CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Younger Miss Bennet Thinks
Thinking did not come naturally to Lydia Bennet in the sense that it came to Mary or Elizabeth.
Lydia thought quickly, brightly, and often about whatever stood immediately before her. She knew which officer had the best shoulders, which shop stocked the prettiest ribbons, which road became muddy first after rain, and how to make Kitty laugh when she was sulking.
She could remember the details of a dance six months later but forget a warning six minutes after receiving it. What she had rarely done was sit alone and ask whether someone she liked might be lying to her.
She did so now.
Wickham’s fifth letter arrived two days before Christmas.
He wanted her to meet him.
Not at the camp. He could not leave without permission.
He wanted her to create a distraction in Meryton on the night after the regiment’s pay chest arrived.
Nothing dangerous, he assured her. Only a bit of excitement near the Red Lion.
Perhaps she might persuade several young people to gather for an impromptu supper and induce someone to set off fireworks behind the inn.
Colonel Forster and the senior officers would be drawn into town.
Wickham and his friends would take advantage of the confusion to “settle an injustice” and leave.
Lydia’s hands began to sweat.
Even she understood what “settle an injustice” meant when the pay chest had been mentioned twice.
The letter ended: Once I am free, dearest Lydia, I shall send for you. Think how romantic it will be to escape all those who treat you as a child. You and I might go anywhere.
A month earlier she would have read only the last sentences. Now she read the whole letter.
She thought of Darcy’s broken leg. She thought of Elizabeth sitting beside him. She thought of Mrs. Bennet saying an unpaid bill took food from another household. She thought of Wickham asking a sixteen-year-old girl to help him steal soldiers’ wages.
“La,” she whispered to herself, but there was no laughter in it.
She hid the letter in her sleeve and went downstairs. Elizabeth was in the library with Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Richard had returned from Netherfield after luncheon, carrying a paper parcel of books and a bottle of brandy Mr. Hurst had sent “for medicinal purposes,” though no one believed the medicine was intended for Darcy.
Lydia stood at the door. “Lizzy.”
Elizabeth looked up. Something in Lydia’s face made her rise immediately. “What is it?”
“I need to speak to you.”
Darcy began to close his book.
“Alone,” Lydia added.
They went into the small parlour.
Lydia shut the door. Then she burst into tears.
Elizabeth’s alarm sharpened. “Lydia?”
“I have done something very wicked.”
Elizabeth took both her hands. “Tell me.”
“I wrote to Wickham.”
Elizabeth became still.
“I know you all think him horrid now, but I thought you were wrong, and he was so charming, and he said he had no one, and I thought—Oh, do not look like that!”
“I am not angry.”
“You look angry.”
“I am trying not to look frightened.”
That sobered Lydia. She pulled the folded letter from her sleeve. “He wants me to help him.”
Elizabeth read it.
Her face lost colour. “Have you answered?”
“No.”
“Have you agreed to meet him?”
“Not this time.”
“This time?”
Lydia winced.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “How many times have you met him privately?”
“Twice.”
“Lydia.”
“Only by the edge of the camp! And Mrs. Forster was near once. Nearly.”
Elizabeth sat down.
Lydia began crying harder. “I knew you would be angry.”
“I am afraid, not angry. There is a difference.”
“He said Mr. Darcy ruined him.”
Elizabeth looked at the letter. “What changed your mind?”
Lydia sniffed. “Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth blinked.
“He is not nice in the way Mr. Bingley is nice. He looks cross when people are silly.”
“That must be difficult for you.”
Lydia gave her a wet glare.
Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “Forgive me.”
“But he is not cruel. And he does not lie. When I asked if he hated Wickham, he said yes.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You asked him?”
“Last week.”
“What else did you ask?”
“Whether Wickham had done something truly awful. Mr. Darcy said he could not tell me because it was not his secret. That is when I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Wickham had lied. If Mr. Darcy wanted to turn me against him, he could have told me anything. He did not.”
Elizabeth stared at her youngest sister.
Lydia wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand. “I am not entirely stupid, Lizzy.”
“No.” Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “No, you are not.”
They took the letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Richard read it once and ceased looking like the easy, laughing cousin Lydia knew.
The soldier replaced him. “How many letters?”
“Five.”
“I need all of them.”
Lydia swallowed. “Will I be in trouble?”
“Yes.”
Her face fell.
“But,” Richard added, “you may also have prevented men from being robbed, perhaps killed. Courage does not erase foolishness, Miss Lydia. Foolishness does not erase courage either.”
Lydia looked at him.
Darcy, from his chair, said quietly, “You did the right thing by coming forward.”
She nodded.
Elizabeth sat beside her.
Richard folded Wickham’s letter and tucked it into his coat. “I am going to Colonel Forster.”
Darcy said, “I am coming.”
“No.”
“I can be carried to the carriage.”
“No.”
“Richard.”
“You have one functioning leg and a physician who has threatened to tie you to furniture.”
“I have experience with Wickham.”
“And I have a commission in His Majesty’s army. Sit down.”
Darcy looked murderous.
Elizabeth placed a hand on his sleeve. “He is right.”
Darcy turned the murderous look on her.
She smiled sweetly. “How fortunate you are to have so many sensible people to direct you.”
Lydia giggled.
Darcy shut his eyes.
Richard grinned. “I begin to understand why you proposed.”