The Bad Miss Bennet Abroad Page 13

  ‘We, my wife and I, are delighted and relieved to see Lydia married.’ Surely the word relieved was unnecessary? My husband laughed and patted my hand.

  ‘We are most happily settled, I thank you.’ Lizzie immediately wanted to know where we would live in England, ‘Unless you are intending to return to the West Indies soon?’

  ‘No!’ I gave an involuntary cry, adding, ‘we intend to live in London, do we not dearest?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ my husband replied. I have had occasion to remark on this vagueness whenever the topic of our living arrangements is raised. ‘We have but lately arrived in England, madam, and we were anxious to introduce ourselves to you. We have made no firm plans as yet.’ I tightened my lips and considered kicking my spouse under the table.

  Lizzie immediately said that we could remain at Pemberley for as long as we wished. ‘Do you not agree, dearest?’ Darcy nodded, unsmiling. Mr Macaulay looked mightily relieved and thanked them effusively. I wondered again at his reluctance to spend money. There can be no worse fate for a wife than to be shackled to a miser.

  When we retired that night I reproached him for his unwillingness to return to London and he became instantly irritable.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, madam, we have but this minute arrived. After all our travelling surely you will relish time to relax at this magnificent estate?’ I felt a pout appearing. It is true that if Pemberley had been owned by anyone else it would have been delightful.

  ‘I am not on the best of terms with Mr Darcy. There has been much ill will between us.’ My husband waved an arm to dismiss this.

  ‘Surely that is all forgotten now that you are safely wed? He appears pleased and satisfied.’

  ‘We should travel on to Longbourn to visit my parents,’ I countered. ‘They will be expecting us.’ The prospect did not fill me with joy, but it was more agreeable than being under Mr Darcy’s frigid gaze. My husband would not be moved. ‘In due course, in due course.’

  During our stay at Pemberley I do not recall my husband parting with any money at all. He even borrowed a few coins from me to give to the estate workers who assisted him when he was fishing or shooting. He accompanied Darcy on horseback around the estate for hours. I often found him contemplating the view from the windows as if the vast acres were his own.

  Meanwhile, I was closeted with Lizzie and the children while she told me how happy I would be when I became a mother. Sometimes the burden of my secrets becomes unbearable and I shudder to think how I could be undone if Adelaide turned against me. My life was in the hands of my maid. What would Wickham say to that?

  I have attempted to hide what remains of my former employer, Mrs Makepeace’s, gold coins from my husband. A woman should always retain an air of mystery and these matters are best kept from one’s spouse. Women have so little in this world and it is forfeit to one’s husband upon marriage. I do not intend this to happen to me. The coins are kept in a locked trunk labelled as belonging to Adelaide. I withdraw money only when I am alone. What trust I am placing in my maid!

  March 19th

  When I told Mr Macaulay that I needed new winter clothes now that we are in England, he had the effrontery to suggest that I might borrow some from my sister. There is something very wrong here. I hope I have not made a dreadful mistake.

  March 25th

  As the days pass certain facts are becoming apparent to me. My husband is doing everything in his power to ingratiate himself with my brother-in-law. He is particularly anxious to know if any cottages are empty or available on the estate. Cottages? What can he have in mind – a new life as a gamekeeper with his wife taking in washing, perhaps? I am beginning to realise that Mr Macaulay is not all he seems.

  ‘You are not lucky where gentleman are concerned, madam.’ Adelaide uttered those words a long time ago when I was involved with the count and several times since. I could only agree with her, but I have been powerless to alter my fortune or my inclinations.

  Now, once again, I am embroiled with a man of dubious character. He is a gambler, as Wickham was, and just as unsuccessful. Like Wickham he gravitates towards Mr Darcy. I fear it will all end badly unless I can persuade him to set up home in London forthwith.

  One evening before dinner I drew Mr Macaulay’s attention to details in the London Times regarding desirable houses to rent in fashionable areas. I adopted my most persuasive tone;

  ‘If we cannot purchase a property in town there is no shame in renting somewhere, at least for the duration of the season. We can also hire a carriage and engage staff when we arrive.’ My husband brushed the newspaper away in an irritable manner.

  ‘Why do you wish to return to London?’ His tone was petulant. ‘Can we not enjoy living in this magnificent house on this fine estate? What more can you want, my dear?’ My patience was beginning to fray. I ground my teeth involuntarily – always a sign that I am sorely tried.

  ‘Because I do not wish to be a supplicant at my brother-in-law’s table forever. He has no liking for me and we are received on sufferance. Why are you so unwilling to set up home somewhere?’ A dark thought occurred to me. ‘Is it because your credit is poor, sir?’ At this point my husband threw the newspaper on to the floor and trampled on it furiously like a child who has broken a toy in a temper tantrum.

  ‘Do not interfere, madam!’ he cried. ‘I will decide our future plans. Your role as my wife is to be agreeable, something you appear to have little talent for.’

  I made one last attempt to be charitable and wifely by offering another suggestion that might improve our finances. I reminded him that I had written a novel in the Gothic style for which I had high hopes. It needed only an approach to the office of John Murray (dear Lord Byron’s publisher). My husband snorted and glared at me, not quite simultaneously.

  ‘I ventured to read some of that unremitting drivel, my dear. You carefully left the manuscript in various places for that purpose, no doubt. Any self-respecting publisher would light his cigars with it.’ He snorted again, then ducked as I picked up a small ceramic statue and prepared to hurl it at him.

  He marched out of the room, leaving me to seethe with fury and to contemplate my worst fears. I am convinced that my husband’s financial problems are worse than I had thought. Calling for pen and paper, I sat down to write a confiding letter to Selena.

  If only we could arrange a gaming salon for a short time. In the past we had always kept ourselves in funds in this way. Then, of course, I did not have to answer to a husband but I sensed that Mr Macaulay would not object. He gravitates naturally towards games of chance. In addition, I still remained confident about my Romance. What did Mr Macaulay know of such things? He often said that he never read fiction.

  After I had sent off the letter, Lizzie came to my room and a distressing half hour ensued while she again waxed lyrical on the joys of married life and the delights of motherhood. If only I could have told her about little Sebastian, who would surely be taking his first steps by now. All I could do was listen and nod in agreement. My sister noted my strained smile. Lizzie is no fool.

  ‘Is everything well between you and your husband, Lydia?’ she asked. ‘I hope you are not having regrets already.’ I sighed; it was a relief not to have to dissemble.

  ‘I believe Mr Macaulay is keeping the truth from me. Our financial position is less rosy than he led me to believe. If I question him he becomes furious and stalks off.’ Lizzie looked worried and patted my arm in an attempt to be comforting.

  ‘That would explain his interest in the estate and its properties. I think he would like to settle here.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice, ‘especially if he could stay rent free.’ My sister looked puzzled.

  ‘What of his estate in Jamaica, surely you could return there?’ I explained that his brother ran La Nouvelle Heloise and neither of us were inclined to return to the West Indies. Lizzie sighed and rose to leave.

  ‘I could speak to my husband if you wish, Lydia.�
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  ‘No!’ I almost shrieked. ‘You know how he regards me. If you wish to help, dear Lizzie, suggest to my brother-in-law that it is time we moved on to our own household. That will at least force my husband into action.’ She nodded and left the room while I contemplated an uncertain future once again.

  Dinner table conversation was somewhat strained that evening. I knew that Lizzie would have spoken to Mr Darcy about our dilemma. She is not one to shirk her responsibilities. Having agreed to my suggestion, she would have acted quickly. My husband was unusually subdued. He was still annoyed because I had pressured him about our living arrangements. Darcy was his accustomed taciturn self except when Lizzie smiled at him, when he softened visibly. How fortunate was my sister – a wealthy, loving husband, beautiful children – everything a woman could wish for. I, in contrast, had a feckless, improvident husband and a lost child.

  “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves…” That was one of the few Shakespearian quotations I could recall and how aptly it described my own shortcomings.

  At this point my husband abruptly excused himself from the table and withdrew. He returned moments later with dilated pupils and a disturbing glitter in his eyes. His taciturn manner changed abruptly, becoming hectic and garrulous with much unnecessary laughter. Darcy looked at him in amazement as my husband began to praise the food extravagantly. It was ‘ambrosia, the food of the gods. Your cook is a paragon, a culinary angel, madam.’ Lizzie appeared slightly bewildered.

  ‘I thank you, sir; Mrs Matthews does her best. We prefer plain English fare for the most part.’ Mr Macaulay giggled again and prodded a slice of pork before knocking over his wine glass. As a red stain spread over the white cloth, a servant rushed up to assist.

  My husband leapt from his seat waving his arms and laughing like a hyena. His arm caught the unfortunate footman a blow across the face that almost felled him. Darcy sprang up to intervene and the three men became entwined in the strangest manner, Mr Mac laughing uproariously the entire time. When order was restored, Lizzie hastily suggested that we retire.

  When the men re-joined us later my husband had quietened somewhat but began to giggle again when Lizzie attempted a tune on the pianoforte. Alarmed, I took his arm and led him away. ‘My husband is unwell,’ I announced. ‘Please excuse us.’

  When we reached our bedchamber he turned to face me. I could tell that something was amiss. His face was very pale and his nostrils were distended in an alarming manner.

  ‘So!’ he exclaimed, ‘I think you have been conspiring with your sister, my dear. Can I not expect even a modicum of loyalty from my own wife? Must you thwart me at every turn?’

  ‘I cannot imagine to what you are referring, dear husband,’ I replied uneasily. I had a very good idea.

  My husband raised his voice. ‘Your brother-in-law is already suggesting that we have outstayed our welcome here,’ he fumed. I pointed out that we had spent some weeks in the house. ‘We were invited to stay indefinitely, as I recall,’ he replied.

  ‘You know that such invitations are not to be taken literally. It is a matter of good manners.’

  ‘Apparently so, even when members of the family are involved.’ I begged him to tell me why he would not remove to London. ‘Because I have no money!’ he hissed. The truth at last.

  I fled from the room and found Adelaide waiting in the anteroom. ‘I cannot imagine why my husband is behaving so oddly,’ I exclaimed. Adelaide gave me a wry look.

  ‘He has been using the white powder, madam.’

  ‘White powder?’ Realisation slowly dawned. I put my head in my hands for a moment. ‘He said it was Jamaican powdered coconut – his favourite sweet.’ Adelaide sighed and rolled her eyes. I returned to our room where I found Mr Macaulay slumped in a chair looking vacant. I prodded his arm sharply but there was no response. A few moments later he burst into tears and threw himself onto the bed. At that moment I recollected that powdered coconut is not usually snorted like snuff. I retired to sleep in Adelaide’s bed while she sat up in the anteroom.

  Chapter 23

  The following morning, I returned doggedly to the question of our finances. My husband appeared to have recovered from his encounter with the white powder.

  ‘So, are you telling me that you have nothing?’ I asked, resisting an urge to laugh. Surely he could not be serious. Mr Macaulay refused to meet my eye, preferring to fiddle with his snuff box.

  ‘Of course, I have an estate as you well know. It is just that…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is heavily mortgaged.’

  ‘And why is that?’ But I already knew the answer. Fate has decreed that I should always marry a gambler, although never a successful one.

  ‘I have a lack of ready cash,’ he continued, ‘and more bills to pay. I thought you might be able to help me, my dear.’ A wheedling note entered his voice which I ignored.

  ‘Then there is no possibility of our setting up home in London in an appropriate style?’ He looked anxious and a little shamefaced.

  ‘Not at the moment, but in time. I had thought to ask your brother-in-law for some assistance.’

  ‘Darcy?’ I shrieked with laughter, ‘so that is the way the land lies. Did you marry me because of him? Then you are an even bigger fool than I thought. I have nothing of my own except a few hundred from my parents and some jewels. I am detested by my brother-in-law who has tried his best to be rid of me on many occasions and who now thinks you have obliged him. He would never give us a penny.’ Of course Mr Darcy had given me an allowance to stay away from Pemberley but I did not intend to mention that.

  My husband threw his snuff box down and left the room, his face a mask of fury.

  He disappeared for several hours that morning after telling our hosts that he had urgent business in Derby. Mr Darcy was somewhat surprised but loaned him a good horse for the journey. It was not until I began to dress for dinner that I realised something was amiss.

  ‘Where is your jewellery, madam?’ Adelaide asked. ‘The box is empty.’ I seized it from her, shook it and turned it upside down. Nothing emerged. I sat as if turned to stone while Adelaide, as always, voiced the unthinkable. ‘Mr Mac ’as gone off with your jewels, madam.’ Noting my expression in the mirror she added, ‘I was just about to fetch a dish of tea,’ before escaping rapidly from the room.

  I do not recall how I passed the next few hours. My husband did not return for dinner and if any conversation passed between the remaining three of us I have forgotten it. All I can remember is that I ground my teeth so hard I almost sustained lock jaw.

  After retiring early to bed, pleading a headache, I occupied myself in devising suitable punishments for my spouse; boiling in oil was the favourite.

  How foolish I had been to show off my jewels to that man. Naturally, I did not mention how I had acquired the Prince Regent’s necklace. I said that the Princess of Wales had given it to me for ‘services rendered.’ My husband had accepted this as he had accepted that the pearls and diamond brooch had been left to me by a grateful employer. That at least was correct, and had I not earned them in my tedious role as companion to an elderly lady in boring Bath?

  Eventually I drifted into an uneasy slumber and I awoke alone next morning. Mr Macaulay did not return until after breakfast, rather the worse for wear. When he appeared in my chamber he informed me casually that he had, indeed, removed my jewels.

  ‘You have done what? Are you saying that you have sold them, my diamond collar, everything?’ I could hear my voice beginning to crack. ‘What kind of blackguard have I wed? Those jewels were all I had in the world.’ It was true, dear reader, I had already made large inroads into the three thousand pounds left to me by my previous employer in England, Mrs Makepeace. I emitted loud sobs of fury as I began throwing anything that came to hand in the direction of my spouse.

  He dodged the various objects and said in an injured tone, ‘It was my right as your husband – and you have brought no fortune of
your own to the marriage.’

  ‘No!’ I screamed, hurling a vase which shattered against the door, ‘and neither have you. Your estate, the house, all mortgaged to pay your gambling debts. What a fool you are, and what a fool I am.’ We glared at each other in mutual loathing, knowing that we had each contracted a marriage for financial gain and we had both been deceived.

  Mr Macaulay collapsed onto the floor with his coat tails spread around him, the picture of sulky disappointment, like a five year-old who has been told there will not be any jam for tea. Meanwhile, I leapt and quivered in front of him, beside myself with fury.

  ‘What have you done with the money?’ I screeched.

  ‘Paid off most of my debts, of course. And I did not sell your pearls or the gold locket.’

  ‘That was because I was wearing them!’ I screamed so loudly that Adelaide rushed in with a cry of, ‘Madam, I thought you was being murdered.’ Behind her I could see a group of servants in the corridor listening in fascinated suspense for the outcome of our argument.

  ‘Leave us,’ my husband told her, ‘your mistress is merely assaulting me in her customary manner.’ He turned to me. ‘You really must control your propensity for violence, my dear.’ Adelaide made no move to leave the room.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Darcy are returning from their drive, madam,’ she told me and I was grateful for the warning note in her voice. I collapsed onto the bed as my husband prised himself off the floor.

  ‘Well, my dear, we must make the best of things. I am of a philosophical nature. We will have to seek our fortune in another country if we cannot rely on the generosity of your brother-in-law.’ I goggled at him hearing only the words ‘another country.’