Excerpt
Chapter XXIIIMay 4, 1940, The Beach House at Deauville
Shortly after Lydia had returned to Darcy House in 1815 after being informed of Wickham's demise at Waterloo by General Fitzwilliam, she asked Mary if she could borrow some mourning clothes from her. She went to Mary's chamber and tried to open the Wardrobe. And then 1,000 bees buzzed...
She groaned as she moved: not as Mr. Hill did when his rheumatism was aggravated. Her grunt was much more refined, she mused. Hunched over like an old crone, Lydia grabbed the divan's back, using it to haul herself upright.
As Lydia's eyes rose above the top edge of the couch, she caught sight of a largish desk dominating the room's center. There sat a woman: almost Sphinx-like in her immobility. Yet, she was no statue. Her eyes sparkled with interest — excitement — when she apprehended the young trespasser violating her sanctum sanctorum. As the two women regarded each other, the elder reached over to a hammered brass ashtray and lifted a smoldering white tube — different in appearance but smelling like Wickham's cigars — to her lips. She inhaled deeply, releasing a great plume which filled the room's still air with a bluish haze.
Those orbs were unmistakable to Lydia, who had not seen them for over three years. How could Mrs. Wickham forget the china-blue chips set in their unique cast?
She knew this woman; although years had deepened the wrinkles scoring her features and left her trim frame more bent than when Mrs. Wickham had last been in her presence. Even if she had not been the Queen of the Madras House Twelfth Night Ball, if she had remained isolated in the North, Lydia would have recognised her beloved Kitty.
This was a puzzle.
While a pleasure to be once again with her sister, t'was, none-the-less unexpected. Of course, something magical must have happened to instantly relocate the Lydia from Grosvenor Square to the where of this place. Humans have always explained the unexplainable... and at this moment, the Wardrobe and its functions were thoroughly unexplained to her... by ascribing such to the fey forces of magic. That took the sting out of any confusion that the young matron might have experienced.
As Mrs. Wickham's mind began to process her new reality, her focus was continually drawn back to the distinctive aristocrat who sat silently behind the polished expanse, the silver-trimmed Malacca walking stick resting innocently against, rather than across, the desktop but still within easy reach of the Countess' hands.
True, the good lady still appeared much herself, yet her physical edges were sharper, more knife-like. Shoulder points jutted into her dressing gown's silken sheen. The jaw, its set so familiar to the youngest Bennet, was a bit more angular than before. Her close-cropped hair, formerly a mix of blonde and silver, was now uniformly argent, and seemingly thinner on her crown.
Even so, Lydia Wickham was wise enough not to equate her sister's more elderly appearance with some sort of decrepitude.
She mused to herself, aging is not an illness. Mary and I watched Papa's final struggle with his heart — and he was over ten years younger than Kitty based upon what I learned from her back in the Year Twelve. Even then, she would not tell me how she was at one moment a maiden of seven-and-ten in Meryton and then the next a dowager living in Town, well over sixty.
Her sister may have been older, but she still seemed blessed with her health.
Squaring her shoulders, Lydia smoothed her skirts and dropped into a schoolroom-perfect curtsey. Rising, she caught Kitty's infectious grin brightening its way across the library.
"My lady," she offered, "May I approach?"
Kitty let loose a short laugh, something caught between a chuckle and a snort.
She archly replied, "If you did not, I would have to come over there and box your ears for your impertinence in delaying a hug between sisters, beloved of each other and long separated."
Lydia fairly flew to Kitty's side and gathered the elderly woman into her arms.
Once greetings had been exchanged, tears had been shed, and embraces morphed into fond looks with small kisses planted in either grey or blonde hair, Lydia dragged a chair behind the desk to sit next to where Kitty swiveled.
Lydia had so many questions. The ultimate query, unasked though, was whether Kitty would answer all, some, or none of them.
Kitty began the conference with her own question, "Lydie: before we begin, please tell me your age at this particular moment."
Once that interrogatory had been satisfied, Kitty made a strange declaration, "I thought as much. Once again, we fail through ignorance."
"No, I am not suggesting any great deficiency on your part, dearest, but rather our ongoing short-sightedness about the question of majority in the time of the Wardrobe."
At Lydia's confused expression, Kitty tipped her head and added, "What I meant to say is that our family has always been quite adept at creating circumstances which lead to a range of misunderstandings, from the modest to the incredible."
"Unlike when Mr. Darcy unwittingly insulted Lizzy at the Assembly, what has victimised you — and me many decades ago — is a sin of omission. Darcy could apologise to our sister and rectify his sin of commission."
"This, Lydia, is a deeper problem. Our elders determined for whatever reason to exclude you from the knowledge of a great secret... a family mystery."
"Wait, sister, for I misspoke and may have left you with the idea that you were a lesser while every one of us was judged to be your better. Precise speech when dealing with matters concerning the Wardrobe is essential. I, however, am weary for I have been waiting up for you throughout the night!" Kitty exclaimed.
Kitty was awaiting my arrival? How did she know?
Seemingly aware that she let slip a compelling clue, the Countess coughed into her closed fist and continued, "You were not excluded from anything, Lydie, except by the fact that you were too young, still are too junior, for the traditional Talk.
"From what I know of your history, you have just suffered a grievous loss, one which rivals Papa's demise. You, if this letter is correct..."
Her knuckled hand tapped an antique parchment, unfolded and spread upon the desktop.
"... had returned to Darcy House from Meryton, and you were accompanied by Mary, Lizzy, and the Old General..."
Old General? There was but one with me that day... General Sir Richard Fitzwilliam... and, while he is no spring chicken, he is no more than five-and-thirty!
"... and had begged leave to paw through Mary's full-mourning clothes for something suitable for your state as the freshly-widowed sister to Mr. Darcy!"
"One of our sisters wrote later,,, perhaps t'was Mary or Jane... that, even as a widow, you had not truly changed in your essentials."
"Hackles down, dear one, for there was no criticism intended or made. Seriously, Lydia, we all build upon the foundations laid down when we were children."
"Much as I was always afraid of my own shadow... that is how I dealt with trauma... you never saw any shadows. You were always unremittingly joyful, frequently to your own detriment."
"Thus, Lydia Wickham, widow, was still, deep down, Lydia Bennet, youngest maiden daughter of the House, always mounting raids behind closed cabinet doors to secure your heart's desires."
"Yet, while we complained, as older sisters have always done when faced with the incursions of younger ones, we knew that you were also a true heart, loyal beyond belief."
"Do you recall when Mary insulted Maria?"[i]
"However, I have digressed horribly. Back to your former where/when... I will explain that term in a moment."
"You, in your enthusiastic innocence, engaged the Universe's forces, powers which are indescribable and barely comprehensible to the human mind."
"However, before we proceed, I would like to try an experiment."
"Please go back and stand in front of Papa's Wardrobe. Put on the heavy gloves you will find hanging inside. Then close the doors."
Lydia did as she was bid.
Kitty swept the letter from the desktop into an open drawer, closed and locked it. Then she walked over to stand by her side.
In a low voice, she continued, "Now remove the gloves and place your hands flat on the door fronts."
Shaking her head, Lydia again followed her sister's instructions.
As her hands approached the marquetry front, the outlying electrons of her body's largest organ, her skin, began to interact, to collide, with the remote outer shells of elements slightly more somnolent, trapped within the delicate wooden strips. These spheres vibrated in tune with the subsonic chords echoing throughout the Universe. Lydia felt a charge leaping from her limb to cabinet... or was it the other way around?
That sensation lasted for only the slightest fraction of a second before the zephyr became gust.
The moment Lydia's bare hands touched the patterned surface, her stomach flipped, and her head spun.
But nothing else happened.
Kitty grunted and shook her head.
Sotto voce, she muttered, "Damn thing. You have plans for her, do you not?"
[i] Please see The Exile: The Countess Visits Longbourn, Ch. XXXIII for examples of how Lydia reminded Mary of her transgression against young Maria Lucas.
Book Blurb
Lydia Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock, letter to her sister Elizabeth Bennet Darcy, March 14, 1831.
Does it matter how a man fills out his regimentals? Miss Austen never considered that query. Yet, this question marks the beginning of an education... and the longest life...in the Bennet Wardrobe saga.
Lydia Bennet, Longbourn's most wayward daughter, embarks on her quest in The Pilgrim: Lydia Bennet and a Soldier's Portion. This biography reveals how the Wardrobe helps young Mrs. Wickham learn that honour and bravery grow not from the colour of the uniform — or the gender of its wearer — but rather from the contents of the heart.
In the process, she realises that she must be broken and repaired, as if by a kintsugi master potter, to become the most useful player in the Bennet Wardrobe's great drama.
Author Bio
Don Jacobson has written professionally for forty years. His output has ranged from news and features to advertising, television and radio. His work has been nominated for Emmys and other awards. He has previously published five books, all non-fiction. In 2016, he began publishing The Bennet Wardrobe series —
Other Austenesque Variations include the paired books Of Fortune's Reversal (2016) and The Maid and The Footman (2016). Lessers and Betters offers readers the paired novellas in one volume to allow a better appreciation of the "Upstairs-Downstairs" mentality that drives the stories.
Jacobson holds an advanced degree in History with a specialty in American Foreign Relations. As a college instructor, Don teaches United States History, World History, the History of Western Civilisation and Research Writing.
He is a member of JASNA. Likewise, Don is a member of the Austen Authors collective.
He lives in the Las Vegas, Nevada area with his wife and co-author, Pam, a woman Ms Austen would have been hard-pressed to categorise, and their rather assertive four-and-twenty pound cat, Bear. Besides thoroughly immersing himself in the JAFF world, Don also enjoys cooking; dining out, fine wine and well-aged scotch whiskey.
His other passion is cycling. Most days from April through October will find him "putting in the miles" around the Seattle area (yes there are hills). He has ridden several "centuries" (100 mile days). Don is especially proud that he successfully completed the AIDS Ride — Midwest (500 miles from Minneapolis to Chicago) and the Make-A-Wish Miracle Ride (300 miles from Traverse City, MI to Brooklyn, MI)..
Giveaway
How do you find Lydia's reunion with Kitty? Care to share your thoughts? You are welcome to leave a comment but please take note that comment moderation is turned on. Then fill up the Rafflecopter form in order to win one of four e-books of The Pilgrim: Lydia Bennet and a Soldier's Portion.My gratitude to Janet Taylor for inviting me to participate in this virutal book tour. Thank you for sharing this poignant excerpt between the two Bennet sisters, Don. May you continue to pen more stories in the Bennet Wardrobe universe.
I am so excited to join you today. Please comment to your heart's desire. This excerpt gives a lot of insight into the middle of "The Pilgrim."
ReplyDeleteBeen following this book tour. The consolation for GW is I think he died a reformed man. I also need to read/refer the other parts to know about some parts of this segment. Looking forward to what happens next to LW.
ReplyDeleteHis reformation is embodied in the Duke's epitaph for Wickham found first in "The Keeper" where he said, 'He saved us all.' The Ballad of "Wickham of the Woods" is so famous that it crossed over into the non-Wardrobe "Lessers and Betters" stories.
DeleteCatherine should know better than to be smoking
ReplyDeleteAs we saw in "The Exile: The Countess Visits Longbourn" when Lady Kate translated back from 1932, she was clearly immersed in the times of her life (1886-1932) to that point. Smoking was a three century-old habit (the Native Americans did get their revenge) in Britain. I was impressed in the Randolph Churchill/Martin Gilbert biography of Winston Churchill by the number of the great man's contemporaries who died of heart disease and lung cancer. Smoking was an integral part of life. I used it to explain Lady Kate's character development, too, in both "Countess Visits" and "Pilgrim."
DeleteEnjoyed the excerpt and the interaction between the sisters.
ReplyDeleteThere are moments in this biography that roles reverse. Recall the Prologue of "The Exile: Kitty Bennet and the Belle Epoque" and how it is redolent of this scene...one advising the other. We also have to remember time skips.
DeleteThanks, Don, and thanks to Sylvia for hosting.
ReplyDelete