At Last: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Anne Morris

  "We should think of our mild winter in Scarborough last year, and be thankful," said Elizabeth. Lydia turned to her with a sour look, and Elizabeth knew that they were all feeling extremely house-bound. She missed her daily exercise. Though she had sturdy boots, and a warm pelisse, the extremely cold temperatures defeated her beyond a foray out the door, and down a block before she came back to unfreeze her toes, and sip her tea.

  Near the end of January, baby Arthur did not note the cold or the fact that it was the middle of the night, but insisted on making his appearance—though he was quick about it. When informed that she had a third brother, Miss Anna Gardiner was rather put out by the news. But Paulette declared that she rather liked having brothers. However, looking down at the bundle that her cousin Lydia held, she seemed rather surprised that he was so very small.

  • • •

  Gloom and languor, melancholy and depression beset everyone in London through the entire month of January. People went about their business though with no happiness, interest, or energy in their day-to-day affairs. The entire city was under a smoky, darkened gray glass dome for almost five weeks, and its effect weighed on everyone in Town, with the shortened days of winter, the lack of sunlight—its failing so early in the day—and the long dark nights which pressed on everyone's minds. It was not to anyone's liking except for, perhaps, the coal merchants.

  Darcy mused on the fact that commerce in the city was just getting back to its normal levels after coming to an almost complete stoppage because of the fog and the snow. Transportation around the city was difficult. Courting was not a sensible, not a rational occupation, particularly when they were separated by a number of miles of rather winding roads. It was not logical to consider visiting Miss Bennet, though it seemed as though he had been afforded an extra chance with her because she had stayed in London. However, the weather—Mother Nature herself—seemed to argue against his chances with her, and he stayed by the fireplace in the library and only thought of calling on her, without actually leaving his home.

  At the end of January, the paper noted that there was ice forming on the Thames. Rather than such an indication of nature's power giving rise to fears, it petitioned people's memories to recall previous times when the Thames had frozen over sufficiently for people to walk on it. It even become so thick that there had been Frost Fairs on the Thames—galas of drink and dance, entertainment and merriment, with merchants selling souvenirs, meat, sweets, hot drink, and alcoholic brews of every kind imaginable.

  The watermen, whose job it was to ferry people from one side of the Thames to the other, carefully monitored the ice, and on Sunday the thirtieth of January a few of them ventured to walk from The Queenhithe Steps south all the walk across to Southwark without falling in and a Frost Fair was declared. Not all souls were initially so brave, and it took another day of hard freezing, but then that melancholy that had gripped the city for over five weeks lifted. Though it was still freezing, still bitterly cold, Londoners left their places of business, or their residences, to come see the ice, to walk on it, to come drink and eat, perhaps to dance, and to celebrate and play.

  • • •

  Wickham wondered that he heard so little from Georgiana or Mrs. Younge in January. They were not so impassible, the city streets, though he could well understand Darcy keeping his sister at home. But that could not rightly account for why neither of them wrote to him. There were no accidental meetings between them, as there was no fashionable parade of people in Hyde Park. Anyone who needed to come for the next session of Parliament did so, but their wives and daughters did not brave the weather to display themselves. Georgiana was not, apparently, tempted or permitted to get out in her carriage, even once the roads around London were no longer blocked with snow.

  He changed lodgings and moved back to Wapping, not to The Pear Tree, but a cheaper place than before, while he cursed the weather and waited. Then, after complaining to any who would listen, Mother Nature gave him his chance, a place where people from a cross-section of society might meet in an entirely acceptable way: the Frost Fair. On Wednesday, he wrote to Georgiana and begged her to meet him at the Queenhithe Steps. He was not sure if she would come away with him just then as their correspondence had been so sporadic, but he had to see her to plan the details.

  • • •

  Georgiana had taken to checking for letters most days and was thrilled to see that loping scrawl on Thursday morning. She opened the envelope, despite its being addressed to Mrs. Younge. The temperature outside currently was not so very atrocious, just below freezing, not like those awful ten degree days they had suffered through in January. Georgiana ordered a carriage for the morrow, and then went to tell her companion of their plans, to order her, rather than ask.

  Georgiana was scolded for opening a letter not addressed to her, but she did not care. An argument ensued between the two of them, charge and companion, and Georgiana looked at the older woman, realizing that Mrs. Younge was reluctant to go on this trip though Georgiana had no idea why.

  "We cannot go to the Frost Fair without your brother as an escort," Mrs. Younge finally asserted. "It is too large a gathering without such company and protection as Mr. Darcy, a man, can provide."

  Georgiana let out a large breath and clasped her hands into fists. "May we not simply drive along the embankment to see it? And if we stop to view it, and happen to run into an acquaintance, would that be so unacceptable?" she asked. Her companion looked at her and swallowed visibly.

  "May we not tell your brother we are to call on Miss Lydia for a short visit?" asked Mrs. Younge then, and Georgiana frowned; she was not so confident about sharing Wickham with Lydia, but it seemed the only way to obtain her outing, so she agreed.

  By Thursday, the Frost Fair was attracting thousands of Londoners from their homes. The street above the north embankment was clogged with people, and after retrieving Lydia from the Gardiner's home, the carriage made a slow crawl along Lower Thames Street to the appointed meeting spot. Georgiana eagerly watched out of the carriage window, and spied Wickham by the side of the road.

  "There he is!" she cried, and the carriage was ordered to stop; the window pulled up eagerly.

  "Miss Darcy," he called with a nod. It was too cold to remove his hat. "Will you come walk the Fair with me?"

  Mrs. Younge cleared her throat; Georgiana looked over at her companion, and then back at Wickham. "I fear we have only a little time today, but a few minutes." He was disappointed, she could see that on his face, and her own heart leapt at that, he did care for her, loved her, if he had counted on having time with her, and was disconcerted that she could not visit the Frost Fair with him.

  "Might you be permitted to speak to me for five minutes then?" he asked. Her eyes reluctantly left his gaze to seek permission from Mrs. Younge, who nodded. Georgiana's hand was on the door, Wickham lifted her to the ground and then held onto her as her feet met the pavement.

  They walked away from the carriage, as he explained his plan, would she marry him? She readily agreed, and for them to elope together since Fitzwilliam would never consent. On Saturday she was to come alone to the Crown & Anker tent on the south side of the Fair to meet him. He would have all the arrangements made by then. He could not kiss her, since they were in public, but he squeezed her arm as he passed her back up into the carriage.

  To think! She would be married on Saturday. Her joy burst forth as she shared her plans with her companion and friend, and spoke of nothing else as they circled back to take Lydia home before they returned to Darcy House.

  • • •

  The Frost Fair dominated the papers and was all that was spoken of in the Gardiner home. Friday afternoon, Elizabeth was reading an account to her aunt while Anna and Paulette listened with curious eyes and ears about all the imagined delights to be seen, and to eat—especially the accounts of gingerbread, hot chocolate and hot chestnuts—and the rides to be had there. Lydia was overly quiet while the two girls turned to their mother, with b
aby Arthur in her arms, and begged with pleading eyes and sugared voices to be able to go.

  "I fear it is too cold for little girls. The temperature has taken a turn today. Why not wait, and see if it warms a little," said Mrs. Gardiner, who would obviously rather not have them go at all.

  "But what if the ice melts away entirely?" argued Anna. "The account Cousin Elizabeth just read said sometimes the ice melts away quickly, when the weather warms up. We should go while it is still cold, Mamma."

  "We will wrap up well and not stay out too long," said Paulette.

  "I fear you will be disappointed," said Aunt Gardiner as she rocked the baby. More pleas came from her two girls.

  "I would be happy to go for only an hour with the girls, to see to the rides and games, and to buy them a little gingerbread," offered Elizabeth who had gone back to her sewing.

  "And the donkey races?" brightened Anna.

  "Yes," nodded Elizabeth.

  "Cousin Lydia, should you not like to go too?" asked Paulette.

  "Yes, I suppose so," said Lydia, though her usual spirited character was not in evidence.

  A light rain fell on Saturday morning to the Gardiner girls' disappointment, which delayed their setting out. Mrs. Gardiner also declared that should the rain continue too long, or not stop, the trip was to be abandoned. But it only rained for a short time, and after their midday meal, the four set out with a footman in tow.

  They were to walk to the Fair as their street, Bishopsgate, gave way to becoming the London Bridge which was the beginnings of their afternoon of delights. Anna and Paulette bounced on their toes with pronouncements about which things to do first, but Elizabeth noticed that Lydia was still unusually quiet and introspective. Paulette even commented about it as they walked, but as soon as they were within sight of the London Bridge, both the young girls' excitement could barely be contained, though Lydia still walked with slow and focused footsteps.

  After paying their pennies to enter onto the ice, the girls insisted on purchasing and eating gingerbread right away. They spied a chestnut seller next, but Elizabeth moved them along, promising them the treat later. The going was tricky as their footing was not secure. Walking on ice was made all the more slippery with the morning's rain, and they often saw others, who moved at a quickened pace, trip and fall.

  The great swings or sliding-barges were the next delight desired, and Anna and Paulette screamed with laughter while a burly man with huge shoulders pushed the two girls and two young ladies in a swing set into an a-frame. Lydia had declined joining her little cousins, and Elizabeth looked at her; she had hollowed-looking eyes.

  "What is on your mind, Lydia?" asked Elizabeth, as she looked from her sister to the little girls in the giant swing. Her sister did not answer, but looked at Anna and Paulette with their screams and hands and hair flying in the air. "Did your visit on Thursday with Miss Darcy not go as expected?"

  "Lizzy, she is going to do something…wicked," whispered Lydia. Elizabeth turned to her, taking in a breath. "I thought he was so handsome and charming. And Catherine met Mr. St. Claire that way, stealing away to go walk with him, meet up and talk to him." Elizabeth stared at Lydia as her stomach knotted. "Kitty's courtship was romantic, but Georgiana is not being courted, not really. Mr. Wickham is not charming anymore, Lizzy. When we met with him the other day, I could only see how much a game this was for him, that Georgiana was a prize, and he frightens me! That smile makes me sort of queasy inside."

  "What is Georgiana going to do?" cried Elizabeth.

  "She is to meet him at the Frost Fair, to elope with him today," declared Lydia.

  Elizabeth froze in consideration of that fact, and of her own insights into Mr. Wickham's nature. Could she catch up with Georgiana and persuade her to come away, come home, or at least delay her departure until Mr. Darcy could prevent it?

  "Lydia, where were they to meet?" Elizabeth clasped her sister's arms in her hands to look directly in her eyes.

  "At the Crown & Anker tent on the south side of the river," explained Lydia.

  "Lydia, this is important," said Elizabeth, still with her eyes fixed on her sister's. "You must return home immediately and contact Mr. Darcy. Take Nelson the footman, and get home straight away—get Uncle Gardiner to help you. He should be home, as he often only works half days on Saturday—but you must tell Mr. Darcy everything, and get him to come here, do you understand?"

  "Yes," answered Lydia who began to cry then. "Lizzy this is my fault; I have been a terrible friend. I should have…" Elizabeth cut her off.

  "Lend me your cloak, Lydia. It is longer and warmer, and the hood will cut the chill." She began to unbutton her pelisse. The ride was over, and the Gardiner girls were being handed down. "Take the girls home, and tell the Gardiners everything, Lydia." They exchanged their outer garments; Elizabeth pulling the soft green hood up over her head as she moved as quickly as the ice allowed towards the south shore.

  • • •

  He had waited long for this day and it had failed him once before, so Wickham was not as confident as he normally was. The ice was even more crowded this day, despite the rainfall that morning, which some said did not bode well for the ice to continue. Others insisted that previous Frost Fairs had lasted for weeks, and if it had to be so cold, they might as well have fun, and no one was about to leave the gaiety, the drink, and the money to be made, so long as there was ice covering the Thames.

  Wickham was on his second tankard of gin. He knew he should not drink, and it was uncharacteristic of him to do so (it made his hands shake even more), but the spirit of the Fair was contagious, and Old Tom, this particular gin, was warming in the cold as he waited for Georgiana in the crowds on the south side of the frozen river. Rather than avoiding prying eyes, it was interesting to consider that they would be able to sally forth in front of the crowds, rather than attempting a furtive escape under the cover of night; they would walk off of the ice and enter a coach with a thousand people watching them, and the gray sky above giving light to it, and no one wondering that their actions were secretive.

  There was a press of people enjoying themselves from all spheres of life, and he watched as a gentleman with a walking cane slipped and fell, and those around him broke into laughter at the sight. The rain had made the ice particularly treacherous that day, and the sight of people slipping and falling occurred every few minutes and was a splendid amusement, if one but found a turned-over basket to sit down on and watch. The children often took some delight in deliberately falling, sliding across a long length of ice, sometimes knocking over others in the process, and being scolded, or having their ears boxed for their impertinence.

  A smaller version of the delights of the City Road—that great street of commerce that lay down the center of the ice—was set up here, near the south bank. Most probably it was peopled by those from Southwark, who had come north onto the ice and wished to profit, like so many others, of this bounty from nature. A great pit roasted a carcass of sheep, a man set up skittles for the children, and a more challenging game of knocking an apple off of a stick set in a wide hole—though you were not allowed to knock the stick over. A game for drunk adults who were more than willing to part with a penny to throw a ball to obtain the apple.

  Ladies, a select few pretty, far more ugly and worn with weather and work, were on the arms of their husbands or suitors. A few came paired with only a friend, and he eyed those women in particular, wondering about their occupation in life. Most of the people here were servants; the fancier people walked up along City Road, but those who had to work for a living came here. It had only cost him two pennies to enter the Frost Fair—damn waterman were making a fine living off of this frozen wasteland—when he heard it was three pennies for entrance on the north side of the Thames.

  Wickham finished his second tankard of Old Tomm then leaving his upturned basket, went back to the Crown & Anker tent for a third, giving some thought to the fact that he should not imbibe a third. But he was also to be fac
ed with the chatter of Miss Darcy for the next week, and this was likely to be his last chance to drink. His basket seat had been taken by another, a man had a lady settled on his lap when he returned, and Wickham eyed the man's easy hands with envy though he knew they were not a courting couple, and the woman would be on another man's lap soon enough.

  Shouts drew his attention to the trickster, who had a customer arguing with him about his prowess with his ball, and that he deserved his apple. Wickham simply smiled, and watched a crowd gather, as they expected a fight to break out, when he noticed a single female figure in a hooded cloak just beyond the circle of people—Georgiana had come.

  She hesitated on the outskirts of that boisterous crowd, then picked her way around, pulling her cloak close to her body and her face, though her garment alone proclaimed her station amongst the dress of the merchants and servants who made up the crowd. He looked down at his half-full tankard, and then put it to his lips and drained it. His head swam, and his stomach protested with the rush of alcohol; Wickham blinked and had to open his eyes wide, as they pricked and teared, and as Georgiana finished her detour. She looked back at the fight, the ugly words, and he wondered if she was offended. She slipped then, falling forward on her knees. He leaned over to put hands on her waist and pulled her gently up, as a gentleman does.

  "The ice is dangerous," she said softly, and buried her head on his chest. He was not unwelcoming of that embrace, having watched the working girl just then, and he left his arm around her waist, as he began to lead her away from the drunken crowd, that fight, and to head towards the south bank.

  "We need to walk a ways," he said. There was a crowd in front of them as well, another small area quite like the first, with gin tent, meat on a spit, men ready to take money, and women willing to as well. A shout sounded over the voices, then someone cried out, and another voice screamed.