Page 53

She stopped here and closed her eyes. “I am ruined, of course. No one will ever marry me now. I thought I would be the first to be married, and now I shall never marry. But I do not complain of it, for that is what I deserve.”

Her aunt said, hesitantly, “Not necessarily, Lydia, but we need not speak of that now.”

Lydia told them how she had left the inn and tried to make her way to Gracechurch Street, but she had gotten lost and no one would help her. “When night came, I slept in a doorway,” she said.

Her aunt gasped in horror, and her hands flew to her mouth. “But no one – well, bothered you, Lydia?”

“No; I covered my head and tried to stay out of sight. The next day was much like the first, but now I was hungrier and thirstier than ever! It rained, and I was grateful to drink the rainwater. I thought I would die, right there on the London street. But the day after that, a very kind young lady saw me and convinced her father to give me employment.” She went on to describe her life at Greenfield House.

She told them about Mrs. Hodges, Mr. Durston, Edith; the work was hard, she admitted, but she felt she deserved her fate – and it was truly a great deal better than being out on the streets.

“But why did you not ask Lord Greenfield to take you here?” Mrs. Gardiner asked. “I confess that I do not understand this at all!”

“Well, first it was because I did not know how to find you. I knew it was Gracechurch Street, but I did not know the address. Also, I did not know about Mama, you see, and I thought it likely that all of Meryton would know about the elopement. If I went home without a husband, I would be utterly ruined, as would my sisters. If I stayed away, they could say I was dead.”

“But there would be no body,” Mr. Gardiner reminded her.

Lydia nodded. “I know; but that seemed the best alternative. Also…” she trailed off.

“Yes, my dear?” Mrs. Gardiner prompted.

Lydia looked at her shoes. “I was not certain that you would want me. I know I am a disgrace to the family.”

“Oh, Lydia, of course we want you! Though your Papa might never let you out of the house again.”

“He would be right to send me back to the nursery,” Lydia agreed.

Mrs. Gardiner asked, hesitantly, “Lydia, is there any chance that you – I mean, given that you and Mr. Wickham shared a bed – well, might you be –“

Lydia stopped her. “I am not with child, Aunt.”

Her aunt breathed out a long sigh of relief. “I thank heaven for that!”

“As did I!”

“Lydia, before we continue, may we not do something about your clothing?” Mrs. Gardiner asked. “You must wear mourning for your mother, of course, but I think we can do rather better than your maid’s uniform.”

“Oh, I had quite forgotten,” Lydia said. She gave a small, sad smile. “It is not like me to not be concerned about my attire, is it? But I think the old Lydia and the new Lydia have little in common.”

“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “There was a good deal to love about the old Lydia, but I hope she has learnt some wisdom in the past weeks.”

“She has, indeed, Aunt,” Lydia replied, gravely. “I have two dresses in my satchel, but they are quite wrinkled and likely not fit to be seen.”

“Go and dress her, my dear, but come back as soon as may be; we have a great deal to settle,” Mr. Gardiner reminded his wife.

Upstairs, Mrs. Gardiner rummaged through her own wardrobe to find something that might fit Lydia with a few alterations. She selected a dress and tacked up the hem quickly, saying, “I wore this when my own mother passed on. We will have to take in the bodice and the waist, but it will do for now.”

Lydia took off her cap and her grey uniform, and Mrs. Gardiner helped her don the black dress and put up her hair. “There, now you look more like the Lydia I remember!”

“But look at my hands, Aunt.”

Mrs. Gardiner did so and immediately winced.

“I have some cream that will help heal your hands, Lydia, but you must wear gloves when there are others about. Your hands tell a story that every lady will read in an instant.” She went to her dressing table and produced a small glass jar; she rubbed the lavender scented cream into her niece’s hands.

Looking up, she saw tears in Lydia’s eyes. “Surely I am not hurting you, Lydia?”

“No, it feels lovely; it is just that this is Mama’s scent.”

“Ah, of course; lavender. She always wore it. I can find a different cream for you tomorrow.”

“No, please, I like this. It is as if Mama is close by.”

Returning downstairs, they found Mr. Gardiner staring into the fireplace.

He looked up when they entered the room.

“Ah, you found something for her. Good. Lydia, we will send some fabric home with you when you return to Longbourn, so that you may make up more mourning clothing. You will be in deep mourning until February.”

“So I am to return to Longbourn?”

“Most certainly; I will take you there myself.”

“Will it not rather surprise everyone in Meryton when it is seen that I am returning with you?”

Mrs. Gardiner chuckled. “Your very clever sisters have solved that problem for us.” She went to her little writing desk in the corner of the room and returned with her letter from Jane, explaining that they would henceforth say that Lydia was staying with the Gardiners. “Here, read it for yourself.”

Lydia did so, her eyes widening. “Kitty wrote a letter in my handwriting!”

“Yes; she is very clever, your Kitty.”

“And Papa is saving money!”

“A good deal has changed in your absence, Lydia.”

“Will you write to them first, Uncle?”

“What do you think, Madeleine?”

She considered it for a minute. “Yes, I think sending a message first would be best. We do not want the Bennets to make too much of a public scene when she returns to them; it could give rise to talk if it is overheard. Come, Lydia, let us get you to bed. Everything will look brighter tomorrow!”

***

The next morning, Lydia asked her aunt if she might use her writing desk.

“Of course, Lydia; do you mean to write to your father?”

“No; I would like to thank Miss Alice. I do not think that improper, do you?”

“Not at all.”

Lydia chewed on the quill for a minute, gathering her thoughts. Then she wrote, in a careful hand:

Dear Miss Alice,

I hope you will forgive my presumption in writing to you.

I suppose you know by now that I am gone, and that I found myself on a London street as the result of a misunderstanding with my family. I am to be reunited with them shortly, and I believe all will be well.

I must tell you that you saved my life, and you will be in my thoughts and prayers for as long as I live.

I wish you all the best of everything, now and always.

With the deepest gratitude,

Lydia Bennet