Bad Miss Bennet (24 page)

‘There, there, madam,' soothed Adelaide. ‘Don't take on so. I'll go below stairs and get the whole story.' She left me alone to face my tragic destiny – an old lady's companion – in Bath!

Chapter Twenty

Bath, Winter 1816

I am not usually given to utter despair, dear reader, but Mr Darcy's news sounded like the knell of doom … doom to all my dreams for a golden future – or indeed any future at all. I could hear in my head the surly, sullen, midnight bell described in Mr Lathom's Gothic novel. This time it was tolling for me, for all my hopes and plans.

Even Adelaide could not raise my spirits. She will accompany me but the prospect of the long journey south filled her with gloom. I knew that she was prepared to part with her pet footman for Paris but Bath was a poor substitute. It was time to plead with my sister.

‘There is nothing I can do, Lydia. My husband's mind is made up and I cannot but agree with him. This scandalous behaviour cannot continue.' Lizzie turned away from me and looked out of the window onto the vast acres of Pemberley. We were standing in my room while Adelaide packed my belongings nearby.

As I began to sob noisily Lizzie rushed over to embrace me. ‘Oh, Lydie, don't take on so. I do not wish you to be unhappy. We simply want to save you from yourself.' I hiccupped and almost snarled through my tears.

‘Happiness … you talk of happiness while I am to be immured with an old trout in dismal Bath for the rest of my days?'

‘It will not be forever,' said my sister briskly. ‘Old ladies do not live so long and Mr Darcy and I may be able to find you a suitable husband – if you refrain from outraging propriety for a while.'

‘I suppose you mean some impecunious, terminally boring curate such as you yourself refused to wed, if I recall.' My sister looked pained but could not deny the accuracy of my taunt. Adelaide was so fascinated by our conversation that she remained frozen on her knees holding one shoe aloft. I warmed to my subject hearing my voice rising into shrill invective. I hoped that my brother-in-law was nearby to hear my tirade.

‘I do not give a fig for respectability!' I shrieked. ‘I will not be shackled to someone I despise. I will not be poor for the rest of my life. How can you, Lizzie, having achieved so much wealth and status, wish this for me? Ah, I know … you are more deserving than I.'

I stopped for breath and saw my sister's eyes fill with tears. She made to seize my hand for a moment then rushed from the room. I collapsed onto the bed snuffling and weeping, feeling sick and wicked, while Adelaide quietly rustled tissue paper.

As soon as I could I fled from the room out into the parkland of Pemberley. I rushed down to the lake and stood staring into its depths, my whole body trembling with rage and sorrow. The lake was like black glass, unmoving. I knew that under its surface, life was teeming – fish were rushing hither and thither as fish tended to do, and vegetation of all kinds flourished. On the surface, under the lowering clouds on a dark afternoon the water was still and sinister – not even a gentle susurration stirred at my feet. In this lake of darkness I could bury my own dark thoughts, my fears and my enemies, real and imaginary. It was not surprising, in the circumstances, that the spectral figure of my brother-in-law rose from the black water gnashing his teeth at me in a malignant manner. I hurled a stone into the lake in a pointless fashion, and returned reluctantly to the house.

Adelaide was waiting for me with the laudanum bottle she had acquired from the cook. I have never been in the habit of taking laudanum but, as my maid measured out the drops, I decided that my life had reached such a low point – a positive nadir – that it was justified. I lay on my bed and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Naturally, my outburst with Lizzie achieved nothing and within the next twenty-four hours, after the briefest of farewells to the assembled family, we were embarked on the coach en route for Bath once again. There was no sign of the Hon. Theo.

My brother-in-law was determined to heap every possible indignity upon me. To this end he instructed his steward to escort us for the entire journey, arranging accommodation at numerous inns, fussing over seats and generally ensuring that I did not attempt to take flight and disgrace the family once more.

In London, where we awaited the coach for Bath, I was carefully observed at every moment in public. However, Watkins the steward reckoned without female ingenuity. In the privacy of my room I had written a note to Selena and Miles giving them details of my whereabouts and instructing them to inform the Count.

When I appeared in the courtyard to await the mail coach, Watkins noticed that Adelaide was absent. I informed him that she had been unwell during the night and would emerge at the last possible moment.

‘She is sickly this morning and I instructed her to wait inside the inn. We do not want to have her spewing over everyone in the coach.' I smiled warmly at him and he shuddered saying that he would travel on top with the coachman. In fact, my maid was entrusting the letter to a messenger, paying him well to ensure a swift delivery.

The coach swept out of the yard and I bade a fond farewell to the capital, not knowing when I would see it again. I trusted in my friends' loyalty. Surely they would come to free me from my servitude.

Words cannot describe the agony of coach travel from one end of England to another. It should never be undertaken unless one is in a deceased condition. My bones ached and I dismounted at the Bear Inn feeling at least one hundred years old. Adelaide was almost bent over with cramp and even Watkins looked exhausted. I took pleasure in knowing that he would have to return with all haste to Derbyshire. After we had fortified ourselves with hot drinks he ordered a chair for me and I was conveyed to Widcombe House on the lower slopes of Widcombe Down overlooking the city. Adelaide followed on foot with our luggage in a handcart.

It was an elegant building, not large, but with a pleasant aspect. At the time views of the city did little to comfort me. I was shown into a room decorated in pale grey and primrose yellow where an elderly lady sat on a chaise longue toying with an overweight pug dog. My new employer wore a voluminous purple bombazine gown in the fashion of the last century. Her absurd headdress consisted of many starched white frills perched uneasily on sparse yellow curls. The purple gown contrasted ill with the primrose silk upholstery. It gave me a queasy feeling in my stomach.

I gave a brief curtsey as the footman announced my name. The old lady, Mrs Letitia Makepeace, looked at me carefully through her lorgnette and invited me to sit down.

‘Ah, there you are, my dear. Take off your bonnet and join me in a glass of sherry. Coach travel is the very devil is it not? Were there any handsome men to enliven your journey?'

Rendered speechless by these remarks, I smiled weakly and drank down a large glass of sherry very quickly. I noticed that Mrs Makepeace had already finished her own drink. She immediately poured two more large glasses and we drank them with equal speed. It was ten thirty in the morning. The room became pleasantly hazy at this point but I noticed that the old lady poured sherry into a saucer which the pug drank enthusiastically. Very little conversation ensued. We were both quite sleepy (from the drink on her part and general weariness on mine).

‘I am sure we will get along very well, my dear' said Mrs Makepeace, slurring her words a little. ‘Tell the servants to show you to your room. No doubt you need to rest.' At this point she fell asleep while the pug collapsed across her lap snoring loudly. I tottered from the room and followed a maid upstairs, feeling the need to hold quite tightly to the balustrade. I collapsed on the bed and fell asleep immediately.

Adelaide came to rouse me for a late luncheon telling me that the situation below stairs was tolerable if not full of fascination. She was obviously suffering from the loss of her footman. I looked around my room with interest. It was not large but it was decorated in excellent taste. The walls and the ceiling had been painted in a delicate celadon green with a design of birds and fluffy white clouds painted in vertical columns. The furniture was upholstered in the same pale shades and the whole effect was delightful. I was still sufficiently tired and muzzle-headed to wish to hide behind the bed curtains for another hour or two, but duty called me downstairs. I descended slowly, regretting the large amount of sherry taken earlier.

Mrs Makepeace greeted me warmly once again. I noticed that she had already poured a generous glass of wine for herself and one for me. I was in danger of passing my entire employment at this house in an alcoholic daze, but perhaps that would be no bad thing. After a surprisingly good meal we returned to the salon where I was invited to look among the books piled on a table.

‘Select one and read something to me, my dear. I am a devotee of the Gothic.
The Necromancer of the Black Forest
is a particular favourite, or
The Midnight Bell.'
My spirits lifted a little. At least my employer and I shared an enthusiasm for hair-raising literature, if nothing else. I read until I was almost hoarse and I realised that Mrs Makepeace had once again fallen asleep.

As the days passed I read my way through the entire library and drank far more than was good for me. No message came from Selena and Miles and I feared that they had removed from Portman Square and were now lost to me. If I was to escape from this place it would be by my own efforts. At that moment I was at a loss as to how to proceed.

Mrs Makepeace confided in me quite freely. She told me that she found the society of Bath intolerably dull. Her late husband had left her well provided for but isolated.

‘The poor man disliked company and by the time he died I had lost contact with any agreeable society. I take solace in novels and my deceased spouse's excellent wine cellar.'

She had lost the urge to venture into the centre of Bath. An occasional perambulation on the downs provided some exercise, but the staff attended to her daily needs. For this reason I was sometimes sent into the city on various errands – to borrow library books or to obtain gloves and lace on Milsom Street.

My employer was not unduly troubled by religious scruples and rarely attended church on Sundays. I convinced her that I needed to attend services at the abbey for the good of my soul. This gave me ample opportunity to survey the congregation, noting any interesting newcomers, although I had no means of meeting any of them. I became lost in a reverie, gazing at the beautiful ceiling of the abbey with its carved palm trees. I am not sure that Mrs Makepeace believed my protestations of virtue. She was quite shrewd underneath her absurd eighteenth-century mannerisms. The alcoholic mists frequently parted to reveal a mind sharp enough to detect hypocrisy and dissimulation.

‘Tell me more about your life before you were widowed, my dear, and pray make it sensational,' she urged. I would try to oblige by describing my early married life, embroidering when necessary. I endeavoured to convey the boredom of life in army quarters with a husband whose diversions seldom included the company of his wife. Mrs Makepeace understood perfectly.

‘I feel for you, my dear. I know what it is like to be shackled to a boring and dissolute spouse although my Hereward, poor love, was merely boring, not having the wit or the energy to be dissolute.'

When I described the ball on the eve of Waterloo she was entranced. ‘How I would have loved to attend such an historic event. Did I ever tell you of the ball I attended at Versailles in the old king's day? I mean Louis XVII of course.' I was amazed to hear that this old lady, wedded to her chaise longue and the sherry bottle, had such an interesting past – and in Paris, too. My envy must have communicated itself to her.

‘Yes, I was in Paris with my parents – this was during the
ancien regime
, of course. Before that wretch Napoleon came along and ruined everything.'

I pointed out that there had been a revolution before Napoleon came along.

‘Yes, yes, it all went wrong so quickly. I was presented to poor Marie Antoinette, you know. She was charming – so gracious. I cannot describe the clothes, the luxurious display on that occasion.'

‘Please try,' I begged. Mrs Makepeace drew a deep breath and closed her eyes.

‘The queen wore a magnificent gown of gold tissue overlaid with cream organza swags and covered with embroidery – sequins, beading and jewels. She wore fine diamonds and a towering headdress of white feathers.' My employer sighed, recalling these past glories.

‘And what did you wear for such an event?' I asked. ‘Your gown must have been very special.'

‘Oh, it was raspberry pink silk taffeta, if I recall, with fine pleating and tulle flowers. I had heard that pink was the queen's favourite colour and, indeed, she complimented me on it. Me! An obscure little English girl! The fashions were so wonderful then, not like these skimpy Grecian-style gowns you young things are wearing. What was good enough for the ancient Greeks is definitely not good enough for us! The event was marred only by my introduction to my future husband. My parents thought him very suitable, but my preference was for a French Vicomte. If I had married him I suppose our heads would now be in a basket. I often wonder what happened to the poor fellow.'

‘I would give anything to see Paris,' I sighed. But my employer was eager for more revelations.

‘Why has your prominent family cast you off?' she asked. ‘Oh, yes, I can read between the lines. Your brother is a very wealthy man, is he not? Yet here you are – a lady's companion. What heinous crime have you committed, Mrs Wickham? Come, tell me everything.'

I flushed indignantly. ‘Mr Darcy is not my brother, merely my sister's husband. My own family is far from wealthy and I was accused of bringing disgrace on my relatives. I own that I can be impetuous on occasions, but I could have removed myself permanently from this country had not my brother-in-law intervened. He has no affection for me.'