Lydia Bennet's Story (5 page)

“Did you ever see such a fine-looking gentleman, Lydia?” Harriet indulged in another fit of giggles, punctuated with winks and nudges in the direction of the beau in blue as they made their way into the breakfast room. A few passengers were seated at a large table by the window, hurriedly consuming their rolls and coffee before they were called to the next coach.

They sat in a corner which afforded an excellent view of the company and noted that their fellow traveller, who had followed them in, sat opposite, where he continued to quiz them and unnerved Lydia to the point where she could scarcely meet his eyes. This encouraged Harriet to abuse her further.

“You’ve made a pretty conquest there,” said Harriet, out of the corner of her mouth, as she spread her toast with thick yellow butter. “I’ve never seen such behaviour in all my life; such open admiration, he can hardly keep his eyes off you. I do hope that he is for Brighton and that we shall see him again, do not you?”

Lydia fiddled with her napkin. “I do not think he is looking particularly at me; he is looking at you just as much,” she whispered, knowing that this was not entirely true. Indeed, she was quite taken aback, as she did not remember inciting such interest since Captain Carter had decided to look her way. She tried not to stare back but the man really was a most prepossessing gent, with blond locks, a firm chin, and eyes the colour of an Italian lake (at least the colour that she imagined that might be). He was obviously in a hurry, drinking two large cups of thick black coffee before he was on his way in a most urgent manner, with a nod and a bow in their direction.

“I will ask the boy if he knows who that gentleman is and where he is headed. It would be interesting to know a little more, don’t you think, Lydia? Such a manner as one never sees in Hertfordshire, and he was so absorbed in his observation of you that I swear I could see Cupid’s arrow sticking out of his heart! Clearly he is a single man, he is of a very suitable age, and he certainly has the appearance of wealth and good fortune too by the look of him!” Before Lydia had a chance to speak, she had summoned over their glum waiter and made her enquiries.

“That was Captain Trayton-Camfield, ma’am,” he answered. “Captain James Trayton-Camfield. A very wealthy gentleman by all accounts. He has a big estate somewhere near Brighton at Wilderwick, I believe, and is an officer in Prince George’s own regiment. He keeps horses for racing, which I know to be one of his passions.”

Lydia’s devious friend.
“I can’t say as I have ever heard about the gentleman having
a wife, ma’am. He is always busy hunting, shooting, and racing his
horses with the Prince of Wales and his set. He is up and down
from Brighton to London a vast deal and is a regular here. I cannot
tell you any more, except to say he owns a fine set of horses.” The
boy, who had become almost animated when started on the
subject of horses and of his being once invited to watch them race
on White Hawk Down near Brighton, was soon dismissed by
Harriet who could not keep her countenance much longer. “The perfect match,” she declared. “Lydia, with her wit and
beauty, captivates the race-horse-owning Captain who has
royal connections. I can see it now: Lady Lydia TraytonCamfield—at home to her friends, who include Prince George
and his lady, Lord Alvanley, Lord Barrymore, and Letty Lade,
who exhibits her highwayman’s manners by riding at breakneck speed around Wilderwick estate in her phaeton!” Lydia
could not help but laugh at her companion’s enthusiasm for
this ridiculous picture of matrimonial bliss but admonished her
when she persisted.
“Harriet, our paths will likely never cross again. I daresay he
only looked at me because I am in your coach and he naturally
assumes that I am a lady of means. He is probably a huge flirt and
philanderer, which all young men seem to be! I will not even
join you in your musings. Lord, now I have eaten too many
muffins, and I shall have to sleep them off in the coach. Shall we
go? You never know, perhaps we may catch up with him and he
can make his offer as we pass by!”
With Harriet’s scolding retort assailing her ears, Lydia settled
back into the coach for the next leg of the journey, and, as they
crossed Blackfriars Bridge and took the road south, they felt they
were really on their way. The tantalising rows of London’s shops
were soon far behind, and now they were bowling along the
quieter country roads of the old route, Harriet eager to avoid the
worst of the stagecoaches and military wagons that would be
descending on Brighton from all over the country. Even so, the
presence of several officers, driving in their own curricles, was to
be seen as they stopped in Croydon at the Crown. They too were
of Prince George’s own regiment, all very handsome, very merry
with liquor, and not in the least too abashed to give Lydia and
Harriet the “glad eye.”
Back on the road, they cantered through the hills onto
Godstone Green where they sat in the beautiful flower garden of
the inn for luncheon just before noon. After a refreshing glass of
lemonade and some bread and cheese, they travelled up the long
hill and headed for East Grinstead. Through picturesque woodland and forest, over heathland and past huge black, rugged
rocks, they journeyed through Uckfield and down the valley
into Lewes, with its castle and pretty shops. From here, winding their way up and between the hills of the South Downs, Lydia started to feel most excited; everywhere was bathed in sunshine, the beautiful landscape was verdantly green, and the hills dotted with sheep. Then, as they neared their destination, they saw their first views of the encampment, row upon row of military tents, flags waving, horses braying, and soldiers marching. Lydia
hung out of the window, trying to take it all in.
“Cannot we stop to find the Colonel?” she asked. “I’m
longing to see our friends.”
“No, Lydia,” Harriet replied laughing. “We should never find
Henry’s regiment on our own, and in any case, he is to come to
us later, when he has made sure that the men are comfortable.” Just as Lydia thought the views could not be improved and
their felicity complete, they took in their first real glimpse of the
sea, and the town of Brighton unfurled like a Chinese carpet of
shimmering silks before them. The Marine Pavilion nestled at
its heart, a range of bow windows gracing either side of a domed
building, faced with cream glazed tiles. Along the Steyne they
trotted, past elegant houses, past people parading and coming
and going from their doors with such an air of fashionable
disdain as to make Lydia ache to be one of them. Salty breezes
wafted away the girls’ fatigue as they turned onto the seafront,
and so dense were the crowds that one might have thought they
were in London but for the purity of the air and the freshness of
the scene. They were soon admiring the sweet bow-windowed
houses on one side and the handsome visions of the redcoats
against the watery backdrop on the other, as they stepped out to
find their rooms at the Ship Inn at five o’clock on the seafront
at Brighton!

“HARRIET, WE HAVE ARRIVED in paradise,” cried Lydia, watching the throng from her window promenading in an unceasing procession along the cliff edge. Carriages, coaches, curricles, and phaetons, setting down new arrivals or departing with sad-faced passengers, were displayed in a series of pictures through every pane of glass, providing a constant panorama. She could do nothing but look out at the mesmerising mass of water and the waves ruffled by the wind, turquoise and whitecapped with the sun glittering on the water, inviting the gulls to wheel between the fishing boats and sailing ships. What a sight! How her mama would have loved it here; the air was so invigorating, she was sure her nerves would be improved with a single sniff.

Within the hour the Colonel arrived to greet them, bestowing kisses of affection upon them both and joining them for dinner. “The officers are dining in the mess, my dears, but will join us on the Steyne later for an evening walk,” Henry Forster announced. “Now, what’s for dinner? I hope we’ll have some fish, though I can’t abide bloaters; they don’t agree with me!”

They sat down at a window table in the dining room to a splendid repast of baked fish, prawn pies, and syllabubs, all the more delicious for being eaten as they gazed at the ever-changing sea view and their more immediate surroundings.

“There are a great number of people staying here and several tables are occupied with an assortment of interesting characters,” Harriet observed. She had been silent for some time, preoccupied with the pursuit of watching her fellow guests. “I would say the lady at that table to your left, Lydia, must be a duchess at the very least, judging by her dress, her manner, and her voice, which by all accounts is the loudest I ever heard!”

Lydia was sure she had assumed correctly. “She is certainly proud enough; it is clear, from what I have heard, that she is acquainted with at least a dozen lords and ladies. And she has a very aristocratic nose, which is vital for looking down at her neighbours,” she laughed.

As the dishes were being cleared and they were partaking of some excellent tea, who should they spy, swaggering along, looking into every carriage that contained a lady, but their old favourites: Wickham, Denny, Pratt, and Chamberlayne. The men were in high spirits, following the gaze of every maid who looked their way. They bowed, nodded, and clicked their heels at a dozen or more before the dinner party saw them cross the road to enter the inn. All was as Lydia had hoped it would be; she inspired such attention, everyone fighting to accompany her on the walk, that she soon settled on them taking turns.

“Please allow me to offer my arm first, Miss Bennet,” proclaimed Mr Denny as he stepped alongside. “Did you have a good journey?”

“Oh, yes. It was so exciting to see so many places,” said Lydia, “but you poor officers, your travels cannot have been agreeable. And are your quarters comfortable? I long to hear about the camp.”

“The camp is quite excellent, everything splendidly fitted up, and I think we shall be very happy. Though to tell the truth, we are not so sure about the company we shall have to keep. We ran into some of the Prince’s own regiment this afternoon,” he explained.

“I confess I am surprised,” cried Lydia. “The fellows we saw on the road seemed affable enough.”
“I assure you, Miss Bennet, they are not in the least sociable or pleasant but think themselves far above their company,” complained Mr Denny. “You’ve never witnessed such swaggering in your life, and though I hate to shock you, every one of them has a mistress encamped up there too. Miss Bennet, they are not the gentlemen one would presume.”
These revelations did not seem to have disturbed the high spirits of her favourite beaux too much, and with the exception of the Colonel and Mr Wickham, who talked of Ramsgate, it was everyone’s first visit to the coast, and Lydia owned there could be no match anywhere for fashion and gaiety like that seen walking on the Steyne in Brighton!

Lydia and Harriet were dressed and downstairs by seven o’clock next morning to go bathing. They left the Colonel snoring away, as he was not due to inspect his troops till one o’clock, and hastened down to the beach to be dipped by Martha Gunn and her ladies. The girls decided to share a bathing machine for changing, but as there was hardly any room to manoeuvre, they kept falling over, partly because of the necessity of standing on one leg to undress and partly because they were laughing so much. Once they had on their flannel gowns and caps, it was time to face Martha Gunn, chief dipper and a woman not to be opposed. She stood in the water whilst her servant and helper led them hand in hand down the steps, but as soon as they hesitated with a first toe in the freezing water, she stepped up and very firmly took charge. She was a strong woman, and before they realised what was happening, they were submerged. Lydia would never forget that first occasion. She declared the horror of it would stay with her forever. Such was her surprise at being forcibly plunged into the icy brine, she forgot to hold her nose as instructed and as she emerged, coughing, feeling half drowned, she was convinced she had drunk several day’s dosage of the recommended amount.

“I cannot imagine any circumstance where I would be induced to try this heinous activity again, unless I was desirous of drowning myself and anxious to have done with my life,” she spluttered.

“I cannot agree, Lydia,” Harriet declared, splashing her friend till she shrieked for mercy. “I find it most refreshing and invigorating, and I profess that the water is exactly the temperature I prefer.”

“You are clearly most insensible, my friend. I always knew that, of the two of us, I was the most sound of mind and feeling,” shouted Lydia, as she escaped another assault and ascended the steps, dripping and cold.

Getting dried, dressed, and changed into one’s clothes, not to mention trying to dress one’s hair so as not to appear a complete fright, was a skill which they had not yet mastered after sea bathing. They almost ran back to the inn, which fortunately was opposite the steps they had descended, but as they reached the summit and were stepping out to cross the thoroughfare, they were intercepted by a curricle which swerved, making the horse rear, forcing Harriet to fall backwards, sending Lydia reeling to the ground. As she recovered herself, she saw that the driver had at least had the courtesy to stop, but she could have died as she slowly recognised the buff and blue livery of his servant, the buff and blue paint of his carriage, and, finally, the blue cloth of his coat, his buff breeches, and cockaded hat, a picture of perfection and in great contrast to the one which the girls presented.