Lydia Bennet's Story

by Jane Odiwe

  “I have a plan,” said Mr Wickham when she would allow him to speak. “Will you promise to meet me tomorrow morning, down on the beach at dawn?”

  “I cannot think of anything I would like better than to be washed up on the shore with you,” she cried, wanting to catch hold of his hand.

  “Will you promise to wear your earrings for me? A mermaid must wear shells in her ears.”

  “I do not believe in mermaids, Mr Wickham,” she replied with a smile, “but you should be careful. There may be such a creature by the sea in the morn, one who wishes to entrap you with her charms!”

  When he replied, she thought she would faint dead away. “I am yours to entrap, Miss Bennet. Please say that you will meet me tomorrow.”

  She nodded in affirmation, too tortured with emotion to speak, and could only find her tongue as they caught up with their friends, who very fortunately regarded them with no more curiosity than was the norm. For this she felt sincerely grateful, yet she felt every look in his direction and every conversation that passed between them must betray her feelings.

  Such was her excitement at the prospect of meeting Mr Wickham that Lydia did not sleep at all well and, therefore, it presented no great difficulty for her to rise at dawn, dress, and leave the inn at the appointed hour, after first admiring her reflection in the glass. Her new earrings, screwed onto her ears with care, looked stunningly beautiful, and she thought how pleased George would be to see them.

  As she descended the steps, it suddenly occurred to her that, although they had agreed to meet on the beach, they had not suggested any particular place, and as she looked anxiously about her, she realised there was not anyone in sight except for one of the dippers who was opening the door of a bathing machine. Lydia looked out over the sea, as calm as a millpond in the pearly light, and pulled her cloak closer against the chill of the early morning air.

  “Have you come for a dip, my love?” the old crone asked. “The water’s lovely today, my dear, just like a bath.” Lydia smiled indulgently at the old lady and looked around for any sign of Mr Wickham but there was not a soul to be seen. “Come, come, my dear, I insist,” the dipper entreated, “just step this way. I must have known you were coming, my dear. Why I’ve just opened the machine.”

  Lydia shook her head, but as she did so the old woman stepped forward and, taking her hand, started to pull her up the steps. She felt most frightened and tried to snatch her hand away but then, as the old woman’s voice broke into a laugh, Lydia recognised she could hardly stop from laughing herself. The old crone was none other than her handsome Georgie, dressed in a ragged gown and stout shoes with a shawl wrapped round his head. Before another moment passed, she resisted no longer and allowed herself to be taken up the steps, falling with laughter as she went, tripping herself up and bruising her shins.

  As soon as the door was shut, Wickham revealed himself, shedding his old woman’s clothes and they fell into each other’s arms. He showered her with kisses and she would not let him stop despite his poor head being bumped up against the low pitch of the roof.

  “Come here,” said Wickham, sitting down on the low bench that ran along one side. “There is not much room. We will have to share the seat, Miss Bennet, and perhaps you could sit on my knee.”

  “Thank you, Mr Wickham, you are most kind,” she giggled, removing her cloak before he pulled her gently onto his lap. Then, as he watched, quite clearly bemused by her behaviour, she untied the ribbons of her bonnet with trembling fingers and let it fall to the floor. It felt terribly wicked but completely delicious to be sitting with him in such a manner, feeling the muscles in his legs twitching beneath her, in an effort to keep her from toppling, and she flung her arms round his neck to steady herself.

  “There, now you may admire my earrings,” she said and moved her head slowly from side to side, giving him a chance to inspect his gift, knowing that his eyes were captivated by more than the shells in her ears.

  “They are the most bewitching picture,” he said and kissed her until she gasped with pleasure. “Miss Bennet, I believe you might just steal my heart.” He stroked her curls and took the pins from her hair, letting her raven tresses tumble through his fingers. “Now you look more like the mermaid of my dreams, quite the most delicious little fish I ever caught.”

  She could hardly breathe and was unable to move; he covered her mouth and face with the sweetest kisses, exclaiming after her beauty, as he pecked his way down her soft throat. Lydia felt transfixed with delight, but all was happening so quickly, she thought she might faint dead away. She giggled with sheer pleasure, especially when she thought how diverted Kitty would be when she wrote to tell her all about her escapade. Mr Wickham paused to fix her with a look that took her breath away before he caught the top edge of her muslin sleeve, pulling it down to reveal the creamy white flesh of her shoulder. His lips brushed the bare skin, and she knew she did not want him to stop.

  Lydia had not appreciated how much of a natural propensity for shameful conduct and wanton fancy she possessed until she fell in love with George Wickham. She owned she had become a capricious creature, reckless in her habits, and driven quite mad with passion. She was as addicted as a poor soul who craved a draught of laudanum or a bottle of gin. She knew he would lead her to the very devil before he was done with her, but she could only embrace this reflection with an open heart and mind. Her only desire was to inflame him all the more. Lydia laughed out loud at the expression on his face when she declared a wish to go swimming. Abandoning her gown and kicking off her slippers, she jumped into the azure water, like a Venus from the waves, begging him to follow her as he stared in astonishment. She swam as hard as she could and was amused to see him pull off his white shirt and dive in, clad only in his buckskin breeches. The little mermaid was soon caught in his arms, wriggling against him like a little fish, protesting vehemently to be let go but begging him to take hold whenever he threatened to release her. He swam back with her in his arms, mounting the steps two at a time, before he let her go and sprawled across the seat to sit back and observe. Although he scolded her for her depravity, affecting to behave like the perfect gentleman with a stern and disapproving countenance, she quickly observed that he did not turn his back or avert his eyes as she twisted her long mane into a cloth before slowly mopping and drying every last trace of the sea from every iridescent scale and translucent fin. Indeed, when she proffered her damp linen, he was all attention to the task of patting her softly dry, whilst soothing her salt-stung, oyster-soft lips with his own.

  A sudden pounding on the door made them both jump and then Lydia heard a voice she recognised, a voice clearly in distress.

  “Lydia, is that you? Are you in there? Oh, please say that you are!”

  As George quickly threw a shawl over his head, Lydia opened the door a tiny crack and discovered Harriet, looking for all the world as though she had lost a fortune. Her face broke into smiles of relief when she saw Lydia, as she explained that she had become worried when she went to call on her at the breakfast hour and had not been able to discover her whereabouts or anyone who knew where she had gone.

  “I have just been for an early morning bathe,” Lydia assured her as well as she could, though she was sure she looked flustered and breathless. “I couldn’t sleep; I do not know why I feel so anxious, I declare!”

  Harriet expressed her surprise at seeing the old dipper, but Lydia explained that the woman had been assisting her in the lacing of her stays and prayed that Harriet had only just come upon them. It seemed that she had and, after persuading Harriet not to go for a bathe nor to engage the help of the old crone, who made a hasty retreat as soon as “she” could, Lydia insisted that they take a walk along the seashore before returning to the Ship for breakfast.

  Inevitably, the lovers’ secret trysts were halted for the present. Lydia was not able to speak to George again that day, nor see him, but she became increasingly con
cerned when he did not call at all. When she had not seen anything of him for three days together, she was distraught.

  Wednesday, July 28th

  George has gone! I am so distressed and do not know what to imagine. Though I have walked as far as the encampment, I cannot discover his whereabouts, and indeed, no one has seen Mr Wickham for some days, though there has been a suggestion by some uncouth louts that, if he is not to be found in Ragget’s, I might try the moneylenders. If only I could go to his club, but no woman is allowed admittance in that establishment. I am hoping desperately that he will make an appearance this evening.

  Is it my fault that he has taken himself off? I am convinced that I alone must be responsible for his disappearance, that somehow I must have displeased him, and I do not think I can carry on. What shall I do if he does not return?

  Harriet has no comprehension of the truth of my situation and imagines I am pining for another, reassuring me that my spirits will be restored as soon as the Captain returns, which she is certain must be imminent. “And then I think we might all guess what happy event might take place next, Lydia,” she said this morning, with a glint in her eye and a merry laugh. “He must have gone to town in search of a betrothal ring. Yes, I am sure that must be what has taken him away. Patience, my dear friend, and you will see he has been working on your behalf. Good things come to those who wait!”

  Fortunately, Harriet quite missed the expression on my countenance after she made this very suggestion. If she had witnessed it, she would have been far more troubled.

  Chapter 13

  LYDIA, HARRIET, AND THE Colonel entered the Rooms the following evening and found the usual crowd, but there was no sign of Mr Wickham. Trying to appear unconcerned, Lydia was sure her face was betraying every emotion. She could not remember ever feeling so low. Perhaps George had met with an accident. What if he was lying in a ditch, thrown from a curricle, and she was not there to nurse him?

  Mr Denny asked her outright why she appeared to be so downhearted. “Miss Bennet, are you quite well? You are very quiet this evening, and if I may say so, you are looking a trifle ill.”

  “I am quite well. I am just a little tired that is all. I am sure I will improve with an offer of a dance.”

  Mr Denny took the hint and whirled her away. She tried her best to be the light-hearted partner he knew, but there was still no sign of George and she thought her heart might break. They came off the floor and Denny offered to fetch them some drinks. She sat on a chair in the corner, hoping that no one would see her and make further enquiries or ask her to dance. Everybody seemed to be in high spirits, in great contrast to her own. What if Wickham had gone away, never to return? She could not bear to think of it and realised that her life would be unbearable without him. It had been coming on so slowly she could not think when she had first truly fallen for him, but she supposed in her heart it must have been from the moment she set eyes on him in Meryton High Street.

  Then she saw him, George Wickham, the love of her life, moving with great rapidity towards her across the floor. Fortunately, Harriet and the Colonel were dancing and quite missed catching the expression of relief on Lydia’s countenance or the agitated entreaties whispered into her ear. Anyone watching would have immediately guessed their intimacy, their bodies naturally curving in towards the other, and Lydia’s expression of sheer adoration as her love begged her to step outside.

  Once in the moonlit alley, she threw herself into his arms, covering him with kisses. But although he returned her caresses, she felt something wanting. He was not the passionate suitor she had known; there was a reserve about him and she felt unnerved.

  Lydia broke away; she was all concern, knowing something was not right. “What is it, my love? You do not look yourself. Indeed, you are suffering truly, are you not?”

  George Wickham was pacing the alleyway, his head in his hands. “Lydia, can I trust you?”

  “Of course, with your life!”

  “I am in trouble. I cannot go into the particulars, but believe me when I say that I have no choice but to leave Brighton, to go away for a while until I have sorted out some money matters which are most pressing.”

  “Leave Brighton? Leave me? But, George, you cannot leave. Say it isn’t true.”

  “I must go; it cannot be avoided. Indeed, if I am not gone by tomorrow, I will surely be in fear of losing my life.”

  “George, you are alarming me now,” she cried, grabbing his arm and searching his face. “How can you say such a thing? Surely you do not mean it.”

  “I have no choice.”

  “But there must be a way of solving your problems. You have many friends who will help you. Let us talk to Denny; he will think of a way I’m sure.”

  “I cannot ask him. He has already done what he can and it is not enough.” He took her in his arms, looked beseechingly into her eyes and then down the length of the alleyway, as though he might find the answer in the darkness. Lydia felt she had never seen him so handsome and her heart lurched. She wanted to help him so much.

  “If only Mr Darcy had seen fit to give me the living I had been promised by his most generous and kind-hearted father, I should not be in such dire circumstances. No, indeed, I would not be suffering such distress,” he said, shaking his head in a sorrowful way.

  Lydia felt so sorry for him. It was common knowledge that Mr Wickham, who had grown up with Mr Darcy on his Pemberley estate, had been denied the clergyman’s living which had been promised to him on the old squire’s death. He had been forced to make his own way and become a soldier. If only she were rich enough, she would have given him every penny to see him smile again.

  He turned, grabbing her arms as though suddenly excited by an idea, which had not struck him before. “What about your winnings from the horses and your allowance? You must still have a lot of money left. I am right in thinking you had quite a sum, my dear?”

  “I did have, but it is all but spent, you must know that. Lord! There have been so many wonderful reasons to be a spendthrift, and I own I have never been a girl who saves very much.”

  He let her go and leered at her in the darkness. “How much? How much have you got?”

  For one moment, it put her in mind of being interviewed by her father. “I do not know exact amounts, but yes, I have my allowance and there is a little left from the racing.”

  “Will you lend me what you have, Lydia? I promise I will repay you as soon as I can. My money is all tied up at present.”

  Lydia hesitated. “And will you stay if I do?” She searched Wickham’s face. He had drawn back into the shadows, and though she could not make out his expression, she knew she was about to lose him. She knew very well that he would not stay with her if she gave him her money, but she also realised that without it he was lost. “Please don’t leave me,” she begged. “I will give you all my money, but there is one small condition. I insist that you take me with you.” She threw her arms around him once more. “We are only just becoming truly acquainted. We have so much to give one another. Indeed, George, I wish to give you everything I have.”

  “You do, don’t you?” He looked down at her as though he was trying to make up his mind.

  She peppered his face with kisses. “It would be an adventure, George. You know we can never be completely on our own in Brighton. I am quite sure I have enough money for two. And it is all yours, I promise, as I am myself.”

  “Very well,” he said at last, sighing. “There is nothing else to be done. I will take you with me. We will leave tomorrow evening as everyone is dancing at the Ship Assembly.”

  Lydia was ecstatic. All her fears about having upset him vanished in a moment. “George, are you asking me to elope with you? How romantic! We could go to Gretna Green! I shall be married before any of my sisters! Oh, they will be so very jealous, especially Lizzy who can have no idea how attached we have become.”

  �
��All that matters is that we leave without anyone’s knowledge and with the money. Do you hear? You must not forget to bring the money!”

  “There is no need to shout,” Lydia scolded. “But surely you have some money?”

  “I have explained to you that it is tied up. Listen, can you borrow some from Harriet?”

  “I could not ask such a thing. Besides, she would wish to know why I need it. I cannot abuse her friendship. Oh, George, this is horrid. You are spoiling everything for want of wretched money.”

  “And you must not breathe a word of this to anyone, especially Harriet. Swear to me that you will keep quiet.”

  “Of course I will, George, but why are you being so unkind? I will do anything you say, you know I will.”

  Lydia was bursting to confide in Harriet. She was certain that her friend would not really be so very cross with her; being married was the important thing. All that mattered to her was that she was to be with George. She suspected the Prince’s dragoons had tricked Wickham out of his money and that was why he was a little short at present, though why he could not use the Brighton Bank to withdraw more funds she could not think. He said she must not worry her pretty head about it. Indeed, she gave it not a thought. All she could think of was the romantic image that presented itself in her head—being wed over the anvil and how she would be the envy of all her friends. How she loved George Wickham!

  Friday, July 30th

  I am so beside myself with excitement that I cannot think, speak, or behave in a rational manner! My darling Georgie, whom I love most in the whole world, has asked me to marry him!!!!!!!!!! I cannot believe what a fortunate girl I am. He declared his undying love for me and said he was so wild with passion for me that he could not wait a minute longer, saying that we should elope. I can think of nothing more romantic! Despite what George says about keeping our secret, I have just penned a letter to my sister Kitty, telling her all my plans. I pray it will not be intercepted and that Kitty will not give away my surprise as a result of her excitement. I cannot wait for the day to tell my family that I am married and see the astounded expressions on their countenances. To have my beloved’s name as my own is a dream come true. Mrs George Wickham! How good that looks and sounds!