is doing here.”
Her husband's look of exasperation spoke volumes, but he said nothing.
Jane found her voice in time to say, “Good God, Lydia, I thought you must have known—everyone knew cousin Emily wanted Jessica to be married from their family home at Oakleigh. All the invitations said so. Oh Lydia, I am sorry. What happened? Did you lose your way?”
At that Lydia grunted and harrumphed and went back indoors, followed by her daughter, who had burst into tears.
Mr Darcy had turned away in disbelief, leading Bingley into the saloon, while Elizabeth, unable to contain her mirth, hurried upstairs, where Jenny Grantham followed her to explain.
It was a long story and one that had to be told with some caution, lest it be overheard. It transpired that Dan had carried out his instructions to the letter, bringing the brougham to a halt some ten miles out of Ashfordby, on a track which afforded them shade and privacy, but very little hope of assistance.
Having claimed that the horse had thrown a shoe and was in danger of going lame, he had set out ostensibly to get help, leaving the ladies sitting in the carriage. When he had returned an hour or more later, they were gone, having disappeared without a trace. After spending some time searching the woods, he had returned with the vehicle to Pemberley, only to discover that Mrs Wickham and her daughter had walked to the cross roads, waved down a vehicle, and begged a ride to Pemberley from a complete stranger, clearly believing the wedding was being held there. The gentleman had conveyed them to the gates of the estate and driven off in the direction of Lambton, claiming he was late for an important appointment.
On arriving at the house, Lydia had found the place deserted, it being then early afternoon. Making enquiries such as, “Where is everybody? Is the wedding breakfast over? Have the guests gone already?” she had discovered that the wedding was probably over, and in any event, it had been held some five miles away at Oakleigh Manor! With no other vehicle available to convey her thither, hot and hungry as a result of her recent exertions, Lydia had vented her anger upon anyone and everyone who appeared, abusing her sister Mrs Bingley in particular, for what she claimed was her deliberate deception.
“Mrs Wickham believes Mrs Bingley tried to prevent her getting to the wedding, ma'am,” said Jenny Grantham, and Elizabeth was shocked.
“Jenny, that is so unfair; my sister would never do such a thing!” she protested, and Jenny agreed, “No, ma'am, we have told Mrs Wickham so, but she was quite convinced it was so.”
Lydia's disappointment and fury had abated somewhat when the servants, taking pity upon her and Fanny, had provided them with food and tea, letting them rest in the sitting room until the family returned.
Though she had continued to fulminate, Jenny was certain Lydia had no inkling at all of the part played by Elizabeth and herself in the sequence of events, which had caused her to miss the wedding. She laid the blame squarely at the feet of her innocent sister Jane.
The obliging stranger who had conveyed them there turned out to be none other than Mr Jennings, the Gardiners' attorney, who, having left them at Pemberley, had proceeded to Oakleigh, where he had arrived at the church, only just in
time to do his duty as a witness.
Never having met Mrs Wickham before, indeed scarcely knowing of her existence, Mr Jennings had not for one moment imagined that the highly bedecked and coiffured ladies he had picked up at the cross roads and conveyed to Pemberley could have had any connection with the simple ceremony at Oakleigh.
When, apologising for his late arrival at the church, he had related his story to Caroline and Emily, who'd had no idea that Lydia was even expected at the wedding, they were as bewildered as he was. It was very much later that they discovered the identity of the ladies concerned and shared their story with the rest of the family, many of whom continued to be puzzled as to how Mrs Wickham had been stranded at the cross roads and ended up at Pemberley!
The story was told and re-told around the families; embellished and enhanced, it remained for many years a matter for both conjecture and mirth.
In years to come, Elizabeth would reveal some of the truth about this diverting episode to selected members of her family—perhaps even to her dear Jane and Mr Darcy. No doubt, Jane would be appalled; having been so occupied with alleviating her husband's cough, she'd had little time to speak with Lydia before the wedding. She would probably blame herself for the omission and castigate her sister for being so mischievous, but in the end they would most likely agree that it had been done in a good cause.
After all, they would both agree, the intention had been to carry out the wishes of Julian and Jessica to have a simple family wedding, without the fear of disruption by Lydia, and in that endeavour they had succeeded without question.
Of Mr Darcy's reaction, Elizabeth was less certain. She knew he would have been relieved that Lydia had not turned up at the wedding, yet it was likely he may have frowned upon the subterfuge employed to achieve that end. She would have to tread cautiously there.
For the moment, however, on the clear understanding that no one but she and Jenny Grantham knew the whole truth, Elizabeth was able to enjoy the success of their scheme.
Postscript from Pemberley Page 28
