George Wickham and Lydia Bennet are safely billeted in the home of the notorious Mrs Younge – but for how long?
Because Lydia and Wickham’s courtship seem be a puzzle in itself, you can click on any of the images in this week’s chapter and enjoy a little L and W picture puzzle too!
Catch up on previous adventures here:
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen.
“How well do you know her?” Lydia, her little fists balled threateningly at her hips, glared up at Wickham. “I listened at the door, you know, and I could not hear everything, but she has something against you. Was she–”
“Her husband, God rest him, and I were companions of old and the lady is not so fierce as all that.” Wickham held out his hand to Lydia. When she didn’t move, he pulled a mocking pout and said, “Oh dear, have I been very naughty?”
“That remains for you to answer. Was it only her husband who was your friend? For I shall tell you now, George Wickham, that if you have brought me into the house of a former paramour, as heaven is my witness, I shall kick you soundly in the ribs and walk to Gracechurch street… with all your shirts!”
“Mrs Younge and I have never been ought but friends.” He dropped to one knee before her and blinked his long eyelashes. “Do you not believe your love?”
“I believe you could charm a snake from its skin and a rat from its den. I heard her reluctance, George. What did you have to promise? Was she jealous of me?”
“All women must surely harbour a measure of envy for you, my dearest, for you are fair and wise and full of life.” He took one of her hands and pressed it to his lips. “And adored.”
Lydia could no longer restrain herself. The smile which had threatened when he had first begun his flattery broke through in earnest when he kissed her hand. “You are a scoundrel, you know,” she informed him affectionately, “but so long as you are my scoundrel, all is well.”
She looked about the dingy parlour, wrinkling her nose at the peeling paint, the shabby furnishings, and the bawdy shouts from beyond the door. “How long are we to stay? Do you suppose you will be fit to travel by tomorrow?”
“My love, the very act of going down on one knee to you has rendered me quite unable to get up again, I fear we shall tarry here two days at least.” He kissed her hand again, letting his lips linger. “Two days in London, Miss Bennet, two glittering days to stroll in the parks and enjoy the city?”
A spark of interest kindled in her eyes then. “Oh! I have only visited London with my father, and he always insisted on keeping to the dullest parks and shops. May we venture to more interesting places? There was one particular shop in Covent Garden….”
“Miss Lydia, you scandalous minx!” He hopped nimbly to his feet. “Covent Garden, eh? Bonfires and harlots – not that I know anything of them – and theatres and dancing until dawn with brandy in one hand and Lydia Bennet in the other!”
“Dancing until dawn sounds splendid, as does the brandy! Are there really harlots and bonfires? Perhaps I shall keep you safely under lock and key. Surely, my love, there is some fashionable district where I can replace my ribbons. I do so adore gifts, and I can think of nothing more romantic for you to buy me before our marriage.”
“Covent Garden is London, you will adore it. Now, are you ready to view our nest?” He reached out and caught her other hand. “You are, Miss Lydia Bennet, I can tell by the twinkle in your eye!”
She tilted her head primly, a coy little smile playing at her mouth, and offered him a playful curtsey just as she would have before a dance. “Lead on, fair sir.”
“Now, it’s small, you need to know that, but wonderful things can be contained in the smallest parcels!” Wickham drew her from the room and along the narrow hallway, past closed doors and deeper into the house. Somewhere stew was cooking – had been for rather too long, perhaps – and a dog was barking but as they climbed the staircase to the first landing, the air cleared. The place had an air of shabby gentrification, of an establishment fallen on hard times but not one that always been so.
At the second flight of stairs he told her, “And it is high too, so shall be quiet even at the busiest hour. The house has a lot of coming and going, you see, and I said to Mrs Younge, Miss Bennet must not be disturbed!”
She peered up and down the corridor, a little dubiously. Some of the doors could hardly be called closed. The latches having failed, perhaps, there were visible bits of furnishings or other items propped against them to keep them somewhat barred, but the noises she heard from behind them were novel to her ears. “I am glad we are not to be on this floor,” she announced. “The smells… good heavens, I think the building shall catch fire, and ‘t’would be a mercy!”
BBC
She followed him up the second set of stairs, and found that at the top, there was no landing. Pinched together at the top of the staircase, she leaned close while he fumbled for a key. “This must be the very finest room, so far above the rest as it is?”
“I’m sure it must.” He slid the key into the lock and turned it. The mechanism grated before, with a creak, the door slowly swung open. “Here’s home in London!”
Lydia did not stir from the step. There was no need, for she could see the entirety of the room by only tilting her head to peek over George’s shoulder. “I hope you are not paying her overmuch. Our cook’s sleeping quarters at Longbourn are larger and better furnished!”
He allowed her to pass before him as she moved into the room– the entire three steps such an act required. She turned about. There was a small window overlooking the street, which was a mercy, for the room would require a good airing. The bed was perhaps the narrowest she had seen yet, which gave her some reason to blush, and the entire chamber was cluttered with dusty crates, tucked away for long storage. “Was this Mrs Younge once well-to-do?” she wondered. “Either she was, or she has stolen a good deal. Look at the number of candlesticks and serving platters she has tucked away!”
“Of course, there is something that this room has that your cook’s chambers never did!” Wickham slipped his arms around Lydia’s waist and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Can you guess what it is?”
“An injured man? One whose infirmities will not permit him certain activities?”
“I shall not always be injured, my love, and there are other activities one might indulge in when one isn’t buying ribbons!”
Lydia stepped close to one of the crates. “Why, look! She has pillows and all manner of fripperies. Why, look at the presents I have to sort! A roll of lace, a table cloth, and several lovely blankets. It is just like Christmas. I can make our nest a veritable bower while we are to stay in it.”
“That’s the soldier’s spirit,” Wickham laughed. “Think of what a cosy time we will have in this small, intimate bed. Why we shall almost be bunkmates, with only the one bunk!”
“It is a very small bunk. Almost too small, one would say, for the sorts of things one might imagine indulging in. Tell me quite seriously, George, you are not paying her too much, are you? And did I overhear something about her permitting us to delay such payment until Christmas?”
“Indeed she has given us a most attractive deal, and the more saved now, the nicer our lodgings in Gretna Green. Fear not, my love, it is merely a short detour on the journey north.”
“Then I would do well to ensure that you heal quickly. Now, let me see, where was your most painful bruise? Ah, yes…” Lydia probed and tickled with her fingers– very lightly– until she felt him flinch, then impulsively bent to kiss his battered ribs. “There. Have you any other wounds which require tending?”
“All over, head to toe,” he pouted.
“Then prepare yourself to receive my attentions, sir. We have, after all, a good deal of privacy, a comfortable array of cushions, and even ribbons and bows enough to suit my fancy so I may prettify our little love nest. You shall think yourself a king, feasting at table with only the finest to wait upon him, so well shall I care for you, my love.”
“Is there any wonder that I love you?” He caught his arms around her waist and dotted a kiss to her nose. “My marvellous Miss Bennet!”
“Just promise me one thing, George. By the time we have paid her at Christmas, we shall have our own pretty little love nest somewhere. I little care where it is, so long as I may make it merry and cheerful.”
“I promise.” He pressed his cheek to hers. “I shall not let you down.”
To be continued…
6 comments
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Hmmm! One minute Wickham claims to be so injured that he can’t get up after going on one knee and the next minute he is hopping nimbly to his feet! Are his injuries as bad as he says?
How can he promise her a home when he has no money? He had a good education so should use it to find a respectable job, especially now he seems to have abandoned his military career.
And respectable might be my middle name!
Wickham is a piece of work. He is one that I am always surprised at his audacity and am just as surprised at the youthful gullibility of our Lydia. I loved the puzzles. I’ve never worked a puzzle like that before. That was fun. My hand will have to get used to making the moves with a mouse but… it was diverting. Thanks.
“A piece of work” is certainly kinder than some of the things I have been called!
Miss Lydia knows what she has gotten herself into “You are a scoundrel, you know,” she informed him affectionately, “but so long as you are my scoundrel, all is well.” I truly believe she would up leave him, if he played her false! Now to try out the puzzles! Merry Christmas!
And to you, dear lady!