Lydia in Venice Part Two: Rebirth and Regeneration

There was a silence following Lydia’s announcement. She looked around questioningly, from her sister and Mr. Darcy, to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, all of whom sat as if frozen.

“Why, what is the matter? You act as if I said something queer. I only said that Lord Byron is my child’s father,” she protested.

Elizabeth was the first to find her voice. “Lydia, for God’s sake,” she said, “not in front of the children.”

“What?” Lydia glanced over at little Charles and Jane, who with their nursemaid were putting spring flowers into vases. “Ten to one they did not hear a thing, and if they did, what of it?”

“Amelia, please take the children out into the garden. Yes, my loves, see if you can find me some primroses.”

Charles went to his mother and pulled at her skirt. “There’s no primroses, they were all gone. But I know where is a tulip.”

Elizabeth threw some heartiness in her tone. “To think you know! See if you can find more, and when you come back, you shall have some muffins.”

“Muffins! Can we, Mamma? Just the same as what we have back home in England?”

“Yes, dear, the very same.”

Lady Catherine was not to be distracted.  She harrumphed and shifted herself forward, her bosom like a shelf before her.

“Mrs. Wickham, you ought to be ashamed to name such a subject in front of decent company. Of what are you thinking? Whom do you expect to take care of you, to rear this unspeakably inconvenient child? If you expect any thing from Lord Byron, my girl, you will meet with nothing but disappointment.”

Lydia sprawled across the table and spread a great dollop of apricot jam on a flaky roll. “It does make me hungry, I always am when in the family way. When I was with my first, I ate two whole pies one after the other. Pigeon pies they were. But I could not keep them down. This jam, however, settles very well. I believe I shall have some more.”

Lady Catherine exploded. “Heavens above! Who is to support the appetite of a daemon? Lord Byron cannot even bear to see a woman eat. He won’t provide you with a soda cracker.”

“That is because he’s so stout himself,” Lydia informed her calmly. “He never lets women eat. He believes they are meant for other animal pleasures.” She lowered her pastry and looked with a meaning gaze at the older woman. “And I believe you know that pretty much as well as I do, Lady Catherine.”

“Heaven forfend! What are you insinuating! I have the honour to be Lord Byron’s correspondent – a man of genius requires an older woman who is sympathetique, to be his confidante.”

“Call it that if you like,” said Lydia, reaching for a plum. “When it comes to women he much prefers them young, I would have you know.”

“You are straying from the point. I demand to know what you mean to do about your condition.”

“Why, nothing; what do you expect me to do? The same as when my other babes were born. Put it with a wet nurse I suppose. There are plenty of girls here in Venice who’ll be glad of the work.” She began to comb her sticky fingers through her messy light tresses.

“And who is to pay for all this? For shame! I believe you have not thought at all.”

Lydia inspected the chocolate pot. “This is empty. I’ll need more to go with my eggs, will you tell them Lizzy. Tsk and for shame yourself, Lady Catherine. You ought to know well enough that real lovers do not think overmuch when they are getting with child. They have something else to do then.”

Capodimonte chocolate pot

“Lydia,” Darcy spoke up patiently, “you must see that you have brought about a very serious situation. I scarcely know how it is to be resolved.”

“How? Oh Mr. Darcy, you have got us out of trouble before, you are the very one to think of a clever idea, I know,” she replied, reaching for a large helping of Parma ham and golden-yolked eggs.

“I am sure Mr. Darcy will,” said Wickham with an ingratiating smile. “He does not want the family to be disgraced, but he knows there are ways to keep this matter quiet.”

Lady Catherine was indignant. “Disgraced! You are the greatest disgrace ever to come into the sphere of our old and noble family, in your own person, Mrs. Wickham! Mrs. Darcy, I appeal to you. This creature is your sister, and you are aware that lamentable as it is, open scandal is to be avoided. Perhaps it is not too late – there are women to be summoned who can attend to the question. My servants will know where such can be found.”

Mr. Darcy looked as if he could not believe his aunt had made such a suggestion, but Lydia was unperturbed. “Oh, do not worry about me, Lady Catherine, it’s no trouble to go through with things, it’s as easy as anything to pop out a child. After all, I’ve had three already, haven’t I, Wickham?”

He shrugged. “Three that I know of.  But this one’s no concern of mine.”

“Well, I must say I think that’s petty of you, but it’s no matter; as soon as ever I finish my chocolate and perhaps some sweetmeats – is there any more of that almond torte we had last night, Lizzy? I suppose I will have to put it at Lord Byron’s door.”

“You wouldn’t!” exclaimed Elizabeth.

“Why ever not? I am sure he’ll give something for his own child. I’ve heard he is very generous with his ladies.”

“Hardly a lady,” muttered Lady Catherine.

“I’m getting tired of all this pother,” declared Lydia, jumping to her feet and wiping apricot off her face with a large linen napkin and tossing it on the floor. “Such a to-do about nothing. I’ll go right now and see what he says.” And she gathered up her red skirts and made for the door.

“Should we not stop her?” asked Elizabeth. Darcy shook his head. “No. What is the use? Byron may be provoked, but after all he really seems to have done this thing.”

“He certainly has,” said Wickham virtuously. “His reputation is the worst in Europe. He needs to learn to take responsibility for his actions.”

“You say that, do you Wickham?”

“At least I do not go about scattering children all over the continent, as is Byron’s habit. And they say Shelley does the same. These poets have no morals.”

“His Lordship can afford to pay for his children,” Lady Catherine deigned to reproach Wickham, tight lipped.

“Not from what I hear,” he replied. “He’s got a legitimate one in England that he abandoned, and another by a guilty connection, that he shifts about among friends. The man has not a fatherly bone in his body, that much is clear.”

“Lydia’s child,” Elizabeth spoke up, “has poor prospects enough then. I really believe she must return to England immediately for her confinement. It is the only possible thing to be done.”

Wickham shrugged. “If you like. But I have no money for her journey.”

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy glanced at each other and she nodded slightly. “Very well, Wickham, I will pay for the trip,” said Darcy. “But you must escort her.”

“I regret that I am so embarrassed in the funds that I will not be able to feed her on the way.”

“Provisions shall be supplied.”

“And the child’s maintenance?” Wickham put in insinuatingly.

“It will not matter if the child is placed in your own family. No one need know of its origins.”

“It would matter to me. I can’t pay for every one’s child.”

“Your children spend half of their time with your wife’s parents, and the rest with the Bingleys,” Darcy reminded him, exasperated. “You pay nothing for them as it is.”

“Who better to support family than family? And besides, this is taking a very dim view of the matter. Lydia may still yet wheedle something out of his Lordship. I don’t put it past her.”

At this moment Lydia was seen dawdling her way back across the lawn, trailing her red gown in the muddy grass. She came through the long glass doors, looking decidedly put out.

“Well, what are you looking at me for,” she said angrily.

“Did you see Lord Byron?” asked her husband. “What is he going to do?”

“Oh, nothing. He says I can’t prove it is his. But I can. You must remember, Lady Catherine, seeing him and me together?”

“Do you think I make note of every disgraceful sight there is to see in this infernal town of Venice?” she huffed.

“Well, I remember the time when you got into a gondola with his Lordship himself!”

“Did she?” asked Wickham, interested.

“Indeed she did. She’s not a whit better than I am,” Lydia said.

“How dare you, Mrs. Wickham! You do not deserve to be in the company of decent people. This is far beyond what I will tolerate. Your husband is a scoundrel and you are a – “

“That will do, Aunt.  I see your point, but suggest you retire and calm yourself,” said Mr. Darcy.

“I’ll relieve you of my presence,” said Wickham easily. “I have an engagement at the opera house, and Lydia’s situation does not require my presence. I will be back for dinner,” he assured Mrs. Darcy with a charming smile.

“I’ll go too,” yawned Lydia. “I’m going to lie down on the sopha for the rest of the afternoon, I am. I always get so very tired at this stage. Do not you, Lizzy? It is so very tiresome, what we women have to go through. Men never understand. They have no sympathy.”

And she wandered back into her sleeping-apartment.

Elizabeth asked for strong coffee to be brought, and she, her husband and his aunt sat sipping it in an unaccustomedly grim silence.

“Are you ready to go back to England yet, nephew?” Lady Catherine inquired acidly. “Have you not had enough of this indecent, godless place?”

“It is not Venice that is indecent in itself,” he replied.

“It is my sister,” said Elizabeth, sadly. “I am sorry for all she has done to plague you. You are generosity itself, but she seems to have no limits.”

He put his hand on hers. “Her husband is worse,” said he, “and he is a connection of my family. Do not distress yourself, Elizabeth. They must be borne with, scandal must be silenced; and when we are back at home, some arrangement can be made for a quiet household for them, in a distant county.”

“Very distant,” Elizabeth agreed fervently.

The children came running in, their hands full of tulips.

“See Mamma, are not these beauties?” asked little Charles.

“Aunt Lydia has not eaten up all the muffins, has she?” asked Jane anxiously.

“No, my love. Bring them in, will you Amelia, with the children’s tea.”