What Kitty Did Next Read online

  ‘You are looking well, Kitty,’ said Jane as the ladies made themselves comfortable and tea was brought in.

  ‘Am I?’ Kitty stood up to look at herself in the glass. She supposed she was. Her blue eyes were clear, there was some colour in her cheeks, she had arranged her hair so that her dark curls framed her face. It would all be for nothing, she thought; there is no one to see in Meryton. She turned back to her sister.

  ‘How liked you London?’ she asked. ‘Where did you go? Who did you see?’

  ‘I liked it very well, though I am pleased to be out of it for a while. There is much gaiety, to be sure. So many galleries and concerts, and we made so many new acquaintances that it was, I confess, a little too demanding at times.’

  ‘One can have a surfeit of gaiety,’ remarked Mary, her expression as sententious as her tone. ‘It is as well to remember that time spent quietly—’

  ‘I should adore London!’ interrupted Kitty, causing no one surprise. ‘Concerts and galleries! So much to do and see! And the shops, too! I adore that lace on your gown; it is so becoming. It is from London?’

  Mary’s advice was left unfinished as Jane allowed her finery to be examined by Kitty and there followed a sisterly discourse between the two on the latest fashions as worn in town and by whom and for what, augmented by tales of the best shops and milliners, the most sought-after invitations to the most exclusive salons, as well as the more egalitarian pleasures of the city, including visits to St Paul’s, the Royal Academy and the new Drury Lane Theatre. That Jane and Mr Bingley were not blind devotees of the social set was of secondary importance to Kitty; she took vicarious pleasure from their proximity to it all and no talk of crowded pavements, dangerous roads and noisy environs could dampen her enthusiasm.

  Mary, who was making a great show of reading the learned book she held, looked up and seemed about to share some observation on the evils of the capital but was once again interrupted, this time by her mother, who declared it the greatest shame that Mr Bennet would never take a house in London for the season, how ill-used she was in this respect and – for the moment – quite forgot how much she disliked travel and being removed from the milieu and hierarchy in which she felt comfortable and where her own opinions, even when disliked, were rarely challenged.

  The journey back to Netherfield via London had afforded Jane and her husband the opportunity to spend a few days with her favourite aunt and uncle. Mrs Bennet’s brother and his wife lived in Gracechurch Street and Jane was able to give good account of both Mr and Mrs Gardiner, and her four little cousins, all of whom she had seen the day before her departure for Longbourn. Both Jane and Elizabeth loved and respected this branch of the family, feelings that were reciprocated. The Gardiners, in fact, had spent Christmas at Pemberley and were therefore well placed to provide all manner of information as to the goings-on at that grand estate and of its principal inhabitants. Jane had been the eager recipient of their news. That all was perfectly well with the new Mrs Darcy and her husband was no great surprise but good news is most usually welcome among family, and it is as well to have such assurances confirmed and spoken aloud. Simply hearing the words ‘Mrs Darcy’ and ‘Mrs Bingley’ still sent a frisson of delight through Mrs Bennet and she never tired of speaking those words herself. Her neighbour Lady Lucas was the unwilling and unhappy beneficiary of much of Mrs Bennet’s joy. ‘Mrs Darcy has written to tell me that their new carriage has been delivered,’ she would inform her. Or, ‘My daughter Mrs Bingley will be in London for the season.’ Lady Lucas, kindly and well-mannered, was not easily provoked, but a half-hour with Mrs Bennet on the heady subject of matrimony and well-married daughters was a test of patience even for the saintly. ‘I have half a mind to call my new poodle Pemberley,’ she had remarked to her husband, Sir William Lucas, after one such lecture. ‘I would do so, but Mrs Bennet would most likely take it as a compliment.’

  Jane, meanwhile, had her own account of Pemberley to pass on. ‘Lizzy says she is becoming quite used to being mistress of so grand a house and takes the wrong direction and loses herself but once or twice a day!’ she smiled.

  ‘I long to see Pemberley,’ declared Kitty. ‘London and Pemberley are the places I most want to see in the world!’

  ‘That is all very well, Kitty,’ said her mother, ‘but your sisters don’t need you getting in their way. I don’t know where you get these ideas. Last week, it was too much trouble to go into Meryton and now you want to travel all the way to London.’ Mrs Bennet wagged a disapproving finger at Kitty as she spoke. ‘Do continue, Jane.’

  ‘Lizzy talks of new furnishings and making the house more her own,’ said Jane, throwing a sympathetic glance at Kitty, ‘but in truth I think it is all for show. Aunt Gardiner says she appears very content with things as they are.’

  ‘Indeed, why would she not be?’ returned Mrs Bennet. ‘She is mistress of Pemberley, and Mr Darcy has ten thousand pounds a year!’

  Her mother’s abrupt shift to financial assessments brought the conversation to a momentary stop, a most welcome pause as it gave Jane the necessary space to remember the hour and the reason for her visit. She would come again soon, she promised, but now she and her sisters must hasten into Meryton to purchase the new ribbons, bows, and other accoutrements so necessary to young ladies, married or single, when engaged to a ball the following evening. Mary’s avowal that she had no need of such fripperies and that she was only going to visit her friend Miss Gregory, was lost in the bustle of their departure.

  CHAPTER 4

  Longbourn

  7 February

  My dear Lydia,

  I hope this letter finds you well. How I missed you at the Lucas’s ball last night. What fun we would have had, just as before. Except now the militia is gone from Meryton and so there was not a red coat to be seen – and you of course have your Wickham, so perchance there would have been no entertainment for you.

  Oh Lydia, all is so dull here now! I long to see you but I know not when that will be so you must write and tell me of your life at Newcastle. Are the Assembly Rooms very grand? Have you found milliners and dressmakers to your liking? With whom do you socialise?

  Mary is as you remember her. She barely speaks to me, unless of course she has some advice that she feels will be of benefit for my immortal soul. Papa watches me as if I were about to elope with an officer – and how is that to happen now all the officers are gone away and I am hardly allowed out of Longbourn? Mama says she will speak to him about it but I think I will be shut up here for ever. And really, it is so unfair. I have done nothing wrong!

  Should I say that? thought Kitty. Will she think I am saying she has done something wrong? She let it stand.

  I wore my pale blue muslin to the ball, which I think suits me very well and Jane said so, too. I forgot to tell you, Jane and Bingley are back at Netherfield.

  We made some new acquaintance at Sir William’s. His brother John Lucas, the vice-admiral, is staying with them, and his two sons, Edward and George, were at the ball. I danced two dances with each, and I prefer George as he has more conversation and is by far the more handsome of the two. He is not following his brother into the navy and thinks of a life in the clergy. I must say he dances very well for someone who means to become a vicar! I would have found out more about him except that our conversation was interrupted by our beloved and loquacious cousin Mr Collins – yes, he was in attendance – who insisted on talking to him about his own living in Kent and simpering about that awful Lady Catherine. So strange, is it not, that Lizzy is related to her now, which means we are, too! And to think, Lizzy could have been Mrs Collins and we could have counted him brother. It is a wonder – and a blessing! – that he did not make his suit to Mary, for I believe she would have accepted him. They would be a perfect pair. Oh Lord, Lydia! Imagine that! Mr Collins at all our family gatherings. It was bad enough that he prevailed upon Mary and me for two dances. Of one thing you can be certain – I will never marry a vicar!

  As for Mary
, you will be amazed to learn that she danced two dances with the same partner last night. You will not be too surprised, however, when I tell you that it was only Marianne Gregory’s brother, Timothy. He has been away at Oxford – I know not why – but is now returned to Meryton and is helping Uncle Phillips. He is as serious as ever and scarce spoke two words to anyone save Mary and his sister. No doubt they have weighty matters to discuss, la la! She is welcome to his company, I should not know what to say to him.

  Jane and Bingley are as happy as can be but now they are going away to London for several weeks. Everyone is leaving me! I am to lose my two most beloved sisters…

  Kitty put down her pen. Was it true that Jane and Lydia were her two most beloved sisters? Jane, five years her senior, thought well of everyone and was not wont to chastise her or Lydia – unlike Lizzy, whose tongue was sharper and admonition more readily dispensed. Lydia, closest in age to Kitty, had always been her confidante and closest companion; they had been inseparable, sharing all their little triumphs and disappointments – until Lydia had deserted her for Brighton.

  Yes, Kitty felt deserted, even a little betrayed, by Lydia. Despite what her family thought, she had not been privy to Lydia’s plans to elope and had been as shocked and alarmed as everyone else at that part of her sister’s reckless and damaging plan, the more so as she had imagined she was in her confidence. As for Lizzy, Kitty was surprised at how much she missed Lizzy, with her ready wit and perspicacity. She even missed her criticisms and attempts to tame her more flamboyant behaviours. It was odd, thought Kitty. As a small child she had adored Lizzy, trailing after her and seeking her attention, but her older sister had found her tiresome. At least that was how Kitty remembered it.

  She read her letter through. Really Lydia did not deserve to be told her news when she barely wrote more than six lines in reply, usually at the bottom of a letter to their mother. ‘My sisters may write to me,’ Lydia had said airily on the day she and Wickham had departed for Newcastle. ‘They will have nothing else to do.’

  Now that she is Mrs Wickham, she does not share very much with me any more, thought Kitty. She has become so very important just because she is married. She will tell me how boring Longbourn is and pity me – while she talks about dances and officers and her wonderful Wickham!

  Kitty frowned and was on the verge of crumpling up the letter. Instead, she put it to one side, took a fresh sheet of paper and wrote a briefer note to Lydia, omitting everything except details of the Lucas Lodge ball, what she wore and who danced with whom. She would not give Lydia the satisfaction of knowing she was unhappy. Besides, she had been more candid than was polite, and Kitty did not want her behaviour called into question. Things were quite bad enough already.

  She looked around her room, a room she had once shared with Lydia. There was a desk where the other bed had once been, but otherwise everything was the same. Except that everything was so quiet now! There was no fun. No chatter. Kitty felt her eyes well up and pinched her nose to try to stop tears rolling down her cheeks. Stop it, she told herself. It will be even worse if you cry. You will look terrible as well as feel terrible.

  Standing up, she took a deep breath, smoothed her dress and folded the letter she was going to send. The longer version she put in her desk drawer and then went downstairs. The library door was open but for once there was no sign of Mr Bennet. Feeling rather like a child who was not supposed to be there, Kitty entered the room and scanned the volumes around her. Theirs was a comprehensive library; Mr Bennet prided himself on keeping abreast of the newest works and keeping Jane and Lizzy up to date with the literature of the day. Her hand rested on a Radcliffe novel she had heard Jane speak of and she stood on tiptoe to pluck it from the shelf. As she did so she dislodged its neighbour, which fell noisily to the floor. In her confusion, Kitty picked up both books and fled. She was perfectly at liberty to read any of the books in the library but she could not bear to have her father find her there, to see his sardonic smile, his wonder that she, Kitty, should trouble herself with a book.

  CHAPTER 5

  True to his word, Mr Collins called on the Bennets a few days after the Lucas Lodge ball. His obsequious and unendearing manner was met with the required mix of resignation, respect and, from Mr Bennet at least, an expectation of amusement.

  He was shadowed by a young man in travelling clothes. ‘Mr dear cousins,’ began Mr Collins, greeting each in turn. ‘Such joy, such great joy to see you all. My dear Mrs Bennet, I trust you are well? My dear Miss Bennet, Miss Catherine.’ Turning to his companion, he continued: ‘Forgive me this liberty, but allow me to introduce Mr Robert Jones. He has today arrived from Warwickshire and my esteemed patroness Lady Catherine has given me specific charge of his journey to a living she has generously bestowed upon him.’ Mr Collins paused, the better to allow his cousins to remember the munificence and largesse of her ladyship.

  ‘You are to live in Kent, Mr Jones?’ enquired Mr Bennet, as the party proceeded into the parlour.

  Any reply was cut short by Mr Collins, who was keen to explain. ‘Lady Catherine has seen fit to offer Mr Jones a living at a parish near Canterbury. Her ladyship feels this is both necessary and advantageous, and has been gracious enough to involve me in all her communications with Mr Jones.’ Again, Mr Collins paused so that all might enjoy his success. ‘He will accompany me and my dear Mrs Collins into Kent tomorrow.’

  His protégé nodded, giving proof to the veracity of the speech.

  ‘You must not think,’ instructed Mr Collins, allowing himself a small laugh, ‘that I should travel to Lucas Lodge for the mere frivolity of a ball. No, no! Although of course Lady Catherine would not forbid me such entertainment nor deprive my dear Charlotte of this opportunity to visit her relations.’

  ‘How does Mrs Collins?’ asked Mrs Bennet, tired of all reference to her ladyship and wishing to steer the conversation elsewhere. ‘I am sorry to see that she is not with you this morning.’

  Mr Collins clasped his hand to his chest and drew in his breath. A mixture of pride and confusion twisted his mouth into something between a smirk and a moue. Kitty watched in some small amazement as his face suffused with colour before he announced: ‘Mrs Collins is, ahem, in a most delicate condition. She asked me to convey her good wishes to you, nothing else would have kept her away, I can assure you. My apologies if I am being indiscreet in front of the young ladies.’ A small cough concluded his speech.

  Kitty very much wanted to laugh, but kept her eyes down and contained herself. When she raised them, she saw her father looking in her direction. Once again, she assumed his displeasure, but Mr Bennet held her gaze and with the smallest raise of an eyebrow gave her to understand he shared her feelings. A small surge of happiness filled Kitty. Notice and approval did not go hand in hand in her world.

  Having divested himself of this information, Mr Collins beamed at them all, ran his finger around the edge of his collar and, seemingly at a loss as to what to do or say next, took himself to the window where Mr Bennet was standing in silent contemplation of those assembled, and sought to engage him in his plans for improvement to his humble dwelling in Kent. Mr Bennet, whose interest in fireplaces, dado rails and appropriate colours for wall coverings was nothing if not scant, listened intently, amusing himself every now and then with an astonished ‘Indeed?’

  Mr Jones was entreated to join the ladies, who were seated around the fireplace. ‘Do you know Kent well sir?’ Mary asked him, when he was settled into his chair. Mr Jones was happy to respond and, within a few minutes, they had learned that he did not know that county at all but had every anticipation of finding the neighbourhood agreeable; that he had until recently been intended to go into the army and that events (he did not elaborate) had convinced him that a life in the clergy would suit him better; that a distant relation who had known Sir Lewis de Bourgh had been providential in procuring him the living; that he had a sister and a brother-in-law living in London, but that their timetable did not permit him anyth
ing other than a brief visit en route to Kent; and that he had heard that one of the Misses Bennet had recently visited Hunsford.

  ‘My sister Elizabeth is a particular friend of Mrs Collins and spent some weeks at Hunsford last year,’ Kitty informed him. ‘I have not travelled outside of Meryton and its environs, though I should like the opportunity one day.’

  Mrs Bennet made a small clucking noise.

  ‘I hope one day to spend some time with my married sisters,’ said Kitty, ignoring her mother, ‘one of whom now lives in Derbyshire.’

  ‘Ah, yes, so I have heard,’ replied Mr Jones, his knowledge of the de Bourgh family having increased a thousand-fold since meeting Mr Collins, whose enthusiasm on the subject could not, he found, be quelled either by enquiry or silence. ‘That would be Mrs Darcy of Pemberley,’ continued the new recruit. ‘Mr Darcy is related to Lady Catherine; she is his aunt, I think?’ Kitty agreed that this was so, but here the conversation was interrupted. A discourse containing the words ‘Darcy’, ‘Pemberley’ and ‘Lady Catherine’ had alerted Mr Collins, who felt the need to be part of it. He hastened across and his officious interjections were such that all discussion ceased soon after save that of speculation on the state of the roads and whether rain was expected that evening or on the morrow.

  Mr Collins, a man of little sense but great pomposity, was exercising unusual caution in his dutiful attendance upon the Bennets. Lady Catherine had, it was true, given her permission for him to visit, but this was partly in order for him to bring any news he could ascertain about her now estranged nephew and the impertinent woman who had become his wife. Thus far, Mr Collins had little to offer her ladyship in this matter and he did not think it would sit well with her if the only information he could take back concerned the new vicar’s conversation with another of the Miss Bennets.