So I started this on a whim. I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 1
Until the day of Lydia's marriage to George Wickham, she and Kitty were the best of friends. After, Kitty felt Lydia's absence like a shard of glass in her lungs. The rest of the Bennet family seemed well rid of Lydia. Even their own mother, who had once favored her youngest, only spoke of Lydia when pressed, where she made loud, public declarations of her youngest daughter's triumph, sweeping a handsome soldier off his feet. In private, they all knew the only sweeping that had taken place came by means of Mr. Darcy's purse.
As one year became two and approached a third, and Mr. Darcy's coin passed through Wickham's fingers into the gambling hells, Lydia's letters shrank from pages to a mere handful of sentences on thinner and thinner scraps of foolscap.
Kitty feared for her sister and oldest friend.
Mrs. Bennet, when asked, said, "Oh, she is a young mother, Kitty. You cannot expect her to have much care for fashion plates or elaborate retellings of balls and the like. And soon, with Mr. Darcy's help, you too will find a suitable husband. Do not let the red hobgoblin of jealousy put wrinkles on your young skin, my darling."
Hoping for better from her sisters, Kitty went to each in turn.
Jane, being Jane, offered little beyond comfort; Mary, being Mary, rattled platitudes from the Book of Common Prayer; and Lizzy, being Lizzy, insisted — with no little tartness — that Lydia and her daughters were cared for, with a further admonition for Kitty to mind her own reputation and behavior, lest she fail to make a fortunate match.
As though Lizzy, before her marriage, had not been a bookish dreamer with far too sarcastic a tongue.
Not that Kitty begrudged either of her eldest sisters their happiness. Jane frankly glowed through the birth of her two sons, both healthy and sweet-tempered, and with a third on the way, she and Mr. Bingley had established a comfortable settlement at their new Derbyshire estate, mere miles from Pemberley.
Lizzy, in pregnancy and everything else, was more mercurial, but she and her husband adored their daughter Helena even as they worked vigorously at producing a second child.
While Kitty found much to enjoy in her new life and her now fast friendship with Georgiana, Lydia's situation troubled her. Mr. Wickham was a cad. One who had nearly seduced Georgiana herself, as the girl had revealed one night over a flask of stolen sherry.
So, when a letter arrived, dated April 23, 1816, reading "Dearest Kitty, I pray you can persuade our father to allow you to visit us in Newcastle soon. For Eugenia sorely misses her favorite aunt," the last words splotched with what Kitty knew must be tears, she begged her aunt and uncle's aid in making a visit.
And thus Kitty arrived at the narrow, two story home her sister, husband, and two children called home. Close to the growing glass district, the soft June breeze carried the damp-newsprint smell of blowing glass tinged with fish.
Mrs. Gardiner pressed her lips together as she tapped the knocker on the heavy oak door. Lydia, her youngest, Amelia, on her hip, opened the door herself. Though the afternoon weather was warm, she not only wore a gown with long sleeves and gloves in her home, but also a dark fichu clasped at her neck, sweeping over her bodice.
Her eyes widened as she saw her aunt and sister, and after a moment's hesitation, she smiled. "Our maid of all work is ill," she said, beckoning them into a small parlor where her oldest daughter, born six months after the wedding and now almost three years of age, sat on the floor playing with a neatly sewn cloth doll.
Judging by the cluttered room, the maid of all work had been ill for quite some time. Mrs. Gardiner walked to a sturdy, unadorned chair, the upholstery thinning on the arms, and sat.
Lydia pulled open the curtains to the two street facing windows at the front of the room, a luxury in a rapidly growing city like Newcastle and light poured in. It revealed a sparsely appointed room with a sofa and single armchair in well-worn leather. The room smelled of tobacco smoke and potpourri. A basket of sewing lay on the side of the sofa, in it a half-sewn child's gown.
Surely, Mr. Wickham was not doing this poorly in an officer's allotment and Mr. Darcy's frequent donations!
Mrs. Gardiner held out her arms for Amelia and Lydia handed her over with a relieved smile.
Lydia engaged the pair in rapid conversation, zipping around like a hummingbird from task to task as she moved around the room, fiddling with cushions and taking up the tea tray. Lydia's oldest, Eugenia, shy as a fawn, peeked out at the visitors from behind her mother's skirts. With her chestnut ringlets and impish smile, she was the very image of Lydia as a girl.
"I just received the letter yesterday of your visit to Newcastle, and I apologize for being at odds and ends," Lydia giggled, a hollow sound that held none of her usual mirth. She had apologized in this manner at least twice more before running to the kitchen to return with a tea tray. The tea itself was on its third, perhaps fourth steep, and Kitty resorted to heavy use of the jug of cream and sugar to offset the lack of flavor. In addition to the tea, Kitty recognized an assortment of cut breads and cold meats prettily arranged on dishware that once came from Longbourn.
Little Eugenia peeked out from behind her mother's skirts, chestnut ringlets tumbling over her shoulders. Kitty leaned forward and wiggled her fingers playfully. "Peek-a-boo!"
Eugenia jumped, eyes wide, then dissolved into giggles. Kitty's heart lifted at the sound. She stole a glance at Lydia, noting how the corners of her sister's mouth turned up ever so slightly.
Emboldened, Kitty made a silly face, crossing her eyes and poking out her tongue. The child squealed with delight. Soon she was toddling out from her hiding place, all big blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. Kitty swept the child into her arms, nuzzling their noses together. Eugenia rewarded her with a smacking kiss on the cheek.
Over Eugenia curls, Kitty caught Lydia looking wistful even as she busied herself with the tea tray. But when Amelia wriggled free to grab a piece of bread off the table, Lydia's expression shuttered once more.
Amelia shoved the bread end into her mouth, her hip bumping into the table as the contents wobbled, threatening to fall.
"Amelia!" Lydia snapped, her voice sharp.
The girl froze, her eyes round as saucers, bread clenched in her little fist.
Lydia pressed her lips together, regret flashing across her face. She reached out and gently stroked her daughter's hair. "There now, it's alright," she murmured.
Amelia leaned into her mother's touch, the bread all but forgotten. Lydia wrapped an arm around the child, nestling her close and dropping a kiss on her crown. Then Lydia sighed, turning her gaze to Kitty. "We only have formal meals on Sundays, when George is home for dinner."
As they ate bread gone slightly stale and talked about nothing, Kitty watched her sister. Lydia jumped at every odd noise, her gaze flitting from the open windows to the front door whenever someone walked past.
As they sat, Lydia's meager conditions became more and more apparent. Despite Lydia embroidering and sewing color onto every cushion and cloth covering both tables, it was clear that the furniture was well used, and the walls had a yellowish cast of continuous tobacco smoke. And while Kitty doubted Lydia had cooked any of the food herself, there were no scents of a cook on premises. Nor did Kitty see signs of any other servants—not even the aforementioned maid of all work.
It was, despite Lydia's obvious efforts, a bachelor's home, and one the gentleman himself only occupied at his own convenience.
"There is a park nearby," Lydia named a cross section of streets, "the girls quite enjoy," she suggested as a place for them to walk. "Eugenia enjoys walking, and we can bring Amelia in the pram."
They agreed to this, and Lydia took her youngest daughter from the parlor to ready her to go out, her gaze sliding past her aunt and sister's as she fled to perform these tasks.
Kitty, realizing her sister's bosom was quite a bit larger than it had been at Longbourne, realized to her sudden horror that Lydia did not seem to even have the service of a wet nurse. Anger spiked through Kitty. Lizzy insisted her husband had given Mr. Wickham and Kitty ample funding, more than enough to supplement Mr. Wickham's officer's salary. When she had visited last, while Lydia and her husband had not lived as well as the Bennets, their home had been respectable, with a lady's maid, cook and maid of all work in attendance.
Kitty leaned towards her aunt, whispering, "Aunt Gardiner-?"
"Not now, Kitty," Mrs. Gardiner cut off her niece's question.
The sun beat down on them as they made their way to the park, yet Lydia remained dressed like it was a chill autumn day with wrap, long sleeves and gloves that reached her elbows. She tilted her bonnet low, shading her face.
Kitty eyed her sister worriedly. Lydia's face looked hollow and sallow, lacking its usual glow. She chattered brightly, but there was a frantic edge to it.
As they walked, Kitty noticed the pram Lydia pushed wobbled a little on the uneven cobblestones. One wheel looked loose, as if wanting repair. Kitty frowned. Even such a small thing seemed beyond Lydia's means now.
The park itself was quieter. a square of grass with a scattering of saplings mixed between taller shade trees. Kitty, who had grown up in the country and now lived on the massive gardened Pemberly estate, found the crush of buildings and people a little overwhelming. Newcastle was not as congested as London, but the streets had a frenetic energy to them. A tension between what had been and what the city struggled to become.
They rolled the pram, shaking onto the grass beneath one of the trees. The weather was fine, and a fair number of families were out enjoying the day. Mrs. Gardiner pointed to found an open space beneath a large oak.
Lydia spread out a frayed blanket as Mrs. Gardiner led the two girls off to see the ducks.
Alone with Lydia, Kitty ventured, "Dearest, is aught amiss? Please unburden yourself."
Lydia's laughter rang out, too shrill and loud. "Amiss? What could be amiss?" But her smile faded as she met Kitty's knowing gaze.
Lydia lowered her voice. "It's just... George is..." She broke off, eyes darting around anxiously.
Gently, Kitty pressed her hand. "No one is near. Speak freely."
Lydia's lower lip trembled, and she twisted her gloves in her hands before beginning haltingly. "After I... lost the first babe, I thought nothing could be worse."
Haltingly, Lydia shared her struggles–Wickham's rages when she did not conceive again straight away. The stillbirth had nearly taken her life and left her weak. Wickham had no patience for it. He drank and caroused and lashed out in his disappointment at not having a son.
Lydia's face crumpled as she recalled that fateful day. "Amelia was so frightened by her father's drunken shouting and things crashing. She started screaming and kicking, trying to drown it out.
"I had to grab her up and shield her body with mine." Lydia's breath hitched. "I begged George to stop, but he just kept raging, throwing anything he could reach."
Lydia broke down, tears spilling over. Kitty embraced her, heart cracking. Her poor sister, so full of spirit once, now lived at the mercy of a brute. Those sweet little girls with only their mother's frail form to protect them.
Lydia's riotous curls now limp and lackluster as wept into Kitty's shoulder. Kitty smoothed her sister's hair, murmuring comfort. But inside, fury boiled up.
That blackguard Wickham, with his rakish charm that had so captivated silly young Lydia, had proven himself a scoundrel of the worst sort. He had entrapped Lydia in a miserable farce of a marriage and treated her abominably.
And those sweet girls, Lydia's treasures, were utterly under his power. Amelia's eyes, so like their father's, had held wary fear even as she played.
Lydia scrubbed the tears from her eyes, her breath still hitching. "I have no funds, no resources. The housekeeping goes straight into George's pockets. He gives me but a pittance for market day. My only independence is from sewing. I labor over every gown, till my fingers bleed."
She gave a helpless shrug. "What else can I do? I must make the best of it, for my daughters' sake."
Kitty's heart cracked further. Lydia had once been so spirited, daring anything for fun. Now she lived at the mercy of a brute, with no recourse.
Gently tilting Lydia's chin up, Kitty met her eyes. "You are not alone, dearest. We shall find a way through this." Lydia managed a trembling smile in return.
Mrs. Gardiner returned then, settling onto the blanket as Eugenia ran off to play nearby. Though Lydia dried her eyes and chatted lightly again, Kitty's thoughts roiled.
There must be some solution, some way to shelter Lydia from Wickham's viciousness.
There must.
Thank You For Reading! I was actually saying to myself, what's a Pride and Prejudice story I've never seen before, and at the time I thought that, Goodbye Earl came up on my playlist. And thus this was born. The difference is, Lydia and Kitty are not actually very good at murder. So it will have some comedic elements and ultimately a happy ending for all who deserve it.