“That is well by me. I do not like horses anyway. They smell.”
“In which case, you will have to walk a lot more than you do now.”
“What of it?Youwalk everywhere, and I do not hear you complaining about it.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, wishing profoundly that her aunt Gardiner were still at Longbourn to help make Lydia understand. “Do you know how much a new pair of walking boots costs?”
“Yes, I do! Two pounds. I saw a pair in Meryton yesterday.” At the mention of shopping, her sister forgot to be defensive, and a softer look overcame her countenance. “They had little bows on the top edge, and red laces, and—”
“Two pounds would be a whole week’s allowance!” Elizabeth interrupted. “Would you go without food that week to pay for them?”
Lydia flounced in her seat. “Why are you being such a bore?”
“We are trying to prepare you for what your life will be like now,” Jane said, her tone softer than Elizabeth’s. “You are going to have to learn to live more frugally. We only wish to make sure you understand what it takes to make ends meet.”
It was a mission the three eldest Bennet sisters had taken upon themselves when it became clear that their mother would not. Mrs Bennet had spent the last two decades fervently applying herself to the task of seeing all her daughters wed and wasted not a whit of attention on what would come afterwards. Now that the deed was done—Lydia having returned home of her own volition the previous Tuesday afternoon, quite unaided by either her father or her uncle, and with her new husband in tow—the problem was more immediately before them.
As well as persuading her father against annulling the marriage for fear of the ensuing scandal, Elizabeth had also convinced him not to throw Mr and Mrs Wickham out directly, that she and her sisters might have more time to instil in Lydia some sense of parsimony, some understanding of wifely responsibilities, or at the very least, to teach her how to boil an egg before she left for her new life. Alas, Lydia wore her ignorance like a suit of armour, and not even the stoutest good sense could penetrate it.
“This cottage in which you say you will live—will you tell us about that?”
“It is in Clerkenwell—”
“An awful place.”
“How would you know, Mary?” Lydia retorted. “You have never been farther than Longbourn churchyard, so you can shut your bone box.”
“Lydia!” Elizabeth admonished.
When Jane gently suggested that it would be more helpful to encourage Lydia than chastise her, Mary lost all patience and quit the parlour.
“Clerkenwell is not so very bad,” Lydia said with a pout. “There are clockmakers and a print shop. And you cannot evenseethe prisons from our street.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She almost wished Lydia could remain this innocent forever, but reality would obtrude upon her notice soon enough. “Do you know when the rent is due?”
“Oh, not for two years. We have ages before we must pay that.”
“Two years? Why has Mr Wickham paid for two years of rent when you did not have coin enough in your pockets to pay for the chaise from London?”
“It was stipulated in the lease agreement, Sister.” They all looked up to see Wickham saunter into the parlour. “Decent lodgings are not ten a penny. When they become available, it is prudent to secure them by whatever means are necessary.”
Jane assured him they understood. “Is it a comfortable cottage, then?” she asked Lydia.
“It will do. The landlady lives next door and is very friendly. She said if we ever have any difficulty, we are to ask her. Indeed, you were with her for over an hour the other day, were you not, Wickham? Something to do with the roof, was it? Or the chimney? I cannot recall. Anyway, she is exceedingly obliging. If ever I cannot find Wickham, I always know he will be next door with Mrs Younge.”
Elizabeth froze. She glanced at Wickham; he was smiling, and if she had not been looking for it, she doubted she would have noticed how fixed his expression had become, or how wary his eyes. Fury, pity, nausea all pinned Elizabeth to her seat. Mrs Younge, the same woman who aided Wickham’s failed attempt to seduce Miss Darcy, was now Lydia’s closest neighbour and, from the sounds of it, her husband’s lover. Wickham abruptly looked her way, and his slight frown made it clear he had perceived her alarm, and suddenly there was a good deal more agitation in the air.
“That is good,” Jane said, oblivious to it. “It will be easier starting out if you have friends around you.”
Elizabeth really thought she might be ill. “I wonder whether Mary is right, Lydia. Perhaps you ought to find more suitable lodgings.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “We have told you, we cannot. We have paid two years’ rent.”
“If lodgings are in such short supply, I am sure Mrs Younge will find another tenant easily. She seems fairly undiscerning.”
A glance at Wickham revealed his usual, self-satisfied smirk to have distorted into something a lot more like a snarl.
“Where should we live then, Lizzy?” Lydia enquired.
