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A s morning dawned, Lydia took to the streets again, hoping to find someone who would help her.

Food was her primary concern, so she needed money; perhaps she could work in a shop?

She walked into several establishments, asking if there was something, anything, she could do to earn some money, but she was turned away every time.

By mid-afternoon, she was at the end of her strength. She sank down onto the pavement and covered her face with her hands; she wept silently. There was no help for her and no hope.

Then she heard a voice say, “Are you all right, Miss?”

Lydia raised her head and saw a young lady of about her own age. “I do not think I am,” she said, honestly, her face wet with her tears.

“Papa, we must help her,” the young lady said, speaking over her shoulder.

A man dressed in fine clothing shook his head at his daughter. “Alice, you cannot adopt a young woman as if she were a stray dog.”

“But I am a stray!” Lydia burst out, sensing possible rescue at hand. “I am lost, hungry, tired…” Her voice faded away.

“Have you no family in London?”

Lydia considered this, briefly. Thie gentleman would possibly drive her to Gracechurch Street, but then what.

She imagined herself appearing at the Gardiners – even if she could find the right house!

– after an attempted elopement. Everyone would know what she had done, thanks to that terrible letter she had left for Harriet Forster, and Mama’s inability to keep anything to herself.

Mama would have told Aunt Philips and Lady Lucas about the elopement, and it would have been all around Meryton by nightfall!

If Lydia returned home, she would be lectured endlessly, scolded from dawn till dusk.

She would likely be returned to the schoolroom, and locked in for the rest of her life. So she made a fast decision.

“No; none at all,” she said. “No family. I am an orphan. I came to London looking for work, but I did not expect it to be so very difficult. It will soon be dark and I am quite frightened of being on my own. Last night and the night before, I slept in someone’s doorway – “ And here she broke down again.

“Oh, Papa!” the girl said. “We cannot just leave her here!”

“Alice, if we took in every orphan on the London streets –“

The girl interrupted him. “I shall not sleep, knowing that she is here on the sidewalk alone. What will happen once night falls? Shall she sleep in a doorway again? What unimaginable things might happen to her? Do you want that on your conscience, Papa?”

The gentleman tried to speak, but his daughter overrode him. “Did Mrs. Hodges not say that we need a new upstairs maid, since Jenna left?”

“But she has no references!” the gentleman expostulated.

“Just look at her,” the girl said. “She is young and strong. Surely she can work.”

“I can, I can work!” Lydia put in, doing her best to sound eager to do so.

The gentleman sighed and threw up his hands.

“I hate to think what Mrs. Hodges will have to say, but very well.” He looked down at Lydia.

“You would be safe in my house, but you would have to work very hard.” He looked askance at her clothing; her dress was dirty, but it was certainly not the typical attire of a poor farm girl.

He wondered who she really was. “What is your name?” he enquired.

“Lydia,” she answered, standing up and grasping her satchel firmly. “Lydia – Lydia Lucas.”

Trembling with hunger, as well as relief, she was taken to the gentleman’s carriage. Whatever awaited her, whatever work she was required to do, was bound to be better than having to fend for herself on London’s busy streets.

“When did you last eat, Lydia?” the young lady asked her.

“Two days ago,” Lydia mumbled.

“Well, we shall have Cook get something for you as soon as we arrive.”

She was as good as her word; the moment the carriage pulled up in front of a large townhouse, she hurried Lydia out of the carriage and downstairs to the kitchen. “Cook,” she said, speaking to a large woman in an enormous apron. “This young woman is near to starving.”

The aproned woman spoke not a word, but a plate with an apple, a large piece of cheese, and a thick slice of bread was set before Lydia in just a moment. Lydia fell upon it, thinking she had never tasted anything so wonderful in her life.

***

The family that had rescued Lydia lived in a fine house on Ring Street; she would later hear it said that this address was a mere stone’s throw from Grosvenor Square, so it was evidently quite fashionable.

The young lady who had rescued her, Miss Alice, was the youngest daughter of the family.

Her father was Baron Greenfield, his wife was Lady Greenfield.

There was a son, Nathaniel, at Eton, as well as a younger son, Robert, who was being tutored at home.

There was an older daughter, Miss Emily, who had had her come-out the year before, but was not yet married.

***

Lydia’s arrival set off a bit of a storm.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Hodges, was furious that a replacement for the departed Jenna had been hired without her knowledge or consent.

The fact that Lydia had never before been in service and had no references added greatly to her ire.

“I shall not take the blame if we are all murdered in our sleep!” she told the butler, Mr. Durston.

Mr. Durston sympathised with Mrs. Hodges, saying that he should have a thing or two to say to his lordship had a footman been hired without his approval. “A very bad precedent, I should say,” he rumbled. “Very, very bad.”

It did not help that Lydia’s clothing, manners and accent set her apart from the other servants.

Mrs. Hodges snubbed Lydia whenever possible, saying that the girl needed to be taken down a peg or two, and the sooner the better.

Lydia, frightened and disoriented, soon learnt that if she kept her head down and her mouth shut, the abuse lessened.

She was given a uniform to wear, and she kept her own clothing in the satchel, tucked safely under her bed.

There was a good deal of speculation on the part of the other servants as to Lydia’s origins and what might have led her to be found weeping on one of London’s busiest streets.

Lydia refused to answer questions and the conjectures faded soon enough, though the two footmen, Alfred and Jack, eyed her speculatively whenever their paths happened to cross. Lydia ignored them both.

Lydia was, in turn, ignored by her superiors, including Letty, who was Miss Alice’s lady’s maid; Nancy, who was Miss Emily’s lady’s maid; and Beatrice, who was Lady Greenfield’s lady’s maid. Letty, Nancy and Beatrice spoke to Lydia only when ordering her to do something in their mistress’ bedrooms.

Lydia had been hired on as an upstairs maid, which had earned her the undying enmity of Doris, a ‘tweeny’ who had hoped for this promotion after Jenna’s departure. Lydia shared a room on the third floor with Edith, the other upstairs maid.

It was Edith who quickly realised that her new roommate had never so much as swept a floor, let alone dusted furniture or emptied a bedpan.

“And here was me hoping for some real help, having done my work and Jenna’s as well for the past two weeks!

” she scolded Lydia. “I would tell Lady Greenfield that you know nothing whatever, but that would mean me likely having to share a room with Doris.”

Apparently having to share a room with Doris was a terrible fate; rather than run that risk, Edith patiently – and sometimes not so very patiently – taught Lydia her duties.

Lydia found the work both exhausting and endless, but that did not keep her from thinking again, and again, how she had ended up as a servant, and what she might have done differently.

Perhaps she should have asked Lord Greenfield to take her to Gracechurch Street; he was a kind man, and he would have taken her there at once.

The Gardiners would have taken her home to Longbourn!

Yes, she would have faced a good deal of punishment from Papa, but upon reflection, she realised that Mama would have made everything right!

And would that not have been better than cleaning furniture, making beds, and – heavens – emptying bedpans?

What if she asked now to be taken to Gracechurch Street?

Surely Lord Greenfield would take her there.

Or, since she would be owed some wages at the next quarter day, surely she could hire a hackney, could she not?

Her wages had been set at eight pounds per annum, but midsummer had just past, so she would not receive any funds until Michaelmas.

She could, she thought, hold out until then.

But the difficulty in this plan was this: where, exactly, were the Gardiners?

She had a recollection of Gracechurch Street being quite long.

She did not think she would recognise the house, as they looked very much alike from the front, and she could hardly knock on every single door, looking for her relatives!

It could have been a good deal worse, of course. What if Miss Alice had not seen her and been moved to take pity on her? Lydia was well aware that she might not have survived the night, let alone with her virtue intact!

But, she understood, her virtue was not intact. She was, in fact, soiled goods. She was the sort of woman that the other ladies whispered about.

And now, just now, she thought – good Lord, what if she was carrying a child? She stopped scrubbing for a moment, blood draining from her face, until Edith snapped at her to get back to work.