Lydia by Natasha Farrant Page B

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    And then we ran about the woods gathering greenery for Jane and Lizzy to make into wreaths, and raided the kitchen for mince pies behind Hill’s back. Kitty and I have the two little Gardiner girls sleeping in our room on beds brought down from the attic, and the boys are in Father’s dressing room. Hepretends to mind, but secretly he likes to imagine they are the sons he never had (and who, life being so unfair, would have inherited Longbourn). “Good to have the house not overrun by females,” he says, as he does every year, as William and Henry chase each other up and down stairs, and “That’s the spirit!” as they thump each other with cricket bats.
    Everything is topsy-turvy at Christmas – the house so full of greenery it looks like a forest, the tables and sideboards heaving with pies and puddings, sides of beef and gleaming hams, capons and carp and jellies and aspic, fires blazing in every room, so bright it is as if there were no night, mealtimes almost forgotten as visitors come and go. Some stuff their mouths and drink wine till they are red in the face and some fall asleep on the sofa. Others help to push back furniture so that we can dance to Mary or Lizzy or Aunt Gardiner at the piano, and Captain Carter on his violin.
    Colonel Forster has married recently. His wife, Harriet, is about a century younger than him and very pretty. Kitty thinks her very fashionable, but her clothes are perfectly hideous. Tonight she was wearing yellow-spotted lilac with a double row of primrose ruffles at her skirt and neckline, and her hair pinned in so many curls she could not move her head. Wick-ham says she is trying to look older than she is, because her husband is so ancient – at least twenty years older than her.
    â€œDo purple and yellow make a person look older?” I asked.
    Wickham said no, they made a person look like a particularly dangerous mushroom, and made me snort with laughter.
    There has been no riding since the Gardiners arrived, but I danced a vastly jolly reel with Wickham this evening, all whooping and clapping. He dances better than anybody.
    â€œLook at the stars,” he said when he left. “It will be a fine day tomorrow, Lydia. Shall I come back in the afternoon, and ask your mamma’s permission to take you for a proper ride at last?”
    â€œWhat, in the countryside? Do you mean outside the paddock?”
    Wickham said that was exactly what he meant.
    â€œI should like that more than anything!” I told him.
    â€œThen consider it done. It will be my Christmas present to you.”
    He bowed, very formally, which made me laugh again, then moved away to take his leave of the others. He lingered over his goodbyes to Lizzy, but I found I did not mind.
    Tomorrow when we ride, I shall wear my new fur-lined gloves. I wish I could have a proper riding habit – I would make it red, with gold buttons, nicely fitted, with a grey necktie and a matching smart grey top hat. As it is, I will have to make do with my blue wool. Even so, I can see us now, galloping across the fields, jumping over ditches, the warm breath of the horses, the rising mist. How fine everyone will think us!
    Yes, it has been the best Christmas ever.

Monday, 30th December
    E verybody has gone. The Gardiners returned to London yesterday, taking Jane with them. In the past I would have complained at the unfairness of it. Lizzy and Jane go to town all the time, because they are Aunt Gardiner’s favourites, but Kitty, Mary and I have never been invited. For a moment, as they drove away, I felt desolate. I tried to tell myself that I couldn’t care less about London now, when there is so much fun to be had in Hertfordshire, but as William and Henry and Philadelphia and Sophy climbed back into the carriage, you could almost see all the merriness and bustle and excitement and cheer being sucked in after them.
    â€œBlessed peace!” Father said, but it didn’t