Advent Calendar Day 20: The Wickhams’ Christmas

This is Part III of my three-part story, which has appeared on successive Sundays in our Austen Variations Advent Calendar.  The first episode, “St. Nicholas Day,” was published on December 6, and told of a Rich Jane Austen Christmas, set at Pemberley. The second part, “Miss Bingley’s Christmas,” was about a Poor Christmas (referring to Caroline’s cold heart and resentful nature). This third and final treat, “The Wickhams’ Christmas,” is a Bohemian Christmas, taking us to the raffish young Wickhams in Newcastle – and from there to Pemberley. Happy holidays to all who love Jane Austen!

“Blast,” said Wickham, holding up a very thin pocket-book. “Here is no money. Have you taken some, Lydia?” he called to his wife, who was still lolling in their unmade rumpled bed, though it was past noon.

“Only a little, my dear Wickham,” she replied with a yawn.

“How much?”

“Oh, just enough so I could get a piece of flowered sarsanet to replace that gown you ripped when you was trying to catch me.”

“So how much was it? Did you have to take it all? We have not a penny left.”

“What does it matter how much it was, if it is all gone anyway?”

Wickham tossed away the pocket-book in exasperation. “How do you expect we are to get money enough to eat our dinner, then?”

Lydia sat up and thought hard for a moment. “I know,” she said brightly, “you could put your sword, or your pistol, or something or other, into the pawnbroker’s? You’d get a pretty sum for them, and you don’t need them, now that there is peace.”

Wickham ran his fingers through his handsome head of dark hair. “But then how should I ever get them back?” he demanded.

That was too much for Lydia. “Why, I don’t know. You could redeem them when you get your pay, can’t you? You’ve done it before.”

“Don’t you understand,” he almost shouted, “that owing to the peace, I am only on half-pay now, and we have no money?”

Lydia pouted. “Well, whose fault is that? I didn’t ask you to tear my dress, but you was so eager to be with me you got a bit rough, didn’t you. And I’m no earthly good at mending.”

“You’re no earthly good at much,” her husband muttered, in a very bad humour. “Look here, then, I’ve got to go out.”

“Oh, no, Wickham! I thought you would spend today here with me and we might walk down to the docks. The sun is shining even if it is cold.”

“No time for that now. I must go to the public house and see if I can get some money someway. No help for it. I’m off then.”

“The public-house!” Lydia wailed. “Oh, no, then you’ll come back all drunky. Don’t leave me, Wickham!” She jumped out of bed and clung to him. “Come back to bed instead.”

“Nonsense. I can’t very well get drunk without a penny in my pocket, and I don’t fancy going to bed hungry. Let me see – the Lady Grey’s in Shakespeare-Street is the best place for a soft touch I think. You’ll see me when you see me. And you won’t eat till you do, so don’t howl.”

He strode off before Lydia could work up her protesting cries to full vent, and with the slam of the door, she subsided. After some tearful thought, she pulled her discarded clothes from the floor and started dressing.

A knock on the door just as she finished, sent her scampering to answer. A lady of about her own age, of cheap good looks and finer, flashier clothing than Lydia’s, stood there. “Sally Smithers!” Lydia screamed, and the two friends flew into each other’s arms.  Sally, the young wife of one of Wickham’s fellow officers, and six months longer married than Lydia, held Lydia off to look at her affectionately.

“But what is this? Do I see traces of a honeymooner’s tears?”

“Oh I suppose so,” Lydia admitted. “Wickham has just gone to the pub, because we have no money.”

“Hum. How does he propose to get it at a pub? By gaming?”

“I do not at all know.”

Sally pondered. “Did he say which pub?”

“The Lady Grey, I think.”

Mrs. Smithers gave a little scream. “Oh my dear girl, not the Lady Grey, in Shakespeare-Street!”

“Why, what is wrong with that place?”

“Do you not know, that is the public house right next to the Theatre Royal, and it is where the officers meet the actresses, and other fast girls!”

“Girls?” exclaimed Lydia, affronted. “Wickham would not do such a thing!”

“Oh wouldn’t he. All the officers do. Even my Malcolm…well. You are too young and innocent and newly married to know.”

“Wickham does not need to flirt with actresses when he has me,” said Lydia, hurt.

“If he wants money, he will do it,” Mrs. Smithers explained patiently. “He is one of the very handsomest officers, you know, and he will find some woman who is a soft touch.”

“Those are the very words he said,” admitted Lydia.

“You see? So there is only one thing to do. We must dress up and go to the Lady Grey’s, and see what the men are up to. We are not so bad-looking ourselves, you know, and might be able to pick up something.”

“Money, you mean?” asked Lydia wonderingly. “But surely you are not in such need as we are? Your husband is senior to Wickham and earns more.”

Mrs. Smithers laughed bitterly. “There is always need for money. And we will show the men that both sexes can play at this game.”

Sure enough, Wickham was to be found at the Lady Grey, three deep in pretty actresses, and not far away from Captain Smithers. They were playing at dice, and there was already a small pile of money and several drinks in front of both officers.

“Look at them,” snorted Sally. “Come, let us find somebody to treat us. That one over there is looking at you – bat your eye-lashes. And pull down your decolletage a little.”

Lydia obeyed, and soon both friends were surrounded by officers, offering drinks, or tips for kisses, which both freely gave.  If their husbands observed them, they paid them no mind.

It was late by the time Wickham finally shook himself away from the actresses, and sauntered over to his wife. “Come, let’s go get some beef at an eating-house. We have enough coin now. Looks like you’ve done pretty well yourself.”

“Better than you,” Lydia said complacently.

Over their late supper, Wickham was silent for awhile, as if mulling something over. At length he pushed away his plate and said, “I know we’ve made a little tonight, but it isn’t enough. We’ll be in short street in two more days, the way you spend. Look here, Lydia, I will tell you what. You must go to Pemberley for Christmas.”

“Pemberley!” she exclaimed. “But, I haven’t been invited.”

“What does that matter.  Smithers and I have decided to go to Bath to enjoy ourselves for the festivities – there’s enough here for that – and you might as well go to your sister’s and see what you can do.”

“But it is a long journey. I have not money enough for that.”

“Bother money. We will tell the driver that he will be paid at Pemberley.”

Lydia looked dubious, but she was ready for any thing and so it was decided. To Pemberley she would go.

Three days later, in a shabby traveling dress with a small battered portmanteau, she pulled up to the Pemberley gates in her hired hack. To the servants who greeted her she handed her bag, airily told them to pay the driver, and marched in.

As she entered the grand drawing-room, with its crystal chandeliers, antique wall hangings, and silk festoons, the ladies of the party looked up in astonishment. Only Jane had anything resembling a welcoming look on her face. Lizzy looked frankly appalled, Mrs. Gardiner apprehensive, and Miss Bingley simultaneously shocked and diverted.

“Lydia! Good gracious.  Why have you come?” Elizabeth asked, not very courteously.

“Why, I wanted to see you all,” her sister answered, with brazen cheer. “Besides, Wickham has gone to Bath, and he left me to be all alone in our lodgings at Christmas, without a penny.”

“Oh, how very sad,” said Jane, coming forward. “Poor Lydia, we will take care of you. You must be so worn out from such a journey.”

Elizabeth recollected herself, though without much warmth. “Yes, you may have the Red Room, the last bed-room in the West Wing,” and she directed a servant to take her there.

“But I have nothing to change into,” reminded Lydia, with presence of mind.

“I will come with you, and find some things of my own,” Jane assured her. “We are nearly of a height, and you will fit into my gowns.”

“Oh dear Jane, you were always so sweet,” murmured Lydia as they went off together.

As they left the room, Miss Bingley could not hold herself in.

“Why, that is the sister whose wedding was such a disgrace,” she blurted.

Lizzy kept her composure. “I would rather you did not advert to it, Caroline,” she said frostily.

“I beg your pardon – I am sorry I mentioned it.”

“That is well. Jane will make her comfortable, and she need not figure in our festivities much.”

“Won’t Darcy be annoyed?”

“No; he will take it philosophically enough. It would be another thing if her husband had come, but even his impudence does not dare trespass that far.”

“Do not worry, Lizzy,” Mrs. Gardiner reassured her, “we will make the best of the situation.”

Elizabeth smiled at her aunt gratefully. “We will. And I have some things I had intended to send poor Lydia, that should keep her in good humour.”

“What will you give her?” Miss Bingley asked curiously.

“Clothing,” replied Lizzy briefly, “and a bit of money.”

“You are really too good,” Miss Bingley replied, “but then again, generosity is the Pemberley spirit, is it not?”

“It is indeed,” Mrs. Gardiner agreed, “and charity is in the Christmas spirit. I think we will have a beautiful Christmas, here at Pemberley.”

And so it proved. When the party gathered on Christmas Eve, to be merry over their roast goose with chestnuts, probably no house in the kingdom could have had a warmer and more welcoming holiday spirit. The table was covered from end to end with delicacies of the season, from hare-and-pheasant pie to figgy Christmas puddings, which were enjoyed by all, apart from possibly Lydia.

“Oh Lord,” she exclaimed, pushing her chair a little away from the table. “It is the best food I ever ate in my life, Lizzy, don’t think that it isn’t, only – only I confess I do not feel quite right.”

“Was the meal too rich for you?” Jane asked, concerned.

“No – yes – I do not know. There has been some thing a little disordered about me lately. Mostly in the mornings, but some days it lasts till dinner. I should not say this in company, but I confess I cannot keep food down.” And she placed her hands upon her stomach.

The ladies of the party looked at one another meaningly.

“I think we know what is the matter with you,” said Mrs. Gardiner, dryly. She was the mother of five children.

“Oh, what, aunt?”

“I will tell you later. You had better not eat any more. Perhaps you might lie down and rest on the drawing-room sofa. We are to sing there, after supper, and you will find it soothing.”

Lydia followed instructions, while those who would sing gathered about the piano forte, and those who would listen settled themselves around the spacious salon. Songs of the Christmas character rang through the air in cheery fashion. Darcy stood before a roaring fire in the noble fire-place, and observed the scene with a benignity and beneficence that became his handsome face well.

“Is it not wonderful,” he observed to Bingley, “what has come to Pemberley? I never looked for such happiness in the old place. But my marriage has transformed every thing.”

Bingley put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “The changes you observe, have come to myself and Jane too,” he assured him. “There is no better joy than this.”

“Let us toast to that,” Darcy replied, and asked for a fine French sparkling wine to be served all round. “To Christmas at Pemberley, and good health for one and all,” he toasted.

“I don’t think I’ll have any, thank you very much,” said Lydia queasily.