Lydia Bennet's Story (14 page)

She was more than a little surprised, therefore, when just two minutes later, as she was considering with whom she might like to dance first, she felt her elbow caught by a strong grip as she was steered into the darkened alcove behind her by the man she most wanted to see. “Mr Wickham!” she cried, feigning shock, “What is the meaning of this?”

“You look quite edible tonight, Miss Bennet,” he whispered into her curls, drawing her close, “like a plump, ripe cherry, begging to be taken for a bite.”

“And just as succulent,” she giggled, “though one bite will not satisfy, Mr Wickham, I fear on either side.”
“No, indeed. A cherry taken whole and nipped with measured deliberation to prolong the pleasure is the best way to devour a ready fruit,” he murmured, tracing a finger along the lace edge of her gown.
“It is not long now, my love,” she whispered. “Oh, George, I cannot wait to be your wife.”
“Remember, as soon as the supper bell rings, you are to fetch your things and leave by the alley door where I will have a carriage waiting, though by God, I have had to pay the fellow over the odds for it.”
“But George, we will be together, alone at last.”
“Do not forget the money, Lydia. Do you hear?”
“It is all in hand, George, do not scold me so.”
“And now you must return. Do not speak to me again nor look in my direction. Is that clear?”
“I do not like it when you shout so, George, do not be so cross. I will not . . .”
Her words were quickly stifled as he covered her mouth with his, kissing her hungrily, leaving her begging for more.
Mr Chamberlayne stepped up on her reappearance to claim the first dance. As he took her hand, she glanced at him and could not help but wonder what he would think if he only knew that she was on the verge of an elopement. She had to laugh at the idea; she could not keep it in. Imagining his shock if he could read her mind only had the effect of making her laugh again.
“Miss Bennet, you are in a very teasing mood this evening. Pray, what are you about? Is something amiss? Do I have a hair out of place or mud on my breeches?”
“No, dear Chamberlayne, nothing is amiss,” she said, chortling all the more. “You’ve never looked more dapper, and if this was the occasion on which I should flirt my last with you, I would take away a handsome vision, truly!”
“Then why do you still smirk, you saucy girl? You are up to something, I have no doubt, and I have not forgotten any of your tricks, miss. What merry jape are you planning now?”
“Mr Chamberlayne, I would not tease you again for all the world; it is enough to have the memory of your appearance as ‘Miss Lucy.’ No, indeed, it is not at you I laugh, but at myself.”
“But why should you laugh at yourself, Miss Bennet?”
“Suffice to say, all will be revealed in time; it is a very big secret and you are all in for a big surprise!”
“You think you are very clever, Miss Bennet, but alas, I am not such a dolt as you think. I daresay I have guessed your secret!”
Lydia looked at him with alarm in her eyes. He drew her attention to a figure fast approaching them. “Aha, here is the Captain returned; he looks all set to claim you.”
Lydia noted with increasing horror that Captain TraytonCamfield had indeed returned and was pursuing his object with determination. He was at her side in moments, before the dance had even finished, begging her hand for the next two and demanding he be allowed to step in. “I have not finished dancing with Mr Chamberlayne,” Lydia hissed, feeling the utmost alarm at seeing him again. “Please go away.”
“I must speak with you privately, my dear,” he was saying as he ran round after them, making a comical sight; Lydia did her best to ignore him, though he was colliding with the rest of the dancers in the set and making a thorough nuisance of himself.
To her great concern, her partner chose that moment to back away with a bow, allowing the Captain to take her hand. “I need to discuss a matter of great importance with you, Miss Bennet,” he declared. “Will you allow an interview with me after the dance?”
“Captain, it is very pleasant to see you and I would wish for nothing else than some fine conversation, but unfortunately I am otherwise engaged. I have pledged the next dance to Mr Pratt, the next after that to Mr Denny, then Colonel Forster and then . . . I’ve promised Mr Wickham a jig too!” she declared, before she fell about laughing at the very thought.
Just then the supper bell sounded and Lydia looked about her in despair. She knew time was of the essence; if she was late George would be so cross, and she did not want anything to spoil this long-awaited evening. The Captain was still holding onto her hand, though the music had stopped, and it was evident he was not going to let go. She knew she would have to think quickly and use all her guile if he was to release her.
“Will you give me ten minutes, Captain, to slip away unnoticed into the crowd? I have a plan. A private audience would be delightful, but let us be completely alone. Let us meet down on the shore, at the bottom of the steps opposite this very inn.”
“My dear, what a splendid idea. I see you have anticipated me. Yes, go my love, I will await you.”
“Goodbye, my sweet,” she returned, winking at him. This produced a huge smirk and a wink back, and she hastened as fast as she could across the dance floor and through the gathered throng.

SHE RAN TO HER room, retrieved her bundle, and was about to go when she was taken by the idea that she could not disappear without leaving Harriet with a hint of where she had gone. She sat down at the desk in front of the window to compose her letter. As she reached for her pen and dipped the quill in the black ink, she was overwhelmed by a desire for mirth. She tried to steady her nerves, breathing the salt tang coming in off the sea, but her laughter rose inside her to erupt into the silence of the room. The muslin at the bow window, caught by a sudden gust, snapped and flapped back, rattling the curtain rings, shaking the blinds. Lydia paused to look out through the glass at the grey clouds massing over the sea and heard the sound made by the waves as they crashed and churned, water sucking up the stones and dashing them down again on the beach below. A summer storm was brewing, but it did nothing to dampen her excitement. She could hardly believe that the time to depart had arrived.

You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise tomorrow morning, as soon as I am missed . . .

She hesitated as a resounding clap like a cracking whip tore across the heavens, lighting up the sky in sulphurous tones before a roll of thunder crashed overhead. At once the rain began, blowing large, fat droplets across her missive, smudging and dissolving the ink, extinguishing the candle she had lit to provide more light against the dim evening. She stood up and lowered the window, taking in the scene below as figures dashed for cover from the tumultuous downpour. Carriages were arriving, bringing their pretty passengers to dance at the Assembly Rooms below. A girl, shivering in sheer muslin, alighted from a phaeton with her beau and was buffeted along by the wind, which whipped at her legs and threatened to snatch her bonnet. Some high-spirited young men leered enthusiastically at a trio of females who left them in no doubt of their mutual interest as they passed by. Coachmen turned up their collars, pulling down their hats and fastening close their carriage hoods against the unseasonable squall. Satin slippers were soaked through in seconds and shawls clutched tightly in an effort to stay dry as another coach-load of ladies ran from the streaming gutters, shrieking and hopping through the puddles.

“Lord, what fun! What delights have been mine whilst here,” mused Lydia. “I will never forget my time in this pleasure haven. I could never have imagined, when I begged mama to let me go dancing with my sisters all those months ago, that my life would change so much, that I would not only be in love but with the dearest and most handsome man in the whole world.” She felt another wave of sheer joy, mixed with the hope that her dreams were at last to be realised, and she laughed again to relieve the feelings bubbling inside.

But there was no time to stand and ponder, especially when her eye caught sight of a certain young Captain she wished to avoid running out across the road. She quickly drew back behind the curtain, returning to the desk to resume her letter.

I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with whom I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater when I write to them and sign my name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray, make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my engagement and dancing with him tonight. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all, and tell him when we next meet at a ball I will dance with him with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn, but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are packed up. Goodbye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.

“La, what a good joke,” she said to herself laughing and putting down her pen with a flourish. “She will be vastly surprised when she reads with whom I have run away!”

Lydia slid the missive to Harriet under her door, in the hope she should find it by the end of the evening, before running down the back stairs as fast as her legs would take her. Her flight was nimble, marred only by twisting her ankle on the last step, but as she limped through the back door, her heart leapt with joy to see that Wickham and the carriage were waiting.

So it was that Miss Lydia Bennet and Mr George Wickham did leave all their friends in the middle of a dance and run away together. Miss Bennet had no sooner stepped out of the rain and into the carriage before she had drawn the blinds and asked her beloved to remove her slipper, for her foot ached so much from the wrench it had endured.

“Lord, I am in such agony! Blast those stairs if I haven’t sprained my ankle,” she cried. “And my slippers are so wet, they are ruined!” She sprawled across the leather buttoned seat and stretched out her foot towards him.

“Georgie, take off my shoe, rub my toes better. I cannot wait any longer,” she murmured.
“You’re late, Lydia. I told you we have no time to mess about.” He took her foot in his hands and eased off her satin slipper, moving his fingers so gently as to make Lydia swoon with anticipation. “Do you have the money?”
“Yes, it is all here and yours for the taking, as is everything I have, George,” she declared, tossing over her reticule. He swiftly released her foot and emptied the money into his pockets. He shouted to the driver, banging on the roof with impatience. “We’re in a hurry man, can your horses not go any faster?”
“Lord, it’s hot and stuffy in an airless carriage,” Lydia cried, tossing aside the lace from her bodice and unbuttoning the top of her gown. She could see George was more than a little agitated and hoped she could distract him. “Where is my fan? I hope it is not lost nor dropped on the dirty floor,” she exclaimed, falling onto one elbow to look down, well aware that Wickham’s eyes would be drawn to the tumble of ivory flesh which strained against white satin and pillowed over her gown.
“Do you like the clocks on my new stockings, George?” she asked him, as she sat up making no attempt to adjust her déshabillé and pulling up her gown to show him the pretty embroidery. “They’re real silk you know; don’t they feel exquisitely expensive?”
“Exquisite,” he murmured, as he stroked her calf with deft fingers, but she could not help noticing that his attention was not entirely her own. He looked out through a chink in the blind.
“I have new garters, too,” she added, arching in delight at his touch, “but I fear in my haste, they have come undone. Will you look, George? I am all thumbs!”
Lydia hitched her skirts higher and was pleased to have gained his attention at last. As a lightning flash seared through a chink in the blind illuminating the dark interior, she saw him smile. His eyes greedily followed the line of her leg to come to rest on her dainty garters tied just over her knees with a silky pink rosette.
“Do you like them, George? They are without doubt the most wonderful confections of ribbon and lace, do you not think? Come closer; do look at this flower! Have you ever seen such a pretty bud?” But just as she thought she had arrested his notice completely, her companion became distracted and did not attend her, peering anxiously through the window of the chaise, drawing back behind the blind as a horseman thundered by. Lydia was vexed; she could not bear to be ignored and decided to amuse herself by waving at any likely passerby and banging on the glass, until Mr Wickham growled at her that, if she persisted, he would have the horses turn back to deposit her at the Ship Inn once more. He only turned his attention when they were some distance out of Brighton, but Lydia was too cross and tired to wish to comply with his desires and grumbled at him about how dreadful it was to make a long journey in the most uncomfortable chaise she had ever known.
“Well, in that case, you will be pleased to hear that we are not to travel such a distance after all,” ventured her companion who chose this moment to pull Lydia onto his lap to caress and cajole her back into good humour. “I am afraid we are not able to head for Scotland after all.”
Lydia was all attention, sitting up at once. “What do you mean? Where are we going?”
“We do not have enough money to get to Gretna Green; we shall be lucky if we manage to get to Cheapside in a Hackney coach from Clapham.”
“Cheapside! London! Are we to go to London?”
“I have a friend who will help us find lodgings, I am sure.”
Lydia clapped her hands. “George, I have always longed to go to London and to be going with you, my darling, is more than I could ask. Who cares if we have little money now. I am sure we shall have soon, and we can go to Scotland some other time. How I love you!” she declared throwing her arms around his neck.
George allowed himself to be petted, fondled, kissed, and adored. “Now, where were we, my love?” he whispered as the storm thundered above their heads. “I believe you had a pretty flower to show me.”