Chapter X.

Pearlcoombe, August 12th 1820.

So far, the lack of conversation was enough to cause rising concern and palpable tension. The atmosphere at the Bingley dinner table was charged to say the least. It made the Darcys grateful that their father had declined to join them for the evening was doubtless going to be a long one.

Mr Bennet had left as planned early the next morning, having little idea what was to await him at Longbourn and probably no desire to find out. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had seen him off, for the children were still in bed after a late night of being with their grandfather. After they had seen his horse disappear from sight, they had returned to the house to take the opportunity of a rare morning to themselves. The rest of the day had then been spent as usual, time with the children and time with the estate business, before retiring to their apartments to dress for the evening at Pearlcoombe.

When they had arrived Lydia was somewhat absent at first. She did not emerge in fact until the moment dinner was announced. Elizabeth had greeted with the best affection she could muster, trying to avoid expressing surprise at her altered appearance. Lydia looked a shadow of her former self. Gone was the wildness, gone was the silliness, in fact had it not been for the unchanged eyes and hair, Elizabeth would never have recognised her.

Even her face had remarkably aged more than eight years could warrant. There were dark circles around eyes which makeup could never cover and, upon her bare arms, -when Elizabeth caught glimpses of them, for they were mostly covered all night by a thick black shawl- had signs of fading red marks, the identity of which could not be mistaken.

They were scars.

During dinner the change became even more marked. Unless something was specifically directed to her, Lydia never entered into any conversation. Her lack of appetite served only to increase her sister's concern and shock. The movement of eating was done automatically, without thought to its taste or its nourishment, and the drink consumed was likewise without consideration to taste or compliment, only water. The desert was not even touched.

When the gentlemen retired to Charles' Billiard room Elizabeth had, rather optimistically, expected some improvement to her sister's appearance, even if it was only a sigh of relief. However, there was nothing. Lydia did not even seem to notice the change of scenery, from dining chamber to the music room, let alone Darcy and Bingley's departure. It seemed that Lydia at times did not even know where she was. Her body was there, but her soul was not.

Elizabeth was not the only one to notice this. It was the first thing that Darcy remarked upon when he and Bingley entered the latter's Billiard room.

"She has been like this since she told us about Wickham's death," Charles replied to his friend and brother in law's inquiry."And even that took some difficulty to obtain."

Darcy laid out his first shot. "And there has been nothing to alter her from it? Even briefly?"

"Nothing. Jane's really at the end of her tether. She was hoping Lizzy had an idea, but she seems just as at lost."

"She is," Darcy acknowledged, remembering the look of astonishment that his wife had sent him during dinner. "Were those red marks on her arms what I thought they were?"

"If you mean scars, I believe so," Bingley confirmed. "Even though we have yet to get her to admit to them being thus." Charles suddenly looked at Darcy in shock. "Wickham was capable of that?"

"Wickham was capable of anything if his mind and the drink took him to it," Darcy replied bitterly, memories of Cambridge rising into his visual mind. He laid down his cue and took another shot. "I cannot help but wonder if marrying the two of them was really the best solution."

"Darce, there was no way you could have foreseen this," Bingley cried. He had learnt of the things that Darcy had done to bring about the marriage when Darcy had returned with him to Netherfield. "You did the only thing you could have done at the time, faced with that situation. It would have been worse for Lydia had you not made them marry."

"Would it?" Darcy asked vehemently. "Would it have really been worse than what's happened in their marriage? All right she might have lost her reputation, but she would not have had the scars she has now."

"Darce, stop blaming yourself. There was no way you could have known that this was going to occur. Now, let's return to the ladies before you drown into more of a depression than you have now."

While Bingley was trying to bring his brother in law out of the self blame mode he had gotten himself into, Elizabeth and Jane were trying to keep alive a conversation that was flagging considerably. The minutes past had done nothing to alter Lydia's appearance. Her soul was still closed off to the party.

Elizabeth had very nearly had enough. When it came to her sisters her patience was never tried but now with Lydia it was waning considerably. She wanted to shake the girl into her senses, or at least to get her talking. She knew Lydia was in grief, she understood the wherefor and the why, she just wanted her to confide in her sisters. After all, why bother to come here otherwise? If she had not wished for help, she would never have taken the coach to Pearlcoombe. True, she had little where else to go, save Longbourn, but even if money had not been an object, even Lydia would know that she'd find no help there.

Elizabeth sighed, then came to a decision. It was a difficult one, in fact it might even make Lydia retreat further, but it had to be attempted. She got up, stepped forward and knelt in front of her sister. Looking up at her face, she began, "Lydia, please, talk to us. We are here to help you. It's tearing me and Jane apart, seeing you like this. Please." She paused and waited for Lydia to respond. Nothing. "Lydia, please. Even just a glance will do. It might help if you confided in us. We are your sisters, flesh and blood. We are waiting to help you. Please let us."

Jane, who had been watching Elizabeth and Lydia intently ever since the former had tried this new tactic, would swear later that she had seen a flicker of something in Lydia's eyes. What it was, she could only speculate. Recognition possibly, even perhaps acknowledgement of all that Elizabeth had said. However, no vocal communication came. At least for a whole five minutes. Then...

Lydia looked at Jane and then back at Elizabeth. Her lips began to open, as if she was trying to speak, but somehow had forgotten how to formulate the words. She slowly opened her mouth, looking at Elizabeth with eyes that screamed out for assistance.

A knock sounded upon the music room door. The spell was broken. Lydia retreated. Jane stood and called for the knocker to come in. It was one of the nursery maids.

"Please, Ma'am, Miss Louise is crying for her mother." The maid, poor soul, had the sense to realise that whatever she had interrupted had been vital. She looked most apologetic as she uttered her speech.

As for Lydia there was a slight improvement. She gestured a silent thank you to the maid, before getting up to follow her out of the room and attend to her child.

Elizabeth turned to her sister when they had gone. "Jane, if someone else had not already done the job for us, I would go and kill Wickham myself. This is not natural."

"People are all affected differently by grief, Lizzy," Jane began, trying as usual to an advocate for all parties.

"I've seen people affected by grief and I know that this is more than that. Much more. That wall, Jane, has affected Lydia longer than the death of Wickham. It's her mask, and how long it's existed is far too difficult for me to judge. But I am certain of one thing. Unless we break it soon, she will be lost to us forever."