Wickham

by Karen Aminadra

  “To be cleaned, of course!” Mrs Bennet snapped.

  “Why, Mama?” Lydia asked again.

  Mrs Bennet seemed to be under the impression that Lydia could read minds. “Do not be obtuse, Lydia! They will be here tomorrow!” She smoothed down her apricot striped dress and patted her lace skullcap to ensure it was still in place. “I want everything to be perfect for when they arrive.”

  “When who arrive, Mama?” Lydia was growing frustrated at the lack of answers from her mother.

  Mrs Bennet dashed out of the dining room and into the hallway and issued more orders in a loud voice to any servant who was within earshot. Lydia noticed the door to her father’s book room quietly close. Mrs Bennet turned to Lydia and whispered conspiratorially, “Secretly, I’m eager that my brother and his wife—your aunt and uncle,” she clarified, as though Lydia did not know who they were, “depart for York as soon after luncheon today as possible. With all the preparations, I cannot be waiting on them hand and foot.”

  “Preparations for what, Mama?”

  Mrs Bennet exhaled with exasperation at Lydia. “Have you not heard a single word I’ve said, child?”

  Lydia scowled and clenched her jaw. “Of course I have, Mama, but you have not explained who is coming and why you are going to such lengths to prepare for their arrival.”

  “Have I not?” Mrs Bennet looked perplexed and more than a little confused. “I was certain I informed you.” Lydia shook her head. “Well, my dear, I received a letter from Jane this morning.” She beamed excitedly. “She and Mr Bingley are coming back to Netherfield from Pemberley!” She stood and watched for Lydia’s reaction. “Is that not excellent news?”

  “I…” Lydia forced herself to smile at her mother. “Yes, it is. Wonderful news.”

  “It will be so lovely to see my dear Jane again, and she is bringing Lizzy and Mr Darcy with her,” Mrs Bennet cried as she turned and headed off down the stairs to the kitchen. “Hill! Hill! I need you to go and get me…”

  Lydia could not hear what Mrs Bennet needed Hill to go and get—she was lost in her own thoughts. Hmm…thus endeth my plan for Mary. I shall not have time to speak to Aunt and Uncle Gardiner now. She thought about Elizabeth and Mr Darcy’s visit and smiled. I wonder if they might have Mary to visit with them for a season, if they are to go to town. They most certainly move in superior circles in London to our aunt and uncle. If they are there for the season, then Mary will be introduced to many gentlemen. Yes,

  she thought enthusiastically, Mary will fair far better in London with the Bingleys and Darcys than with the Gardiners. We shall have her married well yet!

  The entire house was in a state of unrest for the remainder of the morning. Lydia had the distinct impression that her mother was trying to push Aunt and Uncle Gardiner out and on their trip to York before the Bingleys arrived. From the look on Aunt Gardiner’s face, it was clear that she too felt obliged to vacate the guest bedroom to make space for the new arrivals. Lydia thought this unfair. She could not understand why her mother wanted them to hurriedly leave for their summer trip. Surely, Lizzy and Mr Darcy will stay with Jane and Mr Bingley in their fine house at Netherfield Park. Why would they come here? She surmised that her mother was merely fretting over nothing, as Netherfield Park was far more suited to having the Darcys stay than was Longbourn. However, the thought of greater society thrilled her. She hoped the Bingleys would throw a party when they were settled back in their home.

  Why her mother wanted the Gardiners to remove themselves from the premises was beyond her. Jane and Mr Bingley would indeed not stay at Longbourn when their own home was merely five miles away. Why did her mother wish the guest room vacant? Were they expecting other guests? Lydia shrugged and quickly excited the house. There was too much fussing going on for her liking. She decided to walk a little and return for luncheon.

  As she wandered along her old route into Meryton, Lydia realised how long it had been since she was there last. Little things made her stop and smile. The stile where one had to cross the field to reach Netherfield Park arrested her, and she paused to think. The last time she was there was just before she went to Brighton with Colonel Forster’s wife, Harriet. What an event that was! I can scarcely believe what has happened since that visit to Brighton. How young, carefree, and happy I was then! She smoothed out her light green dress so as not to crease it, sat down on the stile, and looked out over the fields. It was such a beautiful day. Just as she always remembered summer in Hertfordshire—hot, sunny, and with a blue sky that went on for miles. She was lost in her thoughts and memories when her stomach rumbled, signalling the time to eat was close at hand. She sighed audibly and giggled. Ever since I came to Hertfordshire, it seems all I have done is eat. I shall never shed the remaining weight from my being with child at this rate. She twisted round to be assured her dress was unmarked and slowly made her way back to Longbourn.

  The house was in much the same disarray as when she left it, with one exception: the Gardiners’ trunks were in the hallway, waiting to be loaded onto their carriage.

  “Do you really have to leave us so soon?” she asked upon spying her aunt descending the stairs.

  “I’m afraid we must, Lydia, dear.” She smiled sweetly and Lydia was reminded of how much she liked her aunt Gardiner. “We will be back soon, to be sure, and, no doubt, we will break our journey here before we return to London.”

  Lydia was instantly reminded of her plan to have Mary go to London for the season, and decided to try the Gardiners, all the same, despite reckoning that she would be married off faster with Jane and Lizzy. “Might Kitty or Mary join you on your way back to London, or mayhap you have already arranged for one of them to visit during the season?” She hoped her emphasis on Mary’s name would not be lost and that her question was nonchalant enough not to arouse suspicion as to her motives.

  Aunt Gardiner looked surprised, but the traces of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I confess no such scheme entered my mind. Did one of your sisters suggest such a thing to you?”

  “No, not at all.” Lydia had a feeling her aunt guessed she had reasons for asking. She ploughed on, regardless. “I simply wondered, that is all.”

  “Oh.” Aunt Gardiner nodded.

  “I mean,” Lydia continued, “Mary would benefit greatly from going to London, especially during the season, do you not think?” She tried to look innocent as she asked.

  Aunt Gardiner’s eyes sparkled as she gazed on Lydia, and she knew her aunt suspected what she was about. “How so?”

  Lydia was thrown off balance by the question. She believed it was clear. “Well, I…” She thought quickly. “Mary would love the libraries and bookshops in London, and such variety of society! I fret that she does not have a particular friend, Aunt. I would dearly love to see her blossom, would you not, too?” She opened her eyes wide and hoped Aunt Gardiner caught her meaning.

  The sparkle in Aunt Gardiner’s eyes increased. “And mayhap even find her a husband?”

  Lydia looked away and shrugged. “I confess, I had not thought of that, Aunt.” She turned back, smiled, and patted her on the arm. “What a splendid idea! I am most heartily convinced Mary would appreciate your efforts on her behalf.”

  Aunt Gardiner sighed and pursed her lips together. “Yes, Lydia. We shall have to see. You realise I shall have to discuss this with your uncle, and then with your parents and Mary herself.”

  Lydia nodded. “Of course! However you see fit to proceed is best.” She smiled and trotted off into the dining room, extremely pleased with how the conversation went, leaving her aunt shaking her head behind her.

  She was joined, a few minutes later, by her mother, Kitty, Mary, the Gardiners, and her father, and did not notice at once that the Gardiners—and Mr Bennet, too—seemed out of sorts and more than a little disgruntled.

  “Do tell me, my dear,” Mr Bennet called over the general hubbub of conversation, “why you saw it fit to evict your brother and his wife in time for the Bing
leys return to the neighbourhood?”

  Lydia paused with a forkful of chicken on its way to her mouth and looked from her mother to her father and back again. Her mother, she saw, was red in the face, and the Gardiners seemed to wish Mr Bennet had not spoken at all.

  “Evict!” Mrs Bennet shrieked back at her husband from the opposite end of the table. “Evict! Such stuff and nonsense!” She took a swig from her wine glass and addressed him again. “What can you be thinking of to suggest that I am evicting my dear brother and sister-in-law?” She observed them both with doe eyes. She looked back at Mr Bennet with annoyance. “To suggest I would do such a thing is absurd! What a notion, indeed!” She turned her attention back to her plate and continued to mumble under her breath. “Evict, indeed. I’ve never heard the likes of it.”

  Lydia put her fork down with interest in the scene. He father seemed undeterred. “What do you mean by it?”

  “Mean by what, Mr Bennet?” She looked up archly from the luncheon before her.

  Mr Bennet took a deep breath and continued unabated. “What do you mean by forcing them to leave for their trip to York two days earlier than they planned to leave, simply because you received a letter from Jane stating she and Mr Bingley would be travelling down this way and will be bringing a large party with them that includes our dear Lizzy?”

  Mrs Bennet huffed whilst she searched for an answer. Mr Gardiner spoke up in his sister’s defence, despite his apparent discomfort. “Mr Bennet, I assure you, all is well. There is no need to trouble yourself. Mrs Gardiner and I are content to leave on our trip to York. My dear sister, Fanny, means nothing by it.” His face reddened as he continued to speak. “Of course she is eager for dear Jane’s return. We are quite at peace with it, I assure you.” He looked at his wife for confirmation.

  “Indeed,” she said meaningfully, smiling at her husband.

  “There!” Mrs Bennet declared from her end of the table. “You see, Mr Bennet? No harm has been done. They are quite content to depart for the north country this very day.” She nodded, pursed her lips together in an ‘I told you so’ fashion, and resumed her meal.

  Lydia continued to look between her parents and her aunt and uncle. The latter were clearly embarrassed by the exchange. Her mother now ignored her father and chatted with Kitty as she crammed forkfuls of food into her mouth. Lydia looked at her father. He sat immobile, watching his wife. His face was a purple shade of red and she knew instinctively that he held his breath. She had seen him do this on more than one occasion when Mrs Bennet had angered him and he had no opportunity to retreat straightaway to his book room. Lydia wondered for how long he would hold his breath. She unconsciously began to count the seconds that passed. Slowly, the colour in his face returned to normal and she realised he was once again breathing as usual.

  Mr Bennet noticed her watching him. “Eat up your luncheon, Lydia. The doctor says you need to build your strength up,” he said curtly.

  All eyes turned to her and she blushed. She picked up her knife and fork and attacked the chicken on her plate once again. She had hoped that the conversation between her parents would reveal the reason for needing the guest room free. Lydia was secretly glad the Bingleys were bringing guests with them. She was growing heartily sick of just her family for company. With her son’s illness, she had not dared venture to Meryton with her family when they dined with her aunt and uncle Phillips. She began to long for distraction. She had no news from Wickham, and supposed she would not have any until peace was declared. She wanted something to do. If the Bingleys brought a guest with them, she would have someone other than her own family to entertain her.

  Whilst she ate, she wondered who, of all people, the Bingleys’ guest might possibly be. Mary, beside her, droned on about something Lydia had no interest in, and so happily ignored her, when a dreadful thought occurred to her. She stopped eating and looked at Kitty. She was still in conversation with their mother and so she could not ask if she knew, but now she could not hide from the growing dread inside her that Mr Bingley was going to bring his awful sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, with him to Longbourn. The very thought of that proud, disagreeable woman immediately put Lydia off her luncheon. She craved company, but most positively not hers.

  Wickham did not have time to think very much over the next few days, let alone formulate and carry out a plan to reconnoitre the village where Estelle Bernard lived. Their orders were to encamp, set up barricades, block off roads, and ensure that the enemy did not march any further north towards Calais and thus cut off the British access back across the channel. The hope was then that Napoléon’s army would be steered to precisely where the Duke of Wellington wanted them. Wickham could only guess where that might be.

  The enemy were close, by the sounds of it—maybe three miles away—and at first, Wickham flinched every time he heard the echoing rumble of cannon fire carried to them on the wind. As the days passed, he gradually became accustomed to it. However, he and the other officers were certain that the cacophony of blasts were growing stronger, which indicated that the enemy was pressing forward and headed in their direction.

  Wickham, like the majority of the soldiers, did not relish the thought of engaging the enemy in combat. He would much rather have been miles away, back in England, enjoying the summer. However, his duty was clear. He had read the reports in the newspapers about Napoléon and his relentless hunger for power and domination. He, like all in Britain, knew that if that man and his army were not stopped, they too would fall under his tyrannical power.

  The scouts first encountered French troops two days after arriving and setting up camp. They awaited orders from the general, the Duke of Wellington himself; nevertheless, whilst they waited, Captain Brook ordered the scouts to explore the surrounding area, and the men were all on high alert. The tension was high and rose to snapping level when gunshots were heard from the direction the scouts had disappeared in. Instantly, the men were ready to act and a handful were dispatched, fully armed, to investigate the sound of rifle fire.

  Wickham was dazed upon seeing Captain Brook’s hand move in his direction and point. It was as if he watched time slow down when he heard the captain call, “Lieutenant, go with them!” His legs were like stone as he forced them to move towards the forest. He did not look at the man who handed him a musket rifle and a bag of lead shot. He took them without saying thank you and stared unblinking at the trees ahead. He felt as though all the blood had drained from his body, and only sheer determination induced him to move.

  They ran blindly into the forest with their ears straining for the slightest sound of the enemy. The undergrowth snagged at his clothing, but he did not care. His senses were alert and his eyes bulged as he strained to see any movement whatsoever up ahead of him. He could make out the handful of men he trailed behind as they crouched down and ran doubled over. Wickham suddenly realised he was running straight upright and doubled over as a shot cracked through the air. He had no idea if the weapon was aimed at him or not, but he instinctively suspected it was and chided himself for being so foolish as to walk erect as rapidly, he crouched down low to the ground.

  He paused for a moment to catch his breath. The shot frightened him. He was convinced he had come within an inch of losing his life, and his pulse raced in his veins. Slowly, life returned to his limbs. He crept along and tried to catch up to the men he was meant to be leading. He found it hard to breathe whilst bent over in such a fashion and walk at the same time. His neck began to ache from holding his head up so he could see where he was going. Therefore, he fixed his eyes on the redcoat he could see directly to the fore and followed him, trying to lengthen his gait and catch him up. Every muscle and sinew in his body protested against the strain he put upon them. He knew he had no choice. If he stood upright again to stretch his aching body, he would be an easy target, and he had no desire to meet his Maker just at that precise moment in time.

  The redcoat ahead of him stopped in his tracks and fell down to the ground. For a sec
ond, Wickham wondered if the man was injured, but there was no sound preceding the man’s actions—he must have seen someone. Wickham followed suit and threw himself unceremoniously down onto the ground, knocking the wind from his chest.

  He took in large gulps of air until he could breathe again, and using his elbows and knees, carefully manoeuvred himself forward until he was within earshot of the man. “What can you see?” he whispered.

  “Movement,” the man replied, nodding ahead of him. Undeniably, when Wickham looked, the bushes up ahead moved in a manner that had nothing at all to do with the gentle breeze that blew through the forest that day.

  With difficulty, Wickham slowly reached down and lifted the musket rifle to his shoulder. Even from his position on the ground, he knew he could shoot any enemy foolish enough to emerge from the undergrowth ahead. He and his men had practised it a hundred times or more at Scarborough Castle. He steadied the rifle against his shoulder, slowed his breathing, and waited.

  The sound of a twig being trodden on and broken rent the air and all lay still for an agonising moment. Wickham knew, just like he and his men, the enemy advancing through the vegetation were also straining to hear who was nearby. He wondered how long they would all remain motionless when the bushes ahead of them started to move gently again. Someone, or a group of ‘someones’, was coming.

  Before Wickham had time to think, his body reacted. The French navy-coloured coated man stepped out into the clear; Wickham took aim and fired. He was not the only one of his men to do the same thing. The air filled with the sound of musket fire and the smell of smoke. He had no idea if his shot had reached the target, or how many enemy soldiers there were.

  Wickham lay still, as did the soldier before him. They waited until the smoke began to clear, and then rose tentatively to their knees. Nothing moved around them. No birds fluttered past or squawked in alarm, neither did the breeze blow anymore, it appeared to him. Gently, he rose to standing and crept forward. He could see the bodies of four French soldiers.