What Kitty Did Next Read online

  What

  Kitty Did

  Next

  What

  Kitty Did

  Next

  A novel

  CARRIE KABLEAN

  Published by RedDoor

  www.reddoorpublishing.com

  © 2018 Carrie Kablean

  The right of Carrie Kablean to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Cover design: Clare Connie Shepherd

  www.clareconnieshepherd.com

  Typesetting: Tutis Innovative E-Solutions Pte. Ltd

  For Annabelle xx

  CHAPTER 1

  Longbourn, January 1813

  Matters matrimonial had long been the focus of Miss Catherine Bennet’s world. How could it be otherwise? The absolute necessity of finding a husband – a respectable husband, of course, but one whose chief recommendation must be his wealth – was the very cornerstone of her education. Her tutor and adviser in this winsome endeavour was none other than her indefatigable mother, Mrs Bennet, a woman whose sole aim in life was to see her five daughters married, and married well.

  Catherine had accepted this doctrine, taking it as her own. Now though, with three sisters all wed within half a year, mildly disturbing thoughts were forming in her nineteen-year-old mind. Those sisters had all three married for love. Catherine hoped – expected – to do likewise but, young and inexperienced as she was, even she had begun to see that love was an indefinable commodity and certainly not one that guaranteed a life without care. Inchoate questions clamoured for answers she did not have. What if she were not to find a suitable husband? Where would she live? What would she do? What would she like to do?

  Mrs Bennet burst into the parlour, dispelling any possibility of further introspection. ‘Oh Kitty, there you are. Where is Mary, where is your sister?’

  If she wanted a reply, Mrs Bennet did not wait for one. Instead, she peered at Kitty. ‘Really, what is to become of you?’ she said, shaking her head and unwittingly echoing her daughter’s unvoiced concerns. ‘You don’t look well, child. What is the matter with you? Are you unwell?’

  ‘I am quite well thank you, Mama,’ said Kitty, wondering what was wrong with her appearance now. It really was very hard to please her mother. ‘I am just a little tired.’

  ‘You are not lively these days,’ declared Mrs Bennet, subsiding into a chair. ‘You and Mary should walk into Meryton; it is days since we heard news. The day is bright, there is no rain. Perhaps the militia are returned? Aunt Phillips will be waiting to see you. She will know if the officers are back. How I long to hear from your dear sister Lydia. Not a word from her since Christmas. I am sure she will have much to tell us.’

  ‘Mary is not given to walks into Meryton, Mama,’ said Kitty. ‘If you can persuade her then so much the better, but I fear she will not give up her books.’

  ‘Books,’ said Mrs Bennet, investing the word with disdain. Since the early days of their marriage, a somewhat disillusioned Mr Bennet had treated his library as a refuge, both from his wife and the clamour of family life. Mrs Bennet had become used to this arrangement and tolerated books insofar as they could provide some form of entertainment, but that they should be preferred to social intercourse was, to her, quite unnatural. Her husband must read his books, of course, but for her daughter Mary to shut herself away reading her sermons and treatises was not to be borne. It was not as if the girl was blessed with uncommon beauty; she really must learn to smile more and lose those dour expressions. In that, at least, she could learn from her younger sister, Kitty. Books, indeed!

  Mrs Bennet contemplated these unpleasant traits for a few moments and then, with surprising rapidity, rose, collected her skirts and left the room, calling out for Mary to attend her. Kitty stared at the closed door, sat back in her own chair and let the silence surround her. Did she look tired? She got up and went to study herself in the glass over the mantel.

  Like young women everywhere, Kitty found much to worry her. She was not fair like her sister Jane; her expressions were not as pert and pretty as Elizabeth’s; she was not robust like Lydia; her features were not good enough… and so on and on. To anyone else – anyone, that is, not prone to measuring every attribute of womanhood against a supposed ideal of physical perfection so that it can be found wanting – Kitty’s looks were very pleasing. Some young ladies attain their fullest bloom at fifteen or sixteen years, and often fade fast thereafter; others have features that slowly and subtly change to reach their fullest perfection at one and twenty or thereabouts. Kitty was one such. Slender, but without any loss of feminine form, her figure was graceful. She appeared delicate. Her face, framed by an abundance of dark brown hair, could, in repose, seem rather too serious but when animated threw off any melancholic or grave aspects. Her eyes were clear and blue; her nose was straight and unassuming; her mouth neither small nor large. Nature had given her all the necessary attributes of attractive womanhood and if, when she entered an assembly room, she did not command as much attention as others less fortunate physically, this was more to do with a lack of confidence in herself (and, of course, a lack of fortune).

  There was no sign of Mary; presumably Mrs Bennet had not been successful in persuading her of the merit of exercise over books. Kitty settled back into her chair, wondering how to amuse herself for the next hour. It had been some time since she had read a book. She had suffered poor health as a child and spent weeks confined to her room and her bed. During those times, books had offered some solace but when she had recovered her health she had not wanted to stay seated, still less reading. How she had envied Lydia’s energy and high spirits. It had not taken long before the older sister had been in thrall to the younger and anything Lydia did or wanted to do was endorsed by Kitty.

  And now Lydia was Mrs Wickham, living in Newcastle and all but estranged from her family. Jane was become Mrs Bingley and removed to Netherfield House; and Elizabeth was Mrs Darcy, mistress of a fine estate in Derbyshire, and far away. A Christmas had come and gone without the accustomed noisy family cheer. For Kitty, left behind in Longbourn with only her parents and Mary for company, life was dull and not a little lonely.

  She did not much feel like meeting any new officers either, an unusual admission for Miss Catherine Bennet and one which, if articulated, would have produced an incredulous tirade from her mother. Marriage and money, livings and love… what else was there for her to think about? Kitty’s thoughts returned to her sisters.

  That Jane, the beauty of the family with a character and disposition perfectly in harmony with her pleasing appearance, should be married to an amiable, handsome gentleman of good fortune was, without question, exactly as things should be. Kitty held Charles Bingley in high regard and was exceedingly ready to like and admire him. Not only was he in love with her eldest sister but his personality was such to find pleasure in, or at least tolerate with benign countenance, the company of all his wife’s family. Kitty was not in the least afraid of him.

  Elizabeth’s husband was a different matter. Whilst unfailingly correct and polite, the taciturn Mr Darcy was a figure of some awe to Kitty. In truth, she had been amazed when Lizzy had announced her betrothal and still did not fully comprehend her sister’s choice – though she was in no doubt that it was an excellent match. Who would argue against a man with ten thousand a year, especially one of sound
body and mind? Certainly not Mrs Bennet! Even so, to choose to spend one’s life with a man such as Fitzwilliam Darcy, rich though he was, seemed to Kitty something of a sacrifice, although she had to own that Lizzy seemed not to consider it so.

  With regards to George Wickham, Kitty scarce knew what to think. The circumstances of Lydia’s hasty marriage to the dashing Captain Wickham, who with his red coat and easy manners cut such a debonair figure, were no longer discussed in the Bennet household, as if silence could eradicate the taint of scandal the elopement had occasioned. This suited Kitty very well. While not complicit in the couple’s infamous plan, some censure had fallen on Kitty who had been in correspondence with Lydia during her stay in Brighton from whence she and Wickham had fled – the one to escape his debts, the other to pursue an ideal of romantic love. Kitty pouted as she remembered her father’s unspoken wrath. Long since derided by him as one of ‘the silliest girls in England’, she feigned indifference but felt aggrieved. She was not the only one to succumb to Captain Wickham’s charm. Why, even Lizzy, her father’s favourite, had enjoyed his company, and Lizzy could do no wrong in her father’s eye.

  A petulant sigh escaped Kitty. It really wasn’t fair. They had all been deceived as to Wickham, and this was another of the unwelcome thoughts troubling Kitty. How could one ascertain another person’s character? What if another handsome young officer presenting as a perfect gentleman should turn out to be a blackguard? Kitty’s confidence in mankind had been severely shaken.

  Meanwhile, she was dissatisfied with both her appearance and her plight. In the wake of Lydia’s ‘shameful and deplorable antics’ (her father’s words), Mr Bennet had, at last, sought to exercise his parental control: he expected nothing less than perfect behaviour; he saw no need for his daughters to be at every social gathering, at every ball; henceforth any young men showing even a passing interest in his daughters would be the subject of his careful scrutiny; he required at least two hours of useful study every day. Mr Bennet did not mean these instructions to be taken literally, although Kitty interpreted them so.

  For Mary, ever studious and serious, quite uninterested in such frivolous pleasures as flirting and dancing, life continued unchanged, but Kitty felt the strictures keenly. Why should she suffer blame for Lydia’s indiscretions? Why was it all her fault? Why did no one ever listen to her? It was all so unfair!

  CHAPTER 2

  ‘Ah, what delight,’ announced Mr Bennet at breakfast the following morning. ‘I do so enjoy receiving a letter from our dear cousin, Mr Collins.’

  ‘I wish you would not vex me so, my dear,’ replied his wife. ‘What possible delight can Mr Collins afford us, pray?’ Had he been one of the most eligible and well-mannered bachelors in England – and Mr Collins was neither – it would not have been enough to endear him to Mrs Bennet. Had his bearing been elegant, his fortune grand and his wit eloquent, nothing could overcome the man’s impudence in being the heir to her family home on the demise of Mr Bennet. Nothing, moreover, could induce Mrs Bennet to understand the laws of entail; the subject had been explained to her and subsequently denounced by her on occasions too numerous to quantify and there was no point in further effort. Mr Bennet certainly saw no reason to try.

  ‘I hope he is not coming here,’ continued Mrs Bennet, who could foresee no reason for Mr Collins’s attendance on them except to see himself the future master of Longbourn, estimating the placement of furniture and furnishings and demolishing her domestic felicity. Within an instant, her imagination had occasioned Mr Bennet’s untimely death, swiftly followed by indignity, shame and destitution as the cruel Mr Collins ousted her from the comforts of her home. With a shudder of relief, she remembered she was fortunate in having three married daughters on whom she could rely for solace and accommodation. Happily for Mrs Bennet, her projections did not include predeceasing her husband.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ said Mr Bennet, recalling his wife to the present, ‘I am sorry to cause you any unhappiness but I must inform you that we are to be blessed with Mr Collins’s company within a se’nnight. He writes to say that he and his dear wife Charlotte will be paying a visit to Lucas Lodge – no need to worry, Mrs Bennet, the good people of Hunsford will not be left rudderless in his absence, he writes to assure us all that “my most excellent and kind benefactress, the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has once again graciously condescended to allow me this temporary absence, yet another instance of her ladyship’s incomparable courtesy and grace, and I have, as you will no doubt surmise, spared no effort to alleviate my noble patroness of any inconvenience by engaging another clergyman …”

  ‘There is more on this hapless replacement, I shall not burden you with it. Now, what else does he wish us to know?

  ‘Ah, yes. He looks forward to enjoying the company and ascertaining the welfare of his most dear cousins, “not forgetting of course, my dear cousin Elizabeth, now so fortuitously allied to the family of Lady Catherine herself. Were I able to be any of any service in ameliorating the difficult and unhappy situation between Mrs Darcy and her ladyship then, given my situation in life, I should be most happy to step into the breach and offer my services and advice…”

  ‘What a fine fellow he is! So willing to help. We could all learn from him. No doubt you agree, Mary?’

  Mary pursed her lips and nodded in assent. Mrs Bennet tutted her irritation and Kitty hoped Mr Collins’s visit would be brief.

  Mr Bennet turned back to his letter. ‘He will not trespass on our hospitality long but, given our close family connections, he would feel it remiss of him... He sends his “most respectful compliments to your lady and the delightful Misses Bennet”, etc. etc.

  ‘So Mrs Bennet. There you have it. Are you not keen to hear news of the beneficent Lady Catherine? Mr Collins is sure to have the most minute intelligence of her ladyship’s concerns. Why he is better placed than our own dear Lizzy and son-in-law to know how things stand with our illustrious relation.’

  Conflicting emotions stirred within Mrs Bennet. On the one hand, it was gratifying to count Lady Catherine de Bourgh a relation, through Lizzy’s most excellent marriage to her nephew Fitzwilliam Darcy; on the other hand, her ladyship was not disposed to think well of the new Mrs Darcy and her less than satisfactory family. Indeed, her displeasure was so keen and her communication so voluble that even Mrs Bennet could not fail to notice it.

  ‘I know quite enough about Lady Catherine,’ harrumphed his wife. ‘Why, pray, should I want to know more about her doings? Really, Mr Bennet, you do perplex me.’

  ‘Is Mr Collins come for the ball at Sir William’s, do you think?’ wondered Kitty aloud. ‘I do not think he is fond of dancing.’

  ‘He danced at the last ball,’ observed Mary. ‘He is of the opinion that dancing, in the correct company and with appropriate partners, is not evil. I am of the same opinion.’

  ‘Are you indeed, Mary,’ said her father. ‘I am of the opinion that young ladies such as you and your sister derive no benefit from such events. What need have you to go to balls?’

  ‘Oh, Mr Bennet, how can you say such things,’ exclaimed Mrs Bennet at once. ‘Of course Kitty and Mary must go the Lucas Lodge ball. What would people think if they did not? How will they come by suitable young men? You would have them shut up for ever.’

  ‘No, my dear. I simply pose the question. Will there be eligible young men at the ball? Is that why they must go? I have three daughters married; am I to lose the remaining two by their attendance at this occasion? I had no idea the situation was so urgent.’

  More than twenty-five years of marriage had not alerted Mrs Bennet to her husband’s sardonic humour. In consequence, she railed against his lack of understanding and he professed not to understand her meaning. Kitty waited; she had no wish to try her father’s patience or endanger her presence at the ball, the only diversion on her calendar at present. It would be too dreadful if she could not go; she could not bear the thought.

  ‘Jane is calling for us tomorrow
morning, Mama,’ she ventured at last. ‘She sent word that the new shoe-roses are in; she says she will take Mary and me into Meryton with her. We will call upon Aunt Phillips, too.’

  ‘And I will call on Marianne and Mrs Gregory,’ added Mary. The Gregorys were a family of good standing but little wealth, who had lived in Meryton for many years. Mary, who was of a solemn disposition and unfailingly disapproving of her younger sisters’ perceived predilections for carefree and therefore unworthy pursuits, had found a friend in Marianne, who was fond of discussing ‘matters of importance’ and making extracts from worthy tracts.

  ‘Well, my dears, I see all is settled. I shall look forward to seeing Jane again,’ said Mr Bennet, excusing himself from the table. ‘Meanwhile, I shall be in my library.’

  CHAPTER 3

  As expected, Mrs Charles Bingley arrived at Longbourn the following day, looking serenely happy and exuding contentment. Her presence was a source of delight to all her family – even Mr Bennet emerged from his library to embrace her, while Mary put down her books and Kitty danced attendance. All were outdone, of course, by Mrs Bennet’s effusions of delight and concern, but within a very short while it was confirmed that Mr Bingley was in fine health; his wife, also; that the journey to Longbourn that morning had been unexceptionable; that no fault could be found in the running of the household at Netherfield; that the servants were everything they should be – indeed, even the livestock were thought to be content, although their welfare was not specifically inquired after.

  Jane was eventually allowed to divest herself of cloak and bonnet, and the women of the family were soon seated in the parlour. It was but the second time Jane had been at Longbourn since her marriage the previous November. She and Mr Bingley had been obliged to visit his mother and aunts for the Christmas period, which, according to Jane, had passed delightfully for all parties, and a short sojourn in London had followed before the pair had returned to Netherfield.