Lydia by Natasha Farrant Page A

let out the rein. I squeezed Bessie’s sides, as he had taught me. She walked forward. Wickham flicked his whip. She broke into a trot, throwing me about so my bones all rattled. Another flick and . . .
    â€œI can’t!” I squealed.
    â€œWhoa . . .” Bessie slowed down. “What is the matter, Lydia? Don’t tell me you are afraid! I thought you completely fearless!”
    â€œIt is so high up!”
    â€œThen don’t look down.”
    â€œI cannot help it!”
    â€œVery well,” he said, and took the reins from my hands.
    â€œWhat are you doing? I don’t want to stop!”
    â€œYou are not going to stop.” He had tied a knot in the reins, and hung them to rest on Bessie’s neck, well clear of her legs. “Now, Lydia,” he said. “Do you trust me?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œI don’t know!”
    â€œI suppose that will have to do.” He smiled. “Now I want you to hold on to the pommel – that is the front of the saddle –and remember everything I have taught you about your posture. Can you do that?”
    â€œYes,” I said suspiciously.
    â€œGood.” He let the rein out again. “Oh, and I want you to close your eyes.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œTrust me! I promise I won’t let anything happen to you!”
    And so I did as he said. I sat on Bessie, ramrod straight, chin up, heels down, my hands upon the pommel, and my eyes tightly closed as she walked, then trotted, then . . .
    â€œKeep your eyes shut!” Wickham yelled.
    I was flying . . . flying! With Bessie moving smoothly beneath me, and the wind rushing past, and the cold completely forgotten as Wickham whooped.
    â€œWhoa!” he called again. Bessie slowed, and I opened my eyes.
    â€œI did it!” I shouted.
    â€œYou’ll make a horsewoman yet, Lydia Bennet!” Wickham grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t be afraid for long.”
    Every bone in my body aches, the farmworkers think I am hilarious, my sisters think I am mad, and Mamma is convinced that I will break my neck, but I have done it! I have learned to ride fast!
    â€œWhen can I jump and gallop?” I asked Wickham as together we removed the side-saddle from Bessie.
    â€œSoon.”
    â€œAnd shoot?”
    â€œAfter the jumping and galloping.”
    He walked back to the house with me to take his leave of the others. Lizzy raised her eyebrows as we came in. “Goodness,Lydia, look at you! Spattered in mud from head to foot!”
    But she was smiling as she said it, and as Wickham took a seat beside her and I dropped on to the sofa, she poured out wine and offered a plate of biscuits, and I thought how perfect it would be if life could always be like this.
    â€œIt was a good lesson today,” Wickham told her. “Wasn’t it, Lydia?”
    â€œMonstrous good,” I agreed.
    In more ways than one, I realised, as I stood beside Lizzy, waving goodbye as he rode away. For today I finally learned what it means to be great friends.
    It means trusting someone so much you are prepared to do something terrifying with your eyes shut, knowing they won’t ever let anything bad happen to you, and it is the best feeling in the world.

Sunday, 29th December
    I t has been the best Christmas in the entire history of Christmases, better even than the one when I was little and we were given the doll’s house, or the one when the spaniel’s puppies were born.
    The house has been full to bursting for days. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner came from London as usual with all four of their children, and from the minute they tumbled out of the carriage the place has been all noise and fun.
    â€œWe must gather holly!” William cried, as he always does.
    â€œIvy!” Philadelphia shouted.
    â€œAnd rosemary and bay!” Sophy ordered.
    â€œI want to paddle in the stream!” Henry yelled, but his mother said