Bad Miss Bennet

by Jean Burnett

  ‘It hardly matters,’ said the practical Selena. ‘I am sure at least one of his wives or mistresses will be present.’

  ‘I daresay the poor fellow will have other matters to worry about,’ added Miles. ‘A hanging must concentrate a man’s mind in a wonderful fashion.’ We spent the rest of the journey in silence except for a brief account from Miles about an acquaintance of his who had over indulged in morphine and had subsequently developed what he referred to as ‘man boobs’.

  ‘A devilish business.’ He shook his head.

  ‘That will be quite enough of that,’ was Selena’s response.

  When we eventually found Jasmine Cottage it was indeed a small cot, more suitable for a shepherd than a lady but Miles declared it to be a bijou residence and when we managed to gain entrance we found it to be pleasantly, if sparsely, furnished. Miles had climbed through an open window in order to admit us through the front door. Selena declared that the cottage in its isolated corner of the park was obviously intended as a love nest.

  ‘Never mind that, we must look for the deeds. The deeds. He said they were hidden somewhere.’ I set them both to searching and although we made a thorough inspection of the rooms and peered in all the drawers and closets, we found nothing. Then Miles put his hand into the chimney space and pulled out an oilskin package containing documents. A quick look inside confirmed that these were the deeds. We left immediately and returned speedily to Portman Square. I resolved to visit a notary on the following day to make my claim. Before I retired to bed that night I remembered to put a curtain ring on my left hand in lieu of the real thing. My Wickham wedding ring had been quietly stored away.

  Miles and Selena left early the following morning in order to make their way through the huge crowds assembling for the execution of my friend/husband/protector. I admit that I cowered in my bed for some time, unwilling to face the day. Adelaide told me that large numbers of people were making their way to Newgate. She implied that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to join them, but I already had two witnesses to the event and I did not need another.

  I made a late breakfast and sat listlessly reading a novel when a loud knock at the front door caused me to run to the window where I beheld two rough looking fellows who closely resembled bailiffs trying to gain admittance. I assumed they must be in search of Miles but Adelaide burst into the room saying that the men wished to speak to me. She was closely followed by the men themselves, who, when I protested at the outrage, ignored my words and simply demanded the deeds to Jasmine Cottage.

  My astonishment at that moment was genuine. How could they have known about this matter? They soon explained themselves.

  ‘We are here to execute a warrant for the possessions of the late felon, Thomas Getheridge, executed but one hour ago at Newgate. His possessions and property are forfeit to the state.’

  ‘But I am his wife,’ I squeaked.

  ‘They all make that claim,’ retorted the first bailiff.

  ‘May we see your marriage licence, madam?’ The second bailiff sneered at me.

  ‘I have the deeds!’ I squeaked again. ‘The deeds to Jasmine Cottage. It belongs to me.’

  ‘Then you will hand them over, madam, seeing as the house is forfeit and seeing as how you are only his latest wife.’ The bailiffs seemed to think this was a great joke. Just as I handed over the deeds with the utmost reluctance a commotion in the street outside indicated that a number of carriages were jostling for position. I saw Lord Finchbrook’s phaeton tangling with an elegant maroon, blue and gold vehicle. To my horror I saw my brother-in-law descend from the carriage and mount the steps to the house, casting a disapproving glance at Lord Finchbrook who followed him twirling a cane with gusto.

  I tore the ring from my finger and dropped it quietly under a chair before running quickly to my chamber and replacing my legal Wickham wedding ring on my left hand. When I returned downstairs I saw that Adelaide had bustled the bailiffs out as quickly as she could but Darcy’s sharp eyes missed nothing.

  ‘Are you in some kind of trouble, Lydia?’

  ‘Oh no, dear Fitzie,’ I replied gaily. ‘Just a little matter connected with Miles.’ Mister Fitzwilliam Darcy’s cheeks began to turn purple.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My brother-in-law was never noted for his sense of humour. I doubt that he would have recognised a jest if it ran up the main staircase at Pemberley and bit him on the nose. It seemed that he could not bear a little light joshing from his sister-in-law, either, although I have seen a faint smile appear when Lizzie teased him.

  My ability to look on the bright side of life at the most distressing moments was either an enviable gift or a dubious one, depending on your point of view. On a morning of death, dashed hopes and unwelcome visitors I could not resist annoying Mr Darcy. He was so easily annoyed. I watched the purple hue rise in his cheeks as I smiled pleasantly and offered my guests a seat. At that moment I heard the front door close with a loud bang as the bailiffs finally left. I hastened to make the introductions.

  ‘May I present my dear brother-in-law?’ I said to the beaming Lord Finchbrook, who shook the hand unwillingly proffered, giving the impression that he had waited all his life for this meeting. ‘I am sure you must have met His Lordship in London at some time, dear Fitzie!’ I remarked wickedly.

  ‘I have not had the pleasure,’ Darcy retorted, adding between gritted teeth, ‘Do not address me by that ridiculous name, Lydia.’

  While I rang for Adelaide to bring sherry and ratafia wafers for the visitors, Darcy unbent sufficiently to remark that he had endured a ‘dashed difficult journey’ from his London lodgings on account of the crowds gathered to watch the execution of some felon.

  Lord Finchbrook nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, that would be the unfortunate Getheridge. We knew him quite well, did we not, Mrs Wickham?’ I almost congealed with fright wondering what this ridiculous lordling would blurt out next. The man had the brains and sensitivity of a feather duster. Darcy turned to me with an expression of horror.

  ‘You, my sister-in-law, were acquainted with this felon?’ Lord Finchbrook interrupted hurriedly having realised his mistake. ‘Oh, do not be alarmed, sir. Everyone of consequence in London knew Getheridge. He was, until recently, a respected banker and confidant of the Prince Regent. His end was a most melancholy matter.’ I swallowed my sherry too quickly and choked a little. Thank heavens Lord Finchbrook had not poured out the details of my Fleet marriage. I was sure Miles would have told him of it. My brother-in-law wreaked vengeance on a ratafia wafer with his excellent teeth and regarded me suspiciously.

  ‘Your sister and I have been concerned about you, madam. Your letters have been sparse, to say the least. We were naturally concerned with your welfare, as a young widow in London.’ There was a wealth of unspoken accusation hanging in the air. I knew that his concern for me meant a fear that I might disgrace his august family in some way. I was the disreputable relative, the woolly-headed creature who had eloped at sixteen with the dastardly Wickham.

  That episode had cost him ten thousand pounds. I had no doubt that he wanted something in return. Men always want something from women. In my case it would probably be an undertaking to remain of nun-like virtue for the rest of my days. Lord Finchbrook must have read my thoughts.

  ‘I can assure you, dear sir, that the Caruthers and their friends, of whom I am one, have taken the utmost care of dear Mrs Wickham. You need have no fear on that account.’ Darcy raised an eyebrow and gave him a look that would have chilled a sorbet in an ice house.

  ‘I am much obliged to you.’ He was probably wondering whether I planned to elope with this dandy. If only I could. His lordship was wealthy, affable, titled and stupid – the perfect spouse. Unfortunately, I knew that he was mooning after a married woman and that his family would disinherit him if he took up with any females in this household.

  At that moment I heard the front door opening and I realised that my friends had returned. I could only pray that
Adelaide had managed to warn them before they entered. My hopes were dashed when Miles burst into the room braying loudly;

  ‘My dear girl, you missed a splendid event. Hordes of people gathered to see poor old Getheridge. You would have been proud. Oh, there you are Finchbrook. Why did you not join us?’ He was pushed aside momentarily by the entrance of his wife who rushed across the room crying, ‘Lydia what happened with the deeds?’ They both noticed Mr Darcy at the same time as I closed my eyes and waited for the world to end.

  I shall be eternally grateful to Lord Finchbrook. I repent of my harsh judgement of him. Gesturing frantically to the newcomers behind my brother-in-law’s back, he startled them into silence and drew Darcy towards the door.

  ‘Please be good enough, sir, to give me your opinion on a new Arab I have harnessed to my phaeton. I have heard you are an acknowledged connoisseur of horse flesh.’ He steered the surprised and unresisting Fitzie out of the house while I reproached my friends unfairly for their precipitous entrance.

  ‘If he has the slightest notion of what is going on I shall be cast into the gutter,’ I moaned.

  ‘We could not be expected to know he was here, Lydia, do not be unreasonable,’ said Selena.

  ‘If only you were not so agog with hangings and such,’ I continued. ‘You are obsessed with the affair.’ Miles wagged his finger at me.

  ‘And so is half of London. You could not move for the press of the crowd. And the carriages, my dear. Half of the aristocracy turned up.’

  ‘That would be because they had all borrowed money from him,’ his wife added. I twisted my hands and begged them to forget Getheridge for the moment. They finally realised the importance of removing Darcy as soon as possible and gathered their wits as Lord Finchbrook and my brother-in-law returned and introductions were made.

  Selena took a deep breath and assumed the gracious hostess mode.

  ‘You will dine with us, of course, Mr Darcy? I hope we will have the pleasure of meeting your wife later in the season. Any sister of my dear friend Mrs Wickham would be an honoured guest.’ Miles beamed at the visitor in support of these remarks but indecision was writ large on my brother-in-law’s face. Courtesy finally prevailed and he accepted in his usual stiff manner. Lord Finchbrook was also encouraged to join us. I would have invited half of London if I could have, so as not to have to make conversation with Darcy.

  I knew he was itching to quiz me about my activities and my plans for the future, but I did not intend to let him have the opportunity. His untimely arrival had quite distracted me from the disaster of the deeds and Getheridge’s tragic demise. My luck was deserting me once more. It needed only a surprise visit from Jerry Sartain during the meal to seal my fate.

  As I was dressing for dinner that evening Selena came to talk to me saying that we must soon visit Hatchard’s bookshop in Piccadilly and the Burlington Arcade where all the Bucks and Bloods paraded. ‘There is not a man among them worth less than twenty thousand pounds a year,’ she declared, adding that I must surely catch the eye of one of them.

  ‘But I have already caught the eye of the Count,’ I said. Selena discounted this saying that I knew nothing of his circumstances and that a bird in the hand is worth any number of mystery admirers.

  Without waiting for my comments she went on to say that cook had prepared an apricot tart for dessert. ‘It is the favourite of every man of quality.’ Tamarinds were available at the greengrocer but cook had no idea what to do with them. Selena always managed to cover every angle in life simultaneously.

  Dinner was a somewhat strained affair. Mr Darcy made little attempt at conversation and others made too many. Lord Finchbrook wore a pair of excessively elegant lavender gloves.

  ‘You are the very tulip of fashion,’ Selena told him and he gave her a look of adoration, blushing a shade of pink that clashed only slightly with the gloves. He always failed to detect the irony underlying my friend’s remarks. We were all on our best behaviour as we contemplated the quails in blankets which constituted the main course, but as the evening wore on and the wine was poured, tongues loosened and talk grew careless. I sat on tenterhooks waiting for the remark that would bring the wrath of Fitzwilliam down around my ears.

  Miles made the inevitable reference to the execution but got no further than remarking that, ‘the fellow was neatly dressed’ – before receiving a well-aimed kick on the shins from his wife. I enquired politely about life at Pemberley and my relative launched into a lecture on the burden of running a large estate. We all nodded sympathetically while I thought wistfully of the little cottage that had almost been mine. An estate indeed! When would I ever have a roof over my head that was truly mine?

  In an attempt to change the subject Lord Finchbrook twittered about an exhibition of portraits he had seen by the artist Thomas Lawrence who was the talk of London. He had painted vastly flattering portraits of the Prince Regent – his corpulent fifty-two-year-old body rendered as a well-built thirty-three – and of the Duke of Wellington. We all recalled seeing the great duke’s large nose, bleak eyes and bristly jaws greatly improved by Lawrence’s skills.

  Selena exclaimed that she would die happy if she could leave behind her likeness executed by Mr Lawrence. Miles looked startled and shamefaced when she made a few barbed remarks about an oil painting being worth any number of crude etchings. Darcy nodded agreement but could not resist a criticism of Lawrence whom he called a ‘popinjay’.

  ‘They say he is entirely self-taught and has never had a lesson in his life.’ This was said with the self-satisfaction of one who had an old master or two adorning his ancestral walls. Nobody dared to disagree with him as he warmed to his subject.

  ‘I have seen prints by Gillray that were vicious and crude in the extreme. I believe the fellow must be a republican and a sympathiser with those Jacobins across the Channel.’ There was general agreement that the continent was now a much safer place since Napoleon’s overthrow and the restoration of the monarchy.

  I remembered that the duke was about to become our ambassador in Paris.

  ‘I hear he will take a large entourage with him,’ I said wistfully.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Lord Finchbrook, ‘Paris is becoming the centre of European culture once more. There is a vast English colony assembled there, I believe.’ I wished silently to be among them as my brother-in-law remarked that England and its rural pleasures were good enough for him.

  To my surprise Darcy invited us to ride with him in Hyde Park on the following day. I wondered uneasily about Jerry Sartain. I had not heard from him recently and any equine setting would be a likely place to stumble across him. I had hoped that Selena would politely refuse Darcy’s invitation, as she had promised Miles a visit to John Trotter’s Soho Bazaar where more than one hundred young women were employed. It would have enabled him to ogle the fair sex while pretending to buy artists’ materials, cakes and any other non-essential items. However, everyone accepted enthusiastically and it became obvious that my friends believed they were doing me a favour. Then yet another disaster loomed from the saturnine gentleman sitting opposite, frowning at me.

  ‘You must return with me to Pemberley, madam. I leave in two days’ time. Your sister expressly commanded me to bring you back.’ Reluctantly, he turned to my friends and remarked that they would be most welcome if they chose to accompany us.

  Once again, to my astonishment, Lord Finchbrook saved the day. This was the second time he had played the knight in shining armour, but I was truly amazed by his words.

  ‘Sir, I must beg your indulgence for a few days. Mrs Wickham has an invitation to Almack’s Assembly and I shall have the privilege of escorting her. She could not, in all conscience, refuse or postpone such an honour.’

  ‘Almack’s?’ I shrieked, while Selena hastily intercepted, saying loudly, ‘Surely you have not forgotten, Lydia?’

  I gulped and gathered my wits together, assuring Darcy that I was overcome at the very mention of the event. He looked nonplussed for a mo
ment and then reluctantly agreed.

  ‘Then we shall expect you in due course. Your sister is most anxious.’

  Selena and I then retired leaving the men to their brandy and cigars. I collapsed onto a chaise longue fanning myself assiduously and trying to recover from the shock. At least I had a reprieve for a few days. How clever of our favourite aristocrat to think of the perfect excuse. If only it were true. My friend apologised for not offering anything similar.

  ‘I could only think that Miles had already been bled. I could not persuade him to offer up his vital juices so soon, and such an excuse would not do for you.’

  Eventually, a very long evening drew to its close and Darcy bade us farewell. Only then did I have an opportunity to thank his lordship for his timely intervention.

  ‘Oh, it was nothing, madam – nothing but the truth!’ With an air of triumph he produced an elegant, gold-embossed card and waved it in front of my bedazzled eyes.

  ‘Your wish has been granted, my lady. Never let it be said that Finchbrook ignored a lady’s wishes. Though it will be a dashed boring evening, just chit-chat with dragon-like chaperones and simpering virgins with nothing stronger than fruit punch to fortify us.’

  ‘But we shall dance!’ I cried, pirouetting around the room with delight. ‘And I will have gained an entrée into the finest circles in the land.’

  ‘We shall expect you to snare a duke at the very least,’ chirped Miles, while Selena looked a little sour. I continued dancing around the room thinking about my gown for the occasion, whether the Count would be present, and meaning to ask Lord Finchbrook how he had procured such a favour, but as I drew near to the window I spied a figure leaning nonchalantly against Finchbrook’s phaeton. It was Jerry. Truly, fate never allows me unalloyed pleasure for more than a moment.

  Behind me the voices in the room suddenly seemed far away. I heard the men discussing neckties appropriate for Almack’s. Miles was agreeing that the ballroom tie would be best. Lord Finchbrook remarked that only the best white linen was suitable – blanc d’innocence virginal – fastened in the Napoleonic manner without a knot.