Page 63 of Penned By Mr Darcy
There had been no word from Mr Darcy.
She had lain awake all night wondering what to do. She knew only that she would not allow herself to be defeated by Mr Wickham. Blackmail was a coward’s game, and she would not rise to it. If Mr Darcy would not aid her, then she would do it herself.
At breakfast, to the tune of Mr Collins droning on about something or other, Elizabeth cornered Lydia. She seemed to know a great deal of the militia’s habits, and Lizzy was certainthat she would know exactly where Mr Wickham could be found at any given time of day.
“Why do you care?” Lydia replied. “You told me I could not have anything to do with him. Was that just so you could steal him for yourself?”
“No!” Lizzy replied, aghast. “No, not at all. Lydia, you must believe me, he is not a good man. I must speak with him; it is a matter of urgency.”
“Well, I know that he is frequently seen at the Cock and Bull of an evening. All the militia are. I am sure you could find him there.”
Lizzy wondered just how her sister had come to know that fact; there was a wicked gleam in her eye that aroused a great deal of suspicion within
“I cannot go to a public house!”
“I suppose not. Perhaps you could send him a letter, asking him to meet.”
“He would never agree.”
“Then perhaps I could send him a letter. He would recognise my hand.”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked in horror. “Have you often been writing to Mr Wickham?”
Lydia shrugged.
“And what if I have?”
Lizzy’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to find a response that would not cause Lydia to flounce off in a huff. She needed her sister’s skills, and selfishly, she decided she would raise the subject of sending clandestine letters to unmarried men another day. If all went well, Wickham would soon be gone from hereand would no longer hold any sort of relationship with her youngest sister.
“Would you?”
Lydia tilted her head thoughtfully, her eyes flicking up and down the length of Elizabeth’s body. She was thinking; Lydia was the sort of person who could not keep anything to herself. One could almost see the cogs of her brain whirring as she came to a decision. Elizabeth braced herself to lose all of her belongings – she had already lost her gloves and bonnet, what were a few more possessions?
“For a price,” Lydia said eventually, a cat-like smile spreading across her features.
“What price?”
“You must give me your pin money until the end of the year.”
“Fine.”
“And I may borrow whichever gown of yours I wish for the Netherfield Ball. I think the white one with the pretty gold trim would do quite nicely, but I am not sure yet.”
“Yes, yes, fine.”
“Wonderful. Come, tell me what I must say, and I will see it reaches him at the earliest opportunity.”
Lydia led her to the small corner of the parlour where they composed their letters. None of the women in the family spent a great deal of time on correspondence for so many of their family and friends were in Meryton itself. The desk was only really used to write to Aunt Gardiner (and apparently whoever Lydia was writing to), for their other relatives all lived nearby, and as such was poorly stocked. Lydia found a scrap of paper and a dribble of ink. That would have to be enough, Lizzy supposed.
“Go on then.”
“It must sound like you,” Lizzy said. “You may write whatever you wish, as long as it conveys that you wish to meet with him.”
“Letters are so boring,” Lydia sighed. “Fine. Where will you meet him?”
“It must be somewhere that nobody sees us – but also I must not be too isolated. Perhaps you should come too, so that he might believe he is truly meeting with you.”
“Will you tell me what is going on?” Lydia asked impatiently. “I really do tire of all this mystery, Lizzy. If I am to be in on the scheme, at least tell me what the scheme is!”
