30
Next morning
Rue Jardinier was over 100 yards long with tenements either side. They left their carriage in a square, and walked towards what looked like a public garden at the other end. Many entrances had nameplates, and Elizabeth read some of them, hoping for a clue such as an officer’s rank, or even the name Lydia.
‘No shops,’ she remarked. ‘Just apartments.’
‘We could ask a passer-by,’ Darcy said.
They saw a man leaving the public garden, and Darcy approached him. Connaissez-vous un légionnaire près d’ici? The man shook his head. Une femme qui s’appelle Lydia? No! He did not live in this street. He was just walking through.
Two further attempts met with similar replies, and they were wondering whether to try knocking on a door when a couple, smartly attired, left one of the apartments.
Elizabeth hurried over, with the same question.
The man shrugged. ‘Non, Madame, seulement mes voisins.’
His wife agreed. They knew their neighbours. Nobody else.
Further down the road, Elizabeth saw a young woman walking away from them, towards the park. She touched Darcy’s arm. ‘She must have come from one of the houses. Shall we catch up and ask her?’
Darcy hesitated, and without waiting for a reply Elizabeth set off at a trot. The woman wore a light blue summer dress, dark blue shawl, and bonnet. At the end of Rue Jardinier she turned left, and by the time Elizabeth reached the junction, she had disappeared.
Crying out in frustration, Elizabeth ran along the street, peering into the front gardens of the more opulent properties on her left. On the other side was a park railing next to a hedge, and spotting an open gate, she crossed over and entered the gardens. Ahead she saw the light blue dress of her quarry, strolling beside a deep flower bed.
She caught up. ‘Excusez-moi madame!’
The young woman turned, revealing a square face heavily rouged. ‘Moi?’
The same questions; the same answers. She had not the pleasure of knowing a Lydia. Nor a legionnaire.
Dispirited, Elizabeth turned back, just as two women, one elderly, one young, rounded a corner and approached her. The older woman nodded politely; the other woman, who was heavily pregnant, froze as if she had seen a ghost.
‘Lizzy? What are you doing here?’
Shivering, Elizabeth approached, staring at her face. It was thinner than before, and coarser. A furrow at the brow had not been there before. The impression was of resignation rather than gaiety. But miraculously, it was Lydia, and tearfully Elizabeth embraced her.
They walked slowly back, while Elizabeth prepared Lydia for a further shock by explaining that she was with Darcy. The older woman was a Madame Aubert, mother of Sergeant André Aubert, the officer Lydia had nursed.
Since both Madame Aubert and Lydia were obviously awed by Darcy, he took Elizabeth aside and volunteered to wait with Burgess in the carriage. Elizabeth followed Lydia into a terraced house, where they sat in the parlour while Madame Aubert joined the maid to prepare coffee.
Elizabeth had a long list of questions, but had to remain patient while Lydia demanded explanations. ‘How did you find me?’ ‘Why are you with Mr Darcy? Did you not always hate him?’ ‘Are Jane, Mary and Kitty married?’ Elizabeth kept her replies as brief as possible, until at last Lydia consented to talk about herself.
‘I don’t see why you were so impressed by Amélie Courtois.’ Lydia sniffed. ‘After George left, it was agreed that I should move in with Lieutenant Mullins, who would have made a fine husband if he had survived. But Amélie had her claws in, and he passed me over, then insisted on taking part in the battle, so she didn’t get him either. Then she kept lecturing me on how it was my duty to look after men with horrible wounds, but I made the best of the opportunity and met Sergeant Aubert, and then …’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Mademoiselle Courtois mentioned a quarrel. What happened then? Did the sergeant recover?’
‘He’s lame, so he doesn’t ride in the cavalry any more. He works as quartermaster.’
‘And your, ah, status?’
‘Married.’ She smirked. ‘I always told you I would be the first.’
‘Then you deserve my congratulations and best wishes.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘But Lydia, did you not realise how anxious we were for your safety? I can understand that you did not wish to be found. But a letter, to reassure us that you were alive and well?’
‘What do you mean?’ Lydia returned a petulant stare. ‘I did write, although George said I shouldn’t, and explained you could reach me at the post office in Antwerp. But got no reply except a horrid note from Mr Collins, saying that none of you wanted to see me ever again.’
Elizabeth gasped. ‘He wrote to you?’
‘You don’t believe me?’ Lydia jumped up, as a maid entered with a tray. ‘I’ll prove it.’
The maid poured, and Elizabeth was sipping her coffee when Lydia returned waving a sheet written in large script on one side.
My Dear Madam
It is my doleful duty to inform you that your father has passed away, afflicted no doubt by the disgrace brought on his family by your unconscionable conduct, and the remorse he must have felt for indulging your licentiousness when the evil signs were clear for all to see. As a result, the estate of Longbourn is now in my possession. Your mother and sisters have moved away, and in their sorrow and shame, can have no wish to communicate with you again. I therefore urge you to accept the consequences of your heinous act and leave your family in peace, to console themselves as best they can. Yours &c.&c., Wm. Collins.
Nauseated, Elizabeth handed the letter back. ‘Outrageous! Horrible man! Did you consider sending a note to Meryton Post Office?’
‘I saw no point.’ Lydia shrugged. ‘I assumed you would blame me for … what happened. Anyway, for all I knew you had left the parish.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Was it right, what he said? Did father die because of—me?’
Elizabeth paused, taking care to be fair. ‘I can say with certainty that he suffered, partly from remorse at allowing you to go to Brighton. And yes, he spent two exhausting months searching in London. But he was no longer young, and disease can strike any time. Who can say?’
‘It could have worked out,’ Lydia said dreamily. ‘If only George had not been so short of money.’ She looked back at Elizabeth. ‘Mr Darcy’s fault, was it not?’
‘We were misled.’ Elizabeth explained. ‘I’m afraid, dear, that Mr Wickham was simply a blaggard. He lied. He gambled away money, then fled, leaving behind countless unpaid debts. He used his charm to deceive young ladies such as yourself. Frankly I think you were foolish. But you were very young, and he duped us all, myself included.’
Lydia made a moue. ‘Of course you would take that attitude, now that you are to wed Mr Darcy. Maybe George did have faults, as you say, but they stemmed from his generous nature. He was taken in by friends who swindled him at cards. He was polite and attentive to everyone, so ladies clustered round him like bees at a honey pot. Including that trollop Claudette Frossard who ran away with him.’
‘Hmm.’ Elizabeth managed a smile, reminded of unproductive conversations with Lydia at Longbourn. ‘Has Sergeant Aubert been a good husband?’
‘His face is scarred. The war, you know. But he has his position in the legion, and Francoise …’ She pointed to the next room. ‘Madame Aubert has this house, and a fund her husband left her. Not what I hoped for. But a decent place to live, not the hovel I had to share with George’s friends.’
‘I have to leave tomorrow.’ Elizabeth thought of Darcy, waiting at the carriage. ‘And Mr Darcy and I should return to the hotel. But if you’re free, perhaps we could meet your husband this evening?’