The canon characters do not belong to me, the rest is all mine.

This is intended as a companion piece to Love Unsought, though it will function as a stand alone story as well. The final story is only about 10K words, but I'll still make 4 posts of it. The story is complete, so no worries there. If you have read Love Unsought, then you've probably wondered just how Lydia's children made it to Pemberley. I've known all along and I thought it was time to share...

Prologue

When George and Lydia Wickham married and removed to Northumbria where they were to be innkeepers at the Hammer and Tongs, their feelings on the situation could not have been more contradictory. Mr. Wickham was sullen, resentful, and determined to hate everything. The new Mrs. Wickham, though disappointed to be so far from her family, was, in general, filled with all the excitement of a new bride beginning life with a husband she adored. The couple's first child, Olivia Jane, was born some seven months after their marriage. Wickham gave every outward appearance of happiness when his daughter was born. Inwardly, he added the girl to his list of injuries and resentments. She should have been a son. Lydia owed him a son!

It was not long before Wickham decided Northumbria and the merchants to whom he owed money were not to his liking. He left the Hammer and Tongs behind and moved his young family to a new situation. In nine years the family moved no fewer than a dozen times. Each situation was worse than the last as they left behind mounting debts and were forced to take cheaper and cheaper lodgings. More children came and with each successive girl, Wickham grew more resentful. He often absented himself from his family, took work wherever he could find it and gambled away most of his meager earnings.

After ten years and nearly as many pregnancies, Lydia, who had begun her marriage full of youthful dreams, was exhausted and turned to alcohol for comfort. Spirits did not judge, condemn, yell or disappoint. Spirits made no demands, did not require feeding and asked nothing of her. Her husband was often away for weeks at a time, her children were hungry, and she would not consider asking her family for assistance.

The youngest of five daughters, Lydia had been estranged from all her family save her mother since her marriage. Though her mother often wrote to Lydia, she did not offer assistance of any kind to her favourite daughter. Instead, she sent pages bemoaning her own situation and telling of the charmed lives of her other daughters. Lydia could not bring herself to resent their good fortune, nor did she have the courage to ask for their help. She sank deeper into her exhaustion and despair until she all she had for her own children were stories of happier days and far-away places.

Olivia's Tale

Nine-year-old Olivia Jane Wickham, eldest daughter of George and Lydia Wickham, sat at a rickety table covered in cooking grease and fine ash and looked around the filthy one-room cottage her family currently called home. Her four younger sisters lay huddled together on a straw mattress on the floor in the corner furthest from the door. She took in a floor covered in the dust that came easily through the chinks in the wall. The window was cracked and the door barely fulfilled its office. Above the cold fireplace to her right was a shelf holding a few fractured bowls and several spoons. Finally, her gaze settled back on her sisters. Like their chemises and the ragged curtain on the lone window, the thin blanket covering her sisters was an indeterminate shade of gray. She thought it might once have been white.

Olivia was grateful that it was summer. In the winter this place would be unbearably cold. Whatever she found for breakfast would have to be eaten cold, there was neither wood nor coal for cooking. She sighed. Her parents had been gone for almost a se'nnight. They had left before, but never for this long. Usually it was only a day or two. Her mother would stop drinking long enough to make a few preparations before leaving the younger children in Olivia's care. A day or two later, husband and wife would return and the cycle would begin again. Both parents would drink, Papa would leave and Mama would go fetch him. The last time Papa left, it was Thursday. Her mother left the following morning. Now it was Tuesday. The last of the meager food in the house was eaten the previous morning and she put her siblings to bed with empty stomachs. There was nothing for it, she had to find food and she had to take her sisters away from this place. She did not know how far it was from Durham to Derbyshire, if they would be welcome where she wished to go or if that place even existed, but she had to take a chance. She had to find a way to the mythical Pemberley of her mother's oft repeated stories.

From her earliest memories, Olivia could recall her mother speaking of aunts and uncles she had never met who lived in places far to the south. Far being relative of course to her child's mind. Her aunts were from such distant places as Leicestershire, Staffordshire, and Derbyshire. According to her mother, they were all kind and beautiful and very rich. Olivia asked once if being rich meant they always had enough to eat. Her mother laughed her sad laugh and said that where her aunts lived, even the poorest tenants had enough to eat. Olivia then asked why, if her aunts and uncles were so very rich, they did not share with her family. It seemed terribly unfair that she and her sisters should so often go hungry if there were people who might help.

"Ollie, love, I once did your Aunt Darcy a very great wrong. And while I have no doubt she would not let you go hungry if she knew of our circumstances, I cannot bring myself to tell her. I cannot ask anything of any of my sisters after what I have done. They are lost to me." Lydia said this as she took another deep drink from the amber bottle that seemed always to be near at hand.

Olivia's eyes grew wide. "What did you do, Mama?"

"That is a tale for another time, when you are older. Now, go mind your sisters while I see to your papa." Lydia pushed herself roughly back from the table and stumbled out the door.

There were many variations on that conversation over the years. Lydia told her daughter stories of a place called Longbourn where there were pretty dresses and ribbons and dances with handsome men. She talked about her sisters and how one of them was going to see the whole world. But mostly, she talked about the sister called Aunt Darcy. Aunt Darcy married a prince and they lived in a castle called Pemberley, near Lambton in Derbyshire. Lydia spoke most often of Pemberley when there was a new baby coming or when Wickham was away. She had never been there herself, she told Olivia. But she knew it was as large as a castle and even more beautiful. She had heard it all from her husband and he said the walls of Pemberley shone like gold in the afternoon sun. There were forests and lakes and meadows and streams and even the lowliest servants ate like kings every day. At Pemberley everyone had wood in the winter, nice clothes, and plenty of food.

Olivia was thinking of her mother's stories as she waited for the night to pass. As the first strains of dawn began to break, she slipped silently from the little house. She was depending on her sisters keeping to their usual sleeping habits. Her only real concern was that baby Maria, who was only a year old, would wake before she returned. If that happened, Maria would cry and wake the others. Six-year-old Hannah would panic and her distress would make five-year-old Lucy and three-year-old Frances start wailing and all the noise might alert the neighbours to their situation. Olivia did not know for certain what would happen then, but she thought it was something to do with the church and the girls never being together again. She hesitated a moment longer before deciding the reward of food was well worth the risk of discovery.

Leaving was the right choice in the end. Moving as silently as she could, Olivia walked to the inn where her parents normally worked. They often spent the night away and part of her hoped she might still find them within. She did not. But she did find the large pot of mutton stew that had been left out. She wondered whether it was stealing when the food was obviously meant to be thrown out. She reasoned it was not, so long as she returned the kettle later. Olivia tiptoed up the steps and had just reached to heft the pot to her shoulder when the back door swung open.

"'ey! You dere! Ain't you one o' dem Wickham brats?" Mr. Keep was looking especially fierce to

Olivia's eyes and she stuttered an unintelligible answer. "Wha's that? Ya are. I know ya are. Yer de oldest one. Yer da's all-ays talkin' 'bout how yer too smart fer yer own good. Whaddya doin' sneakin' round back 'ere?"

"I, I," Olivia stammered.

Mr. Keep looked closely at the child before him then at the pot of stew. His eyes drew together as realization dawned. "You was gonna steal dat stew pot! Just like yer da. Takin' what ain't yers to take!"

Olivia grew incensed and felt her courage rise, as it did whenever she began to feel intimidated. Her mother said she was like her Aunt Darcy in that respect. Olivia would not know. She had never met her mythical aunt. "You were only going to feed it to that fat, lazy dog of yours! It is not possible for me to steal what you meant throw away! My sisters are hungry and your dog could stand to miss a meal or two!"

For a moment she thought she might have said too much. Then Mr. Keep burst out in a jovial laugh. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and said, "Ya got me dere lassie! Ya got me dere. Now, c'mon inside and let's get you somethin' proper like to eat. Mind you tell yer da it's comin' outta his pay!"

Olivia made a noncommittal sound she hoped would be taken for agreement. She did not think she would see her father again soon, but she was not inclined to share that information with Mr. Keep. She perched on a chair in the kitchen and watched as the rotund man gathered old bread, a block of cheese, and scraps of cold meat. He put them all in a basket and turned back to his guest. "Now, take dis back to yer sisters and tell yer da iffin 'e don' come in t'day 'e'll fin' hisself wifout work." Olivia assured Mr. Keep she would pass his message to her papa as soon as she saw him.

"Alright den, off wit' ya. I gots a delivery all da way from Derbyshire comin' dis mornin' an I don' need any little gu'ersnipes in da way."

Olivia's hopes soared and she sprinted home. She had already been gone much longer than she had planned and now there was work to be done. A delivery from Derbyshire! Olivia was determined to learn all she could about this mysterious delivery and whether the driver would be returning from whence he came. She arrived at the shabby cottage she called home just as her sisters were beginning to wake. Hannah and Lucy met her at the door.

"Ollie! I thought you had left us too!" Hannah exclaimed.

"And we are very hungry," added Lucy solemnly. "Will there be any breakfast today?"

"Of course I did not leave you, silly. And yes, I have brought some lovely treats for breakfast. Look! We have bread, and cheese and even a little meat. Why, it is almost a feast!" Olivia laughed and hugged her younger sisters. "Now, I need your help. Hannah, you go fetch some water and Lucy, you must help me wake the babies."

When Hannah returned with water the Wickham sisters gathered on the floor to enjoy their breakfast. Afterwards, they returned the leftover food to Mr. Keep's basket and listened as Olivia told them her plans. Hannah and Lucy listened. Frances busily explored the cottage and Maria played with a stick, alternately waving it about, banging it on the floor, and chewing on it.

"I do not think Mama and Papa are coming back." Olivia stated flatly. This was the most important point. Her sisters must be made to understand that their parents were not returning. Otherwise they would never consent to leaving themselves. Hannah and Lucy's eyes grew wide and she said, "They have never been gone so long before, and even Mr. Keep has not seen them. They are not at the inn or the tavern."

Hannah's eyes filled with tears, "But what will we do? They have to come back. They have to!"

Lucy seemed unable to speak. She chewed her bottom lip and tears spilled silently down her cheeks. Olivia sat between her sisters and placed an arm around each of them. "We will go to Pemberley and our Aunt Darcy."

"B…b…but she does not know us!" Hannah cried.

"We can work for her. She does not have to know us. Mama said even the servants at Pemberley have plenty of food and nice clothes."

"I don't want nice clothes, and I don't wanna go to Pemmerly! I want Mama!" Hannah argued. Of the five girls, Hannah was her mother's clear favourite. The idea that her beloved mama might never return was not at all acceptable to the little girl.

Olivia wanted to cry too. She wanted to laugh and play with her sisters. She wanted to climb trees and vex her mama. Instead, she had to determine how she was to feed and care for herself and her sisters. She pasted a smile on her face and said, "I know. I want Mama as well. But Hannah, Lucy, Mama has been away too long this time. We cannot stay here without her. We must leave. It is the only way."

"What if Mama comes back? What if she cannot find us?" Hannah pleaded.

Olivia took Hannah and Lucy's hands in her own. "It was Mama who told me about Pemberley and Aunt Darcy. She will know to look for us there. If she comes back, she will know. I promise." Olivia felt a little guilty making such a promise. She thought it unlikely that her mother would ever return. If she did, Olivia thought it likely her mother would be too foxed to consider where her children had gone.

Lucy finally spoke. "But how will we get there?"

Here, Olivia told what she hoped would be the only lie of their coming journey. "Don't worry. I have it all planned out, but first, we must walk to the inn."

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