Free Lydia by Natasha Farrant

wincing at Mamma at Netherfield, curling his lip when I asked about the ball. Wickham is embarrassed to be seen with us – he thinks we are not good enough.
    It’s early, but I am already awake, and I am in a rage. I hate Miss King and her stupid ten thousand pounds! Why could I not have ten thousand pounds? I’m sure I deserve them infinitely more than she does. If I had ten thousand pounds I would go straight out and buy a house with no entailment for stupid male cousins, with my own horses to ride and a fine carriage so I never had to walk through muddy lanes to Meryton again, and everyone would think I was marvellous because I would let my sisters live there, too, while I went about the world having adventures that people would write about in thepapers. What will Miss King do, but marry Wickham and gawp at him and buy more and more hats?
    â€œI think that you and I could be great friends,” he said.
    Fool, fool , FOOL ! We were never friends.
    I am going to burn this diary. It is too mortifying. What if years from now somebody reads it, when I am old or dead or languishing in the poorhouse? How they will jeer at me! Or worse . . . what if they read it NOW? My sisters! While I am still alive! Here , living under the same roof, quite close enough to hear their sides split as they roar with laughter because I was stupid enough to believe that Wickham liked me.
    I did not know it was possible to feel so disappointed in a person.
    But if Wickham thinks I am going to lie mooning about just because he is trotting around town carrying a freckled heiress’s hatboxes, then he doesn’t know Lydia Bennet.

Thursday, 30th April
    W ell, I did not burn the diary – I just shoved it out of sight beneath my mattress and forgot all about it. Hill found it this morning when she decided to turn all the mattresses for airing, and I suppose I may as well write as not.
    Life carries on much as it did before Wickham abandoned us for Miss King. Thank goodness the other officers are not so fickle. We walk into town, we visit Savill’s or the library (which has become quite the meeting place since they have taken to serving tea there). Meryton is very elegant these days, and I am glad for all my re-trimmed bonnets. I have embarked on a new exercise for spring, the Revival of Ancient Cloaks. I have found an old one of Mamma’s, parrot green. She was going to give it to the poor, but I rescued it from the basket. I have cut it down to a short and swishy cape, added an ivory satin collar, and am trimming it all round with ribbon of the same colour. It will be quite the smartest thing you ever saw when it is finished, and I cannot wait to show it off. At the library, we drink tea and chat (Mary says flirt) with whomever is about.There is always someone, and it is all tremendously gay. I have bought a coral bracelet, which will look very well with the green cape. I wanted the necklace, but did not have enough. Then when the library closes, we step across the street to Aunt Philips’s, or we call on Mrs. Forster. I am great friends with her now. It makes Kitty cross, because she says she was Harriet’s friend first, but she is always ready for a party or a dance or a game of cards. And then there is dinner, and cards, or we push the furniture back for dancing, and we eat and drink some more. We return late in Uncle’s carriage, or sometimes we even stop at his house for the night, and don’t come home at all. It is all very merry and jolly, and all the more so since Lizzy left. She went into Kent last month to visit Charlotte-the-Husband-Stealer-Collins and the Pig-Faced Clergyman. I am glad she is gone – she only nagged when she was here. “Must you go out again , Lydia?” – “Can you not talk of anything other than uniforms?” – “Mamma, you must tell Lydia to be sensible!” I love Lizzy, I really do, but ever since Wickham deserted us, she is become