Bad Miss Bennet Page 24

  Tears trickled down my cheeks while Mr Whittier pretended not to notice. I tottered out of the office to meet Selena who was waiting outside. Only then did the full import of his words penetrate my brain. I became so agitated and tarradiddled that my friend was obliged to walk me as far as Duffield’s library in Milsom Street where I sat for a while trying to compose myself. It was only after we had continued across the bridge to revive ourselves with tea at Christopher’s Hotel that I was able to impart the good news. My friend was duly amazed.

  ‘You are an independent woman at last, Lydia. What will you do now?’

  ‘I intend to return to Paris as soon as possible, but before that I must visit Pemberley. A little revenge would be in order, I think.’

  There had been no communication from any member of my family in recent months, although I had informed them that I was travelling to the continent with my employer. Obviously, I was still in disgrace.

  Selena chuckled as I described my plan of action. ‘You are a wicked creature, Lydia, but I would do the same in your place.’ We agreed that she would rejoin Miles in London and I would meet them in Paris in due course. Adelaide and I prepared to make our way north. I had done nothing but travel for weeks and my bones ached. Only the thought of the scores I would settle kept my spirits high. I had sent a letter on ahead indicating my imminent arrival, writing eloquently about my forlorn situation following the loss of my employer. I had made no mention of the startling change in my circumstances as I had no idea of it at the time.

  It only remained for me to visit Vincente for the last time. I found him far from well and low in spirits. He was delighted to see me and rallied a little after I told him of my adventures. I bade him a fond farewell, fearing that I should never see him again.

  During the interminable journey north I pondered on the extraordinary discussion that had taken place at the embassy. How long ago it seemed, that affair in Brighton. Poor Getheridge and my lost highwayman, not to mention my night with the prince. The coach shook and rumbled as we entered Derbyshire and I became aware of the noxious breath of the hag sitting opposite me. If I did nothing else I would acquire my own carriage with my new found wealth.

  When I presented myself on the steps of Pemberley dressed demurely in midnight blue wool crepe, accompanied by Adelaide and numerous items of luggage, I was received with surprise and pleasure by my sister and something akin to incredulity by Mr Darcy.

  ‘We understood you were still travelling abroad,’ were his welcoming words. He was pretending that my letter had not arrived. I could detect his devious mind at work. And I am happy to see you too, I declared silently. Composing my features into something resembling gravitas I explained that the death of Mrs Makepeace had forced my sudden return.

  My brother-in-law regarded me through narrowed eyes. ‘Upon my word, madam, you are remarkably accident prone.’ Even Lizzie was shocked by this heartless statement. She reproached her husband for his unkindness and he turned on his heel and left us.

  I was soon deposited in my former room. Fortunately, the ghastly Georgiana had already married and departed with her husband. I settled down to enjoy the comforts of a large country estate for a while. I was anxious to return to the continent but I could spare some time in which to stir the dark waters of family life and to see what queer fish emerged.

  After a few days of country walks with Lizzie and little Charles Fitzwilliam and much taking of tea and macaroons, the inevitable happened. I knew that Mr Darcy would not waste time. At dinner one evening he announced that he and Lizzie were expecting a party of guests for a few days. I smiled, murmuring, ‘How delightful.’ But enjoyment was not uppermost in my brother-in-law’s mind. He came straight to the point.

  ‘One of the guests will be a Mr Seton Arbuthnot who has just taken holy orders. The parish of St Nicholas Chantry in this county is within my gift. I have a mind to appoint him to it.’

  ‘How interesting,’ I replied, glancing at Lizzie who smiled nervously. Darcy leaned forward and fixed me with a penetrating look. ‘A newly appointed minister is always in need of a wife. You, Lydia, are in need of a husband. I suggest you make yourself agreeable to the gentleman. This could be the solution to your aimless existence.’

  I had been expecting an announcement of this sort although I confess I anticipated another employer. ‘So I am destined for the church after all,’ I smiled brightly at him, while he urged me to take the proposition seriously. He turned to his wife. ‘The Reverend Arbuthnot would be a highly suitable match, do you not agree, dearest?’ Lizzie paused for a second then smiled apologetically at me.

  ‘Surely such an arrangement is preferable to a life as a lady’s companion, Lydia dear.’ She could not know that Mrs Makepeace had been a far more generous and entertaining companion than any clergyman was likely to be. Remembering my plan, I smiled sweetly and said I would be most interested to meet the gentleman. Lizzie looked relieved and Mr Darcy attacked his roast beef with renewed vigour. I stared dreamily at my plate picturing his reaction if he had known of the events of the last few weeks.

  When the party arrived on Friday afternoon, the first guests to appear were the Vicomte du Pin de Lisle and his English wife Henrietta. The Vicomte had arrived in England after the French Revolution in a penniless condition. He had managed to marry a local heiress and the gratitude he felt at evading the guillotine and complete penury rendered him virtually speechless. His wife compensated by scarcely drawing breath.

  The next guest to arrive, Lady Albany Boulter, was a well-preserved matron of some forty-odd years with a fine quantity of auburn curls, most of them her own. She spent a great deal of time bemoaning the fact that her husband’s poor health prevented her from going about in society as much as she wished. Sir James Boulter’s indisposition was a mysterious affair possibly linked to his vanishing finances.

  ‘It is, of course, imperative that I introduce my darling daughter Sapphire into Society,’ she declared, as if their presence at Pemberley required an excuse. Sapphire Boulter was unremarkable in every way, but pleasant and self-effacing in her manner. She was only seventeen and painfully shy. I realised that I felt many years her senior although only a few years separated us.

  The Reverend Seton Arbuthnot was a suitably serious clergyman of about thirty with a receding hairline and a forthcoming manner whenever Sapphire was in the offing. I recognised immediately that they were attracted to each other and I pitied them. Sapphire was not destined for a humble man of the cloth even if his uncle was a baronet.

  Her mother had other plans. Her sights were set on Mr William de Lawrence, the final guest to arrive, who had lately come to England from the West Indies where he had vast estates. Lizzie whispered to me that the man was reputed to be as rich as Croesus although his grandfather had been a humble cobbler in Chester. The ridiculous affectation of adding a ‘de’ in front of his name fooled no-one. I wondered why my brother-in-law had not suggested I throw myself at de Lawrence instead of a clergyman. Families were supposed to stick together.

  Lady Boulter was prepared to overlook the lack of blue blood in return for unlimited wealth. She was a veritable Lady Arabella Drystick with her worn out pedigree and ridiculous airs. I once surprised her in the library furtively scanning the Baronetage. She hurriedly put it away and enquired after my health. Her ladyship was prepared to overlook a number of things. Mr de Lawrence was fully forty-five years old and appeared older due to the ravages of a tropical climate. His conversation was limited to discussions about land and its value and his taste in cravats was deplorable. I could not see poor Sapphire taking kindly to life on a plantation in Barbados with that saturnine slave owner. She was made for the soft light of an English spring day.

  Her ladyship was condescension itself when I surprised her in the library. She complimented me on my gown – a pleated lilac silk which I had acquired in Venice.

  ‘Upon my word, Mrs Wickham, you have an excellent wardrobe for a widow in straightened circumstances. You were a l
ady’s companion, were you not?’ I ground my teeth silently and nodded pleasantly.

  ‘Indeed, my family is far from wealthy but I am economical by nature. My late employer was most generous and with the help of my maid, who is a veritable treasure, I manage very well.’ From that moment milady did her utmost to prise Adelaide from my employ. I was vexed at this and at my maid’s willingness to change her place, but I knew she disliked foreign travel and I could not in conscience stand in her way. I would have to find another maid.

  I decided to give her a glowing testimonial. ‘Adelaide is a perfect mistress of Mantua making, getting up small linen and hairdressing,’ I assured her ladyship.

  ‘But will her character bear the strictest investigation?’ she enquired.

  ‘As my own,’ I assured her.

  When the time came Adelaide refused to leave me after all saying that the Boulters were no fun and she would stick with me even if it meant, perforce, living in foreign parts. Apart from these distractions my main concern during those few days was how I could convince Mr Darcy that I was doing my best to snare the clergyman, while pursuing my own ends.

  Only that morning after breakfast he had whispered to me as we left the room, ‘Have you had any success as yet?’ Arranging my features into an insincere smile I replied, ‘Oh yes, I need little encouragement to attach myself to anyone.’ In truth I had already had a few conversations with the Reverend Arbuthnot which had proved most interesting. He tended to say very little but managed to convey a great deal unspoken. I realised that he regretted his choice of vocation, that he was in awe of Darcy and that he worshipped Sapphire Boulter.

  As we strolled across the expanse of emerald lawn I acquainted him with my brother-in-law’s intentions and described how they could be thwarted for our own ends. He protested weakly about the deceit involved but his protests lacked conviction. I assured him that no blame would attach to him for my indiscretions and when I was off the scene he would be free to pursue Sapphire. I did not tell him that his chances were non-existent, I had not the heart. I feared for the man; he had little obvious leaning to religion and no skill at all where the machinations of the heart were concerned. I could feel Darcy’s eyes watching us approvingly from a window.

  ‘Why did you choose the church?’ I asked. ‘Forgive me, but you appear to be an unlikely clergyman.’ He gave a mournful sigh.

  ‘I intended to join the navy and serve my country on distant seas. My uncle obtained a commission for me but I resigned after my first voyage.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was acutely seasick.’

  I burst out laughing but the expression on his face was so wretched that I apologised immediately. ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘I had studied theology at Cambridge so I took holy orders. What else could I do?’ His face assumed the expression of a lugubrious spaniel. ‘It appears that I cannot serve either God or my country satisfactorily, but if I had the help and comfort of Miss Boulter by my side I am sure I could acquit myself well enough.’

  ‘Do you plan to elope with Sapphire?’ He looked horrified.

  ‘I thought not. You must know that her mother intends her for Mr de Lawrence. He is very wealthy and you are not.’ My partner in crime looked even more dejected but insisted, ‘I am sure I can convince Lady Boulter to accept me.’ The poor man was deranged but his problems were his own. I needed only his co-operation for a few days.

  Sapphire was informed of our plans and was only too willing to assist. She met with her admirer in secluded places whenever I could distract Lady Boulter and at other times she suffered de Lawrence’s attentions meekly. Seton was in agony whenever his beloved was with ‘that man’.

  ‘That creature is not to be trusted, despite his wealth, ill-gotten no doubt. He looks like a veritable slip-gibbet to me.’ Having uttered these un-Christian sentiments he returned to the matter in hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  That evening, after Sapphire had entertained us with a spirited rendition of Koczwara’s ‘The Battle of Prague’ on the pianoforte and Lizzie and I had managed to sing a few verses of a melody by Handel, I prepared myself for battle. I had already instructed Adelaide to pack our belongings and to be ready to leave when I signalled. Before that, I needed to confront my brother-in-law for the last time – or at least for a long time to come.

  Late that evening when most of the guests had retired I tip-toed after my brother-in-law into the orangery and had the satisfaction of seeing him jump in the air when I spoke. His startled look quickly turned to a frown.

  ‘Lydia, is there something you wish to discuss with me?’ I nodded,

  ‘Indeed, sir.’

  ‘Can it not wait until morning?’ When I looked serious and shook my head he beckoned me further into the orangery. In the soft golden light from the candelabra Darcy held aloft, the exotic fronds and ferns appeared to wave slightly in a faint breeze and the vivid, tropical plants bent over us in a manner almost sensuous. The perfume from the orchids made me feel languid, even nauseous, but I collected my wits and addressed Darcy firmly. ‘I believe, dear brother, that you have been withholding some things from me while I have been away – and indeed before I left.’

  ‘Things, what things?’ There was a note of unease in his voice.

  ‘To be precise, my letters. Letters from my friends and from Count Esterhazy. I trust you have not destroyed them. That would be disgusting as I am sure you are aware. I will not leave this house until you return them to me.’ My brother-in-law regained his composure and declared that he had done what was necessary. ‘You should be grateful to me that you are at last about to make a respectable alliance. I saved you from yourself!’

  ‘And indeed I am saved, but I need to show perfect candour to Mr Arbuthnot in the circumstances. I intend to show him the letters.’ I felt this was a stroke of genius on my part. I could see that Darcy was nonplussed. He placed the candelabra down on a shelf and retreated into the gathering gloom.

  ‘I am not sure that would be wise.’

  I pretended surprise. ‘Do you not advocate honesty between spouses?’

  ‘Of course, of course, but in your case I’m not sure …’

  ‘I am sure,’ I interrupted. ‘I will not consider embarking on matrimony under any other circumstances.’

  This threat was sufficient; he led me away to his private study and unlocked a drawer in his desk. He handed me a bundle of unopened letters without a word while wearing his most acidulated expression. I turned on my heel and walked away to my room.

  I spent half of that long night reading letters from Selena and Miles and two reproachful missives from the Count wondering why I was maintaining total silence. Finally, he decided that I had changed my mind and that he would depart forthwith for Paris. Included in this small package was an undated love letter from the Count. As I read my heart pained me a good deal. I had never received such a tender note, dear reader. Mr Wickham had not thought it necessary to woo me in such a manner, and Jerry had been cast from the same mould.

  I had felt such a strong attraction to you when we first met, but since our parting and your cruel silence that attraction has grown into despairing adoration. Now that you have left me my world has become a desert. Wherever you are, my dearest one, send me a sign that you have not forsaken me. This separation is unbearable to me. Come and join me and let us be happy while we may.

  I wept a few bitter tears over my misfortunes in love, but surely all that was about to end. I was a woman of means and I could pursue my own life, once the little matter of the task for my country was accomplished.

  Any satisfaction I felt at recovering my property was countered the following morning by the realisation that Rev. Seton was intent on making a regular humblebroth of our joint scheme. I was summoned to Lady Boulter’s room before breakfast where I found her ladyship with her face steeped in mud and vinegar to banish wrinkles and her mouth working hard. Did I realise that Sapphire and Rev. Arbuthnot had formed a liaison?r />
  ‘Do not deny it, madam, I know that you have aided and abetted them!’

  ‘I have done nothing shameful, Lady Boulter. I am as shocked as you are by these revelations. It seems I am to be blamed for everything that goes awry in this house. Of course I shall have to reconsider my own position with regard to the Rev. Arbuthnot.’ I left the dowager grinding her teeth as far as that was possible when one’s face is covered with hardened mud.

  Lady Boulter decided that discretion was the best course. My threat regarding the Reverend must have struck home. Was it not possible that I might also inform Mr de Lawrence of his intended’s behaviour? After privately threatening the two lovers in the strongest terms she omitted to inform her host and hostess of anything amiss and dinner that evening passed without drama. The Reverend and Sapphire were suitably subdued and I concentrated on my final preparations, reviewing my escape plans in my head while Darcy and de Lawrence monopolised the conversation.

  After dinner we all settled down in the small salon for a hand of loo while Lady Boulter twittered anxiously about the size of the communal pot. To my annoyance, Mr Darcy assured her that we would play for pennies only. My fingers itched with frustration as I was dealt my three cards. Here were two excessively wealthy men at the same table, willing to play for – pennies! What a lost opportunity. In the event, I was dealt a poor hand and when Lizzie led with an eight of hearts I could not follow.

  I discarded my lowest card, a three of spades, and I would have rapidly lost interest in the game had I not noticed that Lady Boulter was cheating. This amused me greatly. I am sufficiently adept in the art of deception in gaming to recognise another cheat, however well they disguise their methods. Lady Boulter was not particularly adept at disguise. Mr de Lawrence shot a few sharp glances in her direction and I realised that he was also aware of the situation. Our West Indian nabob was a self made man. I wondered how he had made his fortune. Perhaps the Reverend was right after all.