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  ‘We shall call in on Aunt and Uncle Gardiner,’ she said to Kitty. ‘They are close to the river and you will want to see that part of the city, also.’

  Her sister gladly acquiesced. Not only was she happy with the thought of seeing her relations, she knew this would absolutely deny them the pleasure of Miss Bingley’s company. That lady would have no desire whatsoever to venture into Gracechurch Street, where the Gardiners resided – good Lord! The area fairly reeked of trade and undesirables, and her dislike of such low-class activities was as intense as her memory was short. That the Bingleys owed their present wealth and standing to the business acumen of their ancestors in trade was a piece of family history that Caroline and her sister Louisa had managed to completely forget.

  The other important business of the day was the imminent arrival of Jane’s dressmaker, and to her great delight Kitty found that her presence was required. A dress (or two!) in the latest fashion, made by a London seamstress, with fabrics chosen by herself – with subtle advice from her sister – was more than enough to make Jane the best and most adored sister anyone could ever have in all the land. When Miss Bingley made her appearance for breakfast, she found Charles hidden behind the newspaper and Jane and Kitty deep in conversation about double-twilled muslins and brocades, satins and silks and Spanish net, the best colours for each and each other, and myriad smaller details concerning accessories and decorations. Kitty was in such fine humour that even Caroline’s dictates – and the lady had many, being of the opinion that her own ideas of what was fashionable were unsurpassed and her taste flawless – were accepted with every appearance of gratitude and grace.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nearly two weeks had passed since Kitty’s arrival and in that time she had learned much and learned also there was much more to learn. It was not just the scale and grandeur of London’s architectural fabric that was opening her eyes to the world outside Longbourn. As she visited galleries and private houses with Jane and Charles, she became aware of a society more sophisticated than she had known existed. In manners and etiquette, there was much to be observed and although Kitty was absorbing the many little intricacies and emulating them, she was not confident. She felt her own lack of finesse and often found it easier to stay mute and watch the proceedings rather than fully participate.

  Naïve as she still was, she was not ignorant to artifice, especially when observing Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, the two ladies she knew best outside of her family. She became fascinated watching Caroline manoeuvre her way around a salon, praising and disdaining to her best advantage, assessing the eligibility and suitability of the gentlemen in the company, smiling the while – a practised smile to be sure, but an effective one nonetheless. There was no doubt, thought Kitty, Caroline could be charming.

  ‘How delightful to see you again,’ she was saying to one of the ladies present. ‘Your dear cousin Mr Marsh was just telling me you have delayed your return to Devon and so we can look forward to enjoying your society a little longer. Delightful! My brother so looks forward to seeing you all, and your cousin’s advice is always so appreciated. Ah, there he is. Shall we join him?’

  It was, as far as Kitty could tell, completely untrue. Mr Bingley found the unfortunate Mr Marsh a bit of a blunderbuss, or so she had heard him say to Jane; that he held any attraction for Miss Bingley was no doubt because of the friendship he enjoyed with an equally stuffy individual who had only wealth and a title to recommend him. That person now found himself the focus of Miss Bingley’s complete attention and if he was unable to supply animated or even coherent conversation, she could provide sufficient for both.

  Yesterday she had watched her talking to an older man of military bearing who had cornered her in conversation. ‘He is another complete bore!’ Caroline had whispered to Louisa Hurst only minutes beforehand, but this particular bore must have had some worth because Miss Bingley had been gazing into his face as if he alone could unlock the secrets of the universe, and nodding in apparently sincere agreement to everything he had said.

  Kitty saw that Mrs Hurst sometimes played a part in these little charades, but also that her presence was not necessary. It caused her to reflect on her own relationship with her younger sister. Undoubtedly Lydia had been the queen and she the willing courtier, ready to aid and abet her royal highness wherever she were needed. That much she could readily accede, but contrasting Lydia and Caroline let in many more thoughts. Lydia was more honest and straightforward than Miss Bingley, she was more lively and boisterous and Kitty had been pleased to ride on her high spirits, which in turn lifted her own. Then again, that boisterousness had gone too far, and Kitty could see that now. She blushed as she thought of Lydia and herself shouting out to officers across the street in Meryton, at the pair’s untamed behaviour at the local Assemblies, their lack of decorum in other public places.

  The quiet conversation and subdued laughter of the elegant women peopling the salon in Audley Street in which she now found herself were the very antithesis of that behaviour. The reason, if one were needed, for such a gathering was the new portrait of the lady of the house, which now hung upon the wall for general approbation. Art and artists, exhibitions and galleries, these were the favoured topics for discussions. Did she prefer Gainsborough or Reynolds? Turner or Hogarth? Kitty dissembled and vowed privately to learn. She saw Jane gliding about as serenely as ever, listening with attention and speaking her opinions quietly but candidly. She watched Miss Bingley, always scrupulously polite when the social occasion demanded it, and heard her shrill little laugh as she apparently agreed with a witty remark.

  Kitty had no desire to model herself on Miss Caroline Bingley or her ilk, but she did intend to become someone other than the Miss Catherine Bennet who was known to the good burghers of Meryton.

  It was not just Jane and her friends who were exerting a subtle influence on Kitty. Charles was playing a role, albeit obliviously. It was part of Mr Bingley’s routine to read the newspaper over breakfast in the morning and he invariably found something to exclaim over. Charles Bingley was no elder statesman – his interests lay more in the arts than in politics – but he was a man who took an interest in the world about him. His remarks over breakfast were obliquely intended for Jane from whom, even at this early stage of their marriage, a reply was rarely required.

  ‘A bad business in the Indies! No good will come of this!’ he would declare, or, ‘What’s Liverpool up to now?’

  Kitty would listen, uncomprehending, but by quietly retrieving the paper after breakfast was finished and making her own researches, would discover what the new Prime Minister had been saying, what were the perceived problems facing owners of sugar plantations in the West Indies (and where in the world the West Indies were), Wellington’s progress or otherwise.

  It was, she had realised, as well to be informed – or if not entirely informed, at least aware, because Kitty certainly had no intention of holding forth on any such topical news. Not yet anyway. ‘A man speaks of what he knows, a woman of what pleases her; the one requires knowledge, the other taste’ – she had read that recently. She wasn’t at all sure she agreed with it but ever since the dinner at Netherfield she had been dismayed at her own ignorance, so fortunately disguised during her conversation with Sir Edward. She required knowledge! She had been studying the volume that had almost dropped into her lap at Longbourn, Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Women. Kitty could not identify with all the circumstances and posits put forward by the author, who had now fallen from grace, but she had never read such radical opinions before! That a woman’s achievement of matrimony could be referred to as a ‘paltry crown’ was a blasphemous notion indeed in Kitty’s world – Mrs Bennet would require smelling salts were she to hear it uttered! – and one she had never thought to question before. Were wives ‘slaves or friends’ of man? Kitty found herself excited by some of these disturbing ideas. What did Jane and Elizabeth think, she wondered? Had they read this particular book?

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nbsp; Of course she was not considering challenging the norms in her own life. However paltry the crown of matrimony might be to some, Kitty could not but hope to wear it one day, though, if she could possibly avoid it, she would prefer not to become anyone’s ‘spaniel-like’ companion.

  CHAPTER 12

  The day of the musical soirée arrived and the house at Brook Street was a hive of activity. Although comparatively small – only around fifty guests had been invited – both Mr and Mrs Bingley (she especially) were keen to uphold the standards seen in houses elsewhere and so a string of servants, often vexed by auxiliaries who had been brought in solely for the purpose of helping, or hindering, those who knew better and best, processed up and down the stairs, into and out of the main rooms, carrying flowers and trays and candles and chairs and glassware and all manner of provisions necessary for an elegant evening in a fashionable part of London.

  Jane, in command of this domestic battle station, maintained a slightly anxious calm, only occasionally called upon by the housekeeper to assuage affronted pride and assure that all would be well. In the middle of all this, the dressmaker arrived, providing a pleasant means of honourable retreat from responsibility and bustle, and the opportunity to pass opinion on the new gowns that had been ordered for herself and Kitty.

  In Kitty’s room, her dress for the evening was pronounced entirely suitable, and she and Jane happily fussed over it and what she might wear with it, and how best to arrange her hair and what ribbons she should choose, and would a shawl be necessary? ‘Oh Jane,’ said Kitty earnestly, after all had been deliberated and decided upon. ‘I am so very happy. I am happier than I feel I ought to be! Go, go! You are the hostess. Look to yourself! You look tired, you should rest.’

  ‘You are right. I do feel uncommonly tired,’ admitted Jane, ‘though I hope it will not be apparent to our guests.’ She smiled and, with a quick embrace, was gone, leaving Kitty to attend to her own appearance. Later, when she went down to the drawing room she found Charles alone and only too pleased to find someone with whom to discuss the musical component of the evening.

  ‘One of the violinists and the harpsichord player have just arrived,’ said he, rubbing his hands together in anticipatory glee. ‘Both will be playing at the Philharmonic Society’s inaugural concert next week. They are setting up as we speak.’

  Kitty comprehended at once that securing these two musicians was no mean feat. Mr Bingley’s enthusiasm for them and the newly formed society was evident and infectious.

  ‘You have not said what they will play, although I think there will be some Mozart?’

  ‘Yes, indeed! You know my tastes there! Some Mozart, some Haydn and Boccherini – my particular favourites – but I have not prescribed every piece. I am happy to let the musicians choose the remainder of the repertoire as their talents and tastes dictate. Then I shall feel that I am part of the audience and not the organiser.’ He nodded, confirming this idea to himself.

  ‘Ah! I think I hear another hackney coach! That will be the rest of them arriving. We will wait a few minutes and then go up and see how they get on, if you would like?’

  Kitty thought this an excellent idea and was struck by Mr Bingley’s marvellous, boyish delight for this entertainment, which she now realised had been organised at his instigation and not her sister’s.

  ‘One of the violinists was recommended to me through Darcy,’ he volunteered. ‘He is Miss Darcy’s music master when she is in London; he instructs her in the pianoforte. She is proficient in that, so let us hope he is as good on the violin! The ’cellist I know little of, except that he has a fine reputation.

  ‘You are musical, Kitty? I cannot recall hearing you play.’

  ‘I would like to be but I lack practice. And I suppose confidence. I am afraid of making mistakes. I used to play when I was a child.’ How easy it is to say this to Charles, she thought.

  ‘Well you must practise while you are here!’ cried Mr Bingley. ‘Jane plays well, as you know. You have no need of worrying about false notes in front of us! I play badly myself. We can play false notes together!’ He laughed at his little jest, and Kitty smiled, too. It was a pleasant notion; perhaps she would practise more.

  They waited a little longer and, as no one else had arrived in the drawing room, went up to the first floor to see how things were arranged. Kitty had not expected the musicians to be in such colourful costume, some wearing shades of crimson or forest green, and although at least half of them were quite young, all were wearing beribboned horsehair wigs lending them an almost regal air. She liked the theatricality of it; it added to the occasion. The room, which was usually divided in two by large folding doors, had been expanded into one grand area and the musicians were grouping themselves at one end. Only a few more candles remained to be lit, and the room was already bright and warm. The rows of chairs were in place and servants hovered alongside sideboards whereupon were wine and other refreshments.

  ‘Excellent,’ murmured Mr Bingley, looking about him and then, giving Kitty his arm, they went back down to the drawing room, where Jane and Caroline now sat awaiting the first guests.

  Among the earliest were the Hursts, the Bridgwaters and Sir Edward. The usual pleasantries were exchanged, the chivalrous Sir Edward the most solicitous in his compliments to the lovely Mrs Bingley and the equally lovely Miss Bennet. Within half an hour, the company had swelled into a fashionable crush, with many spilling outside the drawing room in order to speak and be heard. Kitty found herself quite surrounded by new acquaintance and happily struggling to keep up with the introductions. All in all, though, she was quite relieved when they went upstairs and she took her seat in the front row next to Jane and Charles for the first of the recitals.

  Sir Edward was seated to her left and drew her attention to the age and manufacture of the harpsichord. If he had hoped for more conversation from the fair lady, he would be disappointed however. From the moment the first violin began, Kitty was lost, completely transported to realms well beyond the confines of Mayfair. She thought the music sublime, reverential, as if it were reaching into her soul providing a balm, a release and something akin to joy. When the exquisite strings of the quartetto concluded, she had tears in her eyes. She turned to Mr Bingley, wanting to share her feelings but he was talking at once to Jane and the lady and gentleman sitting behind them. Applause and polite chatter had broken out all around her and she turned the other way to see Sir Edward regarding her, a benign, if bemused, expression on his face. ‘I see you appreciate the music,’ said he. Kitty, a little disconcerted by the intensity of his gaze, could only agree.

  The recitals continued and if the pieces were all new to Kitty, and if the musicians were famed or otherwise, it mattered not a jot – she loved everything; she rejoiced in the power of the music and its execution and there was the beginning and the end of it all. One of the violinists was particularly good, she thought, or was it just the manner of his playing? He was in harmony with his companions, of course, but at the same time he seemed to be playing solely for himself. Perhaps it was because his wig had become a little askew that she noticed him in particular. Or perhaps it was because he was really rather a fine young gentleman, whose eyes, when not closed in concentration, were a very dark blue. She should not be thus distracted, Kitty thought, and gave back her attention to the ensemble as a whole.

  When it was all over, she was loath to leave her seat, but Sir Edward escorted her into the supper room where she was happy to praise all that had been played. She heard her name spoken and turned to find Mr Bingley with a tall young man by his side, the very same violinist whose performance she had just been admiring and whose wig was now suitably adjusted.

  ‘Allow me to introduce you to Mr Henry Adams,’ he began. ‘He is the gentleman I was speaking of earlier. An accomplished player, as you have just heard; and he is also Miss Darcy’s music master. We have been speaking of the Philharmonic, and all that it promises.’

  ‘Miss Bennet, a pleasure,’ smiled M
r Adams.

  Kitty was immediately struck by the rich, dark timbre to his voice. It suited him well, so she was not quite sure why she was surprised. She was also struck by his elegant figure, handsome features and wide smile.

  ‘Mr Adams,’ she replied, as these thoughts coalesced and she spoke his name. ‘A wonderful concert, truly.’

  ‘Quite agree with you in regard to the Philharmonic,’ interposed Sir Edward. ‘A very fine initiative, indeed. Very fine. And a capital performance tonight, young sir. You have been playing a long time?’

  ‘For a number of years, sir,’ said he. ‘My father has always taught and composed music; he tells me I was five years of age when I first played the spinet. Badly, I am sure.’

  ‘Mr Adams is overly modest,’ declared Mr Bingley. ‘Never mind the spinet anyway! We have heard you on the violin and I know full well you are proficient on the pianoforte. Furthermore, I am told you are one of the best music masters in all of London.’ He clapped him on the shoulder as proof of his convictions. ‘The violin solos were magnificent, I must say!’

  The young man looked suitably pleased and embarrassed and made the requisite thanks and protestations.

  ‘Have you been in London long, Miss Bennet?’ he asked, deflecting attention from himself.

  ‘Not yet a month.’

  ‘And you are fond of music?’

  ‘Very much, although better at listening than performing.’

  ‘That is for others to decide,’ said Mr Bingley. ‘Now Miss Bennet is being modest.’

  ‘I am not sure that is true,’ protested Kitty. ‘I do like to play, that is certain. And to sing. However, when I hear performances such as those we have just enjoyed, I feel it would be better to leave my deficiencies unexposed.’