Lydia Bennet's Story

by Jane Odiwe

  Chapter 24

  AT NETHERFIELD, MRS WICKHAM and the Bingleys were sitting in the pretty breakfast parlour at the table, having finished their early morning toast and chocolate. Lydia was holding court as usual, talking nineteen to the dozen, Charles Bingley was doing his best to appear attentive to his sister-in-law’s every word, and Jane was trying to run through a list of tasks she had to accomplish.

  “I hope you do not mind, Jane, but I wrote Isabella to say she might call today,” Lydia announced. “I do not want to put you out. We could venture abroad, but then I cannot be bothered to walk as far as Meryton, and you know I am not a great walker. I cannot think why you both wish to surround yourselves in so much countryside. It is too quiet for my taste. Give me the hustle and bustle of town life any day. You would simply adore Newcastle for its lively ambience. Even when Wickham and I lived in that dreadful Eastcheap, I must say I preferred it above any existence I have ever suffered in the country.”

  “It is a good thing we are not all the same, Lydia,” her sister professed, putting aside her notes. “For myself, I could never be happier than when I am at Netherfield, with all its associations. I would not wish to bring my children up in the town.”

  Lydia cast a sideways glance at her sister who was the very picture of contentment. She was expecting their first child, and though she was apt to tire easily, Lydia envied her increasing beauty and healthy bloom.

  “I think I like to be in town almost as much as the country, Mrs Wickham,” added Mr Bingley, smiling at Lydia, “and though Netherfield will always have a special place in my heart, we must fix on getting properly settled somewhere soon and secure a place of our own.”

  “I hope it will be in the country somewhere, not too far from Lizzy perhaps,” said Jane.

  “I always think Yorkshire a pleasant sort of county,” added Bingley.

  “Oh yes, my love, if we settled in Yorkshire we would be so close to our dear sister and brother. We should be able to visit frequently.”

  “I will mention it to Darcy when they get here. He might well know where the best houses are to be had.”

  The conversation was halted when Mrs Garnett, the housekeeper, popped her head around the door and addressed her mistress. “There is a Miss Fitzalan and Mr Fitzalan called to see Mrs Wickham, my lady. Shall I show them in?”

  “Oh Lord,” Lydia declared, “Isabella has brought that dull stick of a brother with her.” She sighed. “What’s his name . . . Alexander?”

  “Lydia,” admonished her sister, “that is unfair. Mr Fitzalan is a very pleasant young man. He is a little quiet perhaps, but there is no harm in that.”

  “Silent and dour, you mean,” cried Lydia. “Well, I have so much to tell her, and I just won’t be able to speak to Isabella properly, if you take my meaning.”

  “Mrs Garnett, do show in Mrs Wickham’s guests. Would you like some more tea, Lydia?” Jane asked. These civilities over, she and her husband rose to leave the room.

  “Thank you, Mrs Bingley, you do think of everything. Though if we could have some more delicious plum cake and bread rolls, Mrs Garnett, that would be wonderful. I am still feeling a little peckish. Lord! I have such an appetite, it must be the country air!”

  Isabella was as beautiful as ever, in a pink pelisse with a straw bonnet adorned with pale blush roses and sweet ribbon to match. Her brother stood at her side. In complete contrast to the fair Isabella, he was dark like his sister Harriet; a tall, well-built, raven-haired man with the same startling forget-me-not blue eyes as his siblings. Lydia would have called him good looking but for his expression, which was always severe. She did not think she had ever seen him smile. Lydia thought him more sombre than cousin Collins and twice as dreary. She half expected him to fetch out Fordyce’s sermons and sit her down to read them, there and then.

  “Isabella, it is a tonic to see you,” Lydia cried. “How are you? The country air is certainly suiting you.”

  “My sister looks well, does she not?” Mr Fitzalan added.

  “Alexander, you would say that, you are always such a kind person,” his sister laughed. “He never has a bad word to say about anybody, truly.”

  “A paragon indeed,” Lydia answered, her eyes meeting his across the room. He always looked at her with distaste, as though she were something he had just scraped off his highly polished boot. “Do take a seat.”

  “How are you, my friend?” asked Isabella.

  “I am well enough, thank you. Wickham has gone to Bath to enjoy his usual haunts and other pleasures of which, thankfully, I am unaware, though truth be told, I should like to go to Bath myself. But there it is; that is how we rub along, and I daresay it is for the best. At least it keeps his ‘other interests’ out of Newcastle and my hair.”

  Mr Fitzalan coughed with embarrassment and shifted his feet on the Turkey rug.

  Lydia did not understand why Isabella had brought her brother along with her; how on earth they could conduct a conversation together with him spluttering every two seconds she could not account. There was a silence. Lydia looked across the gravel walk for inspiration whilst she tried to think of a topic more suitable for discussion with a clergyman. “Have you heard from Harriet or Pen lately? I have not heard a word from either of them, though I daresay I may have missed some letters, which have gone to Newcastle. Is either of the Miss Harringtons engaged yet?”

  “Both of the Miss Harringtons have had the luck to find young men and are settled in Harrogate with a twin brother each. I believe they are both in an ‘interesting’ condition. I am surprised you had not heard they were now married.”

  “Heavens above!” Lydia cried. “Is it really that long since I heard from them?”

  “Harriet and Henry are in Brighton again, enjoying the sea air and she is very well,” Isabella went on. She looked sideways at her brother before making a gesture with her hands aimed at Lydia, indicating an increasing girth.

  “Good Lord,” said Lydia laughing, “is the whole world at it?”

  “It would seem so,” Isabella grinned. “I should not say it, but I daresay you will be soon swelling the ranks also.”

  Mr Fitzalan got up out of his seat and went to the window and seemed to be studying something of great interest down the drive. Why he had decided to invite himself, when it must have been obvious to anyone he would be in the way, Lydia could not tell.

  She took his seat next to her friend. “I doubt it quite honestly; it’s not for want of trying, believe me, but I would have thought something might have happened by now,” she whispered. “To be truthful, it does not upset me in the least. I am not maternal, you know; I consider it a blessing. And with Jane and Lizzy both increasing daily, I shall have all the babies I want to dandle on my knee. Besides, Captain Wickham has all the endearing qualities of a demanding child, I can tell you.”

  “Oh, Lydia, you have not lost your sense of humour anyhow,” said Isabella with concern.

  “No, I am fortunate that my spirits remain high, despite much provocation. Tell me, how is your mother?”

  “Her health is not good, but she is as well as can be expected. We are fortunate that Bertha, our housekeeper, is a very good sort of girl. She will always sit for a while if I wish to go out.”

  “Well, that is good to hear because I have some exciting news which I am sure will put you in good spirits,” said Lydia. “My sister is giving a ball; she says it will be the last she will give for a while, as it will not be long before she is too fat for dancing. I am allowed to invite my friends, so you must come.”

  “Alexander, did you hear?” cried Isabella. “We are invited to a ball at Netherfield! How very exciting.”

  Lydia had not meant to include Alexander in the invitation also. She could not bear the thought of having to entertain the rector. Cousin Collins was bad enough, but at least he approved of dancing. On the last two occasions Lydia had been at
a dance in Meryton and witnessed Alexander’s behaviour, he had been austere; she had not seen him dance once, and when she had hinted that he might take a turn with her, he had muttered something incomprehensible and shot out of the room. Her dislike for him had increased tenfold from that moment.

  Mr Fitzalan turned from the view and bowed in Lydia’s direction with a little nod of his head. What was that? Lydia wondered. Is he accepting my invitation or has he a nervous twitch? For the life of her she could never understand why Isabella seemed so fond of this brother. If this was what one had to expect, she was pleased she had none. What a perfect ninny! “It is to be held on Friday and will go on all evening and into the next morning I shouldn’t wonder,” Lydia boasted. “My sister’s hospitality knows no bounds; there will be champagne and lots of food, wonderful dancing, and Hertfordshire’s finest beaux. We will have you married before the night is out!”

  “I should think such a match would be most imprudent,” Mr Fitzalan remarked. “Not a recipe for success I would have thought. You would not recommend such a marriage yourself, would you, Mrs Wickham?” His eyes were like ice—cold and glacial—as he returned to his seat to stare at her uncompromisingly.

  Lydia wanted to shake him. She was sure he was making some veiled reference to her own nuptial arrangements. She would show him she did not care to be intimidated. “You do not believe in love at first sight, I take it?”

  “I do not, Mrs Wickham,” he answered, with a grim, unsmiling expression. “I think one should be very cautious of feelings which only obey the emotions of the heart. Quite frankly, I do not believe in the kind of false love which you describe. Poets and writers seem to rate it highly, but for myself, I have never experienced such a state of confusion nor do I wish to.”

  Lydia looked him up and down with distaste. She did not think she had ever met anyone so wholly unattractive. There was nothing about him she could like, and she found it impossible to imagine that anyone else would ever see anything of any merit in him. She was most decidedly persuaded that the single state was one he should certainly get used to; he was never going to fall in love nor inspire love in another.

  “It takes time to know one’s future partner,” he insisted. “I must confess, I am an avid advocate for long engagements.”

  Lydia could quite believe it; he had made it very clear that he had no passion in his soul whatsoever. He was a cold fish. No doubt Isabella had given him a hint about her own hasty and imprudent marriage. That he did not approve of elopements, she was sure.

  “Promise me you will come and visit us at the rectory,” Isabella interrupted. She hated to see those she loved at odds with one another. “Please come tomorrow if you are not engaged.”

  “I should like that very much,” Lydia answered. She bit her lip but was tempted to voice her hopes of Alexander’s absence. With luck he would be out and about seeing to his parishioners.

  “I am so very glad you are here, Lydia,” Isabella professed on rising. “We will make the most of our time together, but I must get back for mother. Until tomorrow; then, we will have a nice long chat.” She kissed her friend, Mr Fitzalan bowed but uttered not a syllable and off they went.

  Despite Mr Fitzalan’s unwelcome presence, Lydia felt better for seeing her friend. She missed her company and that of Harriet too. There was nothing like a true friend for sharing confidences. Being married to a man like George was hard work, and once the novelty of being called Mrs Wickham had worn off, she thought there were few delights left. Isabella would listen to her troubles with understanding; she would just have to wait till tomorrow to hear her news.

  Chapter 25

  MR AND MRS DARCY, accompanied by Miss Georgiana Darcy, arrived late in the afternoon, having travelled down from Derbyshire over the last couple of days. Lydia did not see them before dinner, as they went immediately to their rooms to take some rest after their arduous journey. She was thankful that when she did see him, though perfectly civil, her brother-in-law never had much to say to her, and as he was always fussing around his younger sister, she was free to converse with Lizzy as much as she liked.

  “You are looking very well, Mrs Darcy, nicely fat if you take my meaning.”

  “I do, thank you, Lydia.”

  “Your muslin becomes you very well. It is a very fine one.”

  “Thank you, Lydia.”

  “I was wondering, Lizzy, last time you wrote, you promised to send me a muslin you saw in Bakewell. Well, it never arrived, and I think perhaps it might have got lost off the carrier’s cart; I have been meaning to write to you of it but it slipped my mind. What with the ball and everything, it suddenly came back to me; you see I have nothing smart enough to wear and there is so little time to get anything made up.”

  “I have it with me,” answered Lizzy promptly. “I had it made up for you; we were always a similar size, except of course I have left the length. You always were the tallest! Mrs Reynolds made the pattern and it is to that lady you must write your thanks.”

  “Mrs Reynolds will have worked very hard on your gown, Mrs Wickham. She is a marvel. Mind you, do not forget to write and say thank you,” added Mr Darcy, turning from Miss Darcy to address Lydia directly.

  Despite his manner, Lydia thought her sister had changed him for the better. Theirs, for the most part, was an equal partnership, which Lydia observed with some envy; each gave in turn and respected the other, which she was sure was a rare quality to be found in most marriages. There was hardly ever a cross word between them, and if there was any disagreement, it was aired and discussed in the most civilised manner. And Mr Darcy was almost certain to be the one to give in first. He clearly worshipped Elizabeth.

  “Are you quite well, my dear? You look a trifle pale this evening,” he asked his wife as she sat picking at her food. “Perhaps an early night might suit you.”

  “Yes, I am a little tired, I confess; the journey has sapped me of all my energy. An early night will restore my good spirits, I am sure.”

  “Miss Fitzalan is delighted about the ball,” said Lydia, hardly waiting for her turn to talk, “though she is insisting on being accompanied by Mr Taciturn.”

  “Lydia, that is unkind,” Jane remarked. “He is a man of few words, but he does not know any of us very well.”

  “I can’t think why he wants to come,” Lydia insisted. “He doesn’t talk except to give his opinions, which no one cares about; he doesn’t dance and will look at everyone who does with an expression of abhorrence. If only Isabella were in a home of her own, I could talk to her just as I please. He is always there, hanging about in the background. You should have seen his face when we were talking about Harriet’s growing stomach.”

  “Lydia, I should hope you know better than to go discussing such things in front of young men; it is not seemly,” Lizzy scolded.

  “Well, perhaps he has now learned his lesson and will stay at home in future,” Lydia retorted.

  “Has it occurred to you that he might enjoy the company of his sister and her friends, that he was trying to be sociable?” Jane questioned. “He does appear to be ill at ease in company, but perhaps Isabella thinks you bring him out of himself.”

  Lydia scoffed. “The only reason he comes with his sister is to spoil our fun, and because Isabella is so charming and thinks so well of her brother, she cannot see that he is in fact jealous of me. He cannot bear the thought of her spending two seconds together with anyone else and wants her time and attention exclusively. Between him and their mother, poor Isabella is worn to a frazzle.”

  Mr Darcy sighed audibly and scraped his chair back in agitation.

  “It may well be that she will have a home of her own soon,” said Mr Bingley, putting down his knife and fork to raise his glass and inspect its contents.

  “Whatever do you mean?” asked Lydia, dashing her cutlery down impetuously and causing a great clatter.

  “I do not
think Charles means to talk out of turn, and I daresay Isabella will tell you herself, but it is common knowledge that a young gentleman farmer has been calling on her,” added Jane. “But I have no wish to gossip; I am sure she will tell you all about it herself.”

  “Yes, Frederick Rowlandson, a capital fellow; he owns a pretty property at HighCross, set in many acres,” expanded Mr Bingley. “I shouldn’t wonder if she is not made a very happy woman—a very prudent match indeed. Your friend is a sensible girl I think.”

  “I wonder at her not telling me about him this afternoon,” Lydia answered, ignoring Mr Bingley whom she was sure was trying his hardest to vex her, “but then we were not able to be confidential with one another. Well, I hope for his sake our dreary rector is out tomorrow when I call on Isabella. Sister, may I have a carriage?”

  Lydia quite missed the exchange of raised eyebrows that passed between her sisters and brothers as she excused herself with great speed from the table, declining dessert or any more wine.

  “Yes, of course, there will be a carriage at your disposal; after breakfast if you wish it.”

  Jane and Lizzy were both relieved to see her go. Jane always felt uncomfortable at the tensions which family life inevitably incurred and particularly those that abounded when Lydia came to stay. Lizzy was well aware that her sister’s presence irritated Mr Darcy, throwing him out of all good humour, and once Lydia had removed herself, he became cheerful once more. It was pleasant for them both to have some time with Jane and Bingley, and being here would introduce Georgiana to more society. She was more than a little quiet this evening. Lydia’s presence, Lizzy was sure, always brought back unpleasant memories for Miss Darcy. Not that Lydia had ever given her cause to regret the past, but an incident concerning Captain Wickham, before Mr Darcy was intimate with the Bennet family, made it very awkward to have his name mentioned within Miss Darcy’s earshot. Lydia had been advised of the circumstances shortly after her marriage and been told that on no account was she to discuss her husband in front of Miss Georgiana. Lydia had, at the time of discovery, been shocked at the disclosure that her husband had forced his attentions on Miss Darcy, made her believe that he was in love with her, and suggested an elopement. Apparently, he had followed Miss Darcy to Ramsgate, but fortunately, before Captain Wickham could persuade her to run away, Mr Darcy had appeared to save the day. This episode had naturally led to the withdrawal of all connection with Wickham; Mr Darcy had never forgiven him, though he had been obliged on his wife’s account to make some reparation.