Bad Miss Bennet (2 page)

‘My husband will never allow it, Lydia, you may be sure. France, indeed! How will you manage there? You do not speak a word of the language. Now if you had applied yourself when our father was instructing us …'

I interrupted at this point, not wishing to hear another lecture on my intellectual deficiencies from my bluestocking sister. I am very fond of dear Lizzie but I am amazed that someone of only average looks, and overly fond of reading, should have snared one of the richest and most eligible men in the country. One cannot help feeling a few pangs of jealousy.

‘Never fear, dear sister, I shall manage very well. I plan to live quietly in Calais where I understand there is a small colony of the English. My living costs will be greatly reduced in France, and of course I shall apply myself to the language. You will be surprised at my determination when it is necessary.'

‘I shall indeed,' she replied with heavy sarcasm. Ignoring this unfilial display I begged her to speak to Darcy on my behalf, but I intended to snaffle him first. Tactics were required here and I had not spent the last three years among soldiers without learning the basics.

I well remember the occasion when Wickham was almost cashiered for stealing a horse belonging to one of Wellington's Generals who was at the time inspecting the regiment. Wickham managed to hire out the horse for a few hours for a large sum before returning it. When questioned about the animal's abduction, Wickham had claimed – the effrontery! – that his wife was at death's door and he had seized the nearest animal in order to ride for a doctor. The general chose to overlook the matter on compassionate grounds and I was forced to remain indoors for many days before being allowed out. Even then he obliged me to whiten my face in order to keep up the pretence.

I decided to approach my brother-in-law after lunch. Never ask a favour of a man who has not eaten recently. I dressed with care – I am in mourning, after all. I wore the gown borrowed from Lizzie, which was most becoming. I did not think Darcy would recognise it. He has a better eye for a horse these days. Some discreet jewellery, my deep red garnets, and a soft but tantalising perfume – a spray of essence of lily and clove – completed the ensemble. I prevailed upon Lizzie's French maid to arrange my hair. I do believe that my chestnut curls are my crowning glory. Oh, to have the luxury of a French maid. It is so unfair – Lizzie cares very little for her appearance. She still takes long, muddy walks despite being mistress of this great estate. Wealth is wasted on some people.

After enjoying an excellent jugged hare and a glass of claret I followed Darcy in the direction of the orangery where he invited me to inspect a fine specimen of tiger lily lately arrived from India. I made the appropriate noises of admiration before heaving a deep sigh, fluttering my bosom as much as possible. The triple frills moved most satisfactorily. Darcy looked puzzled.

‘Are you unwell, Lydia?' I looked up at him coyly and then fingered the red stones at my neck. I noticed that his eyes had fallen towards my bosom.

‘I am greatly perturbed about my future, dear brother. I could never be a burden to you or the rest of my family, but my financial state is a parlous one. If I could manage to live quietly abroad on a reduced income I feel that would be the best solution.'

‘Abroad?' Darcy yelped. He had a horror of all the foreign parts for which
les rosbifs
are noted. (I am already acquiring a smattering of the French language.)

‘Oh, yes,' I continued. ‘The cost of living is so much lower on the continent. I might offer English lessons to some genteel French families in order to supplement my paltry income. Do you not agree dear brother?'

At this point I contrived to lift my skirt discreetly so that a glimpse of a trim ankle in white silk hose flashed before my brother-in-law's eyes. This ruse has been known to send men mad with desire. In Darcy's case his eyes began to swivel alarmingly before bulging in the manner I have often remarked upon.

‘That will not be necessary,' he snapped. ‘I am prepared to make you an allowance that will enable you to live as a lady should, although not in any great luxury.' Did I hear a note of satisfaction in his voice?

‘Naturally,' I murmured
sotto voce
.

‘However,' he added, ‘there is no question of my sister-in-law living alone on the continent, it is unthinkable. Arrangements can be made for you to live closer to your parents at Longbourn.' I hope he did not catch the look of horror I could not suppress at this suggestion. Some quick thinking was required. Fortunately, I had been married to a master of devious behaviour for three years. My brother-in-law would be child's play in comparison. I heaved another sigh.

‘I could not possibly live at Longbourn, dear brother. My father would not wish it and my mother would be mortified. If you were generous enough to make me an allowance I could not think of leaving Pemberley. I would stay here and make myself useful to my sister and yourself in any way possible. It would be my solemn duty.'

I stared mournfully at his face watching the expressions of alarm and disgust passing over them at the prospect. This was my opportunity.

‘Of course, I have been offered an invitation for an extended stay with the Caruthers in London, friends from my late husband's regiment. Captain Miles is now retired from the army and his wife, Selena, is a dear friend.' My voice trailed away and I watched to see if he would clutch at this straw.

‘Well, er, umph,' he spluttered, ‘that is a possible solution.' He turned away abruptly. ‘We can discuss the details later. I have an appointment.' He strode off and I gazed after him, sorry that he could not see the face I made at his retreating back. Why must I be treated like a child solely because I am poor and female? If I had a reasonable pension my relatives might disapprove of my removal to France but they could not prevent it. I am a respectable widow – at least for the moment.

London: there could be worse fates for a single woman. It would certainly be an improvement on the army quarters in Newcastle, Longbourn or Pemberley – and it was considerably closer to the continent. Something could be contrived.

First of all I needed to contact the Caruthers and inveigle an invitation from them. We have not spoken for a while but Selena owes me a favour after I distracted her husband one evening to prevent him finding his wife accepting a
billet doux
from his commanding officer.

The next important matter was how much of an allowance Darcy could be persuaded to part with, followed by the question of where I would lodge in the capital. I could not remain forever with my friends and I absolutely refused to be placed under the watchful eye of any relatives. There was always the home of the Gardiners, my aunt and uncle. They are a benevolent couple, but they had disapproved of my marriage to Wickham, and they are far too close to Lizzie and Darcy for comfort. In addition they have no
entrée
into high society and I …
I
have danced with the Prince of Orange.

I needed pleasant rooms in a respectable house in a fashionable street, with an obliging but unobtrusive landlady who would act as a sheepdog on occasions when I needed a chaperone. Perhaps I might cross paths with my hero, the celebrated poet Lord Byron, the most infamous man in London. What a delicious thought.

Having thus arranged my immediate future satisfactorily in my mind I wandered towards my room, almost failing to notice Miss Georgiana Darcy emerging from the library, wearing an elegant forest green velvet gown trimmed with leaf green taffeta. I ground my teeth silently as she gave me an all-encompassing regard that took in the borrowed gown and the red necklace.

‘Oh, Mrs Wickham, is that gown not excessively elegant? It looks so well on your sister – and on you too,' she added, after a pause that could only be described as pregnant. I curled my lip in a semblance of a smile and pointed to the book she was carrying.

‘I see you are reading Miss Clara Reeve's new novel,
The Old English Baron
. I was greatly diverted by it and I would be happy to explain some of the more difficult passages to you at any time convenient.' I continued on my way with a gay wave of the hand leaving Georgiana with her mouth fallen open in a most unattractive manner.

Chapter Two

London

I would not wish to give the impression, dear reader, that my transference to London and the obtaining of suitable lodgings were easy tasks. There was a great deal of wheedling, pleading and what can only be described as horse-trading to be seen to before I was able to leave. I confided this to my journal – the only means of expressing my resentment. I pleased Lizzie by agreeing to stop at Longbourn en route for a short time. Very short if I can find a suitable excuse.

Fortunately, the Caruthers came to my rescue. Selena quickly extended an invitation. They have taken up residence in Curzon Street in St James's London. This is quite a fashionable street, I understand, and will serve as a starting point for my adventures. Naturally, I told my relatives that I can stay indefinitely. This met with Darcy's approval as he informed me that he would give me an allowance of three hundred and fifty pounds per year, more than a governess would earn but not exactly riches. What a soul of generosity he is! How many gowns will I be able to buy with that? However, I am not too downhearted. I have plans, stratagems, ambitions. If only they knew of my aspirations. These I confide to my journal where, no doubt, they will be read by posterity in due course.

A woman in my position must fend for herself or be resigned to a life of dull, dragging poverty and boredom as a poor relation, the suppliant in the corner. Such a life would be unbearable for someone of my temperament. Have I not suffered enough these last few years?

I finally made my escape from Pemberley on a bitter cold day in early December. Lizzie was kind enough to bequeath me some of her unwanted wardrobe which I shall alter and make tolerably modish. I was especially grateful for a long, worsted wool pelisse in dark green with fur trimming that would offer me protection from the elements on the long journey south. The green was so dark it was almost black and thus satisfies my sister's sense of propriety. My valise was loaded onto the mail coach by one of Pemberley's footmen, who was escorting me – the one with the shapely calves who has been most attentive to my needs.

After long hours in a public vehicle feeling every jolt in the abominable roads and suffering the companionship of dolts, hags and clergymen, I arrived at Longbourn more dead than alive. I was greeted by my mother with tiresome exclamations of misery and floods of tears at my widowed state. My father gave me a long, hard look and pronounced me ‘Somewhat improved with age' as if I was one of his precious bottles of claret.

Immediately, I fancied I was back in my childhood again with Kitty begging to share my bedroom and Mary moralising about Napoleon. I was plagued incessantly to recount the details of my stay in Brussels, the ball, the battle at Waterloo and the ghoulish delights of widowhood so that the womenfolk in my family could exclaim and twitter to their hearts' content. My father merely remarked, after a slight pause, that he was glad to hear of my husband's courage on the battlefield. I suspected that, like Darcy, he was not convinced by my version of events.

My mother was predictably delighted to hear of my removal to London.

‘What good fortune, my dear and such an opportunity to enjoy the delights of the capital. Your friends will, of course, escort you to the balls and assemblies?'

‘She is still in mourning,' remarked my father, but my mother was not discouraged. ‘That situation will not last forever. She is still young enough to marry again. What better place to find a husband, unless it be Brighton?'

I contrived to be on my way as soon as decency permitted with my father's solemn warnings and my mother's advice about bonnets ringing in my ears. Papa had reminded me again of my foolish marriage to Wickham and the potential disgrace it brought upon the family, only averted by the generosity of the noble Mr Darcy.

‘You will need to marry again, Lydia. You are only nineteen. I trust you will choose a new spouse with greater care. You cannot expect your brother-in-law to rescue you a second time.'

Indeed not
, I told myself.

‘Think of your sisters,' he warned me. I thought it unlikely that my two very plain, portionless sisters would be affected by my behaviour. They were not prime marriage market material.
And neither are you!
rang a voice in my head.

My sister Jane and her husband were out of the district so there was no possibility of being conveyed to London in any style. The prospect of another journey by mail coach was not enticing and it was another reminder of my lowly status, but at least my companions were more agreeable this time.

As we drew near to London a handsome, well-dressed gentleman with dark eyes and a spirited manner conversed pleasantly with me for a while until he decided to ‘take a turn up top with the horses'. Immediately our speed increased to a ridiculous rate and we were tossed about like corks.

Suddenly, we came to a shuddering halt on a quiet stretch of the Barnet Road and everything became very quiet except for the whinnying of the horses. A woman clutching a child began to whimper with fear and presently my spirited companion appeared at the window and, almost apologetically, asked us to get down from the coach.

We tumbled out stiff-legged and weary while the men demanded to know what was happening. Another complained about our reckless speed. The spirited man merely smiled and indicated a rider who had appeared from behind a tree. He wore a kerchief wound around the lower part of his face under his hat. He held a pistol pointed in our direction. I turned towards the spirited man only to find him pointing a pistol at our backs. Highwaymen! Are my misfortunes never to end?

‘This is ridiculous!' exclaimed one of the braver male passengers. ‘The days of highwaymen are over. You are an anachronism, sir, you and your accomplice. Be off with you.'