Pomp and Circumstance: A Pride and Prejudice Continuation

Chapter 27: The Boon of Idle Gossip

But Mary's suspicions proved themselves to be undeserved, for at a quarter to two Lydia entered the inn, quickly scanning about the room until she spotted her sister, and the table laid out for them.

"La, Mary, what a frantic morning this was – to think, the prices they wrench for such a little thing as mending one or two dresses, and less than half-dozen shirtcoats - I believe I spent a good hour arguing over it, thinking they should at last acquire some shame in themselves – but no! 'Well,' said I, 'Be it as you wish – I shall mend it myself, and you shall not get any penny from me –' What advantage is it to them - tell me, Mary – to lose a respectable customer as myself, when they might have made themselves some spare shillings, if only they had been willing to proffer their services at a reasonable price. Well, I shall mend them myself, mark my words, Mary, dear; and shall come back and show them. It is not as if it is so very difficult as soon as one learns it."

Mary, who remembered Lydia's rather abysmal skills with a needle, and her inability to keep at any solitary task for more than a few minutes, did not make any remark to this; but Lydia, having relieved herself of her frustrations, did not seem to expect any. She settled comfortably in her chair, and helped herself to a thick slice of bread, and applied a generous smothering of butter, and spoons of jam upon that. Having taken a bite, she seemed at last to become aware of her surroundings.

"La, where is the rest of your party, Mary?" she exclaimed at last, looking about expectantly.

"They are still at the beach, I believe," Mary said. "They are coming back for tea later in the afternoon." It occurred to her now that Lydia had perhaps only agreed to the luncheon under the impression that Mr. Radcliff should be in attendance as well – and Lydia's subsequent look of disappointment did not serve to dissuade her of this idea.

"Ah, no matter," she said in a rather disheartened tone, and, seemingly to comfort herself, she cut another slice of bread, which she topped with a healthy assortment of the cold meats and cheeses spread before them. Mary, who was not particularly hungry, sipped her tea contemplatively. She could only imagine Lydia's thinness, her poor state of dress a product of her husband's ill management of funds; she was no longer the bright-cheeked, careless girl she once was; but then, she was not entirely void of her either. There was a stubborn flush to Lydia's cheeks, a proud tilt to her head, that showed to Mary that, hard as it was to believe, she was not entirely displeased with her circumstances – not pleased, perhaps, but not entirely displeased; and that there must have been yet some satisfaction she derived from her married state, and perhaps even the brazen entry she took into it. It was a strange exercise, to imagine where Lydia might have been, had Wickham never entered her life. Perhaps she would be living at Longbourn still, with Mary – perhaps, just as Kitty had been, she would have been brought under her elder sisters' calming influence; perhaps it was her that Mrs. Bennet should have been introducing to Mr. Radcliff over dinner.

Or perhaps she should have found another soldier in Bath with whom to run off, and it should all have ended the same; and then, perhaps, Wickham regardless, Lydia should grow into herself yet – she was still at such a young, tender age, after all, and Mary certainly had not yet grown into herself at that age either – and perhaps had not even done so now.

Once Lydia had satisfied herself some minutes with the food and tea, she began her torrential speech again. "Indeed, Mary, what a strange affair this is, having nuncheon with you in Southend; and to think, I awoke today not having the slightest inkling you might even be here."

"Are you staying in town long?" Mary asked carefully, but Lydia's eyes furrowed, as a young child who has been caught out in a silly fib.

"Ah. You mean to say that I am not at Gateshead. Yes, I fear I write the odd falsehood to Mama; but it is only to soothe her, for she does worry so, and wishes me to write so often, which is such a terrible drain on my time – I so hate penning letters, such useless things – but Wickham and I, we are of the same soul – we are terribly restless, wanderers at heart, I fear. To stay in one place should be terribly dull – do you not think? - so indeed we do move about quite often, wherever he has friends who know of some odd work or other which may suit him – he really does have so many friends, almost all interesting and exciting – we are staying with one of them at the moment, in fact – they met when he – oh, this is a fine marmalade indeed! Such a tart sweetness! – You must try some, try – you see, once one is married and becomes a woman of the house, one must pay attention to these matters – which things to stock, which are better than another for the price – or I shall, anyhow, once we settle down somewhere – Wickham of course is hopeless in such things – always defers to my judgement, as he should, of course. Ah, I fear I have lost my train of thought completely – of what was I speaking?"