Lydia Bennet's Story (28 page)

Saturday, May 14th
I am relieved to have left Netherfield. Not only have I escaped the gossip and prying eyes but also I am pleased to have said goodbye to my family, who I consider most trying at the best of times. I swear if my papa were to find me dying of a putrid infection he would only say, “nevermind.”

However, despite the comfort of my room here in the rectory and the hospitality of my friends, I know I have to find some way to get out of the mess I find myself in and discover once and for all the true nature of the situation. My initial reaction was tears and mortification, though I am proud to say that I suffered such distress for no more than five minutes. To discover Wickham is possibly already married is a great shock and to be at the centre of yet more scandal knocks my pride, but after recovering from these first sensations, and before I lay down my head this night, I will acknowledge my true feelings. I am not ashamed to say I feel immense relief. I ceased to love George Wickham some time ago, and the thought of release from my marriage is to imagine I have wings and can fly away, free, despite the scandal that will inevitably ensue. I was certainly head over heels in love with him in the beginning, but there have been so many unpleasant discoveries and hints at infidelities that I am numbed by it all. Never was anyone so happy to learn of her unhappy predicament! My greatest fear is that Wickham might be found to be my husband after all; therein lies the key to my problems. It must be settled. I must find out the truth of the matter!

ON ENTERING THE BREAKFAST parlour the following morning, Lydia sat down to stare at her empty plate and watch her tea go cold. “I must go to Bath, Isabella,” she said, looking at her friend’s countenance to judge her reaction. “I cannot rest until I know the truth of the affair.”

“But is that wise?” her friend answered, brushing toast crumbs from her lap. “Surely someone could go in your place? I should think Mr Darcy is already making plans on your behalf.”

“No, Isabella, I will not be easy until I have seen the marriage register for myself. Besides, I cannot just sit here and do nothing, I will go mad. Mr Darcy may go running after Wickham if he chooses, but I am only interested in the legalities.”

“Are you really so disinterested in your husband?” “I would not care if I were never to see him again.” “And if he is innocent?”
“If he is innocent, then I am a wealthy countess.” Isabella hooted with laughter. “I am sure I would not be

so sanguine.”
“You forget, Isabella, I have lived with his guilt for months now.” Alexander chose that moment to join them, helping himself

to a dish of chocolate and fresh bread rolls.
“Lydia means to go to Bath,” Isabella announced. Lydia searched his face, expecting the usual critical response

and could not help staring when he answered most unexpectedly. “Yes, it is imperative; someone needs to go to Bath, and I
understand you may wish to go yourself,” he said. He broke a
piece of bread, and liberally buttering the generous portion, he
went on gravely, “But you cannot go alone.”
“I must go,” she said firmly, waiting for him to talk her out
of her scheme.
His cerulean eyes met hers across the table. “Then we will
all go to Bath.”
“All of us?” asked Isabella.
“I had suggested that I make the journey to Mr Darcy,”
Alexander continued. “He was willing to accompany me, but I
assured him it was not necessary. Forgive me, but I had presumed
to go myself. I will make any enquiries you wish on your behalf
if you would like that, Mrs Wickham. It may be easier for me to
obtain the necessary documentation we require. It will all be
discreetly done, I assure you.”
“Please call me, Lydia, Mr Fitzalan. I cannot bear to hear his
name spoken. I hope you understand.”
“If that is what you wish, Miss Lydia, and you must call me by
my given name also. It is only fitting. You and Isabella have been as
sisters for many years. I hope I may act for you as a brother might.” Lydia could not believe his kindness. That he understood the
mention of her married name to be an anathema to her touched her beyond words, and that he had instigated help for her was a pleasant surprise. “I cannot thank you enough, Alexander,” she
said, returning the compliment, and was rewarded with a smile. “I had best sort out the arrangements for mother with Bertha
and think about packing,” Isabella said, rising from her seat.
“Alexander, I think you need to have a few details from Lydia,
do you not? I will leave you to it.” She left the room and there
was an awkward silence.
“I am so sorry to put you to so much trouble,” Lydia said at last. “You have no need to apologise. It is not your fault. Let me
take some information about Captain Wickham and make sure I
have everything I need, his full name, etcetera.”
Mr Fitzalan took charge and, once started on the business in
hand, achieved all with efficiency and thoughtful attention. He
seemed more at ease now he had a job to do, as if he could finally
talk without reserve, and Lydia was impressed with the confident
way in which he proceeded. His manner was most congenial, his
voice quiet, and his words carefully chosen.
“I cannot thank you enough for all your help on my behalf,”
Lydia responded. “I must be taking you away from your duties
and from Miss Rowlandson.”
“I have nothing much to do at present that will not keep for
a day or two,” he answered. “And as for Miss Rowlandson, I am
sure she will not be impatient for my return. I do not think she
will want for company.” He busied himself by sprinkling sand on
the paper in front of him. Picking up his pen, he wrote at a
furious speed on a fresh piece.
Lydia wished she had not mentioned Miss Rowlandson; he
clearly thought that Eleanor had turned her attention elsewhere. She did wish she could help him, however. He was being so very
kind and she wanted to show her appreciation.
“Alexander, forgive me for being so blunt; I speak only as
someone who wishes to help you. Love is not always a matter of
chance you know. It requires a little nurturing to fan the flames
along, which might otherwise die if left or neglected.” “I do not play games, Lydia.”
“But are you content to let another steal the girl you admire?
Will you not fight for her? Surely if you do not act now and
claim her there is a danger that someone else may step in.” He looked up and gave a rare smile that reached his eyes. “I
thank you for your concern, Lydia, but as you know, I do not rate
the state of love highly. Miss Rowlandson will be better off with
Ralph Howard, believe me.”
She could not help but feel compassion for him. “Then
indeed, I am truly sorry for you. Even in my reckless alliance, I
believed I was in love and yes, a state of confusion it might be,
but I submitted to it and felt my regard most wholeheartedly.
And though I now believe my love was not truly returned, that
I was misled, I still believe in the power of true love. To adore
another person heart, body, and soul is a predicament worth
enduring at least once in a lifetime. Believe me, I would suffer its
pangs again for the happiness I felt, however fleetingly.” Alexander shuffled his papers together and coughed as if to
cover embarrassment. He opened his mouth to speak and then
closed it again. As his face reddened, his looks told her that he
was immensely displeased. Lydia could see how uncomfortable
he felt and wished she had not said anything. She knew she had
probably said too much. He ran his fingers through his dark mane before standing abruptly. He bowed and, without uttering
another word, left the room.
Lydia retired to her room to gather her thoughts and her
belongings, wishing she could make the journey to Bath on her
own, though she knew that would be impossible. She would
never be allowed to travel such a distance by herself. Oh, to have
to sit opposite Alexander Fitzalan and have him looking at her
with such disapproval all the way; the thought was unbearable.
She laid the last few things in her trunk, ready for their departure
in the morning. She had always wished to go to Bath, but she
could not imagine any circumstance more dreadful than the one
she now faced and decided Bath would never live up to any
expectations she once had. It would be forever spoiled and she
could not help but think of George Wickham with abhorrence.

Their journey went off well with no delays. The roads were good despite the misery of rain and, thankfully, as far as Lydia was concerned, no one seemed eager for too much conversation. She tried not to dwell too much on the past as she stared out at the drizzle, but she could not help thinking back to a time just a short while ago when she had been the happiest girl alive, in love with the man she adored above any other.

The horses were fast, and they reached Devizes with ease by four o’clock. Isabella and Lydia were to share a room at the Swan Inn and found themselves very pleased and comfortable in their room, which was quite large, with two beds and a view onto the street. Lydia changed her gown for a fresh, sprigged muslin and rearranged her hair with a white silk ribbon. Isabella was not ready to go downstairs for dinner, so Lydia thought she might have a wander round and get her bearings. Downstairs, there was the usual bustle to be found in such a place: strangers arriving or departing, servants hoisting baggage on their shoulders and admitting guests to their rooms or seeing them off into chaises.

Lydia discovered a snug parlour off to one side with cosy chairs and sofas, a fireplace with a fire just lit against the cool, damp evening, jugs full of country flowers, and a table groaning with an assortment of newspapers and books. Best of all, there was no one sitting there, and she wondered if she was at liberty to go in. After some hesitation, deliberation, and then encouragement from a passing maidservant, she took herself in and sat down in a chair by the fire. She could see the rain was still teeming down outside and wondered whether she would have felt quite so miserable if the sun had been shining.

She fetched out a book from the shelf in the alcove at her side, and finding it had plenty of pictures to amuse her and not too many words, she settled down to idly turn the pages. Most who observed her as they passed by the door would have believed her to be entirely engrossed. Of course, she hardly attended to the pictures, and she bit her lip more than once to stop herself from crying. Her sadness had turned once more to anger and she wished she could see George if only to give him a piece of her mind. She did wonder where he had gone and guessed that he would more than likely be making his way to London with all haste. Good luck to him, she thought bitterly. I would not have him back if he begged me. I will never be fooled by such a man again nor give my heart away so readily. She did not think she would ever be so silly as to fall in love again. Perhaps Alexander Fitzalan was right after all. She would be more careful in future to keep her feelings in check.

A voice at the door broke her reverie. “May I join you?” She looked up to see Alexander regarding her from the door and she started a little. He was dressed like a country gentleman in breeches and a blue coat, which made his eyes appear as blue as the cornflowers in the jug by the window. He looked younger than usual, she thought, and decided he must leave off his black clothes more often, especially if he was ever to capture Miss Rowlandson’s heart, though she quickly realised she must avoid that subject again if she were to make her peace with him.
“Of course, do come in. I was waiting for Isabella and I thought this looked just the place,” she answered.
He walked in, took a newspaper from the table, and sat in the chair opposite. He spent some considerable time arranging himself and the paper to his satisfaction, and all the time Lydia observed him surreptitiously. She was pleased he did not seem to be in the mood for conversation, and she wished Isabella would hurry up before the silence prompted him to speak. She went back to her pictures and didn’t look up even when it became clear that his eyes were upon her. Why did he stare at her in such a fashion? She could not think what she had done now to upset him, and though she could feel his gaze still upon her, she continued to look at her book with an air of study such had never before been seen.
“I owe you an apology, Lydia,” he stammered, his words tumbling out almost incomprehensibly.
“I beg your pardon,” Lydia answered, quite sure that she must have misunderstood him.
“I wish to tell you something, and I must apologise to you.”
Lydia looked at him and waited. She could not quite believe her ears.
Alexander got up to look out of the window, and she wondered if he had changed his mind about talking when he did not speak again for some time. Finally he turned to face her, and she could not help noticing that his blue eyes were clouded, as if in sympathy with the greyness of the day. There was an air of great sadness about him and she smiled at him in reassurance.
“Forgive me, I have not told you the truth.” He took a deep breath before beginning again. “Would it surprise you if I admitted that I too have loved as you have yourself?” he asked.
Lydia was astonished, and she feared her expression would give her away.
He hung his head. “I lied to you about my past . . . and when you were doing your best to advise me, to be kind to me, I chose to avoid the truth.”
“Oh no, please. I do not want to hear anything you do not wish to tell me. I did not mean to force a confidence,” she entreated.
“I will tell you the truth. I did love a girl once,” he continued, as he looked out of the window once more and stared at the coaches rumbling past. “I would have gone to the ends of the earth, yes, even died, for her. But it was not to be. She did not love me as I thought and . . . well, there were other complications.”
“You too have suffered,” Lydia whispered in response.
“I fought for her and lost. I am not so unfeeling as you suppose, and I am well acquainted with loving where hope of being loved in return is gone. I have felt such sorrow as made me want to deny the existence of such an emotion. I have lied to myself, Lydia, and buried those feelings which consumed me.”
“I am astonished,” Lydia answered, “though it is easier now to understand your behaviour towards Miss Rowlandson. Does Isabella know what happened?”
“She knows all about it, the whole sorry tale. I could not bear to have Miss Hunter talked about after everything that passed, and I made Isabella swear to deny her existence. She was not able to discuss the affair with anyone, I made sure of that, not even with her closest friends. Indeed, I have not talked of Susan or even spoken her name these two years—not until today in fact.”
“But you need not have said anything at all. I am sorry to have made you confess, to bring back a past which must be so unpleasant for you.”
“No, I am glad you made me talk of it, made me think of her again. I admit, I am now a cautious man and I would have to be convinced by a very constant heart before I gave myself up to such folly again, but I can think of Miss Hunter without too much sorrow now.”
“Then perhaps you will allow yourself to fall in love again.”
“Oh no, Lydia, I do not believe I am ready for such a step. Love is too fickle for my constitution, I confess.”
“But believe me, constancy of affection does exist,” Lydia insisted. “We have both been unlucky, I am sure. I believe there must be someone for everybody. You may yet find happiness with Eleanor. Perhaps she is unsure of your regard for her. If another is making his feelings more certain and paying her more attention, she is likely to think he is the right one to make a claim and she will turn to him.”
“Ralph Howard has more to offer; she will be the lady of the manor, she will have everything she desires and far more than if she opts for a mere clergyman.”
“But you would be offering so much more, do you not see? I never thought I should say so, but truly, gowns, jewels, and riches are one thing, love, constancy, and fidelity are quite another. The true prize, I should say. To be loved without condition and give the same in return must be quite wonderful. You must give yourself another chance.”
Alexander looked at her for a moment, a frown on his countenance and all Lydia could think was that he must be wondering what on earth she could know about any of it to be giving him such advice.
The door opened and Isabella marched into the room. “What are you two about? I am starving, and if we do not hurry, they shall feed our lobster and asparagus to the horses!”