Lydia

by Natasha Farrant

  Theo wanted to make an entrance, and we arrived after the ball had started. The master of ceremonies introduced us and heads whipped round to stare. It is – oh, it is a very different sensation to arrive well dressed at a smart ball, rather than in your sister’s hand-me-downs. In a room full of people, I no longer compared myself to tiny Esther. My dress was light and graceful. I sensed the approval in people’s gazes as I moved about the room. Harriet rushed up, in lilac with pompadour tassels, admired me, congratulated Theo. The colonel came behind her, all compliments as well.

  I never want to wear any other sort of clothes again – I may even wear this dress for my wedding . . . but I am getting ahead of myself, as usual.

  Into the ball we went. How splendid everything was! Though I have been in the Ship’s ballroom several times since arriving here, tonight was different – infinitely more candles, an orchestra twice the usual size, great garlands of lilies and roses, and the dresses! But none more splendid than mine (and Esther’s). Oh, if Caroline Bingley had seen me tonight!

  The orchestra was striking up.

  “It is the dance I showed you,” I whispered to Alaric, who grinned, and bowed, and held out his arm. Theo frowned but he ignored her. He ignored her!

  “You have been practising,” I murmured as we promenaded together, with barely a trip or fumble on his part.

  “Endlessly!” He smiled.

  For a moment, as we came to a stop, our right hands joined, I felt it again – the certainty I had when we danced without music in his attic room, that this was my future. But then . . .

  “I must dance with Esther,” he said. “If I could, I would dance with only you all night, but Theo is very particular, you know, about etiquette, and says I must not dance with anyone more than once.”

  “Is she?” I could not think of anyone less particular about etiquette than the Comtesse de Fombelle.

  “I shall dance abysmally, of course. I think I am only able to dance well with you . . .”

  Off he went, to ask Esther to dance. A gentleman I did not know stepped up and invited me. It was a reel, and we danced well together, but my heart was not in it.

  Oh, why did he not stand up to his sister?

  There was a flurry of scarlet by the door, and the officers of the Derbyshire strode in, with Wickham among them. I peeped over my partner’s shoulder at Esther – had she seen him? Of course she had. She was ghostly pale, despite the exertion of the reel, though making a great show of enjoying Alaric’s appalling dancing. I looked at her mother. Mrs. Lovett watched her daughter with a pleased smile, unaware that danger had entered the room. Wickham was right – she knew nothing of the identity of her daughter’s secret admirer!

  Three more dances before Wickham made his move, during which everyone changed partners. I danced with Denny and Carter, then someone else. Wickham danced with Harriet, and the wives of two other officers. Alaric, his duty done, stood aside, and Esther danced with three gentlemen I had never seen before, until finally Mrs. Lovett and Theo turned away to greet an acquaintance.

  The cotillion began. Wickham was before Esther – he was bowing – she was still pale, but smiling – she was on his arm . . . For a moment, watching them together, I felt a pang of envy. How well they danced! I remembered my waltz with Wickham on my birthday – our merry reels at Longbourn . . . Her hand on his as they moved through the dance, her dress brushing his coat as they passed each other, her eyes on his as she faced him in the square – Esther Lovett did not dance, she floated, and it was perfectly obvious that she was incandescent with love. Mrs. Lovett saw it at once, and so did the Comtesse de Fombelle . . .

  Suddenly, Alaric was before me, holding out his hand. My heart leaped. I forgot all about Wickham and Esther.

  “Two dances?” I murmured.

  Did I imagine a tiny glance towards his sister? Together, we joined the dance. Theo was watching us, her face all dark emotion.

  “Your sister is displeased,” I warned Alaric. And then – oh, I thought I was going to burst! Alaric stepped right up to me – much closer than the dance allowed – and whispered, “Let her be displeased! I only dance well with you.”

  Theo and Mrs. Lovett were talking together, their eyes darting from Esther and Wickham to me and Alaric, but why should I care? I was Lydia Bennet from Meryton, dancing with a count! Alaric trod all over my feet, but happiness gave me wings. No matter that he did not know the steps – I danced like an angel for both of us.

  “Will you meet me tomorrow?” he asked as the dance finished.

  “Of course!”

  “I will pick you up at the library at two o’clock. We will go for a drive. Oh, Lydia!”

  Across the spinning crowds, my eyes met Theo’s. I could not resist a smile of triumph.

  Theo and Mrs. Lovett were upon us with the closing bars of the cotillion, marching Esther away from the ball, a grinning Alaric in their wake.

  I danced late into the night – I could have danced until dawn. The sky was already lightening when I finally left the Ship with Harriet and Colonel Forster. If they had let me, I would have run to the beach and danced right there on the shore as dawn broke around me.

  Let her be displeased! he said. I only dance well with you.

  My very own count! When I am Lydia, Comtesse de Fombelle . . . But I am not going to think about that now.

  Friday, 17th July

  It has failed spectacularly for Wickham, but I SHOULD THANK HIM. I ought to run right up to the barracks and KISS HIM for what he has done for me, because without him . . .

  Too fast, too fast! I must start from the beginning.

  I was woken from delicious dreams this morning by Harriet, yelling from the parlour that I had a visitor. “I am still in bed!” I shouted, and then a little voice called up saying that it didn’t matter, and “Please, Lydia, may I come up?” and Esther was in my room, red-eyed and mousy again, and I was sitting up in bed, pulling the covers about me to make room for her.

  “I am come to say goodbye,” she said.

  “Goodbye! Why, Miss Lovett, what do you mean? You are not well. I’m sorry, there is nowhere to sit . . .”

  She perched her tiny frame on the end of my bed.

  “I shan’t stay long – Mamma thinks I am at the library, returning books. Dear Miss Bennet, I wanted only to thank you for your kindness.”

  “My kindness?”

  “In what you did – convincing me so eloquently of Mr. Wickham’s feelings. Oh, Miss Bennet! I have to tell you . . . last night, as we danced, he begged me to marry him!”

  “Did he?” I was astonished. Even for Wickham, this seemed wildly optimistic. “What did you say?”

  “I could not . . . that is, I did not want to . . . Oh, Miss Bennet, I did not want to hurt him! I said that I would think about it. But in the carriage, going home – Mamma and Theo forced the truth out of me . . . Mamma says that she knows his type very well, and that she will never allow it, and . . . I am not fearless like you, Miss Bennet. I could not swim in the open sea or travel about without my family . . . so I certainly could not defy Mamma, even though I am sure he cannot be as bad as she says he is. After all, he is a friend of yours!”

  I smiled weakly.

  “And so now I must ask you – oh, Miss Bennet, it is a sad favour – I can see that I did wrong to encourage him last night. Will you tell him . . . will you tell him for me that it is hopeless? But that . . . oh, that I enjoyed our dance very much! He is a good dancer, is he not?”

  “He is,” I admitted.

  “And you will tell him?”

  “I will.”

  She clasped my hands in hers, and raised them to her lips. I do not know when I was ever more uncomfortable.

  “When do you leave?” I asked, to change the subject.

  “Tomorrow. We go to London first, to Grosvenor Square, and from there to Mapperton Lacey – to my estate in Shropshire.”

  And then she said, “At least I shan’t be alone. My cousins have agreed to co
me with us.”

  Alaric, leaving too! I was furious. Furious! I could not hold still, my rage was so great. It was a terrible day – wet and blowy and cold. After Esther left I dressed in the first clothes I could find, threw on my travelling cloak and stormed down to the beach. The waves today were as tall as houses. There wasn’t a single bathing machine out, and the fishermen’s boats were pulled high up on the shore. I leaned over the edge of the cliff and breathed in the salt air. At the far end, where the beach is narrowest, spray blew up from the water on to my face. If I had been alone, I would have torn off my clothes and thrown myself in.

  It was Theo’s doing, of course. The way she looked at us at the ball! Whispering with her aunt! Esther must be removed from that soldier, I imagined her saying, and, Heavens! Alaric and Miss Bennet! God forbid her common blood should mix with my noble brother’s.

  Oh, how could this be happening to me?

  I went home and changed my dress. I ate some lunch. I tried to read a book, and not to look at the clock.

  Harriet said, “If you’re waiting for Wickham, he isn’t coming. There was a skirmish farther down the coast, some local disturbance. The colonel has sent a few men to calm it. You shouldn’t pine for him, Lydia. The colonel has quite reached the end of his patience with his gambling, and says he has positively mountains of debts.”

  “You think I’m pining for Wickham?”

  “Who else? Goodness! Not that count! As if he would be interested in you!”

  One o’clock. Would he come? Half past. The wait was unbearable! At a quarter to two, as Harriet lay dozing on the sofa, I put on my bonnet and my green cape and slipped out to run to the library.

  He was early, sitting holding the reins of the trap, lost in thought. He didn’t see me until I was right before him, and when he did see me he didn’t speak, but held out a hand to help me up.

  “Is it true?” I cried.

  “You heard, then. Esther said she had been to see you.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “Even the weather is against us,” Alaric groaned.

  “It will clear,” I said. “Look, the storm is far out at sea.”

  Above us, huge clouds hurried across the grey sky. Alaric stared up at them doubtfully.

  “Let’s just drive,” I said. “Or else we shall have to say goodbye here, and I don’t think I could bear that.”

  He nodded, and we set out at a fast trot, the mare tossing her head at the wind, Alaric for once completely absorbed by the driving. We followed the coast road beyond Hove, stopping eventually at a wide, empty beach. The tide was low. Alaric tied the mare, and together we walked across the shingle and over the packed, damp sand towards the wild sea. At the water’s edge, he pulled me into his arms and, as the wind howled about us, squeezed me until I could not breathe.

  This cannot be the last time I see him, I thought. I won’t let it be.

  “Must you go?” I asked.

  “I don’t know how I can’t. They are all in an uproar, though nobody will explain why. They only say that we must leave at once, and that it is to do with poor Esther.”

  “But if you explained . . .”

  “Lydia, there is something I must tell you . . .”

  His sister did not approve of us . . . He dared not anger her . . .

  “Oh, do not tell me!” I cried. “I do not want to know!”

  He kissed me then – out there on the beach, in the open, with gulls calling their mournful cries above and the waves crashing about us. A wave swept right in to where we were standing, soaking my boots and skirts. It pulled out again, gathering for a fresh attack. I grabbed Alaric’s hand, and we ran together to the higher ground, and fell panting on the dry pebbles, lying side by side on our backs.

  “I wish we could stay like this for ever,” he said.

  “What, here?”

  “Yes, here – just the two of us. Look around, Lydia! There is not another soul for miles. We could run about and shout our heads off and nobody would hear.”

  “Go on, then,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Run about and shout your head off!”

  He hesitated.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I jumped to my feet. The first drops of rain were beginning to fall, and I raised my face towards them. “Can you hear me?” I yelled at the clouds. “Don’t you dare rain on me!” I began to spin round and round with my arms outstretched, and now Alaric was on his feet as well, spinning beside me.

  “I love Lydia Bennet!” he shouted at the sky. “I love her! Can you hear me?”

  I stopped turning. Stared at him. He stopped, too, and stared back.

  “You love me?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” he said. “I do. I really do.”

  And he took me in his arms, and we sheltered together by a bank of pebbles in the lea of the wind, and he kissed me again like the world was about to end, and I kissed him back, and it was different from the other times we had kissed – sad and urgent and a little bit desperate.

  In my head, I thought I heard Mamma’s voice saying, “When you want something, Lydia, you must fight.” – and I knew exactly what we had to do.

  “Run away with me,” I whispered, when we ran out of kisses.

  Suddenly, I could see it so clearly. The two of us, wrapped in travelling cloaks, stealing away, galloping through the dead of night in a carriage bound, me in a dear hat, maybe with a little veil, Alaric dashing in his blue coat . . .

  “We’ll go to Scotland,” I said. “You can get married there in an instant, without licences or anything.”

  Alaric was staring again, but now his eyes were wide with shock.

  “Lydia! You cannot be serious!”

  “Why not? It’s what people do, isn’t it, when they cannot be together?”

  “Only when . . . Lydia, the disgrace! Your reputation! You would be ruined . . .”

  What could I say that might convince him?

  “We can go to India!” I cried. “Alaric, your tea plantation!” To be sure, I was a little baffled when he first told me about that, but why not? The elephants and the temples and the delicious fruit, all those silks and fabrics and spices . . . Why not go for a few years, and return even richer than when we left, like his own stepfather had?

  He was laughing now, raised our joined hands to his lips, smothered mine in kisses.

  “We shall have to go to Southampton instead of Scotland,” I said. “We will leave tonight – at what time do coaches leave for Southampton?”

  “I don’t think there is a night coach to Southampton . . .”

  “Then we will go to London, and leave for Southampton from there tomorrow morning! That will confuse them if they try to follow us! Alaric, say you will do it!”

  A sudden clap of thunder, and the heavens opened. Alaric leaped to his feet and pulled me up. We ran for the trap, pulled the cover over, and crept beneath it.

  “And this is summer?” Alaric cried. “The weather in this country!”

  “So think of India!” I insisted.

  Another peal of thunder. The rain fell harder. The cover bowed. Water splashed our clothes, trickled down our necks . . .

  Alaric burst out laughing, and pressed his mouth to mine. “Lydia Bennet, you are quite mad, but I do believe I would do anything for you.”

  The mare was wretched as we drove back into Brighton, Alaric and I a sodden, bedraggled mess, yet we were both glowing like beacons.

  “The coach leaves at nine o’clock,” I said. “I know, because the colonel had to take it once. We are all invited to dine with the other officers tonight, but I shall pretend to be ill, and stay behind until they are gone. What will you do?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  We giggled like two conspirators. It was happening! It was real!

  He set me down at the top of Market Street.

  “Until tonight,” I said. “The nine o’clock coach!”

  “Parting is such sweet sorrow!” h
e cried (I think it is from Romeo and Juliet). “Until tonight, Lydia!”

  He drove away, waving, but I did not turn immediately for home. Instead, and despite the rain, I crossed over the road to look at the sea.

  How different I am now from the girl who stood on the platform of Janet’s bathing machine, afraid to jump in the water! To think that I can now swim on my own . . . There are sharks in India, huge great things the size of horses, Alaric says, but they will not bother us. He knows all the best places for bathing. The water will be warm and clear, and the beach will be all white sand. Alaric says that sometimes they build fires on the beach to cook fish they buy from the fishermen – like the fish the Longbourn village boys and I tried to cook all those years ago, but actually edible. Alaric says it is the best food you ever tasted, and they eat it with coconuts straight off the trees.

  Coconuts!

  How different it will be – how glorious! But I don’t think I shall ever stop loving Brighton.

  Later . . .

  My small valise is packed. I am taking only absolute essentials. My lightest summer dresses – the green muslin, the spotted white. I am wearing my altered blue, but when the time comes I shall pack that, too, as well as my dress from the ball, which is far too beautiful to leave behind, regardless of who made it. And my new parasol, which will be so useful against the sun when we are at sea, whatever Theo says about it only being good for cricket. Theo! What will she think when we are gone? She will miss her brother . . . But it is her own fault. She should not be trying to come between us.

  I have packed my bathing shift, and all my stockings and stays and underclothes, and my dancing slippers and new pantaloons, and two nightgowns and a good shawl. There is no room for my bonnets. I must choose one, which I will wear tonight. After much deliberation, I have settled on the little yellow poke with the tiny crown and the very wide brim that best hides my face – it seems the one most appropriate for running away. And I have packed quantities of different ribbons with which to vary it, to make up for not bringing the others.

  The little money I have left.