Lydia Bennet's Story (29 page)

Lydia did not get another chance to speak to Alexander that evening and they were soon off on the last leg of the journey to Bath early next morning. Isabella prattled on about the wonderful dinner and the cheesecakes they had finished for dessert, but Lydia noted that Alexander was as thoughtful as ever. No doubt two young ladies, namely Miss Hunter and Miss Rowlandson, consumed his thoughts, but she was pleased to see that he appeared on the whole to be more cheerful.

The weather had improved, and her first view of Bath lived up to all her expectations. The view from the top of Kingsdown could not have looked more romantic to her ideas; all was vapour and mist, and the buildings, as fine as palaces, glittered white in the sunshine. At last they entered Bath at one o’clock and were settled in lodgings in Quiet Street, which suited the girls perfectly for its proximity to the shops in Milsom Street and the Pump Rooms, which were just a little further down into the town.

Tuesday, May 17th
Though we are not come to be merry, Isabella wants to show me all the delights of Bath and from what I have observed so far, I am as thrilled with it all as if I were a young girl in my first season. I am very pleased with my little bedroom on the first floor, which is neatly fitted up with a bed, a cupboard, and the sweetest dressing table, all draped in muslin and ribbon. We have a view giving a glimpse of Queen Square—not the most fashionable district, but splendid nevertheless. I have been standing at the window to witness the afternoon sun shining on the passersby, conveyed on foot or by carriage, phaeton, or gig. Two ladies in gauze cloaks caught my eye, the fringe on their parasols swinging in rhythm, their white muslin dresses fluttering back outlining their pretty figures. A gentleman in a green coat swaggered along on the opposite path and hailed them with a wave of his hat and a bow. The constant clattering of the horses’ hooves, the rumble of coaches, and the cries of tradespeople can be heard all around, and I cannot help but be fascinated by all I see. If only circumstances were different, I might enjoy myself in Bath immensely.

I am very nervous about what the next few days will bring, and I feel a dreadful sense of obligation to my dear friend, Isabella. Alexander is being so kind, and I find my opinion of him changing. To discover that he has been crossed in love, as I have myself, and to hear him confess that he wished to enlighten me of his past has made me realise why he always seems so gloomy and irritable. However, I could never be like that myself; misery is not a state I enjoy. Perhaps we will be able to cheer him up a little whilst we are here, though working on my behalf and having to deal with the legacy of my past folly is hardly to be described as an amusing occupation! I cannot believe how different Alexander appears when he is not dressed as a clergyman. He looks so much softer and very vulnerable somehow— it makes me feel almost protective towards him. I think I am beginning to understand what it must be like to have a brother for a sibling and almost envy Isabella and Harriet!

THE VERY NEXT MORNING a visit to the Pump Rooms was resolved upon. Lydia was feeling more than a little anxious when Alexander announced that he was to go to Walcot Church to make his enquiries, and so it was at Isabella’s suggestion that they should go out.

“The waters will help calm your nerves,” she said, “and besides all that, seeing all the fine company will give you something else to think about.”

“You do wish me to act for you, Lydia?” begged Alexander. “You are quite sure that you desire me to go to the church?”
“Yes, of course. I thank you, but I admit I am concerned at what the outcome may be. I could hardly sleep for thinking last night. In my heart, I must admit that I shall be far from upset if I am to discover that Wickham is already married. I must confess that I long to be free. Is that very wicked?”
“No one could blame you for feeling that way, Lydia,” Isabella declared, taking her friend’s hand in a gesture of comfort. “You are not to think you should answer for your husband’s activities.”
Lydia looked across at Alexander who said nothing. It was clear his opinion of her had not changed. “At the same time, if indeed it is found he is already married, my worries are for my future. What will become of me? I dare not think on it. And worse still, my greatest fear is that Mrs Molly Wickham is no such creature and that I will be bound to George Wickham for eternity. To have to return to Newcastle with him is a fate I cannot endure.”
“I must go,” Alexander announced, picking up his hat and an umbrella, for the sky beyond the window displayed grey clouds that threatened more rain. “If I were you, I should go out now Isabella, before it pours and the streets become too dirty. Here, you take this,” he said proffering his umbrella, “you will have more need of it than I. Now, do you have enough money for everything you need? I know you young ladies will not be able to resist the shops. Isabella, take what you need, do not argue. Let us meet here again in two hours.” He paused to pull on his hat and turned to address Lydia. “I hope I will have some news for you, some news you would like to hear.”
Lydia thought him generous in his remarks. He had that grave expression again, but at least he was being compassionate. She thought his attentions towards his sister very thoughtful and envied Isabella for having someone to think about those things for her; indeed, she thought how she too would have liked such a sibling. Four sisters were all very well, but to be looked after and cared for by a sympathetic brother, who saw to all the small necessities, would have been something else entirely.
They set off for the Pump Rooms but made slow progress for the shops were there to tempt and tantalise, and though Lydia protested several times about being far too upset to shop, she found after little more than a yard and a half, she could hardly pass one without stopping to look in a window or encourage her friend through its doors.
“Didn’t I tell you we would see some frights?” declared Isabella laughing after leaving one of the milliner’s shops.
“Quite so,” agreed Lydia, giggling as well. “I thought I’d come across a rare hybrid tree till the young lady who bore half a hundredweight of apples and cherries on her head moved to step on my toe.”
“And I am not at all sure about Parisian bonnets, are you? I would not like to be seen with such a helmet on my head.” Isabella chuckled at the thought.
“Still,” said Lydia sighing, “I am vastly happy with my sprig of orange blossoms which will become my bonnet very well. You were right, Isabella; a little shopping has certainly improved my constitution!”
They carried on down the town and had soon joined the crowds, entering the doors of the Pump Rooms, which were very full. Ladies and gentlemen glided about the floor as though in some intricate dance, meeting and parting, greeting friends and old acquaintances amidst a cacophony of chattering sounds. The girls did not know a soul, and after walking up and down a while, as Lydia attempted to give the impression that this was not her first time in Bath, they decided it was time to try the waters.
“Follow me,” urged Isabella, grabbing Lydia by the hand so as not to lose her, “I think this is a queue of sorts. They weaved their way through the crowds, which eventually jostled and pushed them to the front of the pumper’s counter, and were handed cups of water which they dutifully drank.
“Good Lord!” gasped Lydia, pushing out her tongue in a most unladylike manner. “I would have not ventured on such folly had I known how disgusting it would be. Does anyone actually drink this foul tasting stuff for pleasure?”
“You will see how good it is for you in time,” insisted Isabella, draining her cup to Lydia’s astonishment, “though we should need to be here for several weeks to enjoy its true benefits.”
They sat on a bench under the Tompian clock and watched the fashionable set, the ladies like butterflies alighting on lavender scented beaux, flouncing and flirting, flourishing and flitting from one group to another.
“I hope you do not think it unkind of me, but I have written to Harriet to tell her what has happened,” admitted Isabella.
“No, of course not, and I am sure she will not be very surprised to hear of it, having acquainted her in my letters with many hints and instances as to the state of my marriage.”
“She will be most concerned, I know.”
“Well, enough of my circumstances! We haven’t had a chance to be on our own, and I haven’t had a moment to ask you about your beau. Did Mr Rowlandson get his chance to propose at Netherfield?”
“He did not. I think he was more than a little embarrassed by his sister’s behaviour. I am sure you must have seen her throwing herself at Ralph Howard. You know Freddie and I had hoped there was an attraction between Eleanor and Alexander, that something may happen between them. But now I am not sure if he ever liked her that much.”
“I believe I have been mistaken in some ways about your brother,” Lydia ventured.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“His manner, his reserve, his disdain for love, for dancing and flirting, his dislike of all the pleasurable pursuits, I did not immediately understand him. I had not realised he had been wounded by a former love.”
“Did he tell you about Miss Hunter?”
“Not in any great depth, but I now understand his caution.”
“I admit, Lydia, I am surprised he confided in you. I am sure he has never told another soul.”
“I forced his confidence,” Lydia confessed. “I did not mean to, but there it is. I hope he will forgive me.”
“I am sure he has already, indeed. Alexander does not disclose any information he does not care to impart. And perhaps I should not be so surprised. If anyone could make him talk, I am sure it would be you.”
“We are easier in one another’s company now, I think.”
“Good, I am glad to hear it.”
Lydia frowned. “Alexander seems to think Ralph Howard has more to offer Eleanor; he is backing off without a fight.”
“My poor brother does not think very highly of himself and, for all his lamentations on being a mere clergyman, does not give himself credit. He may not have Ralph Howard’s manor house, but he is to inherit in his own right one day, you know.”
“Is he really?” asked Lydia, quite intrigued.
“Why yes. Our uncle has a sizeable estate near Amwell and Alexander is his heir. It is true he cannot compete with Ralph Howard at present and our uncle is only fifty, but one day Alexander will be quite a wealthy man and a match well worth consideration.”
“I suppose Eleanor must be ignorant of this information or she might be more attentive to your brother.”
Isabella laughed. “That is quite true, Lydia. I am sure it has never cropped up in conversation, and I think I am not inclined to supply her with such intelligence either. I hate to say it, but my opinion of that young lady is quite changed.”
“But you have not answered my question,” begged Lydia, changing the subject. “Freddie must have left you with some feeling of his regard for you.”
“There was a note left at the rectory before we came away, I confess. I did not tell you because you had other things on your mind.”
“Did he tell you how much he loved you?”
“Not in so many words, but he did say he was looking forward to seeing me soon and that he would miss me much more than he could express on paper.”
“It’s high time I attended another wedding and one which promises much happiness!” cried Lydia, hugging Isabella, her eyes shining with delight.
“To marry Freddie would be my dream, I confess, but I do not really know of the strength of his feeling, Lydia. In any case,” Isabella replied, standing up to take in the position of the hands on the clock, “it is time to go and meet Alexander. Come, let us hope he has some news.”
Half a minute had them through the Pump yard to the archway opposite Union Passage, but as usual, they were detained at Cheap Street by the constant rumbling of carriages and carts and prevented from crossing by the approach of a gig, driven along at speed, so that the girls felt in danger of their lives. The smartly dressed coachman who galloped past without a care for anyone who might be at the side of the road looked back at them as he raced by, and although Lydia had not been especially observant of the driver so in fear was she of her life as she jumped back out of the way, she could not help feeling completely overwhelmed as she recognised his face.
“Wickham!” she cried. “What on earth is he doing here?”
They watched the departing gig disappear in a spray of muddy water, but there was nothing they could do apart from speculate on his reasons for being there, which were most perplexing. Ever since his abrupt departure from Netherfield, Lydia had wondered whether he had known of Molly Wickham’s pursuit of him. Perhaps he had been alerted by the sound of her voice or a vision of her ambling up the drive as he chanced to look out of the window. Perhaps it had never been his intention to stay at Netherfield and that clean clothes, money, and a horse were his only purpose for turning up at all. Lydia might never know, but one thing was clear: George Wickham was not in Bath by accident; he was there for a reason and the thought filled her with foreboding.