Lydia (20 page)

Friday, 17th July

I
t 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 come 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!
” he 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.

My diary – I could not leave
that
behind!

The picture Jane drew of Napoleon – because who knows if I shall ever see him again? My sisters and my parents will still be here, when I return from India in a few years' time, with my fine noble husband and pots and pots of money to save them all from destitution, but cats do not live as long as humans, especially cats like Napoleon, who roam about the countryside getting into fights and annoying farmers by making lots of baby kittens.