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CHAPTER 3
Newcastle, Northumberland
- February 1815
The innkeeper of
the Pig's Snout Pub carelessly poured a measure of Scotch into
a glass of dubious cleanliness. ""Ere you go, Gov'nor.
Cash sir, if'n you please."
The newly minted
army captain tossed the money onto the bar. "Keep it filled
until that runs out, my good man." George Wickham, Captain
of Infantry in the ___ Reg. of Foot, took a very small sip of
the drink set before him. He had to make it last; he had only
a few pounds with him and the innkeeper was under the strictest
instructions not to give Captain Wickham credit. In fact, the
entire town of Newcastle had been told about the Wickhams - cash
money and no credit. Damn that Darcy! thought Wickham.
For three years
Wickham and his loving wife, the former Lydia Bennet, rotted
in the cold and cheerless town of Newcastle. Of course, "loving"
could mean many things. In Wickham's case it meant that while
Lydia was certainly jolly enough for a tumble more often than
not, the price was high - two children already and another on
the way. Wickham sighed; within six months there would be a third
screaming child in his house - three, that is, if you did not
count Mrs. Wickham. Wickham found that as far as all other joys
that supposedly came with Holy Wedlock, he would enjoy very few.
Lydia had inherited most of Mrs. Bennet's characteristics, save
that lady's famous nerves. That is, Mrs. Wickham was vain, silly,
weak-minded, selfish, quarrelsome, and foolhardy with the family
money. (She was an affectionate mother, but to Wickham that did
not signify.) How the family could keep a roof over their heads
the Good Lord only knew.
The Good Lord and
Mr. Bartholomew, erstwhile manager of Smyth & Smyth, Wickham's
bank (damn that Darcy). Wickham had always depended that
Darcy would somehow provide his income, and when he was forced
to marry Lydia, Wickham felt that he still had hopes. Those hopes
increased when, for some silly reason, Darcy married Lydia's
sister, Lizzy (Wickham could never fathom why Darcy didn't marry
Anne de Bourgh for her money and take Lizzy for his mistress).
Darcy purchased Lt. Wickham's commission and the cottage his
family now lived.
However, Darcy had
something clever up his rotten Saville Row sleeve. The house
was in Darcy's name. He made arrangemens that all
of Wickham's army pay, as well as Lydia's dowry and the 100 a
year from Mr. Bennet, went straight into a trust account for
Mrs. Wickham,. Accounts managed by Mr. Bartholomew were
set up at the green grocer, the butcher, the bakery, and several
dry goods shops in Newcastle. Food and other necessaries were
provided for. Whatever was left after the month's bills were
paid was sent to Mrs. Wickham, minus twenty percent (something
called a rainy day fund, whatever that meant - Lydia tried to
pull some money out after the first rainstorm and was turned
away). Lydia in turn gave her husband an allowance of two pounds
a month.
To make matters
worse, Darcy had been in communications with the General. All
officers were warned not to gamble with Lt. Wickham, or their
promotions might be in danger. Wickham was effectively cut out.
For three years
he lived thus. Then, in remembrance of the third anniversary
of Lydia and Wickham's wedding, a promotion to captain was purchased
(by Darcy). Not only did this event bring additional income to
the Wickham family, it finally gave the head of the household
the chance to get one over on Darcy. Wickham had befriended the
paymaster. When the promotion became final, Wickham arranged
for four pounds a month to be withheld from transfer to Smyth
& Smyth. His friend charged one part in four for the courtesy,
but Wickham gladly paid the fee and his pockets were heavier
by three pounds.
That in itself was
cause to celebrate. The reason Captain Wickham was in such high
spirits tonight was in commemoration of his sister Kitty's wedding.
Not that he gave two farthings for the chit - but Lydia had received
passage to attend, with the children. George Wickham was a bachelor
for at least a fortnight, if not a whole month.
Wickham moved over
to a table in the corner. He looked around the pub and spotted
a new barmaid. Ah, now there is a tasty morsel, he thought.
Young (he always had something for the young ones),
pert, well padded. She's ripe for a tumble, she is, or my name's
not George Wickham. The captain put down his glass and was
about to call her over-
"George! George
Wickham, as I live and breathe!"
Wickham, startled,
looked about. That voice! I know it! Is it someone I owe money
to? His eyes settled on a young major of infantry. "D-Denny?
Is that you?"
"Ha, ha! Yes,
it's me, George! Good to see you, old man," cried Major
Denny, Wickham's old comrade from the ___shire militia.
"Sit down,
sit down! Look at you - you've come up in the world." Wickham,
presuming the barmaid was lost for the evening, focused all his
attention on his old friend.
"So have you,"
said Denny. "Captain of Infantry. Are you posted to the
regiment here?"
"Yes - three
years. Just got promoted."
"Then my arrival
is well timed indeed. Allow me to give you joy for your promotion,
sir! Barkeep! A bottle, sir! Er... George, what're you drinking?"
"Scotch. 'Tis
the only tolerable drink in the house."
"Scotch, then!
And be quick about it!"
The bottle of tolerable
scotch was soon procured and the two old brothers-in-arms drank
and surveyed each other. Wickham broke the silence first. "A
major, Denny. You've done well for yourself."
"Thankee, George."
Denny was lucky - he had no funds to purchase promotion, but
a competency promotion to Captain and a death vacancy for Major
had done as well.
Wickham, refilling
his glass, studied the flashings on Denny's tunic. "You're
not with the militia," he observed.
"No - staff
officer with the General Staff in London." Denny nursed
his drink.
Wickham, in spite
of himself, was impressed. "What brings you to Newcastle?"
"Had to consult
with your General here." He took a sip and placed his glass
down as he said, "So how are things with you, George?"
Wickham looked away.
"Same as always." He took a pull at his drink and smiled.
"The new recruits can't find their arse with both hands."
Denny laughed. For
a while they spoke of old times. Then Denny said, "You married
Lydia Bennet, I remember. How's the family?"
Wickham took a swallow
of his drink. "Everyone is well, the last time I saw them."
At Denny's questioning look, Wickham added, "They are to
Hertfordshire for Lydia's sister's wedding," as he reached
for the bottle.
Denny frowned, but
said nothing about his companion's actions. "Everyone, George?
You have children now, I take it?"
Wickham's hand could
barely contain his belch. "Yes, two girls - two whining,
screaming girls… three if you count the mother! Ha!"
Another drink. "Lydia's expanding again, so maybe this time
a boy, eh? Drink up - lets drink to Wickham's heir!" The
captain drained his glass. "I tell you, Denny, I just look
at her and - boom!" he clapped his hands as he shook his
head drunkenly.
Denny barely touched
his drink. "George - no need to talk like that - she's your
wife…she's a good woman…"
"Oh, she's
good-" Wickham suddenly stopped and looked at his
companion though an alcoholic haze. "What do ya mean by
that?" he slurred. "Why'd ya so interested in Lydia?"
Wickham lurched to his unsteady feet, slamming his glass down
on the table. "Just what do you mean by your attentions
to my wife, sir?" he roared.
Denny blanched.
"George, sit down," he urged. "Be silent, man
- you're making a spectacle of yourself." He stood to encourage
the other man. "Come sir, all is well. You know I have the
greatest admiration for you and your entire family. We are friends,
George! Come, have a drink." Denny poured the last of the
scotch into Wickham's glass and put the drink into the other
man's hand. Raising his own, Denny said, "Here's to you,
George. Friendship!"
Mollified, Wickham
returned, "Friendship!" drained the glass, and fell
backwards oversetting his chair in a drunken stupor.
Denny walked over
to ascertain his companion's condition. Feeling no pain tonight,
but I cannot speak for his head in the morning. Denny rounded
up a couple of soldiers and had Captain George Wickham carried
home to sleep off his carousing in his own bed.
Denny stood by the
bed as the servant tucked the master in. George, George, George…shall
you never change? he asked silently as he looked at his friend.
Denny looked around the cottage - small, but fairly neat; the
maid did what she could, but had little help.
He thought back
to Wickham's outburst and colored. It was true he had admired
Lydia Bennet three years ago, and he was sorry that she had chosen
to go off with Wickham; but Denny had thought he was resigned
to the union long ago and showed no partiality to the lady. Could
he be transparent? In vain, Denny fought the thought that came
to his mind: Lydia deserves better that this…
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