Part 1
"Lord, I am sooo tired," she exclaimed. She gathered up her skirts and stepped down from the carriage, happy to have arrived. Turning her eyes to heaven, she smiled patiently. "Lord, I need a bed."
A coachman helped her with her belongings and she smiled at him benevolently. All the good people in this world always made her feel so happy. "Thank you, good man."
"It was my pleasure, Sister Lydia," he said with a respectful bow.
In another coach a man leaned his head against his hand. He was feeling desolate. What good could ever come of his miserable life now that his Fanny, his sweet, gentle Fanny had turned down his proposal. "Impossible," she had said, "can you not see that your sister's shameful behaviour has ruined your family's name irrevocably, polluted the shades of -" He did not want to think of that place again, not even of its name, not ever. The memories were too crushing.
He was suddenly awakened from his dark thoughts as the carriage came to a halt. "We need to change horses here, sir", the coachman announced.
Sister Lydia walked towards the inn to await her family's carriage, which was to pick her up here. As she gazed upon the gathered travellers, she suddenly beheld a man, with a light glow around his head. This was a sign! It was him! But who was he? Sister Lydia stared transfixed at this wonderful man and wished she were not a nun.
Already when descending from his carriage, the man felt inexplicably light-headed. Something was penetrating through his depression. He raised his eyes from the muddy ground and looked around searchingly, until his eyes suddenly came to rest upon the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. All he could see was her fine eyes radiating goodness, warmth and love. The fact that the eyes belonged to a woman in a nun's habit -- something he as an atypical male had not noticed for he really first looked above the neck and not below -- was a secondary realisation.
He was in love.
Part 2
The man did not notice that he stepped into a puddle, nor that he had left his hat in the carriage.
"Mr. Ed, your hat," said a fellow passenger.
He accepted it without looking, unable to lift his eyes from the habit of the nun. What a shock! A nun!
But he must have her.
For a wife, of course.
As if on command, they moved in each other's direction. For a moment, neither one dared to speak, fearing that the spell would break and the rain would stop. Finally she spoke. "Mr. Ed, forgive me for being able to overhear your name despite my veil, but I could not help noticing that you do not have an umbrella, and one of the things I vowed when I took the veil was that I would always strive to assist people in need."
He was stunned by her generous spirit and gallantly overlooked her addressing him in such an overly familiar way, for his name was not Ed, but something longer. The latter part was indeed very important, to distinguish between Edwards, Edmunds, Fitzwilliams and Edwins, in no particular order. He led her into the inn. "A quiet room for this lady, Madam," he requested of the proprietess.
"I have a very nice back room for you, Miss Bennet."
"Not Miss Bennet, if you please, Madam. It is Sister Lydia now," Lydia smiled graciously.
Mr. Ed gasped. Lydia! What a heavenly name!
"I am waiting for my family," she continued. "They are good people who live nearby. Are you staying here?"
He was, now. "Y-Y-Yes."
The proprietess wanted to take down his name for the room and advanced with her notebook. "What is your name, sir?"
"It is Ed!" Sister Lydia informed her when Mr. Ed seemed unable to speak because he was gazing adoringly at her.
"Mund. Bertram," he finally spoke.
"Bertram Mund," the proprietess wrote down and disappeared.
Edmund did not notice. "Reverend Sister," he pleaded, one knee on the ground. "Will you marry me?"
"But I am a nun!" protested Lydia in surprise.
"I will build you a private chapel," Edmund vowed fiercely. "Now will you marry me?"
"I cannot," Lydia cried desperately, tears welling up in her eyes. She had a secret she could not disclose.
Part 3
"Why not?" cried Edmund.
"You see...I am already married!"
The poor Edmund dropped to both knees and his mouth fell open. "But you are a nun!"
"I was not always a nun," Lydia explained.
"B-b-but where is your husband, then?" Edmund was flabbergasted. He could not understand how any man could have deserted such a lovely creature.
"My dear George is working as a missionary in the East Indies." Sister Lydia blushed demurely underneath her veil. "Only a few years ago we were still living in a most disgraceful marriage... But then we saw the light and understood that celibacy would be the only way to make up for our past..."
Edmund's heart was very heavy. To be turned down twice was more than he could bear! "Really?" he whimpered. "Can you not reconsider, Reverend Sister? I am a man of the cloth myself. I understand your conscientious reasoning perfectly well, and indeed I can only have the utmost praise and respect for it. Is there no way you will have me?"
Lydia's heart was breaking. The sight of a man, no, this man in such agony was more than she could bear. Casting a last look at the wretched soul she whispered tearfully: "For your sake as much as mine - I cannot!" and with a rustling of her habit, she ran from the room, sobbing convulsively.
Edmund was left with nothing but memories - and the Sister's umbrella.
Part 4
Far away, in the Indies, a tiger woke up and roared.
ROAR!
He was hungry.
Very hungry.
Just at that moment, he saw a well-nourished missionary walking by, with a well-formed and undoubtedly tasty paunch filled with beer which he liked also, balding, which was a good thing because the tiger preferred his food hairless -- he also preferred apples over kiwis, yes, he was quite particular -- and his stomach began to out-rumble his roars.
RUMBLE!
The sad conclusion of this tiger's appetite was the end of one George Wickham.
(And the end of Sister Lydia's marriage.)
Sad George Wickham was to be recycled in the circle of life. Nothing was wasted. His clothes were re-used and his belongings were not soiling the ground but they were put to good use by some environmentalist East-Indians. Even his soul reincarnated as a Scottish rainworm (always busy). Whatever this recycling strategy implied for his wife, shall be explained later.
Part 5
Sister Lydia had been happily collected by Mr. Bennet and the joyful news of Wickham's unhappy demise had reached the household at Longbourn, and plunged some of the females there into mourning, especially Mrs. Bennet, who had always been very unhappy that Wickham had chosen the East Indies over East Hertfordshire, and Hill, for no particular reason.
Sister Lydia and her sister Mary rejoiced quietly in each other's improved state of mind, though Mary would not think her state of mind had been bad. They were not sad because Wickham was in a good place now. [Authors' note: a Scottish mudsoaked field]
Meanwhile, poor Edmund, desolate once again, was still stuck in Meryton inn, with the umbrella he dared not return, for then he would lose everything that reminded him of the brief moment in which he had laid eyes on Her.
But finally, his sense of honour and duty overcame these sensibilities, which, had the person in question been anybody but Edmund, might have been called romantic. The realisation that his selfishness might cause the Reverend Sister to not be able to shield her fragile figure from rain was like a dagger through his already pierced and torn heart. He had to return the umbrella.
He happened upon Lydia in the garden where she was walking arm-in-arm with her sister Mary, discussing Fordyce. Now Edmund was somewhat of an expert on Fordyce, and he uttered a quote from the revered booklet, "[...]" which stunned both sisters into speechlessness, to which he modestly added, "page 103323, second paragraph from the top, beginning at the third word."
They knew it to be true, for they had studied it extensively.
"Mr. Ed!" cried Lydia. "You speak to my heart like no other man but Fordyce can!"
"I am Fordyce."
Lydia wanted to get rid of Mary, which proved difficult, for Fordyce had always been Mary's hero, but luckily Mary fainted upon hearing whom she was facing and Sister Lydia and Edmund were free to walk on towards a more secluded place. "Are you truly Fordyce?" she asked timidly.
"Yes, my good Sister and I have come to return your umbrella, for as page 2529 makes clear to us, one cannot have a quiet heart when one has possessions belonging to another person," he said gravely.
"I thank you," Lydia said, quite overcome. "Mr. Ed, Mr. Fordyce."
"Mr. Bertram, actually. Fordyce is my Nom De Plume. They both have 7 letters, you see."
"Actually, Mr. Bertram, I think you cannot count," Lydia remarked with a puzzled frown.
"One does not pronounce the final E," Mr. Bertram saved himself. "But my studies always tended more towards the spiritual rather than towards such earthly concerns as numbers. It is of no import."
"Oh, Mr. Bertram," Sister Lydia sighed, "you are so absolutely right."
They both looked deep into each other's eyes -- but suddenly Edmund stepped back! Lydia was startled. "What is wrong, Mr. Bertram?"
"We should not be here, it is not right -- you are a married woman! I would not compromise your reputation for the world!"
The words tumbled out of Lydia's mouth: "But I am not married anymore! My husband was recycled!"
Edmund felt a joy like he'd never felt before. But suddenly he remembered something. "You are still a nun!"
"I am on probation!" Lydia gasped. "Besides, my situation has been precedented! There are more sisters who gave up one vocation for another!"
"Can I be your vocation?" Edmund pleaded hoarsely.
Mary came to senses in the background and immediately fainted away due to an excess of sentiments or maybe the canon of a Danish chick [or duck] who could not aim at the right country.
This went unnoticed.
They were married, had eight children (Prudence, Constance, Patience, Chastity, Charity, Faith, Hope and Fred) and lived happily ever after.