What Kitty Did Next Read online

  CHAPTER 8

  W hen the ladies withdrew after dinner Kitty felt that she had acquitted herself quite well and was feeling just a little proud of herself for not having done or said anything wrong or gauche. She risked a covert glance towards Sir Edward. How charming he was and so attentive! It was such a pleasant contrast to be in the company of someone who seemed to value her conversation; where Mrs Bennet lectured, Sir Edward listened. Kitty had not said a word to her mother or Mary since their arrival at Netherfield.

  In the drawing room, she endeavoured to be of use to Jane by helping look after the guests. Miss Bingley and Mrs Bridgwater had removed to a sofa by one of the windows and were deep in private conversation, requiring it seemed nothing of anyone. She fetched tea and sat with Lady Lucas while Mrs Bennet fussed and fretted over Jane’s domestic arrangements and felicity. Within a short while she had heard all that she could wish to know of Charlotte and Mr Collins and, when that topic had run its course, learned more than anyone could reasonably expect to know of the health and happiness of all the little Lucases, so Kitty was happy enough when Mrs Bennet arrived to reignite the conversation. Each lady would then happily attempt to outdo each other: Lady Lucas on the onerous requirements of Sir William’s duties in London, the pleasure and responsibility of a home such as Lucas Lodge, the career prospects of her sons and her dear Charlotte’s impending motherhood; Mrs Bennet on the beauty and accomplishments of her daughters – three married daughters, no less! – and, most specifically, her desire to see the magnificent estate of Pemberley and to meet all her new relations, not forgetting of course to mention Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It was a conversation – or more exactly two separate monologues – lacking any originality or exceptional insight but enjoyed by both ladies nonetheless, and Kitty’s presence was entirely superfluous.

  A painting, a landscape of a bucolic scene, hung over the mantel and Kitty went to study it. Jane joined her. ‘It arrived yesterday, I think it very fine. Charles commissioned it. It is of a valley in Nottinghamshire, not far from Pemberley, which he has known since he was a boy. An uncle of his lived nearby and he is very fond of the place.

  ‘He has been taking much more interest in the arts of late. He intends to visit all the galleries open to him when we are in London. I think he sees himself as quite the collector! He talks about whom he should commission to paint my portrait, if you please.’

  ‘How soon you will be gone,’ said Kitty, and unexpectedly her eyes welled with tears.

  ‘Oh Kitty,’ said Jane softly, sisterly affection engaged immediately. ‘Do not be sad.’

  ‘I cannot be otherwise,’ returned Kitty. ‘I am sad. I will miss you. I miss all of you.’ She struggled, nearly sobbed, and with no little effort regained control of her emotions, conscious of the company and wishing to save herself further embarrassment.

  Jane took her hand. ‘Poor, sweet Kitty! I see that in my own happiness, I have quite forgotten you.’ This sentence caused more tears to run quietly down Kitty’s cheeks. Embracing her lightly and quickly, Jane bade her sister go and refresh herself before the gentlemen joined them, and promised she would speak with her privately very soon.

  When she returned, the party was complete and there was talk of card tables. Sir Edward was at the pianoforte and urging his daughter to sing. With most efficient and ladylike modesty, she demurred, then, having been prevailed upon once more, accepted without hesitation. Mrs Bridgwater’s voice was clear and light, and her performance rewarded with compliments and dainty applause. Caroline Bingley was next persuaded, and the two friends sang a pretty duet.

  ‘Will you sing for us, Miss Catherine?’ enquired Sir Edward, who stood by her side as they watched and listened. ‘I am sure you sing very well.’

  She thanked him but made her excuses; she had not the slightest intention of exposing herself to unnecessary censure from Caroline Bingley or anyone else in the room. Privately, she enjoyed singing but thought her voice inadequate. Aloud, she commended Mrs Bridgwater’s performance to Sir Edward, who beamed with paternal pride. Mary Bennet then provided the company with an unremarkable and perfectly unimpassioned piano recital and the evening’s musical interlude was about to close when Jane called upon her husband to sing for them.

  Mr Bingley protested, genially of course, but Jane insisted and everyone delighted in this play of marital protest. Naturally, he could not disappoint Mrs Bingley but he did require her to accompany him, and so the pair took their places. It was thereafter unanimously agreed that Charles Bingley was a very fine tenor – something previously unknown to all but a handful of his closest friends – and that his command of voice and tone was as powerful as it was unexpected. Somewhat abashed at the genuine applause afforded him, Mr Bingley made light of any personal talent in himself and led his graceful lady away from the pianoforte before any encore could be demanded of them.

  Mr Bennet was as impressed as any other present and said as much to Jane, and father and daughter conversed quietly together for quite some time. Meanwhile, the card tables were set up amid an atmosphere as lively and congenial as good music, good company and good food could provide. Kitty found herself once more placed by Sir Edward, together with Sir William and Lady Lucas, Maria and Mary, and proved herself adept at vingt-et-un, leaving the table a few pennies richer than when she sat down. Even a small win is enough to lift a person’s spirits and Kitty, though still sad to be losing Jane and Mr Bingley to London, was able to take some consolation in that they would not be gone from Netherfield for more than two months or so. That Sir Edward was impressed with her, or at least paid her many compliments, did no harm to her humour either, and she left for Longbourn buoyed and reasonably content.

  CHAPTER 9

  Longbourn

  16 February

  My dearest Lydia,

  I have so much to tell you, but I am not sure where I should begin, and if I do, what to say or tell. Prudence should stay my hand, or should I say my pen? If only you were here with me! Well, I will begin! You are not afraid of what others will think, nor say. And it is such a fine jape. You will laugh, and think who would have thought this of Kitty.

  I will stay your curiosity no longer; I will tell you what has occurred. Firstly, and I know not how, Jane has persuaded Papa that I may go to London with them! I am so happy! Before we went to Netherfield last night I would not have believed it possible myself. Jane is an angel, and clearly Papa thinks so too. I have promised to behave and do everything Jane and Bingley require of me, and of course I shall. When have I ever been less than truly dutiful?

  They have a house for the rest of the season in Brook Street in Mayfair, not far from the Hursts’ house in Grosvenor Street, where they went last year before Jane and Bingley were married. Anyway, it is in a most fashionable part of London, though not too far from Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, so I will see them also.

  The Hursts will be in London but they are expecting other friends at their house so the ever-charming Miss Bingley will be staying with us! I do hope she travels down with the Hursts, for I dread the long journey to London with Caroline for company. I could not say this to Jane, for she is her sister now, but she is a most horrid person and I know she thinks me her inferior. She may be handsome and have a greater fortune than all of us, but it would behove her to be more courteous in hiding her scorn. Ridiculous woman! I know you agree with me! Moreover, I cannot help but think the dress she wore last night would have looked better on me!

  Bingley and Mr Hurst are travelling ahead of us and Jane intends to leave on Friday, which is but three days hence, so by the time you receive this letter I will already be in Brook Street, if all goes well and if the weather does not detain us. I do not think I have enough right gowns for London but Jane has promised to remedy this. I am so grateful to her for rescuing me from here.

  Jane asked Mary to London as well, of course, but she said that she does not want to go! Can you believe it? I do not care of course and I certainly do not need Mary by my side, looking
solemn and disagreeable all the time. I thought Mama would tell her she must go, talking all the time about fine young men and dances and how lucky she was to have a sister such as Jane, but Mary was as adamant in saying she would prefer to stay here. I know what it is to feel left behind – how I cried when you went to Brighton! – so I would not have minded too dreadfully if she was coming as well, but she is not – and there is an end to it!

  Too excited at the prospect of London and all it promised, Kitty stood up and walked – or, more accurately, skipped – around the room, humming and hugging herself. How thin is the line between happiness and despair! Yesterday, all had been bleak and monotonous; today, every bright prospect was open to her. That morning, Mr Bennet had summoned her to the library and had been most serious in his expectation of her good conduct in London and she was left in no doubt that any breach of this faith would see her dispatched to Longbourn in an instant. Kitty was so deliriously happy she had forgotten to be peeved at the suggestion she would be anything other than the perfect example of maidenly decorum and had meekly nodded while her father, in a rare example of paternal concern and direction, delivered advice and instruction. When she was quite sure he had finished, she jumped up and hugged him, an act that took both of them by surprise.

  ‘I think you are a good girl at heart, Kitty,’ he had said, readjusting his spectacles. ‘I expect to hear only good reports. Your mother expects you to find a suitable husband at your earliest convenience – two or three days should assuage her anxiety on that score – but you are at liberty to disregard that demand. Take some more books with you before you go; there is no need to wait until I am away from the library.’

  Seeing Kitty’s puzzled then alarmed face, Mr Bennet had merely raised an eyebrow and turned back to his letters, leaving his daughter to hurriedly pick out two volumes without much deliberation and quit the room with a last happy and heartfelt thank you.

  That Lydia remained the conduit for Kitty’s emotions was no wonder, there was no one else in whom she could confide. She sat down at her desk and took up her pen again:

  The second thing I have to relate is this. I met the most charming man yesterday but it is not as you will think, dear sister. Although, I am not sure what I think, so I will just put my thoughts into sentences. When we were at Netherfield I made the acquaintance of a Sir Edward Quincy, quite an old gentleman to be sure – I suppose of forty-five years or more – whose children have been long-time friends of Bingley and his sisters, so the family has known him for ever! I was seated by him during the dinner and he was most gallant and attentive, which, given that my other neighbours were Sir William and Caroline Bingley, was no bad thing as you would well know. We talked a little of this and that, and I thought nothing much of it except that our conversation was clearly irksome to Miss Bingley, so I was amused about that, as you might imagine!

  When the gentlemen joined us after dinner we sat down to cards and Sir Edward was at my table. I might say I think he contrived to be at the same table, but of course I cannot be sure. In any case, he was most courteous in his acceptance of a place by me. He is taller than Papa, and takes – I think I can be sure – a great deal of pride in his appearance. At any rate, he wears the latest clothes and his hair, though powdered, suits him well. He has a place in the country, he told me, but lives most of the year in London and he spoke so well of the galleries and theatre and amusements that I was quite in awe for a little while. Although, I hope I affected otherwise.

  When the tables broke up, I thought to go and speak with Jane, but Sir Edward had me join him and his daughter, Amelia, and her husband Mr Bridgwater. They all live in Yorkshire but will be spending part of the season in London near us in Mayfair. Sir Edward said he hoped that we would be reacquainted there.

  Why am I writing this? Kitty suddenly asked herself. I cannot send it. What if Lydia told Mama what I have said? She reread what she had written and wondered afresh. Was she so starved of company that any addition to her social circle was welcome? Was it because Sir Edward had made her feel a tiny bit important? Was she thinking of Sir Edward as a suitor? Good Lord, no, she assured herself immediately; he was almost as old as her father. Yes, Lydia would laugh! Kitty imagined Lydia reading her letter to Wickham and both of them laughing and laughing at her, saying how stupid she was!

  She felt despondent again. There was nothing to be gained in writing to Lydia. She put the letter in a drawer with the other one that remained unsent, then went and lay down on her bed; it would be another hour before they sat down to dinner and if she went downstairs now her mother would tell her, yet again, what she should and should not pack for London, and in what order and so on and so on. Kitty stared up at the ceiling and counted the days until she could leave.

  CHAPTER 10

  London! Kitty felt she had stepped into another world, and given that her world thus far had been tightly bound by family and Hertfordshire society with smaller concerns and decidedly smaller outlooks, who can wonder at this transport? London’s steeples and spires, its magnificent residences and grand churches, its parks and palaces, its shops and warehouses, the very scale of it all… all these were a source of wonder to Kitty, even before she had seen or explored any of them. To be in the same city as royalty and lords and ladies suited her romantic view of the universe very well. She had begged Jane to allow the carriage to detour so that she might glimpse Carlton House, the London home of the Regent, and, but for the late hour of their arrival, Jane might have agreed. Instead, she promised they would journey there soon, and after dusk, so that Kitty might see the new gas lamps illuminating Pall Mall – yet another source of wonder, and not just to Kitty, it should be said. Londoners still thought this new-fangled lighting a marvel to behold.

  And there were so many Londoners! Wide-eyed and from the safety of her carriage, Kitty observed all manner of folk as they made their way into the capital. Although the carriage kept to the main thoroughfares, the variety of men and women she saw – their ages, their complexions, their attire – was more than enough to enthral, whether she was seeing clerks, merchants, servants, fish-sellers, beggars, gentlemen or their ladies. Noisy areas of bustle and business gave way to quieter streets of grace and elegance. It was all a delight to Kitty, who of course saw nothing of the city’s innumerable and deep pockets of poverty and deprivation; all these were hidden from her privileged view.

  Jane, to whom the sights of London were nothing new, enjoyed Kitty’s enthusiasm, which for her at least alleviated some of the tedium and fatigue of their journey; Caroline Bingley managed to evince interest whenever Jane had something to say and exude a condescending air of ennui to all of Kitty’s lively observations. Miss Bingley’s maid, who travelled with them and had the care of several boxes on her lap, had taken refuge in sleep whenever possible.

  At last, the horses and carriage clattered into Brook Street and stopped outside a lamp-lit, three-storey, brown brick terrace of substantial proportions. They had arrived. Mr Bingley bounded down the steps to welcome Jane; the ladies were escorted inside and up to the drawing room, where a fire blazed and a restorative glass of wine helped the travellers relax into their new surroundings.

  Poor Kitty. Much as she wanted to admire the house and its furnishings, explore the rooms, converse with Charles and Jane and find out everything she could about London, her surroundings, the events of the forthcoming days, where they would shop, where they would visit and who and what would they see, she could take in no more… her head was awash with new sights and information and, after a little supper, she excused herself to her room – yet another source of delight – and was very soon abed and lost to her dreams.

  At breakfast the next morning, some of those dreams were under discussion when Kitty arrived at the table.

  ‘We are planning a small musical soirée here early in March,’ explained Jane. ‘Charles has already hired the musicians and the invitations will go out today.’

  ‘A soirée!’ How very grand that sounded. ‘Wil
l they be the same musicians who played at the Netherfield ball?’ asked Kitty.

  ‘Not this time,’ replied Mr Bingley. ‘A chap I know has recommended a string quartet he heard in London a few months ago, professionals all of them. Then we will have a harpsichordist and a couple of singers. Have the names somewhere, not sure where. Manning will know; everything is unpacked now.’

  ‘Who will be invited?’

  ‘Nearly everyone we know in London!’ laughed Jane. ‘Which is not to say we are expecting a very large group, although my acquaintance here is growing apace. It will be an excellent occasion to introduce you to our set, such as it is.’

  This information was enough to send Kitty into a minor reverie: already she could envisage a sophisticated salon, alive with interesting young men and tolerably attractive young women among whom she could shine.

  ‘There are a number of calls I really must return within a day or two,’ Jane was saying, ‘but as it is your first time here, I propose we take the carriage this morning and go around the better parts of the city.’

  Kitty pulled herself back to the present. ‘I should love that! That would be perfect! Will we all go?’

  Mr Bingley demurred. Notwithstanding his having seen London’s landmarks many times, he had some pressing business at his club, as gentlemen are wont to have and ladies are wont to ignore, at least those ladies whose minds do not run to suspicious behaviour. Miss Bingley – not yet arrived at breakfast and ignorant of the planned excursion – had yet to make any decision in the matter. Kitty fervently hoped she would decline. Whether the ever gentle and accommodating Jane wished the same cannot be known. Now that she was Mrs Bingley, unpleasant memories of her dear Caroline’s previous machinations in trying to prevent her marriage to her brother seldom surfaced; Jane was, however, not entirely artless.