Wickham's Wife

by C. J. Hill

  He is a trained soldier, she told herself firmly as she brushed her hair from its pins and ribbons. He was certainly the fitter of the two. Although her glimpse of the other gentleman had been fleeting indeed, it had revealed an older gentleman, but not so old that he might not be able to defend himself. She had listened in growing agitation as her friends discussed the likelihood of either man defeating the other and once they had declared that, in all likelihood, both would end up wounded or dead, she had leapt from her seat and rushed to Denny and Carter for their opinion and to demand that they stop the whole disgraceful business. It was barbaric, ridiculous to be so heated over name-calling; what was there to prove on either side? The man did not have the proof for what he had claimed, and Wickham had been righteously indignant. It should be enough, indeed it should! Words hurt nothing than one’s pride. Fighting was entirely unnecessary and they must convince both parties of that fact. She had spoken so wildly that, in order to calm her down, they had agreed to escort her to Wickham’s lodgings and hear what he would say upon the matter.

  Lydia replaced her brush and but continued to sit on her chair, looking out into the dark night. What was her Wickham doing now? What was he thinking? Was he very afraid? Had he agreed to fight or had he already left Brighton under the cover of darkness? She sat twisting her fingers, her mind a muddle of anxiety and terrible thoughts all fixed upon the man whom she had waited for so long to notice her, and now that she had his attention, it appeared he intended getting himself killed!

  What could she do to stop him? What could she do to keep him safe from himself and his ridiculous pride?

  She looked over at her reticule containing this and previous nights’ winnings and wondered just how much Wickham had made or lost that evening, and just what the truth was regarding the argument with the man. What had Wickham done to cause such anger? He could not have been so foolish as to allow his extra card to be seen. How she wished she had been watching the game; she could have stepped in and averted the problem, whatever it had been; she could have helped Wickham win tonight if she had not been so determined to enjoy herself. Once again she looked over at the reticule. There was enough in there for tickets to London – or further – for two! She would take it to him and plead with him to leave, if he had not already done so. She knew the high regard in which he held Denny; that he would have been unable to withstand Denny’s argument to remain and fight. Why, he had already weakened before she had left with Carter. It was impossible to imagine that Wickham had gained more determination after she left.

  She looked at the clock. There would be a night coach passing through Brighton at two o’clock. They could take it as far as the outskirts of London. Despite the seriousness of the situation, her imagination ran with fancies. Once she had Wickham alone in the carriage - Wickham, alone, with a young lady, in the dark of night - he could not fail to understand the ramifications of their elopement, for it could be perceived no other way by all who learned of it. It would only then be a small matter of convincing him of the precariousness of her situation, created by her deep love for him and concern for his safety, and his duty, before they continued onwards, north, to Gretna Green! He could not refuse to marry her.

  She smiled in great satisfaction at the delightful plan.

  After all, she knew everything about his gambling, his outstanding debts about town, and most egregiously, his cheating. Not even he could withstand such a heavy blow to his character should she decide to confide in some of her most talkative friends, starting with Harriet of course, who would immediately report all to the Colonel. Then it would simply be a matter of time before Wickham’s name would be spoken of only in the most shocked tones, his military career at an end.

  Yes, she thought, he would happily agree to her proposal once he saw the sense of it, and thank her for such a sensible plan.

  Still smiling at the delightful visions floating about her head, she threw a shawl around her shoulders and, pulling the candle closer, addressed a letter to her friend.

  MY DEAR HARRIET,

  You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with whom, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater, when I write to them and sign my name 'Lydia Wickham.' What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my engagement, and dancing with him tonight. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all; and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are packed up. Good-bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.

  Your affectionate friend,

  LYDIA BENNET.

  There! That would make an excitement for Harriet!

  Leaving the letter propped upon the table, Lydia then hurried to choose some clothing for her journey, quickly donning her most attractive dress and light coat, and pushing several other items of clothing hastily into a bag – she would purchase more suitable clothing once they arrived in London.

  Happily, she took one last look around the room and quietly opened the door; she could hear sounds of slumber rattling from Harriet’s bed chamber and, imagining the Colonel lying snoring beside her friend, shuddered inwardly at the image it produced. Never mind. The next time they met, she would meet Harriet as an equal, as Mrs. Wickham. How grand that sounded!

  She hurried down the silent street as the church clock struck the quarter, and tapped lightly upon Wickham’s door; no lights could be seen and she felt a moment’s dread that she was too late, that he had left with Denny before going to the duel. But then she heard the faint sounds of footsteps approaching the other side of the door and smiled in anticipation.

  “Lydia! What on earth do you do here? I thought Carter had taken you back to the Colonel’s. Did you forget something? Although nothing could be so valuable as to require its retrieval in the middle of the night!”

  “No, Wickham. Invite me inside, if you please; I have a plan to which you must agree.”

  She hurried in before he had time to argue and turned to face him.

  “You must not fight, Wickham!” she whispered urgently. “I will not allow it; it is nonsense to be so easily roused over something so small and insignificant. I said everything before, and I believe everything I said to be true; the only addition I would like to make is that we have been such friends recently, such happy friends; I could not bear it if you should be hurt or killed. I cannot imagine a world that does not contain you – it is too horrid to think of. Please listen to me: ignore Denny; he is a fool to force you to go into danger over nothing.

  “Come with me now – there is a coach leaving soon from the Inn and we must be on it; you are already packed, as am I, and we can leave everything behind us and start anew somewhere else, where you are not known.”

  Wickham looked at her for the second time in a fortnight in astonishment: Lydia Bennet planning his escape and future as if she had a vested interest in whether he lived or died! Upon hearing her, he understood that her feelings must be very deep indeed to suggest such a course of action.

  But the notion of leaving was certainly re-gaining the upper hand in his thoughts: Denny’s arguments of honour and pride rapidly fading away once again as Wickham considered the alternatives before him. To stay and fight and possibly die, or leave with Lydia - albeit under her delusions of some kind of a future together - enabling him to finally live a happy life with Julia. Why had he delayed so long?

  Quickly, he snapped his bag shut and nodded to the jubilant Lydia.

  “Come, quickly
then; we have no time to lose if we are to catch the coach.”

  Chapter 35

  Julia was interrupted in her late-night musings about George’s most recent letter. He had been an avid correspondent while in Brighton and taken great pains to stress just how fortunate he had become during his stay there. His tone had improved with each letter, full of excitement and anticipation for their future; a future, he assured her, well within his grasp. Just another week or so and he would return to London with enough capital to invest and live off!

  Sadly, she was all too familiar with the likely manner of his recent good fortune and, while what he proposed had been her dearest wish for so many years, she felt uneasy and unconvinced that this time would prove to be any different from all those other failed attempts. She was not sure he would be able to convince her otherwise this time. She also felt an increasing commitment to her friend, Mr. Clemens; she did not know how long she would be able to delay her answer to his offer so recently made and in such a sincere manner. Living on George’s hope and empty promises was beginning to lose its appeal. She sighed. She certainly had a decision to make, and she must make it soon before her own indecision left her with no choice.

  She heard the doorbell clang and then a series of impatient knocks; a visitor at this time of night was most unusual. Polly, her new maid, could be heard running down the hallway and Julia waited for the announcement, patting her hair and smoothing her dress.

  Polly knocked and entered the parlour.

  “A gentleman to see you, ma’am. Looks like a soldier from his bearing; dark hair and tall. Shall I bring him in?”

  Julia leapt to her feet, her heart in her mouth. It could only be George! But why would he be calling at this time of night, without warning? Flustered, she picked up the lamp from the table.

  “No, no, Polly. I will attend to him at the door.”

  Mr. Clemens roused himself from his doze. "Who is it, Julia? It is very late for a visitor, even for London. "

  Julia motioned for him to remain where he was and, leaving her parlour, swept quickly down the passage to the front door, opening it partway and peering around. She held up the lamp and gasped when she saw Wickham.

  "George! It is indeed you! What in the world do you do here, and at this time of night?"

  Her face fell as she met his gaze. This was not the face of a man who had so recently authored such hopeful letters to her.

  "Whatever it is, it cannot be good - very rarely of late have you arrived on my doorstep with good news – but come in and warm yourself."

  Her gaze then fell upon his companion who had pushed her way into the hallway in front of Wickham, unnoticed until now in the shock at seeing Wickham.

  "Good evening?" she queried as she looked from the girl to Wickham for an explanation.

  "Oh! Good evening," the girl giggled. "I was not expecting Wickham's friend to be a woman! How interesting! I am Lydia Bennet, soon to be Lydia Wickham - is not that a great surprise? Wickham says we will be married very soon, is that not so my dear?"

  Wickham, seeing the reaction upon Julia’s face, hastened to intervene, colour flooding his own.

  “Mrs. Younge: Allow me to introduce Miss Lydia Bennet … of Longbourn… in Meryton. Miss Bennet: This is a very great friend of mine, Mrs. Julia Younge, who has been the one person in my life upon whom I have known I could always depend and trust."

  Julia frantically tried to gather her scattered thoughts at the shocking introduction, while fighting against an almost overwhelming desire to slap the precocious, smiling, self-satisfied face in front of her. Married? To be married? To Lydia Bennet? Lydia Wickham?

  "Well!" she managed a smile with difficulty, and cleared her throat which had suddenly dried out and threatened to choke her.

  "To be married at last, George! This is most unexpected as you say. Quite a surprise for everyone concerned, indeed. What good fortune to have secured a beautiful young bride." She steadied her breath at the enormity of her words. George; to be married; and not to her? It was intolerable.

  "But why are not you married already, pray? Travelling together as you are, and at this time of night, can only cast doubt upon the young lady's reputation, surely even you must see that? It is most inappropriate."

  "Mrs. Younge! Julia! My dear! Please! I know that this looks very damning to you. I will explain, but I cannot at this moment. At this moment I must fall once again upon your mercy and good nature and beg you to offer Miss Bennet a bed for the next few nights whilst I sort out what is to be done."

  Julia felt shock and astonishment at his words, and he had the grace to redden, unable to meet her gaze. She gathered her dignity about her: better to learn the whole truth now, rather than live any longer in false hope.

  Julia moved across the passage and opened the door closest to her.

  "Come with me into the guest parlour; this must be discussed away from the prying ears of my guests and servants," she hissed as she ushered them through in hurried secrecy before closing it firmly behind her.

  "Now; explain; if you please."

  "A bed? For me only?" broke in Lydia as soon as the door had closed. She had been watching the two other's uncomfortable interaction with increasing suspicion. "Why should it be only for me, Wickham, especially after last night, pray? We will need a double room, for both of us, surely? Do you have one available, Mrs. Younge? I really am most terribly tired."

  "Last night?" Julia felt sick. "Last night, George?" she heard her voice tremble. "I am waiting for your explanation, George, which I find cannot be delayed until you decide upon a more convenient time. Explain this scandalous situation to me immediately."

  Lydia drew breath to oblige, but subsided immediately under the wrathful glare of Mrs. Younge.

  "It is true, my dear - we have travelled together from Brighton; we left in a hurry very early yesterday morning without making any definite plans. We had to change coaches several times, and missed connections, and found ourselves having to stay overnight at an inn. That is all, really, I assure you. It was not important, not in the slightest. But now we are in London, I must protect Miss Bennet's reputation at all costs before returning her to her family. You do see that, do not you?"

  "Not important in the slightest? How can you say such a thing? Return me to my family? You most certainly will not, Wickham!" Lydia shouted in disbelief. "Return me to my family? After I have run away with you; spent a night with you; confessed my love for you? Oh, Wickham! How can you be so cruel as to even think such a thing; to say such heartless words? I shall no more return to my family without you by my side as my husband, than regret our journey together. You said we would be married. You promised!" Exhausted and distressed in the extreme, Lydia fell upon a couch, weeping desperately.

  Julia eyed her with distaste.

  "Am I to presume that this girl with whom you have spent the night is a sister to Elizabeth Bennet, and daughter to a gentleman, George? A not very wealthy gentleman, as I believe you have informed me in the past? Your choice is rather astonishing and imprudent in the circumstances. I presume she has as little as her sister settled upon her, and therefore just as unable to improve your situation in life?

  "And what of you recent promises to me? Your assurances that we would soon be beginning our future together? I can produce the evidence of it, if you have forgotten so easily, written in your own hand; for what purpose had you in writing such nonsense, other than to cause me further hurt and distress, when clearly you had other plans in mind? I thought you had changed, George. I thought you wanted finally to change. But clearly I have been sadly mistaken."

  "It has all been a mistake, my dear. Oh! Not anything that I wrote to you, but this – these circumstances in which I now find myself – has all been a grave mistake, a decision taken in the heat of the moment. Please allow me to explain, please. All I ask is that you listen, and trust me one more time. But first, I beg you to allow Miss Lydia to stay here with you, at least for tonight."

  "Trust yo
u? Are you quite mad? You arrive on my doorstep in the dark of the night, after apparently running away like a thief for who knows what reason from the Regiment and Brighton, in the company of a penniless daughter of a gentleman with whom, you inform me, you have spent the previous night at an inn, and you tell me it has all been a mistake and that I should trust you? Do you take me for a complete fool, George?"

  Julia was beyond feelings of hurt or betrayal: angry hatred for both of the other occupants of the room seethed through her whole being, clouding her usually calm, sensible, and loving nature. It was intolerable.

  "How could you bring her here? How dare you bring this kind of trouble to my house? Well; I will not be a party to it, and there is certainly no reason for me to be after what has been admitted here tonight.

  "There is no room here – you must find one elsewhere - if you can. Get out!

  "Get out! Get out!"

  Shocked and silenced, Wickham ushered the tearful Lydia back through the door, narrowly missing being caught as Julia slammed it shut. Never had he imagined that Julia would react in such a manner before she had all the facts in her possession. The evidence was grim indeed but he had expected she would afford him some understanding and benefit of the doubt.

  "Come, Lydia. I must find another guest house for you. Perhaps I should take you to Mr. Gardiner's house; they would protect you. Perhaps that would be for the best."

  "I will not go to my uncle's; he would refuse to allow us to marry and return me to my family in disgrace, and that would not do at all. They would send me away to some distant farm house; it would be a fate worse than any I shall encounter with you.”

  She summoned up a faint glimmer of a smile.

  “But why are you being so serious and concerned? You are safely away from danger; you should be happy. You are not at all like you were before we left Brighton - or last night. Oh! How I enjoyed last night, Wickham! Come: let us find some lodgings, my dearest. Do not take your friend's refusal so much to heart; perhaps she really does not have room available, although she was very rude in the telling of it, quite unkind to you, and I am so tired. But I think we gave her a shock, Wickham. Just think how it will be when everybody knows what we have done and my sisters must call me Mrs. Wickham! They will all be shocked and quite jealous, I dare say, as I am the youngest of all of them and already married. Come, Wickham. Be happy, for I am!"