Belinda Roberts: Mr. Darcy Goes Overboard: A Tale of Tide & Prejudice

“Eliza, are not the lifeguards now confined for their training at South Sands? How trying that must be for your family!”

Lifeguards instantly brought the name of Wickham to the minds of several in the room. The vicious dig intended for Lizzy also sent a knife into the heart of Darcy, and worse, Georgiana, who still too shy to join them, remained in the Tunstall Gallery but could hear every word. Still recovering from her near elopement, she fell in a faint into the recess. After trifle, Lizzy and the Gardiners left, and Cazza, Hattie, and Lulu had an enjoyable time knocking back vodka and tonic whilst tearing Lizzy’s character and looks apart.

“Totally sad, a complete waster,” was Hattie’s view.

“Did you see her earrings? Costume jewellery,” chortled Lulu. “So cheap!”

Cazza tried to draw Darcy in. “Did you admire her earrings, Darcy? Do you think they set off her face to best advantage? I do recall you thought her rather pretty at one time.”

“I did, once, think her pretty. Now I consider her one of the handsomest women in my acquaintance,” retorted Darcy, finishing the tail end of a glass of single malt whisky and retiring uneasily to bed.

The following morning, Lizzy had a text from Jane.

Hey, Lizzy, Lydia run off with Wickham. Gone 2 Newquay! Parentals crazy! Jane :(

A second text followed almost immediately:

Lizzy, Lydia not just 2 Newquay. It’s worse—much worse—mega worse. Yes she has gone 2 Newquay, but no money, so Wickham has got Lydia job in a club. Not just bar work. Think poles (not country). Parentals freaking out in Salcombe! Come back urgently! Jane :-(

At that moment, Darcy appeared at the door. Lizzy in her distress revealed the ghastly news.

“Newquay,” he muttered.

Lizzy, through her tears, went on to explain about Lydia’s new career.

“Poles!” exclaimed Darcy and left.

“Oh, foolish Lydia!” cried Lizzy, bursting into tears, and grabbing her Quba bag, and accompanied by her uncle and her aunt, she caught the next train back to Salcombe.

A sound of moaning reached Lizzy’s ears before she reached 3 Island Street. The house was indeed in uproar!

Jane was waiting anxiously on the street for Lizzy’s arrival. The girls embraced with tears in their eyes, and Jane, between sobs, gave Lizzy a crisis update.

Mr Bennet, on hearing the dreadful news, had set off immediately to trawl the lap-dancing clubs of North Cornwall to try and recover his daughter. On hearing this, Uncle G bravely said he, too, would try and rescue his lost niece, and he also set off, some observers noted, in particularly good spirits, for the lap-dancing clubs of North Cornwall.

Meanwhile, Kitty was constantly crying because she wanted to go to Newquay.

“It’s so unfair. Lydia’s clubbing, and I’m crabbing.” Kitty just could not see the problem. “I don’t see what’s wrong with Newquay. Just because it’s common and everyone has raves on beaches and Lydia might be doing a bit of lap dancing—but I mean, what’s the difference wearing your bikini on the beach in the day or wearing your bikini in the evening and sliding down a pole?”

Mary wisely whispered to Lizzy, “This is a most unfortunate affair and will probably be much talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of sisterly consolation.”

Lizzy thanked her sister and promised to exchange balm as and when necessary, then dashed upstairs to see her mother, who was lying in bed, moaning, “Newquay! Newquay! Of all the places in Britain, this is the hardest to bear. My poor Lydia, dragged as a sex slave into a lap-dancing club against her will by the villainous Wickham! Oh, it’s too much to bear.”

Too much to bear it was indeed. As Lizzy picked up the pieces of what was becoming known throughout Salcombe as “Polegate,” it emerged Lydia, at the point of throwing reputation to the wind, had left a message. A text had been sent to Colonel Forster’s wife.

Escaped to Newquay at last with my Wicky! Deffo better than Salcombe! Wicky got me a gr8 job. Says just need my bikini. That’s it! We’ll get loadsa tips and share them 50:50. My darling Wicky is so kind and generous. How my sisters will be green with envy!! lol. Lydia :-)

“Oh, thoughtless, foolish Lydia!” cried Lizzy. All that could be hoped now was that Mr Bennet and Uncle G would be able to bring the headstrong girl back before the sins of Newquay took their toll.

As news of Polegate spread, Wickham’s name became mud in Salcombe. It turned out he had debts in every pub, girls who had gone out with him for an innocent drink were under suspicion of having been seduced, and any young man who had gone out for a drink with him remembered Wickham being only on the receiving end of a round, never buying a round.

Bad news was constantly followed by worse news. Wickham, it seemed, had feigned an interest in diving. His true motive, however, had not been to admire the watery depths but to plunder the precious wrecks around the South Coast. Fortunately, he had failed to find any treasure, but he had gained another name. A rogue, a cheat, and now a plunderer. Could his reputation sink any lower?

Mr Collins, enjoying the horror, sent an email to the Bennets to console, adding that “the death of Lydia would have been a blessing in comparison.”

Meanwhile, Mr Bennet returned from Newquay, having thoroughly investigated the lap-dancing clubs, his hair wild and unkempt, his eyes rolling with a crazed look and a curiously happy smile on his lips, but with no Lydia.

The following day, under flat grey skies, Lizzy and Jane were plodding slowly through the mudflats of the outgoing tide with only three great cormorants and a little egret for company, when they had a text from their father. “News!”

At once, the girls dashed through the mud, sending the peaceful birds squawking to the skies in panic and splattering themselves from head to toe in their anxiety to hear what their father had to say. Mr Bennet was sitting on the thwart in Angelica , which was aground, his mouth wide open and a puzzled look upon his face.

“Read it!” he said, passing Lizzy the phone.

The text was from Uncle G.

“Found her!”

“Awesome!” exclaimed Jane in delight.

“Searched all nightclubs, pubs, and exhausted myself in myriad lap-dancing clubs. Tracked Lydia and Wickham down at club called Tottie’s. Lydia signed up for three-year contract with severe penalties. By hook or by crook, contract paid off and Lydia and Wickham bribed with allowance at Fat Face. Accepted with alacrity.”

“Oh, splendid! Splendid!” cried Jane. “But, Father, why do you look so crazed at this fine news?”

“What does he mean by “by hook or by crook”? And as for “an allowance at Fat Face”? There must be at least White Stuff involved. And if so—how am I ever going to repay your uncle?”

Lydia, it seemed, was safe at last. She returned to 3 Island Street, apparently intact though with a tattoo of an anchor on the back of her neck and a sheepish Wickham in tow. She delighted in teasing her elder siblings that she now had a proper boyfriend, and everything thereafter was “My boyfriend this…” and “My boyfriend that…” Wickham was welcomed with open arms into the bosom of Mrs Bennet, who, on seeing Lydia, had recovered immediately. It seemed the lies and deceptions of Polegate were over.