“No! Lydia, it will not be long before it will be obvious to the world!” Elizabeth made hastily to rise. “I am going to our aunt. Perhaps she can advise us.”
“No!” Lydia objected. “Lizzy, do not tell her!”
“We must, Lydia! You cannot change matters now. We must determine how you are to go on. At least you are known to be married, but would you do better to remain here, or to go to London with—”
“Lizzy,please,” begged the girl. “There can be no hurry! Mama and Papa have not yet recovered from Jane’s wedding, and it will be months yet for me. Besides, many things can happen during a pregnancy.”
Elizabeth stilled. “Oh, Lydia,” she breathed. “What have you done?”
“Nothing! I only meant as a general thing—Lizzy, no, please stop!”
Elizabeth was on her feet now and searching about the room. “Lydia! Where is the laudanum you begged of Aunt Philips last week? You are not truly having ‘headaches,’ are you?”
Lydia’s face went white to the lips. “Lizzy!” she gasped, “I beg you, do not—”
Elizabeth pushed past her sister and jerked open the top drawer of her vanity. There, hidden beneath a handkerchief, was a large brown bottle. She snatched it up and spun round. “Were you going to drink this? Lydia, how could you even dream of it!”
Poor Lydia was shaking, tears streaming down her youthful face. “What business is it of yours?” she sobbed.
“It is in every way my business! Girls die every year by drinking too much of this—and for what, Lydia? To kill a babe whose only fault was to be conceived by a worthless father? Do you truly think that robbing your child of life will heal your own wounds?”
Lydia crumpled to her knees on the floor, both hands cupping her face. Her body convulsed with shrieking cries, too powerful for her weakened spirits to overcome. “I cannot do it, Lizzy! I cannot carry his child!”
“Youmust, Lydia. It is too late to undo what has been done!”
“How easy it is for you to say! It is not you who have been abandoned! You are not the one who will have to birth and raise a child alone, with no father to even pay a visit—oh, how everyone will talk!”
“Talk! You are suddenly concerned with what others think, are you? Where was this fear when you were letting that man seduce you?”
“I never thought it could go so far!” Lydia heaved miserably, bowing her face low over her lap. “I just want it all to stop, to go back to what I was before. I cannot have a baby!”
Elizabeth sank wearily to the floor, torn between outrage at Lydia’s plan and pity for her impossible situation. “Lydia,” she forced herself to lift a hand to pat her sister’s shoulder. “You must promise me not to harm yourself or the babe.”
Lydia made no response but a deep, heartrending moan. She bent more tightly to her own knees, quivering uncontrollably.
Elizabeth’s own stomach knotted in guilt. For better than two months, she had lectured and ignored, and now, when Lydia most desperately needed unflagging loyalty and affection, her efforts seemed hollow. “Shhh,” Elizabeth soothed, her attentions growing more sincerely gentle. “I know you are afraid.”
A new sound trembled in Lydia’s throat—a confirmation that Elizabeth’s words had struck a chord of truth.
“Yes, of course you are afraid,” Elizabeth repeated, “and rightly so. But promise me, Lydia—let me help you! Let me help your child. Youcando this, Lydia. You are the bravest girl I know!”
Lydia stilled, and Elizabeth could hear her sniffling. After a moment, she raised a tear-soaked face. “Do you really think I am brave, Lizzy?” she rasped.
Elizabeth searched in the hidden pocket of her gown and found her own handkerchief to wipe her sister’s face. “Indomitable,” she whispered firmly. “And I will stay here and help you, as much as you will allow.”
Lydia blinked, sitting up and gazing down at her hands. “I do not know what to do!” she whimpered.
“Have your child. Raise him up to be better than his father, for there could be no more truthful testimony to your courage and Mr Wickham’s failings.”
Lydia sniffled again, and Elizabeth pulled her close to her own shoulder. “Do you know, Lizzy, you begin to remind me of Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s heart squeezed—that same, deliciously stinging ache which always accompanied his name. But to be once again compared to Darcy! A bittersweet longing compelled her to hear more. “How so, Lydia?”
Lydia pulled her knees to her chest and crossed her arms over them, dropping her face to the safety of darkness. Another sob shook her, then came the muffled reply. “You both demand the impossible.”
Birmingham
Richardsaggedinthetavern chair, casually lifting his mug for slow, apathetic draws of the flavourless ale. Strange, how going about in the dress of a common tradesman rather than his military uniform, or even in his own gentle attire, could have such a pronounced effect on his demeanour. It was uncomfortable, in a way, to behave with such offhand dispassion, but his typical manner of precision and his own sharp red uniform would have marked him instantly as a man of interest to anyone who cared to notice.
