Bettermans House – the maid's discovery (Chapter 5)
Lydia rolled over in the tousled bedclothes. Sunlight played through the lace curtains in the window and she dug her face deeper in the pillow in a futile attempt to hide from it. A scream suddenly pierced the air startling Lydia out of the pillow. "Wickham?!" she gasped and she peered wildly about the room. Another scream rose up the stairs followed by sobs for help.
Lydia pulled her bedclothes close to her chest and huddled up against the headboard listening…
A door nearby slammed with another one slamming right after. Footsteps thudded down the stairs.
One more scream pierced the air followed by heavy silence.
Lydia leaned forward and strained her ears to try and hear what was happening below. She could now hear voices murmuring and people flurrying about. The front door opened and closed.
Hesitatingly she slid her legs over the side of the bed and clutching the top blanket to her chest she tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack and peered through the gap. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and opened the door a little wider. Still unable to see or hear anything of worth - she stepped out into the corridor and carefully made her way to the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed that Mrs. Jansen's door appeared to be ajar.
"La – she has beat me downstairs to see what is happening!" Determined not to miss anything that that flirt might see first, she hefted her sheet up off the floor and her toes fled down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs she paused just long enough to determine where all the activity was happening. She quickly noticed that Mrs. Young's parlour door was open when normally at this time of day it would be shut tight against nosy boarders glancing within and admiring her fine belongings. The kitchen maid was standing before the opening and was twisting her rag tightly in her hands and then pressing it against her lips, only to then twist the rag some more. Lydia thought she had never seen anyone so pale in her life.
"Lord girl! " she giggled – "You look like you have seen a ghost!"
The maid drew in her breath and covered her eyes with the tightly twisted rag.
"Stay away: – she wavered. "Stay away. Mrs. Young has stepped out ta call one of them runners. Yer best to stay away!" she cried once more and waved the rag at Lydia as if it were a shield.
Lydia's eyes widened but determined to see what was amiss she pushed past the little maid and stopped short at the sight before her.
Crumpled on the beautiful plush emerald green rug was Mrs. Jansen. She lay face down in a dark pool of thick crimson blood. Lydia stared at the intricate pattern it made against the forest green of the rug and helplessly grabbed at the empty space before her in an attempt to save herself from falling. As she clutched the air, she watched the body fade away and the room grew black as dark circled in on itself like water down a drain. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a young voice lifting in a pitched scream.
Hands were pulling at Lydia and she struggled to fight them off. Her head ached and her mouth felt dry as bread crumbs. She felt a cold dampness on her forehead followed by a sharp acrid smell that burned her nostrils. Her eyes fluttered open and Mrs. Young was peering closely at her.
Lydia pulled back and found she couldn't as she was still lying on the floor, but now she was on the rough Scotch carpet of the guests' parlour. The young maid was still there, twisting her rag and crying; "Honest Mum, I told her not to go in, honest I did."
Lydia swiveled her head to the side and noticed a large pair of dusty black boots near her head and followed them up the black trousers to the jacketed constable that was bending over by her.
"There yer are Miss." He murmured "Let's see if we can, ummm, get yer to a chair". He glanced at Mrs. Young who hastily pulled the bed sheet entangled around Lydia up over her night dress so as to cover her more modestly.
Lydia groaned and struggled to raise herself up on her forearm. She turned to the strong constable and appealed to him.
"Please, Constable, would you mind giving us a hand to get this lady back to her room."
His face reddened as he stared at the lightly dressed Miss Bennet. He took a deep breath and almost closed his eyes as he leaned forward and scooped Lydia up. He groaned under her dead weight and Mrs. Young hastily pushed her hand against his shoulder to steady him.
Suddenly aware of the drama of the moment, Lydia wrapped her arms around the constable's neck and hid her face in his shoulder. The shifting of her weight eased the lifting of her and the constable, with a deep breath rose and wheezed to Mrs. Young "Where would the young lady's rooms be then?"
Mrs. Young stood up and whisked her skirts around her feet and commanded him to follow her up the stairs.
With Lydia's door still open it was not too much more of a challenge to get her into her room and back upon her bed. The constable gazed down at the floor and told Mrs. Young he would meet her back down in the front parlour and made a hasty retreat to the door and closed it quickly behind him. Outside he straightened his cap and shirt, shrugged his jacket back in place and then quickly made his way back down the stairs. He would need to make a report to the local magistrate and quick like.
Mrs. Young stared at the young Lydia and shook her head.
"Lydia," she said softly. "You should have listened to Betty. Promise me now that you will stay here and rest. I'll leave Betty here with you until Mr. Wickham returns. I'll send up some more wet cloths and some arnica to try to ease that lump where you hit your head falling."
Lydia watched Mrs. Young close the door and then she turned her bruised and aching head away from the young maid that was standing there all a tremble. A tear fell from her eye and spread itself across the linen of her pillow case. She squeezed her eyes closed and winced at the effort. Another tear escaped and she whispered: "Oh La, I wish Lizzy were here."
The young maid stood by helplessly watching Lydia's shoulders shake and wished she could go to her attic room and have a good cry too. That poor, handsome Mrs. Jansen. Terrified of making a noise, Betty crammed her well worn rag against her mouth and closed her eyes to try to shut out the ugly image of that handsome woman lying still on Mrs. Young's plush rug.