by Jane Odiwe
“Miss Bennet, Mrs Forster is looking for you everywhere,” exclaimed a loud voice, which boomed out of the darkness. Lydia was as vexed as she could be at the interruption and turned to face the intruder as she defiantly took hold of the Captain’s arm.
Chapter 7
MR WICKHAM HAD APPEARED out of nowhere with such an ill-tempered expression on his face that Lydia felt quite fearful.
“Forgive me, Mr Wickham, is it not?” Captain Trayton-Camfield asked as he steered her back into the light. “We seem to have lost the path; how fortunate that you have found us.”
“Yes, I consider it very fortunate,” said Mr Wickham, ignoring the Captain’s proffered hand. “I was on my return to listen to the singing when I saw you both disappear and imagined that Miss Bennet might easily lose her way. The lady will now leave you and accompany me back to her friends. I hope you will excuse us; you may imagine that Mrs Forster will be most distressed.”
“By all means, dear fellow,” continued the Captain, “but do not imagine that your friend was in any danger. My intentions are entirely honourable towards Miss Bennet, and I hope there has been no misunderstanding.”
“None whatsoever, sir,” Lydia announced and shrugged away Mr Wickham’s hand, which had caught her elbow and was propelling her towards the path.
The Captain started moving rapidly in the opposite direction. “I think perhaps it would be wise to return to your friends,” he called. “If I may be permitted, I will call on you at your convenience on the morrow.” He bowed with a great sweep before rushing off into the night, leaving a very cross Lydia on her own with Mr Wickham.
“How dare you,” Lydia cried and slapped him hard across his face. Embarrassed and indignant, she had also been made to feel guilty. He had treated her like a child who needed a nursemaid, and a foolish child at that. To her great surprise, he slapped her hard in return, and she was so shocked that she could not immediately find the words she wanted to say.
Tears sprang to her eyes, though she did her best to blink them away. “I hate you,” she cried. “You think you are such an exceptional man when you are not even esteemed as highly as those whom you despise. Captain Trayton-Camfield is an officer held in the highest regard and he will make me an offer before I leave Brighton: an offer of marriage. I daresay he would have declared himself tonight if it were not for your interference. He has told me he is falling in love with me and now you have probably ruined all my chances of happiness. Let me go, I hate the very touch of you. Leave me be!”
She ran, falling into a couple that had their arms wrapped around one another, knocking them over, and bruising her arm. Harriet and Henry were soon found, still standing in the same place, and were it not for her harried appearance, which slightly alarmed her friend, she guessed that they had not been at all concerned about her whereabouts and had presumed she was still close by. Her wretchedness was excused by declaring that she had a headache. Lydia could not tell them what had happened, she still felt so livid, and although she was convinced that Mr Wickham was entirely at fault in his behaviour, a persistent niggle at the back of her mind prevented her from confiding in her dearest friend. The truth was, Lydia was most unsure of her own feelings. Was she capable of returning the Captain’s affections? Could she honestly believe that she was falling in love with him? She could not answer either question. Of one truth she was certain: how much she hated Mr Wickham. Why could he never leave her alone?
***
There was such excitement in the town on the following Saturday as word went quickly round that the royal party was due to arrive in the early evening. Every inch of the Steyne was swept, turf replaced, and fences whitewashed. The pagoda-like canopies and vast bow windows of the Marine Pavilion gleamed from the ministrations of many workers, not a blade of grass or flower was out of place, nor a bush or shrub which dared to display an untidy leaf. By midday, the Steyne was strung with ornamental lights and an area in front of the Pavilion roped off for the purposes of a grand firework display to take place as soon as the ball at the Castle Tavern was over. At five, the crowd had already started to congregate; Colonel Forster and the darling officers of the regiment, along with all the other regimental militia, including the Prince’s own dragoons, had taken up positions to salute the royal party as it entered the Steyne. Lydia and Harriet joined the assembly just before six to fight for their place amongst the huge crowd.
“Have you ever seen such an enormous number of people? Everyone is so very eager to have the best view, and I have been pushed three times already,” grumbled Harriet.
“But there are so many soldiers to gawp at and sigh over,” said Lydia, standing on tiptoe, “that, if anyone told me that I had just died and had arrived at the gates of heaven, I would believe them. I would withstand any amount of pushing for this wondrous sight.”
At half past six precisely, a trumpeter on horseback announced the Prince and his party, and a magnificent open barouche with postillions carried the royal presence into view. The Prince, accompanied by an Admiral and a Colonel, was conveyed in this first carriage, and a little while after the first tumults had died down, a second carriage appeared, to even greater applause, containing Mrs Fitzherbert and her friend Mrs Creevey.
“Such elegance,” shouted Harriet above the din. “She is far prettier than I would have expected.”
“And he more handsome, if a little stouter than his portraits allow,” Lydia laughed. The Prince stepped down to greet the troops, several speeches were made, the military band struck up playing “Brighton Camp” or “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” and the royal party processed about the crowd, greeting old friends and retainers. There was much shaking of hands, curtseying, and scraping as the crowd cheered and Lydia huzzahed with the rest of them.
All too soon the spectacle was over and the honoured few were swept into the inner sanctum of the Pavilion to refresh themselves before an evening of entertainment. The atmosphere was quietened, the groups of people thronged about were soon broken up and headed off to their various destinations, but the huge majority swarmed like bees over to the Castle Assembly rooms, where they pushed and shoved, intent on securing a position at the head of the queue, fearful that to miss this evening’s ball might result in failing to witness sight of the Prince and Mrs Fitzherbert, who, it was rumoured, were likely to attend the dance later in the evening.
“We will wait here for Henry and the officers or I fear we may lose our lives in the confusion,” said Harriet.
“I wish they would hurry up,” Lydia implored. “I am so afraid we will be turned away.”
They caught sight of them amongst a sea of redcoats and were soon scrambling with everyone else into the Assembly Rooms. Their party was the last to be allowed in before the doors were shut, leaving an angry mob outside. Then they were at liberty to join the dance; Denny begged the first two, Pratt engaged Lydia for the two after, and then she lost count as the requests came from every officer, except the very one with whom she had had cross words. She could not help noticing that Mr Wickham seemed to enjoy Miss Westlake’s company very much this evening. Lydia owned, even if she hated the very sight of him, that they made a handsome couple, despite his partner’s insipid, fragile beauty.
At half past nine, the same frisson of excitement that they had witnessed in the town that morning seemed to gather momentum amongst the crowd, and the news gradually spread of the imminent arrival of the Prince, Mrs Fitzherbert, and some of their guests. The splendidly attired party made their appearance; Mrs Fitzherbert swathed in white muslin and rubies with her partner sparkling quite as much, his dark coat encrusted with jewels and decorations. Amongst the entourage, dawdling about at the back, deep in conversation with a gentleman was Lydia’s friend, Captain Trayton-Camfield. As they passed, she could not help calling out to him, and she was instantly rewarded with a smile, a bow, and an introduction to his friend.
“Sir John Lade, may I have the
pleasure of introducing you to Miss Lydia Bennet of Hertfordshire?”
“It is my honour to meet you, sir,” said Lydia, smiling and curtseying as deeply as she knew how. She had heard of the gentleman’s legendary fondness for fast driving and felt exceedingly honoured that her friend held her in high enough regard to introduce her to so illustrious a figure. She promised to keep herself available for a dance as soon as the Captain could be excused and was overwhelmed by Harriet’s reaction as the party moved on.
“I hope you have told your mother about your conquest, Lydia,” she said hugging her and fair squeezing the breath out of her. “If you are not promised to be married before we leave Brighton, then I do not know my own mind!” she declared.
“Oh, Harriet,” cried Lydia, “you cannot make such assumptions. It is too early, though I must confess he does seem rather keen. I would love to tell mama, but you know as well as I that any hint of a romance will have her down here before I have written the letter. I am having such a lovely time, and I do not want the wonder of it spoiled, as surely it would be with one breath of a mention to my mother. And . . . ” Before she had a chance to finish her speech or even hint at her misgivings, her beau presented himself and proffered his arm. He was a very fine partner, and once more the whole room attended to their dance. Lydia was sure they came under the scrutiny of the Prince himself, whose eyes followed her about the room, and she was certain she did not imagine his smile or the enquiry made to Sir John as he gazed in their direction.
“Miss Bennet,” the Captain started, “I must admit that I do not feel at all comfortable about the incident that took place at the Promenade Grove. May I be so bold as to ask if there is any prior claim on your affections? Mr Wickham is no more than an interested party in your welfare is he, my dear?”
“Let me assure you, Captain Trayton-Camfield,” Lydia declared forcefully, “that there is no claim whatsoever on my affections. Mr Wickham is merely a close friend of my family and has been like an uncle to me, though lately he has taken more liberties than I can describe.”
“If that is the case, my dear, say the word and I will make sure he does not overstep his mark again. I will have it done straight away. Let me speak with my friends.”
“Oh no, there is no need, I beg you,” she pleaded. She might be cross with her sparring partner, but she did not wish him to come to any harm and there was something in the Captain’s way of speaking that made her fear for her old friend. “I know how to deal with Mr Wickham, I promise you.” She turned the subject of their conversation at once and they spoke of happier affairs. The Captain told her that there was to be a race meeting on White Hawk Down on Saturday, and he said it would give him great pleasure if they should meet. It did sound as though it would be immense fun; there were to be all sorts of entertainments and a huge ox would be roasted. The royal party would also be in attendance and, as a number of the Prince’s horses had been reared by the Captain, it would be especially interesting to see how they went on. The Captain was in the mood for conversation, and as they left the dance floor, he began to ask about her family, wanted to know where she came from, and all about Longbourn, which seemed to particularly engage his concern. She may have exaggerated the truth about the size of their manor, but this seemed to make him attend to her all the more, and she found embroidery of the truth, where it would not harm, a delightful and most diverting exercise.
“And your mother and father have no plans to join you?”
“Good Lord, no! Thank heavens for it too; my mother would never leave me be and would spend all her time fussing round me if she were here. I would hardly have a chance to escape and do anything on my own. My friends are quite different. They allow me all the freedoms I want, which includes being able to talk and dance with you as often as I like!”
“I am glad to hear it, my dear. Perhaps we may enjoy another walk on our own later if you think your friends can spare you. I have a little something for you.”
Lydia wondered what he could possibly mean, but as he took her hand in the dance again, she had no more time to think on it. They danced four times in a row and the Captain was more attentive than ever, complimenting her looks and grace at every opportunity.
The ball was over too soon, and the crowd made its way out onto the Steyne with the same abandon with which it had entered it; slippers were mislaid, muslins torn, and flowers lost. As they made their exit, the scene before them had been transformed; the Steyne was lit up with chains of coloured lanterns and everyone was gathered to witness the grand firework display. The Prince stepped forward to ignite the first, and then gunpowder and beauty erupted against the night sky. Sparkling diamond showers and flower bursts lit up the black velvet, followed by thunderous reports that shook the ground, reverberating through the bones of the spectators and deafening their ears.
As the crowds cheered in wonder, the Captain drew Lydia to one side and presented her with a small velvet box, which he insisted she open immediately.
“Miss Bennet, it is just a small token of my adoration. I hope it pleases.”
“You are too kind, Captain. I cannot thank you enough,” she said, quite overwhelmed by his generosity.
With trembling fingers she opened his gift to discover the loveliest heart-shaped locket she had ever seen, fashioned from gold, suspended on a thick chain. The Captain removed his gloves to assist in placing it around her neck and made a great fuss about arranging it in just the right way, his fingers lingering about her throat.
“You have quite captivated me, Miss Bennet,” he whispered, taking her hand and leading her round the corner of the library into the darkness. “We were interrupted last night, just as I was getting to know you better. Now, where were we, my dear?” He enveloped her in his arms in a moment, and Lydia braced herself as his face loomed once more towards her. His mouth enclosed hers so much so that she could scarcely draw breath. His kisses came rapidly, urgent and demanding. “You are exactly formed to please a man,” he gasped as his eyes swept down over her figure, “and it gladdens me to feel your responses, my dear.”
Lydia had not realised she was responding in any particular fashion but was joining in as well as she might. She was certainly delighted by the effect she had on her friend, even if she was not experiencing such ecstasies of sensation herself. She kissed him back, but she could not honestly say she was enjoying herself. Perhaps if she returned his attentions with as much ardour, she would be transported too. She tried again with more vigour.
The Captain immediately took her enthusiasm to mean more than it did. “I knew from the moment I set eyes on you that you would be as eager as I for love,” he whispered, as he grasped a handful of softness through diaphanous muslin.
Lydia stepped back, the Captain was getting quite carried away, and she could not bear his fervent expressions of love a minute longer. “I must find Harriet,” she cried, “she will be looking for me, and Colonel Forster hates anyone to be late.”
“Surely you tease me, Miss Bennet,” he murmured in reply, as he drew her closer to kiss her again. “You are as reluctant as I to rejoin your friends, I can tell. Your wish is to inflame me. How you have succeeded. Is it your desire to torment me?”
“It is not my wish to distress you in any way, Captain,” said Lydia, who wanted to get away from his unyielding grip as quickly as she could, “but I really must go.” His kisses repulsed her, but at the same time she was delighted by his apparent admiration. As she could not remember a single instance when anyone had ever shown her such open adoration she was reluctant to displease him. She did not know what to think.
“Very well, my beautiful Lydia. Another time will present itself and I would not wish you to be late,” he whispered, drawing her ever closer to peck at her cheek. “You will promise to keep our appointment at the races, will you not? My heart might break if you fail me and the day promises to be such fun. We will win a little money for you on the horses
. If I say so myself, I am the finest trainer the Prince of Wales has ever had. Orville won’t let us down. He’ll come through for the cup! You’ll soon be shopping to your heart’s content, my dear. Could you be tempted to a new bonnet?”
How could she refuse him? Lydia walked back to the inn with her friends, full of the splendours of the evening, but for all her gaiety she was troubled. Once in her room, she stood before the glass to examine her new locket in the candlelight. She could not help but admire her reflection, and she knew there would be more from Captain Trayton-Camfield if she played along. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever met; why was it so difficult to return his affections? Surely it should be easy to fall in love with a rich man who seemed so eager to please her. And the locket was very beautiful. She carefully removed it, placing it on the little cupboard next to her bed where she could be sure of seeing the necklace as soon as she awoke in the morning.
Monday, June 14th
I am at a loss as to describe my feelings for the Captain. Whilst it has to be said that I am flattered by his attentions and declarations for the most part, I cannot say the same for his caresses. It is all so disappointing. Far from being transported like a romantic heroine to the very brink of ecstasy, every encounter with my ardent beau leaves me feeling sick! His kisses have less charm than if I was slobbered over by a codfish! His very touch makes me shiver like Hill’s jellies on the pantry shelf! It does not make any sense—he is a well looking fellow; why do I hate it when he comes anywhere near me?