Lydia (23 page)

Friday, 31st July

W
e have been in London two days now, sharing a room again at this inn in Holborn, and I am working on a plan.

It was Theo, of all people, who gave me the idea. The Comtesse de Fombelle, with her workroom and her silks, her grand ideas of becoming a famous designer of clothing, of one day having drawings published in
La Belle Assemblée
. Much as it pains me, I have re-read my account of our conversation on the beach.
I promised myself that we would never be poor again
, she said,
and that one day, I would show the world that a woman can be as good in business as any man
.

Why should the same not apply to me?

My new plan is to set up in business as a hat maker. I know that I can make this work. It is true, I have meagre capital – well, no capital at all, if I'm honest – but I have brought all my sewing things from Brighton, and all my ribbons, and Mamma is always saying how clever I am at making things – last winter, all those bonnets I re-trimmed! My green cape! Since we have been in London, I have walked
every shopping street and arcade in the entire city, looking only at hat shops, and I am quite sure I can do it. All I need now is a shop, and stock and customers – which is daunting, but the key thing in all of this is to have the idea in the first place and to believe in yourself. That is what Wickham says. He thinks my plan is excellent, and has gone out now to find more money to help me make it happen. This afternoon, as soon as I have finished writing this, I am going to take apart my single bonnet, and reassemble it like one I saw in a shop this morning. I am going to cut up my pantaloons to cover it, with the ruffles all along the brim! Wickham was leaving as I was setting everything out, and he said, “You know, Lydia, I really admire you – what you are doing. You never give up, do you?”

“Never,” I said. I did not even look up – too busy with my planning – but it made me feel warm inside.

How surprised everyone will be when they hear my plan! There will be an outcry at first, of course. Working in trade! Lydia, a businesswoman! Whoever heard of such a thing! She is bound to fail! But I shan't. I shall be a storming success, and all the best people will come to my shop – Theo herself, though I may refuse to serve her. There will be articles about me in
La Belle Assemblée
– even before there are articles about Theo. Alaric will be sick to the teeth, knowing what sort of a person could once have been his wife, and I will make so much money suitors will be falling over themselves to propose to me, and everyone will think me monstrous remarkable . . .

Someone is outside – it must be Wickham, back already. Goodness, how much I have written! I must hide my diary before he sees me, lest he thinks I have not been working!

Later . . .

It was not Wickham. There were three strong raps at the door. Then, without waiting for an answer, it flew open – and Mr. Darcy strode in! He of all people!

His imperious gaze swept the room. I saw it suddenly as he did, the pantaloons spread across the table and my clothes strewn about the chairs, the narrow bed, Wickham's blankets on the floor, and I cringed.

“I have come to take you home!” he declared.

It's extremely hard not to feel small when you are confronted with someone like Mr. Darcy, but I did my best to appear outraged.

“I do not wish to go home,” I said.

“Don't be silly,” he snapped. “Your family is anxious. Your parents – your aunt and uncle – your sisters . . .”

Oh, I thought. My sisters!
That
is why he is here . . .

“Where is he?” said Mr. Darcy. “Wickham . . . where has he gone?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

“Well, no matter. Pack your things, and come with me.”

“I have already told you – I am not going back to Longbourn.”

It seems quite unbelievable, but I swear that when I said that, Mr. Darcy doubled in size. He is a big man anyway, but his anger seemed to fill the room, and his dark eyes were like blazing coal.

“I am not taking you to Longbourn,” he said. “We are going to your uncle Gardiner at Gracechurch Street. He will decide what is to be done with you.”

“My uncle!”

“For God's sake, Lydia!” I noticed that he had dropped the “Miss”. “How can you think to stay here with this man! If you only knew what he is capable of – what he has done! Come home with me now, and all will be well. Your family will protect you.
I
will protect you, for the sake of . . . for the sake of . . .”

He could not say it. He sat down heavily upon the sofa, and frowned at me. I glared back. For some time, we appeared to be in a deadlock. Then there were more footsteps outside, the door was flung open – and Wickham entered.

“Good Lord!” he cried. “You here, Darcy – what are you doing in my room?”

“I have come to take Miss Lydia,” said that gentleman in tones of ice.

Wickham crossed the room to stand by me – put his arms about me – drew me to him. What was he doing?

“You will have to kill me first,” he said.

Darcy actually rolled his eyes. “No one is going to kill anyone,” he said. “Miss Lydia, come with me. If this is to be the shape of things, let us go to my own home for now.”

“To
your
home?”

“You had better go with him, my love,” Wickham said, sighing. “I will follow you shortly.”

“Go with him? Wickham! What are you talking about?”

He pulled me to one side, put his hands on my shoulders, and looked straight into my eyes. “Lydia,” he whispered, “do you trust me?”

“No.”

A faint trace of a smile, then, “Well, you should.”

“She will go with you,” he said, turning to Darcy. “Though I
must tell you neither of us appreciates your high-handed tactics.”

Five minutes later, I was in a carriage, on my way to Mr. Darcy's house.

It is the grandest house I have ever stayed in, all silent and cold with closed-off rooms and marble everywhere. My very bedroom is the size of an entire floor at Longbourn, which is just as well because I refuse to leave it.

Monday, 3rd August

T
oday they brought me to my uncle's house, which is narrow and dark, with small rooms and a garden just big enough for a few shrubs. I will choke if I stay here any longer. I will
die
.

Nag, nag, nag . . . Aunt Gardiner never stops.

“What were you thinking?”

“How could you do this to your family?”

“Have you and Wickham – have you – oh, never mind if you have or not! You must marry him, and fast!”

“Why on earth would I marry Wickham?” I asked.

“Impossible girl! Everyone knows you are in love with him . . . Kitty says your letters are full of him, and a mysterious project!”

“Kitty understands nothing.” I sighed.

“Were you planning on living for ever in sin? Were you never going to marry him?”

“Oh, I dare say we would have got round to it sooner or later, maybe,” I snapped, to shock her into silence.

“I am going to fetch your uncle.”

In came my uncle, with my aunt right behind him.

“You
must
marry him! Think of your sisters!”

“Who will marry them, when you are such a disgrace?”

“Be careful, Lydia, that they do not cast you off.”

My family would not cast me off – would they? A memory – Aunt Philips's visit to Longbourn when the regiment first came to Meryton, the whispered conversation about Annie Atwood, who ran off with a soldier and was never spoken of again. Nothing has happened between Wickham and me, nothing – unless you count the running away – the shared rooms . . . But I have lost . . . I risked everything, and have lost! Perhaps if I explained, if I told them it was not as they all thought . . . Would it be better to know that I ran after Alaric?

My dreams of opening a shop – of becoming a businesswoman – how silly they seem now.

She never darkened their door again
. Oh God! The picture of Napoleon has fallen out of my diary. Sweet Jane, drawing it for me! I read through the letters from my sisters – plain, cross, sour-faced Mary, who longs to see the Mediterranean and learn German in Heidelberg! Oh, Mary, that is all I wanted, too! To see the world and live a little, to not always do what was expected! And now have I really ruined everything for you? And for Kitty, who longs only for a husband, and Jane, still pining for Mr. Bingley, and Lizzy, who . . . oh Lord!

Later, same day . . .

They brought Wickham to see me this afternoon, and left us alone together in their cold and gloomy parlour. He already looks different from the Wickham of the past two weeks – shaved and pomaded, his clothes pressed, his shirt laundered,
as fresh and handsome as the very first time we came upon him in Meryton. I saw at once that someone must have given him money. Was it Mr. Darcy?

“Well now, Lydia,” Wickham said. “Here is an interesting situation.”

“What are you playing at?” I hissed.

“There's no need to . . .”

“Tell me!”

He sighed, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a letter – crumpled, the seal broken, and folded in four.

“What is this?”

“Just read, Lydia.”

The note was addressed to me, and written in a hurried hand:

Lydia – all has been discovered. I was soaked to the skin when I returned home yesterday, and Theo guessed at once where I had been – there is only one person in all the world, you know, for whom I would get caught in the rain. We are to leave immediately. Do not judge her too harshly, Lydia. My stepfather – I tried to tell you on the beach. I am entirely to blame. God, I so wanted to be free! I so wanted
you
! My stepfather has lost all his money. He is a speculative man, given to grand gestures and unwise investments, and it has cost him his fortune. This is the reason for Theo's feverish desire to start a business – and for other plans, too, which I cannot go into now. I am leaving this at the Coach and Anchor as we pass through, and pray that it will reach you in time.

Forever yours, A. de Fombelle.

I could not believe what I was reading.

“But they are – I thought that they were rich . . .”

Wickham did not reply.

I so wanted to be free
. . .
I so wanted you
. . .

The old black trap – only one servant – the dilapidated house! The frayed hem of Theo's green dress, the rip in Alaric's jacket! The clues had all been there – and I had thought them all eccentricities! Even Theo and her dressmaking business – I could see her now, philosophising after our swim – I never thought she actually needed the money. And there was Mrs. Lovett and her social aspirations, with all the money she needed but still a tailor's daughter. A title – any title – would elevate her once and for all, and finally cut the ties to her past.

I never stood a chance.

“They are no different from the rest,” I whispered.

“Few people are, when it comes to rank and money.”

“And you!” I cried. “You found this letter at the Coach and Anchor! And yet you said nothing – you let me run after him to Shropshire! Did you really think you could stop this – that you could get Esther back?”

He drew up a chair and came to sit before me.

“I will be honest with you, Lydia. I have known of John Shelton's economic difficulties for some weeks.”

“What? How?”

“Let us say that I have taken an interest in the fortunes of the family since I first learned of
your
involvement with them.”

“My involvement? But why?”

“Is it too difficult for you to believe, Lydia, that I care about you?”

“You don't care for people, Wickham, you care only for money!”

“I do care for money,” Wickham said. “As does any sensible person. But it is not fair to say that is all I care about. Lydia, listen to me carefully. Darcy has paid off my debts and bought me a commission with a new regiment, in the North. For reasons you must have guessed, he is anxious that no news of this escapade should get about. You have my promise that not a word of our adventure shall pass my lips, though I cannot speak for others. That unfortunate note you left Harriet Forster . . .”

Darcy! My mind raced, furiously. Back to the night at the New Theatre in Brighton –
Mr. Darcy seemed very affected when he saw you, Lydia
. . .
Darcy always gets what he wants
. . .

Do you trust me?
Wickham said when Mr. Darcy found us.

I buried my head in my hands, trying to go over everything that has happened.

“You knew from the moment you saw me with Mr. Darcy that I could be useful to you . . .” I said. “But you did not know how. Then, when you found Alaric's letter . . .” I gazed at him, horrified. “Did you know then that he would marry Esther?”

“I had heard enough of the Comte and Comtesse's financial affairs to suspect his sister at least of desiring the outcome,” he admitted.

Oh, what a fool I had been! Everything made sense now. Wickham did not come with me to Shropshire to pursue Esther – he came to discredit
me
. . . to ruin
me
. . . And I had fallen for his talk
again
, as so many had before me . . .

Darcy has paid off my debts . . .

“You knew that Mr. Darcy would follow us, to avoid a scandal, because of the harm it would do to Lizzy. You knew that he would want to save her family from disgrace . . . You pretended all was not lost so that I would run away with you . . . And my business – my hat shop – you wanted to keep me in London until we were discovered; you never truly believed I could . . .”

I squeezed my eyes shut to stop my tears.

“How did you know I would insist on going to Shropshire?”

“I didn't. My first thought on finding the letter, you will remember, was to take you home to Market Street. But I am a gambler, Lydia. I play my cards as they are dealt.”

“You cheat,” I hissed. “And you played me.”

“Did not you play me, too, when you lied about Esther Lovett? You did lie, didn't you?”

I stared out of the window.

“You are disgusted with me, because I seek to better my circumstances through marriage,” Wickham said. “But look around you, Lydia. Is not everyone doing the same? Is it not what your mamma wants for her daughters – what the Comtesse de Fombelle wants for her brother and herself? Is it not what you have been doing yourself with the Comte de Fombelle?”

“That was different!”

“How?”

“I love him!”

“Do you?”

Wickham moved closer. His hazel eyes were dancing.

“I have known for some time, Lydia, that you and I would be good for each other. No, do not be angry! I am not about to
insult you by professing undying love. But be honest, now that the game is up and there is nothing left to hide. Do we not laugh together, and always have a good time?”

“Not always,” I said sourly.

“I have to tell you that Darcy has offered a further sum if we are to marry. Your uncle and he have settled it.”

“As if I were a horse or a cow!”

“It is the way of the world. You know that. None of us can escape it – but we can turn it to our advantage.”

He seized my hands.

“Just imagine, Lydia!” he went on. “In Northumberland, there are great castles right on the sea. There are miles and miles of empty beaches, where you can swim for hours without seeing a soul, and afterwards, you can gallop home across vast open country, with nothing but hills and sky between you and the Scottish borders, and in Newcastle, where I am to be stationed, the balls and assemblies are as fine as any you would find at Brighton. And it can all be yours, Lydia. No Harriet Forster, no older sisters, no mamma . . . Just you and me, against the world . . . What do you say? Does it not sound appealing? Do I not know you well?”

It was meant to be Scotland, Southampton, six months at sea. The blazing tropics, mangoes and guavas. And yet . . . The truth is, he does know me. Even if I hate to admit it . . . he does.

“If there were no money,” I whispered, “you would not look at me twice.”

“But there is money.” How close he was standing! “What say you, Lydia? Will you take a chance?”

So close . . .

“Think of your sisters . . .”

His kiss was so soft. His lips brushed mine with the lightness of a butterfly landing, of silk running through fingers. And yet it produced such an explosion inside me . . . When he drew away, I clung to his neck.

Alaric's kiss was never like this.

“Very well,” I whispered. “For my sisters . . .”

“And for you?”

I sighed and drew him back towards me again. “A little for me, too.”