Wickham

by Karen Aminadra

  Lydia clapped her hands with joy. The baby stirred and she put her hands over her mouth. “Oops, I almost woke him.” She stared at the cot, and then back at him. “Do you mean it? Can I go to Longbourn? Oh, how I long to see Mama and Papa and all my dear friends in Meryton!”

  Wickham nodded. “Yes, I mean it. If you are not too tired, go now and write to her.” Lydia kissed him on the cheek and he watched as she rushed out of the room and down the stairs to write to her mother. Hopefully, then, they will consent to give you the money for a wet nurse and you can stop your complaining!

  Lydia could hardly believe it. Wickham actually suggested that she go and visit with her parents whilst he went to war. She frowned and bit her lower lip. What if he should be killed? Then what would I do? Her eyes welled with tears again and she sniffed. A thought occurred to her: at least if he were killed, my family would be forced to take care of me, and I would not have to live here any longer. She cast a disparaging eye around the room. The officers’ cottages were old and, in her opinion, not fit for habitation. The lime-washed walls were in need of repair, and in one or two places, the plaster had fallen away and the stone walls showed through. They originally were workers’ cottages and the army requisitioned them; however, they had not even seen fit to upgrade the fireplaces, and they smoked terribly.

  She looked across to the far end of the parlour where the dining table was set for dinner and sighed. “Oh, I long to have a proper home with a separate dining room.” Lydia closed her eyes and daydreamed. “With fine damask curtains, a thick white linen tablecloth, and the most exquisite bone china crockery.” She opened her eyes again and frowned. She placed her hands on her hips and sighed. “If only Mama could see me living like this, I am certain she would persuade Papa or, better still, Mr Darcy, to give us more money.”

  Once she planted the seed of the idea in her own mind, there was no stopping her. She immediately sat down at the little writing table by the front window, picked up her quill, and dipped it in the ink. It took only a moment to decide what to say. She would write not only to her mama, but also to Jane. Lydia wanted to impress upon them that she was a Bennet, after all, and her current situation was not to be borne. “Besides,” she pouted with her quill in hand, “with my dear Wickham soon to depart for the continent, I will need someone to take care of me.”

  She smiled as she wrote to her eldest sister Jane. She was close to giving birth to her first child—it would be any day now, Lydia was certain—and then Jane would know first-hand what a hardship it is to be a mother. Surely, then, Jane, of all people, would understand that Lydia could not possibly be expected to neither live off their meagre earnings, nor cope on her own. And, mayhap, Lydia could offer some of her own advice to Jane. After all, Lydia was a mother now, too.

  Her quill blotted the paper in her hurried excitement. She bit her lip and forced herself to calm down. She needed to write these letters carefully and eloquently if she were to get her own way.

  Wickham personally delivered his wife’s letters to the post the following morning on his way to Scarborough Castle. He wanted to be certain they were being delivered. He tipped the man in the post coach to ensure their safe arrival. Thankfully, Lydia had bundled both letters together into one to be sent to Netherfield Park, and therefore he only had to part with one shilling, one and a halfpenny.

  He sighed as he watched the post coach depart that morning. Because of the war with Napoléon, postage prices had increased, and he could think of much better ways in which to spend his money. Oh, well, it is money well spent. If Lydia goes to stay with her parents, then she will in reality save money and, I hope, will be much happier.

  He only wished she were more frugal at home. As he passed the butcher’s shop and saw they were just opening for business, the smell of the raw carcasses being hung outside struck him. He wondered if it were possible to spend less than ten shillings a week on meat. He shook his head. What was he thinking? It was his own fault they were in such a way. He was never cut out to be so poor. He was meant for far greater things. It was his own stupidity that resulted in them being caught and forced into such marital poverty. He only had himself to blame. He sighed. “Oh, I wish to God things were different.” His mood did not lighten by the time he arrived at the castle, and his fellow officers could see the cloud he bore above his head.

  “What ho, Wickham!” Poynter hallooed. “Why the long face?” He clapped him on the back and fell into pace with him as they walked towards the officers’ mess.

  “You’ve just become a father. You ought to be elated, and yet you wear the face of a man who lost half a crown and found ha’penny.” Turpin sniggered.

  Wickham smiled weakly at them and told them what had passed last evening at home. “…so now I have to beg the powers that be for permission to escort my wife and child to Hertfordshire.”

  “Rather you than me, Wickham.” Poynter chuckled.

  “You cannot be serious, Wickham.” Turpin stopped and looked at him in astonishment. “You’ll never get permission now that we’ve got our marching orders.”

  “I had to say something. The woman was almost hysterical. She would have left everything here and followed me to the continent if I had not suggested she write to her mother and ask to stay at Longbourn whilst I am away.” Wickham shook his head at the remembrance of it.

  Turpin nodded. “Well, I did hear tell that we have a new colonel joining us for a while. He is to take over the command here when we leave. He was injured in battle—somewhat of a hero, from what I hear—but I also hear he is a stickler for the rules. You had better get your request for leave in before he arrives. He does not know you and may say no.”

  “That’s all I need—pressure here and at home.” Wickham sighed forlornly.

  “Cheer up, you old dog!” Poynter’s laugh resounded loudly in the still morning air. “We all know you have other things to divert you. How goes it with the lovely Patience?”

  Wickham grinned. Here was a subject sure to cheer him up instantly. “Alas, I have not had the time nor the opportunity to visit with Miss Miller of late.”

  “You’ve got a fight on your hands with that one, Wickham.”

  “Turpin, the prize will be all the sweeter for having earned it.” Wickham grinned mischievously. They laughed together as they reached the group of buildings used as the officers’ mess and offices. “Right, I’ll see you both in a moment or two. I will speak to Colonel Sullivan immediately.” Wickham turned and walked off down the corridor to his commanding officer’s office at the end.

  Poynter chuckled and called after him, “Then you’ll be free to pursue Miss Miller, eh?”

  Wickham turned to face him, spread his hands wide, and grinned. “Is there a better occupation?”

  Once he reached the end of the dark corridor, he stood in front of the closed door, took a deep breath to compose himself, and then knocked.

  “Come.”

  As ordered, Wickham opened the door and entered Colonel Sullivan’s office. When he closed the door, he stepped to the officer’s desk, stood to attention, and saluted. However, the man standing next to his commanding officer was one whom he never expected to see. It was Mr Darcy’s cousin—Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  The two of them stared at each other over the desk. Wickham was surprised not only to see him, but also to notice his left arm was heavily bandaged and up in a sling.

  Colonel Sullivan broke the silence. “I take it you two gentlemen are acquainted with each other?” he said as he looked from on to the other.

  Wickham shook himself mentally. It would not do to behave as if the man was an enemy when he had a request to make. “Indeed.” He smiled as he looked at Colonel Sullivan. “I grew up on the Derbyshire estate of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s esteemed cousin.”

  “Is that so?” Colonel Sullivan looked surprised.

  Without a doubt, he saw the frosty way in which they greeted each other, Wickham thought. He watched as Colonel Fitzwilliam forced a smile. “Yes, tha
t is so. My cousin, Mr Darcy, Lieutenant Wickham, and I have a long history together.” This last part he said as he stared icily at Wickham.

  “So, what can I do for you this morning, Lieutenant?” Sullivan asked cheerily.

  Wickham, despite his doubts of making his petition in front of Colonel Fitzwilliam, took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and then launched into his well-rehearsed speech. He spoke mainly about his poor wife and her condition as a new mother. He hoped desperately to play on the officer’s heartstrings. “And so, sir, I am concerned that Mrs Wickham not be a burden on the other officers’ wives if she be left here in Scarborough whilst we are away at war.” By that, he hoped Colonel Sullivan would realise he meant Mrs Sullivan. “I believe it would be best all round, and less inconvenient, too, if Mrs Wickham were able to stay with her parents in Hertfordshire during our separation.” He paused and was glad to see the man nodding his head in agreement. “However, owing to her delicate state at the present, I wondered if I might be excused for a few days in order to accompany her there.”

  Colonel Sullivan frowned at his request. “Now is not a good time, Lieutenant. Cannot your wife’s parents send a servant to travel down with her?”

  Wickham had not thought of that. “I confess that notion had not crossed my mind, sir. However, I fear it would be too much of an inconvenience for them.”

  To Wickham’s dismay, Colonel Fitzwilliam joined the discussion. “Even if you were to travel back to Scarborough immediately, you would be gone for at least a sennight—most likely more. That is unacceptable. You must see that, especially now.”

  “Precisely, Lieutenant.” Colonel Sullivan agreed. “You are much needed here. Your infantry platoon will need its officer with us and, as it is, we are due to march out within the month. I am sorry for the inconvenience to Mrs Wickham, but you cannot be spared.”

  “But, sir…” Wickham made to protest.

  Colonel Sullivan hardened his face. “I cannot have my officers gallivanting around the country simply because their wives need their hands held on the eve of war. Am I clear, Lieutenant?”

  Wickham nodded.

  “If that’s all, you’re dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wickham saluted the two men and exited the room. He was dismayed. He would have liked to get out of the windy, damp castle and visit Hertfordshire again.

  Once back in the officers’ mess, he conveyed the conversation in its entirety to Turpin and Poynter.

  “Damned bad, rotten luck, Wickham.” Turpin sighed. “But really, what did you expect?”

  However, Poynter smirked. “Look on the bright side. With Lydia dispatched alone to Hertfordshire, you’ll be free of an evening to indulge in your own personal pursuits.”

  Wickham had to agree he had a point. Mayhap being refused permission to escort his wife south was not so bad after all.

  Upon hearing the news that her husband was not to accompany her into Hertfordshire, Lydia immediately went into a sulk, which lasted for three whole days. Wickham was at his wit’s end. What was he to do with such a wife? When he was around, all she seemed to do was nag, moan, and complain about almost everything he did or said. Now, it seemed that she was to get some time away from him, to visit with her family, mayhap even to get the wet nurse she had been whining on about, and all she could do was cry, sulk, complain that she would miss him and needed her beloved to travel with her.

  He felt obliged to spend as much time at home as he could before she departed. If anything, he was grateful to have the opportunity to be with little Georgie. He was an adorable, docile baby and, despite being fed sporadically, was putting on weight. Becoming chubby only served to endear the child further to him. Lydia, on the other hand, found in that another source of misery and a reason to complain—she disliked having what she called a fat baby and resented all the time Wickham spent at home with the babe in his arms.

  “You spend all your time cooing over the baby.” She grinned coquettishly at him. “When might we have a little time to ourselves, my love?”

  Wickham, with his back to Lydia, rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid that would be impossible, my dear; what with your imminent departure and my preparations for war, there is much to do, is there not?” He turned and smiled at her in, what he hoped, was a consoling way.

  Lydia groaned and stamped her foot. “Oh, there’s always something, isn’t there? It’s either the war or it is the baby.” She pouted.

  “George.” Wickham sighed. “Our baby is called George. And it’s hardly surprising that he occupies the lion’s share of our time, do you not think?”

  “I do not see why.” The pout, if possible, deepened.

  He tried to laugh it off, but inside he was livid and incredulous at her behaviour.

  She approached him and played with the buttons on his shirt, undoing the top two as she did so. “Can’t we at least go out and see a play?” Her eyes twinkled suggestively. “Or mayhap we could stay in and open a bottle of wine.” She giggled.

  Wickham was in no mood for fun and games with his wife right now. She was intent on dismissing the child in favour of her own needs. “What about Georgie?” he asked, unable to hide the edge in his voice.

  Again, Lydia stamped her foot. She threw her hands in the air. “Ugh! Is my life to be centred around our child from now on? Is that all you can think of?” Her voice rose and sounded shrill. “What about me?”

  Wickham knew if the conversation persisted in such a manner, he would lose his temper with her. He did not want that. He might be many unsavoury things, but he would never allow himself to become so angry with his wife, for fear that he may lose control. He gave her one last hard stare and stormed out of the room. There was no point in remaining and continuing their futile discussion, which could quite possibly end in a row.

  As he stood in the cottage’s small hall and put his overcoat on, Tess came out of the kitchen. “Are you going out, sir?”

  “Yes, Tess. Dinner will be solely for my wife tonight. I will dine with the officers.” He caught the worried look on her face as she bobbed a curtsey and retreated to the kitchen once again. He knew full well that Lydia would take it out on the poor girl. Nevertheless, what could he do? If he intervened and asked her to treat their servant with more tenderness, then he would be handing her yet another excuse for an argument. He sighed, opened the door, and stepped out into the street.

  Within minutes, he hailed a cab, without a care to the price of the fare, and was on the way to his favourite haunt, the place where his friends would be—the Red Lion.

  Poynter and Turpin were not surprised to see him, and as soon as he stepped into the busy tavern, Turpin smiled and ordered them all meat pies and more ale.

  Wickham grinned as he sat down at their table. “Anyone would think you were expecting me to arrive this evening.”

  Turpin look innocently at Poynter. “Whatever could have given him that impression?”

  Instead of crying, Lydia’s tendency was to slam doors and stomp about until her mood calmed. This behaviour had no effect whatsoever on her husband and only served to frighten the maid, Tess, even further. The poor girl sidled into the room with a wooden tray laden with the table settings. Lydia watched as she edged the room and made for the dining table.

  “Look at the state of you!” Lydia screeched at the top of her voice.

  Tess jumped out of her skin. She dropped the tray, which scattered its contents all over the floor.

  “Now see what you’ve done!” Lydia had found the prey upon whom to vent her anger. “Not only do you look a fright, but you are positively the clumsiest oaf ever to walk the face of this earth!” Lydia did not see the girl’s eyes fill with tears as she stooped to pick up the plates from the floor. “That crockery was a wedding present from my mama. You had better not have damaged it, you know. You will be out on your ear if you have so much as made one single scratch or crack on any of it.” Lydia warned through clenched teeth. She stepped towards Tess and hesitated when the girl flinc
hed at her approach. Lydia frowned and her anger instantly dissipated. She was shocked that Tess would even imagine she would strike her. Had someone else beaten her? Her anger forgotten, she slowly, and without staring at the poor girl, knelt to help her pick up the fallen objects and place them back onto the tray.

  Quietly, they completed the task and Lydia returned to her seat by the window. She picked up her needlework, but she silently watched Tess as she wiped each item on her apron and began to set the table. I must try harder with her; after all, I would be in an abominable state if she left us.

  As Tess turned to return to the kitchen, Lydia saw, before the girl pulled her three-quarter length sleeve down, that it barely concealed a nasty, black bruise. Lydia had guessed rightly. Someone has beaten her, or at least been rough with the poor girl. She determined to be kinder, no matter how maladroit and inept she thought Tess at times.

  When she returned to the parlour, Tess was a little more composed and Lydia, who was already seated at the dining table, smiled at her. “I suppose my husband did not say where he was going to this evening,” she said.

  Tess looked at her from under her lashes. “Only that he would dine with the officers, ma’am.”

  Lydia sighed and thought life was so unfair to her. She watched as Tess served her, sneering at the plate of leftover chicken and carrots. There were no sweet desserts to adorn the table, neither were there any other vegetables to eat. Lydia stared at the solitary and pathetic-looking potato Tess placed onto the plate beside the limp carrots, and groaned. “I will be heartily glad when I am back in Hertfordshire.” An idea occurred to her. “Should you like to travel with me, Tess?”

  The maid’s face lit up. “Aye, I would, ma’am.” She could not hide her grin. “I would like that very much indeed.”

  “Then that’s settled, for I shall need someone to travel with Georgie and me, and I cannot very well arrive at my parents’ estate without a servant. What would they say?” The thought of Longbourn cheered Lydia up no end and she tucked in to her meal whilst chattering away to Tess, whom she forgot to dismiss.