“Heaven knows what they could be doing up there all this time,” she exclaimed. “What do you think, Lydia?”
Lydia almost jumped at the sound of her own name. “Sorry, Mama. What did you say?”
“For goodness sake, child!” Mrs Bennet flapped her fan at her daughter. “I was speaking about your aunt and uncle Gardiner. They came back from their walk nigh on half an hour ago—I heard them out in the hallway—and yet they have not descended to take refreshments with us. Such ill manners!” Lydia did not know how to respond to such statement. “I cannot imagine what is keeping them.” Mrs Bennet sulked.
Over at the table, Mary sighed and finally looked up from her tome. “Mama, perhaps they are taking a nap. It is frightfully hot outside this morning.”
Mrs Bennet looked put out. “That is no excuse, Mary. This is not their house. Who are they to be taking naps,” she snapped, “when here am I awaiting their return?” She folded her arms and wiggled her head crossly as she pouted. She turned and flapped her fan in Lydia’s direction. “Lydia, go upstairs and see what is keeping them.”
Lydia tutted. “Mama! I am a married woman and your guest also. It is not my place to run your errands. Ask Mary to do it—she lives here.” Lydia knew as soon as she said it that her words angered her mother.
Mrs Bennet’s face became red and her eyes bulged as she glared at Lydia. “I shall do no such thing. Who are you to expect such treatment in my home?” Her pout deepened. “Do as you are told!”
Lydia huffed and rolled her eyes with the injustice of it all as she got up from the settee and walked heavily towards the door. “Yes, Mama,” she singsonged.
Mrs Bennet then rounded on Mary. “And you, sat there with your face in a book as though you have no cares in the world—”
Mary looked up with surprise. “What have I done?”
“—that’s a fine way to catch a husband, I’m sure. What am I to do with you, child?”
“Mama!” Lydia heard the protest as she stepped out of the drawing room and into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Mrs Bennet’s voice still reached her ears as loudly as before.
“Well, if you would but apply yourself once in a while. A little flirtation is all that is needed. Now, if you would take your sister Lydia’s example, you would be married in no time, I am sure of it.”
Lydia stood quietly behind the door, listening for the reply. She heard the thud of the book close and the sound of it being thumped onto the table.
“I would thank you, Mama, not to encourage me to behave as Lydia has…” Lydia frowned and pressed her ear to the door to hear her sister’s quiet voice better. “…for it seems to me that you have entirely forgotten the occasion of her infamous and shameful elopement with the notorious Mr Wickham.”
Lydia stood up straight, her breathing heavy and her face red. So, that is what Mary thinks of me. She turned on her heels and headed up the staircase in the centre of the house, trying to shut out her mother’s screeching remonstrations to Mary. Her sister’s words stung. Lydia thought of herself as a respectfully married woman, but Mary could not have been plainer in what she said. She was ashamed of Lydia and thought her marriage an embarrassment. Aunt Gardiner was right—she had brought shame and disgrace upon the family, she thought as tears stung her eyes.
At the top of the stairs, Lydia straightened her dress and skullcap and calmed her emotions before walking down the landing to the guest room where her aunt and uncle were staying. As she drew closer to their room, she could hear them debating something. Lydia could not resist the temptation to eavesdrop once again. She crept closer to the door, gently placed her ear against it, and listened in to what they were discussing.
“I am of the opinion that a little time apart is precisely what they need,” she heard her uncle say.
“I am not too convinced of that, my dear. You know what his reputation is,” Aunt Gardiner chimed.
“Aye, indeed I do.” Who on earth are they talking about? “Mayhap absence will make their hearts grow fonder, and he will indeed love and care for our niece as she ought to be.”
Are they talking about Wickham and me?
Lydia heard her aunt laugh derisively at her uncle’s words. “How can that possibly be, when all the affection has always been on her side alone? She always has been such a foolish and naïve child, likely to fall for any scheme and a handsome face. How imprudent and thoughtless she was to run off with such a man as he! But she was convinced he loved her. Yet, you know first-hand how hard Mr Darcy had to work to convince the blackguard to marry her in the first place.”
Lydia could hardly breathe. Her knees felt weak and she placed her hands either side of the door on the frame to steady herself. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. Is this what they think of my dear husband, Wickham? How dare they!
Uncle Gardiner sighed and she heard the bed creak as though he sat down heavily upon it. “Of course you are right, my dear; he would have given anything not to marry Lydia. In fact, when they eloped together, I believe, he had no intention whatsoever of marrying her at all, no matter how much I wanted him to be so very much in love with her all along.”
“You always were the optimist, my dear.”
“Let us hope, then, that this war makes a good man out of him.”
“Indeed. At the very least, I pray we do not have reports of more broken reputations reaching our ears from France.”
Lydia gasped, put her hand across her mouth, and stepped backwards from the door. What are they saying about my dear Wickham? She hoped they had not heard her sharp intake of breath. She did not wish to be discovered at the keyhole listening in to a private conversation.
“Alas, I doubt that can be avoided,” Uncle Gardiner lamented. “The man cannot seem to help himself whenever a pretty face comes by.” Lydia felt as if her heart stopped beating. Her chest contracted and she thought she would lose consciousness. Was this what they honestly thought of her beloved husband? Was this his reputation abroad and amongst her own family? “But I tell you this, my dear…” She heard her uncle speak again. “…I shall not pay off his debtors or make amends to the families of those women who bear his by-blows again.”
By-blows! Wickham has illegitimate children?
“No, you certainly shall not. I cannot begin to imagine how angry that would make Darcy, too.”
Darcy knows about this?
“How well I remember his anger when that scoundrel, Wickham, ran away with our dear niece—”
Lydia’s ears pounded. How dare they? They do not know Wickham at all.
“—and I am convinced that Darcy will not compensate Wickham again.”
“Humph…” Aunt Gardiner scoffed. “…but he is a wily creature. He is not beneath demanding compensation to encourage reformed behaviour.”
“Certainly he is not. Let us pray it will not come to that. Hmm?”
Lydia had heard enough. Did her entire family believe Wickham to be a bounder and a cad? Her eyes stung and she fumed with the injustice of it. She balled her hands into fists and dug her nails into the flesh of her palms until they hurt more than those words hurt her. Her aunt and uncle, she felt, did not know her beloved at all. She turned and fled to her room. She flung herself onto the bed and wept into her pillow. How could they think such things and even say those awful words about her dear Wickham?
Slowly, her tears abated and her hurt and upset turned to anger. They do not know him at all. She shuffled to the edge of the bed and sniffed. She would show them. She got off the bed and walked over to the pitcher and bowl, splashed her face with cold water, and tried to regain her composure. It suddenly dawned on her that her mother had sent her upstairs to fetch her aunt and uncle some time ago. Soon, if she did not return downstairs, her mother would send Mary to see what she was about. The last thing she wanted was for anyone in her family to know that she had been eavesdropping. Most of all, she did not want her aunt and uncle Gardiner to know that she had overheard them in private conversation, espec
ially now that she knew what they thought of her husband. Lydia knew from now on she would have to be extra careful. She would have to cultivate an image of the perfect wife and mother, and paint Wickham as the ideal husband. She had come to Longbourn with a plan to have Georgie become the heir, and if her family were to help her, Wickham, and their son, then they would have to believe that they were the best of families. Lydia smiled, as best she could, at her reflection in the mirror above the bowl, pushed aside the painful thoughts that Wickham had other children with other women—that was not something to think upon now—and nodded. Yes, she thought, I will convince them. I will make them eat their words. She turned on the spot and marched out of her bedroom. Just you see if I do not. She walked with a determined step along the landing and up to her uncle and aunt’s room. She hammered on the door and called out, “Mama wishes to see you both in the drawing room. There is tea served.” She turned about and fled down the stairs and back into the drawing room before they had a chance to respond. As she took her place on the settee and informed her mother that she had called the Gardiners, her mind was racing and planning her next move to convince them all that Wickham was no bounder, nor was he a cad.
“Are you out of your mind, man, to be entertaining such ridiculous notions?” Poynter almost spat out his coffee as he listened to what Wickham had to say later that evening.
Wickham, Poynter, and Turpin sat outside Wickham’s tent, where a small fire was lit, and they were enjoying mugs of coffee and listening to Wickham’s hare-brained scheme as their dinner was being cooked for them a short distance away.
“The woman is no less than a mile from here, I guess. How can I say no?” He pleaded with them.
“Quite easily.” Turpin scoffed. He drained his mug and leant forward to pour himself another mugful of coffee from the pot that stood on an upturned crate serving as a table between them. “For all you know, there may be no sister at all and you’re being lured into a trap. There’s a name for men who fall for that sort of trick, Wickham—gullible!”
Wickham shook his head emphatically. “No, I cannot believe that. Jacques—”
“Oh, it’s Jacques now? You’re on first-name terms with prisoners of war, are you?” Poynter raised his eyebrows until they disappeared under the mousy-brown tuft of the fringe of his hair.
Wickham ground his teeth and exhaled heavily. “Lieutenant Dubois said that his sister would be distraught knowing that he was captured by the British. She’s married to an absolute brute of a man, so I’m told, and she’d take great comfort from knowing that her brother is safe and well in Scarborough Castle.”
“Yes, I’m sure she would.” Poynter scoffed.
Turpin, on the other hand, started to titter. “This, er…” He continued to laugh. “…wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that the person you have been asked to visit is female, would it?”
Poynter snorted. “Nicely said, Tommy!”
“No!” Wickham protested. “That’s unfair.” He pointed a finger at Turpin. “And you know it.”
“Remember, Wickham, old man, we know you better than anyone.” Poynter smirked.
“It’s not because she’s female.” Wickham was on the defensive.
“Then why is it? Why would you risk your life to deliver a message to some woman you do not even know exists?” Turpin leant forward. “You know you could face court martial if you get caught, don’t you?”
Wickham had not thought of that. The idea made his blood run cold. He would be shot, certainly. In a time of war, such things were taken extremely seriously. “I will not get caught,” he whispered ardently. He ran a hand through his thick, dark wavy hair. “And I don’t know why I would wish to do such a foolhardy thing.” He looked up at the pair of them. “Yes, I do realise how reckless it is. I just…” He looked down at the grass and sighed. “I just know I have to do it.”
Poynter and Turpin watched him in silence for a moment or two. Neither of them spoke, and he knew they thought he was crazy.
“Where does she live?” Poynter spoke so quietly Wickham thought he imagined it.
“In the village of Vincy, near Aurnel.”
“One of the villages we passed this afternoon on our way here?”
“Yes.” Wickham nodded and looked Poynter in the eye.
“Is it a risk worth taking?”
“I think it is. I would want to know, if I were her—would you not?” His eyes pleaded with his friends to give his plan their blessing.
“How will you approach her?”
“Yes.” Turpin joined in. “You cannot very well walk right into the middle of Vincy and shout in a loud voice, ‘Hello, I’m from England and I have a message for Madame What’s-her-name.’”
Wickham smirked at him. “No. I do not intend to walk right into the middle of Vincy and shout in a loud voice, ‘Hello, I’m from England and I have a message for Madame What’s-her-name.’ That would be very silly.”
All three of them laughed.
“So what is your plan?” Turpin pressed him.
“I intend to scout the area. Find out who she is and where she is. Then, on another occasion, under the cover of night, I shall visit with her, deliver the message, and get back here and sleep until dawn.”
“As easily as that?”
“Yes, Turpin. God willing, as easily as that.” Wickham was growing frustrated. He looked at each of them in turn. “And I promise I will not get caught.”
“Of course you won’t,” Poynter stated firmly, “because we’re going with you.”
Try as she might, Lydia was not having much success in extolling the virtues of her husband. Most of the time when she mentioned him, people would roll their eyes, look away, or cough and change the subject. Despite her efforts, she often forgot about him, and when she did speak of him, even to her own ears, her words sounded false and lacking in true emotion. She wondered at herself. She loved him—that was not in question—but why could she not genuinely speak of how marvellous a man and husband he was to her?
She sat on the window seat in her room and stared out of the window. The Longbourn gardens were not as pretty and well-kept as when she lived there. The bushes were overgrown, and the flowerbeds, where they grew marguerites and suchlike to cut for the house, seemed to have gone to seed. She frowned and remembered spending many hours with her mother and sister gathering flowers to arrange for the house and to hang to dry. Mayhap the grounds-keeper is growing old. He must be—he appeared to be old for all of my childhood. She shifted position to see if she could spy him somewhere within the grounds, but could not. She wondered if Kitty and her mother were the reason the flowerbeds were so unkempt. For sure, they did not cut as many flowers between them as five sisters and Mrs Bennet together would have. Lydia pulled a face and remembered that Mary only reluctantly cut flowers for the house. As though she read Lydia’s thoughts, Mary came into view from her window. She walked around the lawn, as always, with her nose in yet another book. Lydia wondered what she was reading and why it was more fascinating to her sister than society, dancing, and fun. She remembered on more than one occasion arguing with Mary, who insisted that she did indeed have fun. She found enjoyment and entertainment in a great many things—reading, playing the piano, and in walking amongst them. Lydia could not see the attraction. She would much rather sing, dance, or laugh with friends than sit so rigidly at the piano for a whole evening at a time as Mary would. Lydia felt sad for her sister as she watched her walk, without looking up from her book, around the lawn, not once being careful not to snag her butter-yellow muslin dress on any of the bushes as she passed. Surely, she is lonely. Lydia recognised that amongst the sisters, Mary was the most lonesome. Jane and Lizzy were always together. Even now, they were married to two best friends. Kitty and Lydia, too, were inseparable from infants. That left Mary—the middle child, alone and rather peculiar amongst all five of them.
Lydia remembered her mother’s lament of the last few days. She worried that Kitty and Mary would ne
ver marry. Lydia disagreed with her mother’s fears. She knew beyond any doubt that Kitty would find a husband. She was intelligent like Jane and Lizzy, but also as fun and affable as she herself was. She smiled as she continued to watch Mary march silently in circles in the garden below. She was different entirely. She was the sister she believed would never marry. How awful that would be!
She remembered back over the last two years and thought, with a derisive laugh, that Mary would most likely have been an ideal wife for Mr Collins out of the sisters—not Lizzy, as he had desired for himself when he first visited them. What Mary needs is to be introduced to a wider circle of friends. It was then that Lydia hatched a plan. She decided she would ask her aunt and uncle Gardiner to take Mary with them when they visited the city of York that summer. Unquestionably, Mary would find a gentleman or two to converse with in that great city, and if that did not produce a beau for her plain, bookish sister, then she would persuade her aunt and uncle to have Mary stay with them in London for the upcoming winter season. Yes, that ought to do it. She clapped her hands in triumph as she slipped off the window seat and headed down the stairs to speak to her aunt Gardiner about her plan.
However, as soon as she descended, she found the servants bustling about in the hall. She heard her mother’s voice before she saw her. Mrs Bennet was in the dining room, barking orders to Hill: “And give this table linen another wash. I want everything to be sparklingly clean and fresh for when they arrive.”
“When who arrive, Mama?” Lydia asked as she stepped into the crowded dining room and navigated her way through the maids and Hill carrying out the silver and table linens. “Where are they going with all that?”
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