Wickham turned, when he could no longer see the carriage, and walked back into the cottage. It seemed a very quiet and forlorn place without Lydia and little baby Georgie. He took a deep breath and sighed. It would not do to dwell on their departure and sink into melancholy. He climbed the stairs to their bedroom, picked up his redcoat off the back of the chair, and dressed in his army uniform. He readied himself to go back to Scarborough Castle, to immerse himself in his duty, and to try, if he could, to forget the pain he felt from their parting.
By the time he arrived back at the castle, his duty shift was well underway, and men marched up and down around him, new equipment was being brought in, and the sounds of the blacksmiths banging hammers against anvils filled the air. He headed immediately for the officers’ mess. He would report in and then go in search of his men. He assumed that, after the rigours of the day before, they would not be drilling. He was wrong. He found them once again on the beach, practising with bayonets attached to the end of their musket rifles. Wickham took out his pocket watch; it was only just past midday and he knew his men would be exhausted by the time the day’s shift was over.
Much to his surprise and pleasure, he saw Tommy Turpin was leading his men. He raised his hand in greeting as he marched across the sand. He arrived at Turpin’s side and turned to watch the men as they ran across the sand and pierced bags filled with sand and straw hanging on a wooden frame, with the bayonets attached to the ends of their rifles.
“How goes it this morning, Turpin?”
“Not too badly. Of course, your men did this yesterday and I can tell you there were more than one or two that complained when Colonel Sullivan said they were to do it again. To be sure, they ache from head to foot.” He shrugged. “However, Colonel Sullivan was right when he said there will be no day of rest once we are on the front lines.”
Wickham nodded whilst still watching the men. “Quite true.”
“I trust the little woman is safely dispatched?”
Again, Wickham nodded. “Yes, she is. She and little Georgie left just over an hour ago.”
“Good, good. I wish them a safe journey. And the timing could not be better.”
“What you mean?” Wickham turned to look at him.
“The new recruits were held up, but Colonel Sullivan assures us that they will arrive sometime tonight.” Turpin grinned from ear to ear. “Therefore, I’m sure more than one of them will be grateful for some entertainment at a fellow officer’s house tomorrow night, will they not?”
Wickham laughed. “Turpin, is there ever a time when you do not think of playing cards and of depriving good honest men of their earnings?”
Turpin laughed then, too. “Hmm…” He shook his head. “No, I think not.” He clapped Wickham on the back. “So, what do you say? Shall we have a little evening’s entertainment tomorrow night?”
Wickham, still laughing at his friend, nodded. “I do not see why not. I shall have to engage Mrs Marsh, my new maid, to stay for the evening and serve, but I see no reason why we should not get together and have some fun.”
“Well said.” Again, Turpin grinned at him from ear to ear. “Just make sure there is plenty of wine. And worry not, Poynter and I will give you some share of our winnings to pay for it.”
Wickham laughed. “And so you should.”
“Right,” Turpin said as he turned to leave. “I shall leave you to it. Your men have approximately one more hour of bayonet training, and then I shall send someone to bring you all back.”
“Understood.”
“Then we can have lunch together and make plans for tomorrow night.”
“I look forward to it.” Wickham turned his gaze back to his men and shouted at the top of his voice, “Put your backs into it! Imagine this is the enemy!” He watched as they attacked the hanging sacks more vigorously. “That’s it! Out there, it will be either you or them. Make sure it’s them!” he bellowed. “Show those French dogs what we English are made of!”
Wickham smiled to himself. The new vigour his men showed pleased him greatly. He hoped that Colonel Sullivan could see what a fine job he was doing there, and mayhap even Colonel Fitzwilliam, too—he hoped he would report that back to Mr Darcy.
It was a full thirty minutes into their journey south towards Kingston-Upon-Hull that Lydia finally stopped weeping. She took out her handkerchief from her reticule, wiped her face, and blew her nose. She started to chatter with Tess, who sat opposite her. “I wonder how long it will take us to reach Bridlington. I’m famished already.”
Tess smiled. “I don’t know. I’ve never even been out of Scarborough, ma’am.”
Lydia was shocked at the confession. “You’ve never been outside of Scarborough? How is that possible?”
The young girl looked uncomfortable and shrugged. “I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Well,” Lydia said, pulling down the window, “at least you shall see the countryside now. And it is pleasant, I must own, to drive along the coast road.” Lydia sat back and watched the young girl cradling Georgie’s sleeping body in her arms. She watched the smile that spread across her face as the scenery passed by the window. Was I ever that innocent? Lydia wondered.
It did not take long, though, before Lydia was bored of the journey. She had forgotten to pack a book to read and had not remembered how interminably boring long journeys could be. It did not help matters that she did not have anything particular in common with her travelling companion so they might while away the long, tedious hours in conversation. She yawned, leant her head back against the cushioned seat, and closed her eyes. She was very tired, so mayhap she could sleep a little before they reached Bridlington, which seemed ever such a long way off.
Wickham was exceedingly grateful to be called back to the castle for luncheon. He was hungry and tired, and in great need of refreshment. Unfortunately for him, when he reached the officers’ mess, he saw Colonel Fitzwilliam was also there taking luncheon. He entered the room, avoiding the colonel’s eye, and sat down between Poynter and Turpin. “I see Colonel Fitzwilliam is here again today.”
Poynter looked at him, swallowed the piece of apple he was chewing, and said, “You’re not still going on about him, are you?”
Wickham shot a sideways look at his friend.
Turpin leant in towards them both and whispered, “Of course he is. So would you be if you had his history.”
“You’re being unreasonable, Wickham. Your mind is playing tricks on you, I’m certain of it.”
“I would not be so sure of that if I were you. You do not know Mr Darcy.”
Their meal continued in almost complete silence. What conversation they did have was stilted owing to the fact that whilst he ate, Wickham kept one eye on Colonel Fitzwilliam seated at the other end of the table. The said gentleman did not look up or towards Wickham, nor did his attention move the entire time from the meal he ate or from the company of Colonel Sullivan. However, Wickham could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. That he was being ‘kept an eye on.’
One by one, the officers finished eating, pushed their chairs back, and departed the mess hall. Wickham, Poynter, and Turpin tarried. Eventually, even Colonel Fitzwilliam left the hall for his duties elsewhere. In the end, only Wickham, Poynter, Turpin, and Colonel Sullivan remained.
As the colonel stood up to leave, he turned to Wickham. “I hear congratulations are in order, Lieutenant.”
Wickham looked puzzled. “Sir?”
“Yes, your men. It seems they have improved greatly of late. I watched you from the curtain wall last evening as you put the men through their paces. I am most impressed.” He walked around the table and towards the door. “Keep it up.”
“Er…sir?” Turpin called out.
Colonel Sullivan turned back and looked at Tommy. “What is it?”
“I was just wondering, sir, why it is that Colonel Fitzwilliam is recuperating from his injury here in Scarborough.”
Wickham opened his eyes wide at Turpin in disbeli
ef. He could not believe he would say anything to their commanding officer.
“I do not see that that is any of your business, Lieutenant.” The colonel frowned.
“Sorry, sir. It’s just that we seem to have an awful lot of commanding officers here.”
“I see.” The colonel turned again to the door. “Then, for your information, Colonel Fitzwilliam is here merely to oversee the transfer from our regiment to the next. He will be staying on to supervise their training here. Nothing more, nothing less.” The colonel’s eyes darted to Wickham before he turned and exited the room.
They all watched as he departed the mess hall, and then Wickham slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “You see?”
“I see nothing. You heard the man,” Turpin defended himself.
“Wickham, Colonel Fitzwilliam is clearly not here to keep an eye on you,” Poynter added.
Wickham shook his head. “Then what did ‘nothing more, nothing less’ and the meaningful glance in my direction signify?”
“I really do think you are reading far too much into this situation.” Poynter sighed at him.
As one man, they rose from the table and turned to the door. “I am not as convinced as you are,” Wickham mumbled. He turned to Turpin. “And I cannot believe that you said that.”
Turpin splayed his hands. “What? You wanted to know, did you not? So I merely asked.”
“Yes, and now Colonel Fitzwilliam will know that I’m suspicious of his presence here.”
Poynter and Turpin both shook their heads at him. He knew they thought him simply paranoid. He swallowed down a bitter retort and took a deep breath. Mayhap they were right. Mayhap Colonel Fitzwilliam was only stationed at Scarborough Castle for specifically the reason Colonel Sullivan had just said. That thought still did not stop Wickham from feeling nervous that his old adversary’s cousin was right there, precisely where he was stationed.
As they reached the door, they walked straight into Colonel Sullivan. “Oh, men, I want you to spend the rest of the afternoon with the French officers. They may not get so much attention very soon. And…I thought I might as well tell you as not…We shall be marching out on Monday. Carry on.”
Wickham and his companions stood agog at the news.
Only an hour after she fell asleep, Lydia awoke, desperately in need of a break and to refresh herself. She leant out of the carriage and called up to the driver, “I need to stop. Urgently!”
The man looked down at her and cried, “We are barely out of Scarborough, ma’am.”
Lydia looked at the man irritably. “I do not care where we are. I need to stop.”
The man huffed at her and nodded. “The village of Cayton is up ahead. Can you hold on a minute or two until we reach the inn?”
“I suppose I will have to.” Lydia huffed and retreated inside the carriage. Despite her irritation and suspicion that the driver delayed until Cayton just to aggravate her, they arrived in the small village within the next few minutes and the driver slowly pulled the carriage to a stop outside the inn. Lydia barely waited for the man to dismount and open the door for her before she was out of the carriage and charging towards the front doors of the inn. From outside, Tess and the Bennets’ manservant could hear Lydia’s voice bellowing instructions to the innkeeper inside.
Lydia was quickly shown to a room at the back of the inn where she could refresh herself, and then afterwards, she came back into the main bar, where the innkeeper had provided drinks for all three of them. Lydia drank a small beaker of ale, barely saying a word to her travelling companions, then rose, indicating it was time to leave. She looked at Tess. “Pay the man, will you?” she barked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tess replied.
Lydia stood and watched as the girl struggled to hold the wriggling baby, produce the money pouch from her pocket, take out the correct coins, and pay the innkeeper. It did not occur to her to hold baby Georgie whilst Tess paid for their refreshment.
As soon as the coins were in the innkeeper’s hands, Lydia turned on her heel and marched back to the carriage. Georgie was getting restless and she knew it was time to feed him; however, she would not allow anyone to know that she, a gentleman’s daughter, was reduced to having to breastfeed her own infant. She climbed up into the carriage and silently awaited Tess and the child. She waited until the carriage was moving once again before she spoke impatiently over the sounds of the wailing babe. “Oh, give him here. I ought to feed him now, or else he will not give us a moment’s peace.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lydia was not gentle with the child, she felt exasperated with him. She felt he was deliberately whining and ruining their journey. She reluctantly unbuttoned the top of her dress and put him touchily to her breast. “Oh!” She growled and rolled her eyes. “I cannot wait until he is grown and can feed himself.”
“That will be some time, ma’am,” Tess ventured.
Lydia groaned. “Yes, I suppose it will be. Then I will have to do the next best thing. I must, I simply must, persuade Mama and Papa to engage a wet nurse for me when we reach Hertfordshire. I simply cannot endure this for very much longer.” Lydia looked over at Tess and remembered that a few short weeks previously, she had seen the girl with bruises on her arm. Without tact, she asked the girl about them now.
The girl blushed deeply and looked down at the floor of the carriage. “If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I would rather not speak of it.”
Lydia looked affronted. “What nonsense! Of course you may speak of it to me. To whom else would you speak of such things?” However, the girl refused to speak. “Come, now, spit it out.”
“It’s all right, ma’am. It won’t happen again,” she said with a trembling lip.
“What won’t happen again?” Lydia wanted to know, and she wanted to know it all.
The girl was silent for a moment or two, but looking up under her lashes at her mistress, she knew Lydia would not let the matter go. “My da. He didn’t like it when I took this job. He said I should be at home, looking after him.”
Lydia was confused. She did not understand how the girl’s working for her had resulted in the bruising. She remained silent in the hope that the girl would continue.
“How could I?” she stammered as the tears rolled down her face. “He always wanted so much. He wanted the place spic-and-span, and then he would always come home drunk and find a reason to shout at me.”
Lydia sat, gaping at the girl. She was shocked at the story. She could not imagine a father behaving such a way to his only child, and realised she, too, was naïve.
“But what he wanted most was for me to be at home and to wait on him hand and foot. But I couldn’t, ma’am, I couldn’t do it anymore. I had to get out of there. That’s why I took the job working for you. I have a good wage, my bed and board, and I’m away from him. But he found me and…”
The girl was sobbing now, and Lydia put two and two together and realised her father had beaten her. How cruel it was for Tess to endure such a thing! Lydia swallowed the lump in her throat down. She felt deeply for the poor girl, and she resolved to be as kind as she could to Tess. She determined never to snap at her again. She would ensure that the girl felt safe with her. She knew that Tess would enjoy being in Hertfordshire. Not only was it a long way from her father, but, God willing, mayhap Lydia could persuade her father to let them stay much longer, even forever at Longbourn—if her plan for Georgie’s inheritance worked out. “There, there, now. Dry your eyes. With every passing mile, your father is further behind us, and the hurt he did to you is no more.”
Tess sniffed and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Turpin was the first to speak. “We march out on Monday,” he whispered. “This Monday?”
Poynter replied, still staring at the door, “I believe that is what he just said.”
The three of them stood immobile for a moment or two.
“This is it, then. We will fight,” Wickham mumbled. Poynter and Turpin merely nodded. Wickh
am was the first to snap out of it. “Well, we have our evening party tomorrow night. Do you think we should still have it?”
“Knowing our dear colonel, I doubt we will be free to have it. I’m sure we will not have time.” Poynter sighed.
Turpin continued to nod. “There will be lots to do.”
“Well, then…” Wickham clapped his hands together, making his companions jump. “We had better get to the old hall; the Frenchmen await.”
Poynter laughed bitterly as they walked out into the bailey. “I can just hear Capitaine Lefebvre’s voice now…” He affected an outlandish French accent. “Zis will be zee end of you ridiculous English pigs!” They all laughed at him.
Together they walked across the bailey, the other soldiers parting for them, and headed directly for the old stone hall. They knew that the French officer prisoners would already be there, enjoying the day outside of their cells. As they approached the door, the guards saluted and held it open for them to enter.
“Ah, mes amies!” the French capitaine exclaimed across the room as they entered.
Inwardly, Wickham groaned. Outwardly, he planted a smile on his features and called back, “Bonjour, Capitaine.”
The capitaine rose from his seat at the card table. “Lieutenant Wickham, can I tempt you to join in a game of poker?”
Wickham had no intention whatsoever of spending the afternoon with that particular Frenchman. What he wanted was to find out more about Lieutenant Jacques Dubois. “Oh, Capitaine, you are well aware that I am no match for you. I do not wish to lose to you, or anyone, this day, if you do not mind.” Wickham bowed in mock respect.
“Oh.” The Frenchman chuckled in his gravelly throat. “You are sad that your wife has gone away, n’est-ce pas?”
Wickham merely smiled and walked away towards the table where Poynter had poured all three of them a glass of watered-down wine. “Precisely.”
Wickham Page 11