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Preface

Dear Jane,

This is a sequel to your most famous work, Pride and Prejudice. Here is the further story of the Bennet girls and their husbands, and especially of Lydia's husband, the infamous George Wickham. It is also the story of early nineteenth century England, the progress – and the poverty.

Some historically authentic persons, long deceased, are mentioned in this novel. But this story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual living persons is entirely coincidental.

Love

John

Special thanks to Karin, Jennifer and Rüdi

To Newcastle

“How long will the journey be, from where we are now in Stamford to your barracks in Newcastle, George dearest?”

“About four or five days, depending on the weather and the state of the roads. I'm sure I've told you that many times already, Lydia.”

“I've been thinking. You see, when I said goodbye to mamma, she mentioned something about Jane and Elizabeth and that she was hopeful that they could be married before the year was out. But to whom? Jane's Bingley was in London with no hope of returning to Netherfield, that was my last information, and as for Lizzy, she refused Mr Collins long ago. Now I've married you there's no-one for Lizzy – or is there? And we're going to miss all that fun if they do marry, the clothes and the presents and the ceremonies and receptions, not to speak of the honeymoons – though we didn't really have a honeymoon ourselves with all the rush to get married and then you joining the regulars and being posted to Newcastle. It's such a long way there in this bumpy old stage coach. I wish we were going somewhere else – to Paris, perhaps. There must be heaps of fun to be had there – imagine all the balls and parties and the officers – though I suppose they all speak French, don't they?”

“Indeed they do, Lydia. And let me remind you that there is a war between England and France at the present time. It is almost impossible that my regiment shall ever be sent to France, and then certainly not to Paris. However, we may find that Newcastle is not such an unpleasant place, even though it is a long way from your family. And as I've told you, I have no direct family, both my parents died over five years ago, though I have a sister who lives not far from Pemberley, Mr Darcy's mansion.”

“What a stupid war. It's all the fault of that man Bonaparte, isn't it? Couldn't we visit Pemberley on the way to Newcastle and see that Mr Darcy? He was your best man at our wedding, after all. I looked on the map and it can't be more than forty miles from Nottingham – where we're stopping tonight. Could you not speak to the driver, George?”

“No, my dear, it cannot be. We have to be in Newcastle by next Sunday, I have to report to General Smithers at the barracks on Monday.”

“George, what did Mr Darcy do for us to make it possible for us to marry?”

“He very kindly purchased an officer's commission for me in the 47th Fusiliers, and settled a few other matters on my behalf.” What does she know, he wonders. All that nonsense about my enormous debts in Hertfordshire, that must have been a trick by the Bennets to get the cash flowing from Darcy. Any normal person knows that you can't run up huge debts with tradesmen or with bookmakers or anyone else in a place like Meryton, or even in Brighton, it quickly gets around who can't pay and who won't pay. Ten thousand pounds was the story, I was told. I don't think I owed a tenth of that amount. Anyway, Darcy's paid up, and he probably did it to win favour with old man Bennet in regard to his daughter Elizabeth, little goody twoshoes she is, if you ask me, wouldn't even let herself be kissed. Wickham turns to his wife of eight weeks. “No, Lydia, Darcy has been useful to us and may be useful again. But we cannot be late.”

At the War Office in London, where he had collected his commission papers and taken the oath of loyalty to King George III, Wickham had been told that an Ensign – the most junior commissioned officer rank – must ensure that at all times he is a credit to his regiment, not only in his appearance and presentation, but also in matters like punctuality. Having previously been able to advance to the rank of Lieutenant in the militia, it is something of a demotion no longer to be wearing the badges carried by that superior rank, but he consoles himself that this would be a new start – and if there had been difficulties about debts and some trouble with young ladies down in Hertfordshire, nobody would have heard anything about that in Newcastle. He looks down pensively at Lydia, now sleeping at his side as the coach jolts on and a stout man on the seat opposite sneezes and spits into his handkerchief. No, he thinks, marriage hadn't really been on his mind at Brighton, in fact he couldn't really say exactly whether there had been any plan at all other than the mere idea of seduction – that was how it always had been been in the past and somehow he had always managed to escape the bond of marriage. And who had put the crazy idea of running away with a girl of sixteen into his mind? He couldn't remember much about it, perhaps he had been drunk at the time, he vaguely suspected that it might have been Lydia – another of her ideas for a good laugh. But a laugh at whose expense? My freedom, was that the price? He thinks about it for another moment and decides to put all doubt out of his mind – the matter is settled, and marriage is not so easy to undo even in the nineteenth century. My few debts paid, a commission in a good regiment, a young bride with some useful connections at my side, perhaps life's not so bad after all. Perhaps Darcy would be ready to stump up some financial support when Lydia has a baby – because at the present rate that is where we'll be in a year's time.

His reveries are interrupted by the coachman's call “Arriving in Nottingham in ten minutes” and almost at once they are travelling down the cobbled streets to the Bull Hotel, where they are to spend the night. A meal ordered, Lydia and Wickham sit down in the dining room with the other travellers and a number of other guests, among them three young men who have clearly been drinking since the beginning of the afternoon. In no time at all remarks are being made which are increasingly offensive to the Wickhams, intended of course for the pleasure of the three youths, but audible to all in the room.

“Running off to Gretna Green with her beau, I'll be bound” says one.

“Nice little piece, wouldn't mind her myself” says another.

“Can't be a day over sixteen” says a third.

Remarks in this vein continue for a few moments, and although Lydia puts her hand ostentatiously on the table to show her wedding ring, she feels uncomfortable. The stout passenger from the coach moves to the other side of the room and other guests get up and leave the room so that Lydia and Wickham are almost face to face with the source of these affronts. George Wickham looks at his wife and sees she is about start sobbing. He is not a man to take ridicule lightly and has lived long enough in the world to know that the speediest way to right a wrong is sometimes the direct way. He goes over to the youths.

“If you do not cease at once to upset my spouse by your base and unjustified remarks, I shall be obliged to ask you to step outside so that I may teach you that by insulting a lady you are also insulting her husband. Shall we say a round with each of you, one at a time, according to Jack Broughton's rules? Who goes first?”

The youths say nothing, they glare at him. Wickham is wearing his new uniform and doesn't really want to spoil it by starting a fight in the courtyard outside.

“Get out then, before the landlord and I throw you out.” At that moment the landlord appears and Wickham exchanges a quiet word with him.

“That'll be six pence exactly” the landlord says, “and now please leave my premises.”

The three youths stand up, put down the coins and walk lamely out of the room. Lydia beams and smiles at her husband.

“How did you do that, George? What are Jack Broughton's rules?”

“Prize-fighting, or as it's sometimes called, boxing.”

“I didn't know that you are acquainted with boxing.”

“I'm not, but I do know something about gambling and bluffing, darling.”

The next day Lydia remains awake for most of the journey. It's raining, and the dampness of the passengers' coats, even of those sitting inside the coach, is making it an uncomfortable stage, and the coach is full for most of the journey to York. Lydia has plenty of time to reflect about the events of the past few months and how they will affect her life. She's certainly going to miss her mother, for wasn't she her mother's favourite child, especially as she came first in the matrimonial stakes? Lydia thinks about her mother's preoccupation with her daughters' marriage prospects: wasn't that justified after all? And what about her husband's new posting: would it be as much fun as Brighton, with all the militia officers paying her compliments, dancing and flirting with her? Would there be fewer balls or entertainments where she could laugh, make mischief and be the centre of attention? And what about their living quarters? At Longbourn she had shared a room with Catherine, and Mary had had the small room where she could keep her books; at the Forsters' house in Brighton she had had a room of her own and in London she and Wickham had found a very cheap room in a poor district inhabited by working people. Longbourn could be maintained by her father with his income from rents from farmland and some four-per-cents – whatever they were – and Colonel Forster had his regimental pay. His rank was several steps above an Ensign. So how much does an Ensign receive from his regiment? Would this be enough to live on? Should she have talked with her father about this when she last saw him? Perhaps he would have given her some of his four-per-cents. Are they coins or notes? Gradually it becomes clear to her that her future home might be much the same as that simple lodging in London, but – she laughs to herself – that's where I had some of the happiest moments of my life up to now. Wickham wakes up.

“Tell me about the lodging – or whatever you call it in the army – in Newcastle.”

“I can't tell you anything about it at all, where it is or what it's like. I just have the address and when we arrive we'll hire a carriage and it will take us and our trunks there. The colonel in London said that it would have all the furniture and chattels we could need, and there's a girl who will come in daily to help you housekeep.”

Lydia suddenly realizes that she has no notion at all of housekeeping, yes, she sometimes helped in the kitchen at Longbourn just for fun, but much more than boiling an egg would be beyond her capabilities. Her heart sinks, her natural optimism saves her.

“I'm sure it will be enormous fun, learning to cook and telling a servant what to do. You'll have to become very tolerant of my efforts. Though shall we have enough money to live on? What did the colonel say about your pay?”

“Now don't you worry and try to rest. We have about another hundred miles to Newcastle and I'm quite sure everything will be all right.”

Netherfield

Four months after her marriage, Elizabeth Darcy (née Bennet) returns to her parents' home in Longbourn to collect her remaining possessions and bring them to her new home at Pemberley, her husband Fitzwilliam's mansion in Derbyshire. She had taken up residence at Pemberley immediately after her honemoon and has heard little concerning her sister Lydia since Lydia and husband George left Longbourn after visiting the Bennet family there, a year or so before Elizabeth's marriage.

The packing of books and clothes takes no more than a few days, and before returning to Pemberley she naturally wants to see her sister Jane once again. So her father's carriage takes her over to Netherfield to spend a day there. It's easy to become accustomed now to being taken about in a coach or carriage, indeed Fitzwilliam has insisted that she should no longer trudge through the muddy lanes and spoil her new clothes, for she has a new role as the wife of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esquire, gentleman.

“Oh Jane, it's been such a long time since we saw each other. And now we are both married – do you remember how Lydia was so overtly proud of her new marital status those months – or is it years – ago, before she and George left for Newcastle?”

“Well, marriage for love is what we both wanted, remember those heart-to-heart discussions we had back at Longbourn, when everything seemed so hopeless. And despite our dear mamma and her efforts to find husbands for us, I think that in the last resort that is what she wanted for us too, perhaps to find a love that she never had. We both have good husbands – at least, as far as I know – and I have always said that marriage for love is infinitely preferable to having to choose a clergyman like the Reverend Collins as Charlotte did, just to make sure that one has a home. Charles was really disappointed that we were unable to have a honeymoon immediately after the ceremony because of his business in Manchester, but he has promised me that as soon as possible we shall travel for a month, maybe to France or Italy, depending on the political situation and the war. In any case, Charles and I cannot remain here at Netherfield: a pleasant house in the country around Manchester, near Bingley & Co's cotton mills, plus somewhere in London for the winter, that would be ideal. We have already received a number of invitations to balls and receptions in London during the autumn, and for the present Charles will spend a lot of his time in London, though when he takes over the business from his father the centre of our interests will of course be Manchester – not so far from you at Pemberley, but still quite a way to come and visit mother and father. Do you think we will be able to persuade them to visit us? And what were your experiences of Scotland?”

Elizabeth feels a blush rise to her cheeks as she recalls the weeks of her honeymoon. “The mountains in the Highlands were superb. We travelled as far as Pitlochry, and everyone was kind and helpful – but Jane, it sometimes rains all day.” She blushes again and smiles. “But for Fitzwilliam and me, the sun shone most of the time, you know.”

“I must admit that when I stood at the altar beside Charles and looked at him standing so straight and smiling at me, I thought: now this man is with me until death do us part, and I really wondered how our marriage might be,” Jane replies. “Could it be possible that Charles had any serious attachments of the heart before he met me?”

Elizabeth's heart misses a beat as she recalls Fitzwilliam's letter to her, long before their engagement. Referring to his friend Bingley he had written “I had often seen him in love before.” So how often? How many girls or young ladies? Was Jane the third or the fourth, the sixteenth or the seventeenth? No, Elizabeth, discretion impels you to keep silence about what you know or don't know of Charles' past. She turns to Jane.

“I think that whether or not that be so, one should approach one's spouse with a clear heart and a clear conscience. You cannot change the past, Jane, but you can make sure that your heart remains constant to Charles. You must not recount this to anyone, but Fitzwilliam told me that in his younger days he met a young lady – the daughter of a baronet, not a servant girl or anything like that – to whom he made an offer of marriage. It was, as he said, a very loving attachment, but after the young lady moved with her parents to Vienna, where her father had been appointed as British Ambassador, they gradually grew apart from lack of contact and she wrote to him releasing him from the obligation. Later, he heard that she had fallen in love again and had married an Austrian nobleman. So Fitzwilliam asked me “Can you love me despite this?” and I replied “Fitzwilliam, dearest, it does not signify at all – and Jane, I assure you it never will.”

“But why is it that men, especially those in our station of life, are so driven by their feelings, that sometimes they seek the company of servant girls or disreputable women, even when they have loving wives? There seems to be a great difference between men and women on that score.”

“Jane, if I had an answer to that question, I would surely tell you. There is none. I am more worried by the thought that in some way a marriage could develop into a constant bickering, as it has become with our parents. Is there still any love between them, or are they just two people bound together by law who have no alternative? How many times have I seen our father hurt our poor mother with some sarcastic remark to draw attention to her lack of education and intellect? And yet she tries, in her way, to be a good wife to him. Without her help I doubt whether Charles would have found the courage to propose to you.”

“Indeed, it was she who arranged the scene to leave Charles and me alone for fifteen minutes – and even then he found it difficult to speak the words. Can it be that in a marriage, familiarity breeds contempt?”

“It may do, but it need not. And I am sure that you want to try to love and respect your Charles twenty years from now as much as you do today, and those are surely my sentiments for Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth is readier than Jane to look into reasons and try to analyse the relationships between men and women. Jane believes in love, for her, it is enough. She feels relieved when the discussion turns to the double wedding.

“But our weddings at St James, Meryton, were perfect in every way. The church at Longbourn village would have been far too small. And the Reverend Armitage was quite a comic. After saying “I would like to offer a short address on this most happy occasion, without wishing to preach to these two couples” he proceeded to do just that, Charles and I laughed about it so much afterwards, all those things we were supposed to do to respect each other and lead a Christian married life.”

“Well, perhaps the remarks were addressed to our parents, respect is what is lacking in their marriage, Jane. The only thing that went wrong was at the reception. Our dear mamma made a fool of herself again, do you remember? It was after our father had proposed a toast to both brides and grooms, and sat down again, our mamma jumped up and started to quiz poor Fitzwilliam. “How much pin-money are you going to give my daughter, Mr Darcy? And how many servants will you allow her? Will she be allowed to have a French maid?” – and a whole rigmarole of quizzings that the majority of the guests must have heard. It was all very embarrassing, I saw Lady Lucas turn to Sir William and start to smile at our discomfort. And then Fitzwilliam turned on his haughty look, for I believe he can make such expressions change at will, and he replied coolly: “Madam, if you so wish, I will make the text of the marriage settlement available to you, it was drawn up by my attorneys and Mr Gardiner before being signed by my spouse and me. If you have any doubts on the matter you are very welcome to discuss them with me or the attorneys.” ”

“Yes, yes” adds Jane “and then mamma called out “But Mr Darcy, Mr Darcy...” and our dear father took her by the hand, whispered something in her ear, I only heard the words “long enough” and thank heavens, that was the end of it. But that's enough of discussing weddings. I want you to see the magnificent canteen of silver cutlery in the new fiddle thread pattern that was a wedding gift from Charles' parents. With over two hundred pieces, each piece bears the monogram “JB” and “CB” in the same monogram design, it was Charles' idea.....”

Chapel Row

Winter in Newcastle. The snow continued into the new year, it lay deep in the streets, coal for a fire was expensive and there were no monograms on the cutlery of Ensign Wickham and his wife. If Lydia had hoped that her new home would be comparable in comfort and status to the other homes she had known, she was quickly disillusioned. The lodging was a very small house in Chapel Row, a street of simple terraced houses, with two rooms on the first floor and two below, or “two up and two down” as Lydia learned to say. Indeed, saying and understanding was the greatest problem of all at the outset, for she found that the people's manner of speaking was so different from Hertfordshire or Brighton that she sometimes in despair muttered the few words of French she had learned from Mademoiselle Berthon, the French governess who had spent a year at Longbourn, to see if communication could thereby be ameliorated. The servant girl, Betty, came every day and was friendly and helpful but her accent was as confusing as that of the rest of the inhabitants of Newcastle and she often used strange words different from those in use in Hertfordshire. Wickham, thanks to his upbringing in Derbyshire, could often understand and he told Lydia that his mother had been born in Gateshead so she had always spoken with a Geordie accent; but he was at the barracks during the day and sometimes for days on end, only returning on Saturday or Sunday.

Chapel Row was home to a number of junior officers and two sergeants. Lydia soon became acquainted with the other army wives, although most were at least five or six years older and most had babies and children to look after. She observed with some trepidation how a baby could change the character of a marriage and command a woman's life much more than ever a husband could. A baby meant the end of entertainments like those in Brighton; a baby stretched budgets; the families in Chapel Row had no live-in servants and there were no monetary allowances from the regiment to cover the cost of clothes and food for a family. Diana Ponsonby, who lived two doors down in Chapel Row, was expecting her second child and was five years older than Lydia. Her day was full of looking after her son and preparing for the arrival of the baby. Diana's friend Helen Pugh was only twenty-six and already had four children.

“So what is it that you don't like about Newcastle, Lydia? We've been here for weeks now, but you're still walking about with a face with few friends, as they say in Madrid. Yes, we have the winter now, it's cold and difficult to heat this house, but I fetch the coal on the sledge when I can and you and Diana can bring baskets of coal from the depot when I can't. The winter won't last for ever. Is it that you haven't had any contact with your parents since we left: you told your mother on parting that you didn't expect to have time to write – have you written to her at least to let her know we have arrived safely? You must have known that life is not just a matter of dancing and flirting – or did you really imagine that the rest of the world was like a militia summer camp in Brighton? I know you can't always understand Betty, but you'll learn to follow what she says before very long.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, George dear, but I didn't really think it would be like this. There's nothing wrong, but I just have an uneasy feeling inside me, as if something is eating my own self. I talked to Diana about it, but she said it was nothing to worry about, just the bug. And I'm lonely, with nothing to do almost all the day.”

“Bug?”

“Homesickness, they call it the bug. Diana said that the more times you have to leave your home to start up somewhere else, the easier it is to cure the bug: she and her husband have been pushed about all over England by the army, so she doesn't get the bug any more.”

“Lydia, anyone can see you're unhappy. If this continues, we shall have to talk about sending you back to Longbourn for six months, I might be able to arrange that, but it would be a last resort for us both, wouldn't it?”

“No, George, I want to stay here with you. There is no alternative.”

Lydia had become a quieter person, the bouts of uncontrollable laughter had become rarer, life was a serious business. She looked at Diana's changing form with a longing she didn't recognize. Babies seemed to be an integral part of a married woman's life and were one of the main topics of conversation among the army wives of Chapel Row.

And mamma hasn't written to me yet, she thought. I'm sure I gave her the address George gave me before we left Longbourn. Perhaps my father is upset about the way I found myself a husband – or is it that he didn't like the way Darcy made the wedding arrangements? And what is happening with Jane and Lizzy and their admirers?

It was over six months after her departure from Hertfordshire that a letter arrived bearing her mother's handwriting.

Longbourn House, April 1802

My dearest Lydia,

I haven't heard anything from you since you left Longbourn with Wickham, I wrote to you back in December so I presume that letter was somehow lost in the post

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