“Mama,” Lizzy answered, “you have many people around you who are attentive to you.”
“Do I?” she snapped and flapped her handkerchief in Kitty’s direction. “Kitty is always in the doldrums these days, and Mary constantly has her nose stuck in a book. Your father… well, he is never out of his book room. So, tell me, Lizzy, who do I have to be attentive to me?”
Lizzy leant back in the chair and kept silent. All of the sisters had learnt when not to provoke their mother further.
Mr Darcy cleared his throat. “It pains me to ask,” he shot a nervous look at Kitty, “but how is Lydia faring in London?”
The edge in his tone was not lost on Kitty. He did not give their sister the respect he showed for either herself or Mary.
“Oh!” Mrs Bennet sat bolt upright again. She had found a topic of conversation she was fond of.
Kitty was relieved in one sense, as it meant that her mother would not be complaining; however, she did not one bit like the subject matter they had alighted upon. She felt Lizzy’s hand tighten around hers, and she took comfort in her presence. Mary scuttled over to the settee she and Lizzy were sitting on and joined them. Lizzy, Kitty noticed, immediately took hold of Mary’s hand and held it just as tightly. Her gesture spoke a thousand words.
“Lady Lydia Etherington, you mean, Mr Darcy!”
“Quite,” came the terse reply, and Kitty watched his expression, gratified that she could read his face easily enough.
“She is having the time of her life!” Mrs Bennet was in ecstasies. “She writes regularly, you know. London agrees with Lydia well. Their town house, oh! It is delightful from what she writes. Sir Percival is being a perfect husband to our dear girl.”
Kitty was growing increasingly uncomfortable. She squirmed on the end of the settee and wished the ground would open up and swallow her.
“Such a fine gentleman!” Mrs Bennet sing-songed. “I could not have wished for better for our dear girl. Still, our Lydia,” she lowered her voice from deafening to loud, as though only Mr Darcy would hear, “is such a likeable girl that any man would instantly fall in love with her. I am not surprised in the least that she managed to wrest Sir Percival from Kitty’s clutches. I mean, look at her.” She flapped her handkerchief in Kitty’s direction.
“Mama!” Lizzy exclaimed.
Kitty was absolutely mortified and froze unbreathing at her mother’s statement.
“What do you have to be cross about, Lizzy?” Mrs Bennet pouted and looked archly at her. “You did well for yourself, catching Mr Darcy with his ten thousand pounds a year!” She chuckled with the victory of it.
Kitty saw out of the corner of her eye Mr Darcy close his eyes and hold his breath.
“I did not catch Mr Darcy, as you put it.” Lizzy’s lips thinned in her irritation. “And Lydia’s behaviour is not becoming, Mama. It is Kitty who is the injured party in all this, and Lydia, once again, has behaved despicably.”
“How so?” Mrs Bennet was affronted. Her anger was evident as she glared across the room at Lizzy. “How has Lydia behaved despicably, as you put it?”
“I believe,” Mary’s voice rang out from the other end of the settee, “that Lydia has gone against convention and the acceptable norms in remarrying before her time of mourning is over, and not to mention marrying the gentleman intended for her sister, Mama. It is greatly frowned upon to do such things.”
“Frowned upon! What nonsense!” Mrs Bennet dismissed Mary’s opinion out of hand.
“It does indicate a deplorable lack of respect for Mr Wickham’s memory, Mrs Bennet,” Mr Darcy explained.
Mrs Bennet stared at him open-mouthed.
“It does not do to be seen about London town happily partying and getting married when one is supposed to be grieving the loss of one’s spouse.”
“Well!” Mrs Bennet breathed in heavily through her nose and pouted. “Lydia is like me in that respect, Mr Darcy. She cannot abide to be miserable. She sought her own happiness, and I daresay Sir Percival has cheered her up nicely.”
Lizzy sighed beside her, and Kitty glanced at her sideways, grateful for her and Mr Darcy’s presence. Nevertheless, it seemed nothing could persuade Mrs Bennet of the impropriety of Lydia’s behaviour. Kitty thanked the Lord that Lydia was not present to further add weight to her arguments.
“Lydia is staying in London for the season, I assume?” Mr Darcy asked.
Kitty thought she detected hope in his expression.
“Yes. They are having such fun at balls, parties, and soirées that they cannot possibly tear themselves away to spend Christmastide with us in Meryton. Oh, no, I would not hear of that! Lydia must stay where she is. She is better off in London.”
“I agree wholeheartedly!” Mr Darcy nodded and smiled with satisfaction at his mother-in-law, and once again Kitty had to stifle a giggle at his bravado.
“What is it that you find so amusing?” Mrs Bennet’s smile dropped from her face as she turned to Kitty.
“Nothing, Mama,” she replied, all of a sudden fascinated with the weave in the fabric of her dress.
“Hmm…” Mrs Bennet folded her arms. “I shall miss my dear Lydia this Christmas.”
“Well, we shall have the children to make you smile,” Lizzy offered.
“Yes, yes, they will indeed make things jolly, but I shall still miss my dear girl.”
Unseen by Mrs Bennet, Lizzy and Kitty both caught Mr Darcy rolling his eyes, which set them both off in a fit of giggles.
Chapter Six
Thankfully for all residing at Longbourn, the clouds parted and the sun showed its face once again. The temperatures did not rise by very much and there was no thaw in sight. But happily for all concerned, it did mean that they could once again venture out of doors without fear of being caught in a blizzard and dying of exposure, as Mrs Bennet constantly feared.
The first sign they had that the road into Meryton was clear enough for travel was the arrival of Mrs Phillips, Mrs Bennet’s sister. She brought them much sought-after news from town as she bustled into the entrance hall of Longbourn. Mary helped her aunt off with her wet things and laid them over the fireguard to dry during the visit.
“Oh, my dear sister!” Mrs Phillips declared in a voice similar to her sister’s. “You will never guess what disaster has befallen us.”
“Oh, my dear, what is it?” Mrs Bennet fussed and whined as she ushered her sister into the drawing room where a blazing fire awaited their visitor.
Before Mrs Phillips even had time to be seated, she was spewing out her feeling and cares in one almost incomprehensible deposit. “Mr Phillips is down with the gout yet again. I cannot tell you how much of an inconvenience it is to us, dear sister.”
Mrs Bennet consoled her sister and barked at Kitty to fetch tea. Mary slipped into the room as Kitty fled in a hurry past her. She caught the tail end of the gory description of Mr Phillips’ gout. It turned her stomach to think of it. Mary never had a stomach for the sickroom. That duty, she was always relieved about, usually fell to their mother or her elder sisters. It was not long before Mary lamented joining her aunt and mother in the drawing room and quietly wished Kitty would hurry back with Hill and the tea things. She had a suspicion as to why Kitty tarried. Her younger sister had grown tired of hearing herself spoken so poorly of, and Mary herself could not understand her mother’s attitude. Lydia had purposefully gone after Sir Percival. It was not Kitty’s fault at all, to Mary’s mind.
In the time it took for Kitty to return with Hill and a tray of hot tea and crumpets, Mary learned five things. The first was that her Uncle Phillips had gout and it was so bad that he was laid up at home and unable to work. As an attorney at law, that meant that things were piling up in the office in Meryton despite the best efforts of Mr Hodgson, his clerk, to manage all by himself. The second was that the Collinses were at Lucas Lodge and had paid the Phillipses a visit.
“Oh, sister dearest, do not speak of the odious Collinses. I cannot bear to hear their name me
ntioned in this house,” Mrs Bennet decried, but in the next breath she was asking Mrs Phillips details about their son and whether Charlotte was yet expecting another addition to their family.
Mary closed her eyes and wished herself far away until the subject changed once again to the third subject, that there would be no assembly that year whatsoever. Apparently, the reason was—and these were the fourth and fifth things Mary learnt—because there was such a hard winter all over the country that there was a scarcity of food and the newspapers reported that there were fears the winter would only worsen.
“Worsen?” Mrs Bennet screeched. “What do they mean worsen? How can it be worse than it already is?”
Mrs Phillips was in the middle of trying to explain what the newspapers from London were saying when Hill and Kitty entered the room.
“Kitty, Kitty!” Mrs Bennet cried flapping her hand at her daughter as she assisted Hill.
“What is it, Mama?”
“Tell her, sister. Tell her!” Mrs Bennet demanded of her sister.
“Well,” Mrs Phillips pursed her lips and eyed the teapot greedily.
Mary, watching the drama unfold, knew her mother would not pick up on her sister’s hints for tea, and so with a heavy sigh, she rose from her seat at the table and served them. When there was gossip to be had, Mrs Bennet excluded all else.
“Well…” Mrs Phillips continued with one eye on Mary’s hands as she poured and served the tea and the other on Kitty’s face as she delivered the dreadful news. “Word has it that the north of England, and even Wales, are experiencing a worsening of the weather and that temperatures are plummeting.”
Kitty gasped on cue, and Mary resisted the desire to tut and say, “Really, Kitty!”
“Yes, Kitty, you may well be shocked. They say that temperatures may not rise much before Easter and add to that the failed harvests this year!” Mrs Phillips covered her mouth with her handkerchief and sobbed.
“But forecasting the weather is a very unpredictable science, is it not?” Mary could not help but ask as she handed her aunt a cup of tea.
“That is true, I have heard so,” Kitty ventured.
“Nonsense!” Mrs Bennet declared. “If it is written in the London newspapers—”
“The Times,” Mrs Phillips interjected.
“Oh, The Times.” Mrs Bennet’s face took on an air of archness. “Then, Mary, who are we to argue with The Times of London?”
“But often, the weather is declared to be such-and-such, they have snow in Wales or in Yorkshire, but by the time it arrives here nearer to London, it is not so dreadful as reported.”
“Oh, fie!” Mrs Phillips and Mrs Bennet shared knowing expressions.
Mary knew what they were secretly saying, “What does she know about anything at all? A girl of her age knows nothing.” And yet Mary was extremely well-read and knew a vast deal about many things. What she knew most of all then was that she did not want to start a discussion that she knew she could never win and deftly changed the subject. “So how is Mr Hodgson coping with running the attorney’s office, Aunt?”
“My dear, very poorly indeed! I daresay he is a capable young man. Mr Phillips would not have employed him otherwise, but I am not convinced he can do the work that my dear husband does.”
“No, of course he cannot,” Mrs Bennet cooed.
“I worry that he cannot cope and the business will fail because of it. If only there was some young person in the vicinity that we could call upon to assist him. Even with the filing and letter-writing, he would have his time freed up sufficiently to carry out his work, I am sure.”
In that instant, Mary hit upon a wild and ridiculous scheme. It would get her out of Longbourn for a time and give her an occupation for once. Fear that she would be hushed in an instant never occurred to her as she blurted out, “I could assist him.”
Mrs Bennet and Mrs Phillips looked struck dumb at her words.
“You?” Aunt Phillips asked.
“Yes, Aunt. I can organise files, and I am certain my letter-writing is as good as any in these parts.” She smiled, strangely hopeful that her spontaneous suggestion would work.
“Well…” Mrs Phillips looked at her sister.
“I could help too!” Kitty cried out.
Mary stared at her sister in disbelief as their aunt clapped her hands together in glee. “There, I do believe we have a solution. Well done, girls! How clever of you!” She turned back to Mrs Bennet who sat agog at the discussion. “Now all we have to do is decide what we shall do about the lack of a ball this winter.”
Chapter Seven
Mrs Bennet was fairly beaming with joy when the sisters came down to breakfast the following morning. She sat eating her food chuckling to herself.
“Mama, whatever is the matter?” Kitty ventured.
“Matter?” Mrs Bennet declared. “Don’t be silly, Kitty!” She shovelled more scrambled egg into her mouth. “Can you not tell,” she mumbled through her food, “that I am simply happy this morning.”
“Yes, we can, Mama.” Mary sat herself down as far away from their mother as possible.
Kitty giggled. She could see her sister was almost frightened by their mother’s abrupt change in humour. “Pray, do tell, Mama!” Kitty could not help but find their mother’s happy mood to be infectious.
“Well,” Mrs Bennet triumphantly placed her knife and fork down. It was as though she had just been bursting with the anticipation of someone, anyone, asking her. “I have hatched the most wonderful of plans, and it all begins with this glorious day!” She waved at the window and gazed out through it, her face the picture of pure delight.
“This day?” Mary asked tentatively.
“What about it?” Kitty was perplexed.
“Can you not see?”
Kitty was affronted to be looked at as though she were a simpleton. “No, Mama. I cannot.”
“The sun is shining, child.” Mrs Bennet’s short temper was back. “The snow is thawing a little.” Her eyes widened as though willing Kitty to understand.
“Oh!” Mary cried. “You mean that the roads will be passable soon, Mama?”
“Yes!” Mrs Bennet clapped her hands together and resumed her breakfast. “This means you can travel into Meryton to help out your poor Uncle Phillips’ clerk, despite my doubts that either of you can be of any use whatsoever, being girls, and…” she paused to take a deep breath and heighten their anticipation, looking at each of them in turn. “I have decided we will host a party to make up for the lack of a ball this winter.”
Kitty saw her sister recoil from the insult that, as girls, they could not be of use to Walter Hodgson, but her own excitement was heightened at the mention of a party.
“We will invite all of our acquaintance, of course.”
“Of course,” Kitty agreed, already thinking about which dress she would wear.
“Oh,” their mother continued to chatter on, “we can broaden our acquaintance now that our dear Lydia is a lady. We could ask the Broughtons from the next town. I am certain they will have heard that our dear daughter is now Lady Etherington. I have often heard Sir Lucas tell that the Broughtons are frequently in town and presented at court.”
Kitty’s face fell and her stomach lurched. When will we ever stop talking about how wonderful Lydia is?
“I shall have to get one of my dresses altered.”
Neither of them was listening to their mother. Kitty’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at her plate of sausage, eggs, and toast. She was painfully aware of Mary watching her. She wished they would both just leave.
Mrs Bennet sighed. “I don’t think I could get an alteration done in time. However,” she said with renewed vigour, “Jane is very adept with a needle. She might make a few changes to one of my gowns. Yes, that is what I shall do.” She looked up at Kitty who wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Kitty’s throat had closed tight. “Eat up, Kitty. Don’t let it go cold now. You and Mary can then be on your way into Meryton w
ithin the hour,” she chirruped, happy with herself.
Chapter Eight
Mary and Kitty stepped in through the front door of their uncle’s office, stamped the snow from their boots upon the coir mat, and rubbed their frozen gloved hands together to warm them up. Mary breathed in deeply. The air smelled of old books. It was a scent Mary had loved since she was a child. It was the same odour she associated with her father and his book room.
Kitty groaned as she looked up at the tall bookshelves that lined the clerk’s outer office from floor to ceiling. Each shelf held many large tomes which Mary knew did not interest her sister. In contrast, Mary yearned to take one down from the shelf and leaf through its pages to reveal the secrets contained within. She smiled to herself, warmed by the passionate delight she took in books.
Their arrival and the subsequent ringing of the bell that hung above the entrance brought Walter Hodgson scuttling in from the back office, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
“I did not know you wore eyeglasses, Walter,” Kitty giggled. “You look very silly.”
“Not in the least!” Mary blurted out. Her face turned a deep shade of red when Mr Hodgson and Kitty stared at her in surprise. “I…I mean,” she stuttered, “I mean that I think you look rather intelligent with spectacles.” She shifted uncomfortably and felt her temperature rise. Swallowing hard, she wondered why her palms were wet with perspiration.
“Why, thank you, Mary.” Mr Hodgson turned the same shade of red as Mary had. “I see you too wear them.”
“Yes, I do,” Mary replied, finding her tongue dry and sticking to her mouth.
Kitty huffed and moved away from the pair. As she did so, Mary overheard her mutter, “Typical!”
“I mostly need them for reading, though I wear them often,” Mary continued, ignoring her sister.
“Me too!” Mr Hodgson declared with glee.
Mary realised a few seconds later that they were standing staring at each other with ridiculous grins plastered across their faces. “Well,” she cleared her throat and forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand, “I believe you have a few things that my sister and I can help you with.”
Christmas at Longbourn Page 3
