Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Lydia Bennet's Elopement

According to the supposed chronology for Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice which sets the tale in 1811, Lydia Bennet eloped with the villainous Wickham on August 1st, at midnight (by this time the next morning Colonel and Mrs. Forster would have discovered her flight and his letter to the Bennets would be on its way). My current work-in-progress tells her tale; I've had a liking for this saucy young lady since I first saw the BBC miseries adaptation the summer I was twelve. Lydia's ebullience captivated me, and I've often wondered how her life with Wickham turned out, so I've decided to put pen to paper (rather, fingers to computer keyboard) and discover the truth of what really was going on in her flighty head. To commemorate the occasion of her elopement, here's an excerpt from my untitled story (I've set the first several chapters in 1796 - since I suppose P&P to be set in the late 18th century, when Austen first drafted it - and they describe how Lydia fell for Wickham and married him; the rest tells her fate, which I shan't unfold now). By this point, she's interpreted his flirtations as indications of love for her and it all comes to a head on a pleasant day in Brighton. Note: the coral necklace mentioned is one which Wickham has bought for her, and she's purchased a three-volume copy of Fielding's Tom Jones because he recommended it.


The next day (a sunny first of August), Harriet and Lydia returned from a morning sea bathing excursion to find the Colonel, Denny (with a pretty young lady named Miss Bailey), and Wickham awaiting them for a stroll about town. The three couples fell into step behind one another; the Colonel naturally took precedence, Denny and his companion followed, and Lydia and Wickham brought up the rear.
Wickham began, “You have been sea bathing, I take it?”
“Aye.”
“I would say the salt air heightens your loveliness, but such a thing is impossible - you are perfection itself.”
“Thank you,” she replied, blushing prettily. “It was delicious indeed.”
“Have you enjoyed your time here?”
“Oh, yes - who can ever be tired of Brighton?”
“I agree, it is a fine place, but unfortunately I must leave.”
Startled, she gasped. “What? When? Why?”
“Tonight, at twelve; my finances are such that I think it prudent to depart town in order to arrange them.”
He can’t leave me - I adore him! “Take me with you!” she blurted out. “I shall be miserable else.”
He stopped, paused, then said in a tender tone, “Do you care for me?”
“Aye - over the past weeks I have fallen in love with you.”
“Then come along, dearest; there is no other lady in Brighton whose society pleases me more than yours.”
“You . . . love me?”
“Yes.”
Her spirits fluttered wildly, and she leaned in, yearning to kiss him right there on the street, but he stopped her, glancing at the couples ahead (who were too deep in their own conversations to observe them).
Gently, he restrained her. “No, Lydia, not here - no one must know. Wait till tonight.”
She smiled at his use of her Christian name.
“Very well, George. Where shall we be married?”
He seemed concerned for a moment, then answered, “Gretna Green. Don’t pack much - you won’t require a change of clothes, but bring a book or two to while away the journey.”
“I'll bring Tom Jones with me; it's been great fun.”
“Excellent. I have no doubt our marriage will be as happy as that of Tom and Sophia.”
“Indeed!” she laughed.

She excused herself from attending a ball at the Old Ship Inn with the Forsters, complaining of a “sudden violent head ache,” and at a quarter past eleven, she was ready, having stuffed the four books and her journal in her snow-colored silk reticule embroidered with small yellow and red flowers. She’d then donned her white striped dimity gown, the coral necklace, of course, a new rose-coloured satin spencer, a straw hat trimmed with rose-coloured ribbons, and her sturdy boots (it was sure to be muddy in Scotland). Now, she decided, I ought to leave Harriet a letter to tell her where I’m bound - she will surely be delighted for me!
She giggled at the thought, then, snatching a piece of paper from the desk nearby, she picked up the quill and began to scribble hastily, chuckling all the while.

My dear Harriet,
You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater when I write to them and sign my name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing.

The pen shook with her mirth; she tightened her grip. “I had better tell her to apologise to Pratt,” she remarked to herself.
Pray make my excuses to Pratt, for not keeping my engagement and dancing with him to night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure.

“And then about my clothes, and that slit I got in my gown the other night at that assembly when poor Chamberlayne trod on the hem (he was tipsy, I’m sure) -”
I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are packed up. Good bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.
Your affectionate friend,
Lydia Bennet

No sooner had she crossed the t of her surname than she heard a carriage stop at the door. Her heart raced as she dropped the pen, caught up her reticule, and dashed downstairs, out the door, and into her beloved’s arms, squealing, “My angel!”
She thought she’d surely swoon when his lips met hers. Once they’d had done, she sighed. “I can’t wait to be your wife, George. Let us go!”
He smiled. “Of course, darling.”
After helping her into the chaise, he seated himself next to her and called to the driver, “Make haste!” As the carriage lurched into motion, George pulled her close and she shut her eyes, nestling herself under his arm to dream of Scotch anvils for wedding bells.

Image: A screencap from the 1995 miniseries, with Julia Sawalha as Lydia. Source: cap-that.com

No comments:

Post a Comment