Jane continued to stare at me for a long moment. And then, quite suddenly, tears brimmed over in her eyes. “No—Charles has done nothing. Nothing at all. It is I.” Her voice broke on a sob. “I have done something terrible. So terrible I do not know whether Charles can forgive me.”
It was my turn to look completely blank with shock. Jane has always been so absolutely without fault. I cannot recall her ever having been so much as scolded, much less punished, when we were small. The rest of us might quarrel and get into mischief, but never Jane.
And if Jane were about to tell me that she was the one who had taken to drink—or that the baby due next month was not actually Charles’s—I was fully prepared to lose my faith in the human race entirely.
Jane was still crying, though, so I leaned forward to hug her and said, “Jane—don’t cry. Please. It cannot be good for you—or for the baby, either. And whatever the trouble is, it cannot be so very dreadful as all that. Tell me, and we will think what can be done.”
Jane choked on another sob but at last grew a little calmer. “I am sorry, Kitty. I would have told you before, only I was so … so ashamed.” She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and swallowed. “It was a few weeks ago. Charles’s sister and her husband were staying with us.”
“Caroline, do you mean?”
Caroline Bingley, the younger of Charles’s two sisters, married Edward’s older brother last year.
Jane shook her head. “No, Louisa.”
Louisa is Mrs. Hurst. Which means, I suppose, that Mrs. Hurst must have come direct from Jane and Charles to London and her mission to launch Miranda Pettigrew.
Jane drew a shaky breath and went on. “While Louisa and Mr. Hurst were staying with us, we went to a dinner party at Lord Brompton’s. He has the estate next to ours. It was a very large party—there must have been sixty guests there in all. And as it turned out, Louisa was previously acquainted with some of the other ladies present. She … when we ladies had left the gentlemen in the dining room to enjoy their port, Louisa … she proposed that we play at cards to pass the time.”
Jane stopped and swallowed again. “I … I do not care much for cards, as you know. I have never been at all good at those sorts of games. But Louisa pressed me very much to join in and promised me that she would help me. She said that she would sit by me and be my partner. That I need only follow her lead. And I thought”—Jane’s voice shook—“I did not wish to seem discourteous, when Louisa had been so kind and had offered to go to so much trouble for me. So I— what did you say, Kitty?”
“Nothing.” I was beginning to suspect in which direction Jane’s story was heading. And I would be—to borrow one of the soldiers’ expressions I learned in Brussels—a bachelor’s daughter if I believed there was anything remotely kind about Mrs. Hurst’s offer of help. “Go on,” I told Jane.
Jane scrubbed at her eyes again with the handkerchief. “I agreed to play. I thought that the stakes Louisa and her friends were playing for would not be very high—a few shillings, at most. But as it turned out”—her voice caught—“as it turned out, the stakes were very high indeed. Shockingly so. And I did not know what to do. Louisa tried to help me with my hands. But I was … I did not think I was playing so very stupidly. And yet I must have been, because somehow I lost hand after hand.”
Jane exhaled a shaky breath. “I should have said before that Charles had given me an early Christmas present. A … a diamond necklace that had belonged to his mother. Louisa told me that it had been their mother’s most prized piece of jewellery. And that she herself had always admired it very much.”
“Did she indeed,” I muttered under my breath.
“Oh yes.” Jane was entirely oblivious of the sarcasm in my tone. “I was wearing it that night. And when … when I had lost more money than I could possibly repay, even if I used the whole of my dress allowance from Charles, Mrs. Bessworth—she is a particular friend of Louisa’s, and had won more hands than anyone else—she said that she would accept my necklace in lieu of payment.” Jane’s lips trembled and her voice broke again. “I said that I could not possibly give her the necklace—that I would give her some of my other jewellery instead. But she was—” Jane hesitated, two bright spots of colour appearing on her pale cheeks. “She was very unpleasant, in fact. She threatened to cause a scene if I did not hand over the necklace then and there. To storm back into the dining room and tell Charles in front of all the other men that his wife had tried to shirk the debt she had earned in playing at cards.”
Jane stopped again, and her hands twisted themselves together on the coverlet. “I did not know what to do. I could not let her embarrass Charles in that way. And I had truly earned the debt, by playing so poorly. I handed over the necklace to her. I told Charles that I had taken it off because the clasp had come loose. And luckily he did not ask to actually see it.” Jane closed her eyes, and two tears rolled down over her cheeks. “It was the first time I had ever lied to him—and yet how could I tell him the truth, that I had been so careless with his gift?” She looked up at me again, her eyes still swimming. “Louisa was so kind—she offered to speak with Mrs. Bessworth on my behalf. To ask whether there was not some other form of payment that Mrs. Bessworth might accept. But she came back to me with the news that it was no use, that Mrs. Bessworth absolutely refused to return the necklace, and that she had indeed quitted the neighbourhood altogether and travelled to London. So I came here as well, hoping that I might find her and beg her to reconsider. Otherwise”—Jane’s voice cracked again—“I do not know how I am ever to face Charles again.”
I could not manage to keep silent any longer. “That nasty, two-faced, vicious, deceitful, lying, cheating, despicable shrew!” I burst out.
Jane looked entirely shocked. “Kitty! I admit Mrs. Bessworth was not kind, but—”
“Not Mrs. Bessworth. I am speaking of Louisa Hurst.”
Jane’s look of shock deepened. “How can you say such a thing? Louisa—”
“Orchestrated the whole thing!” I interrupted again. “I would wager anything you like that she and her dear friend Mrs. Bessworth worked out the whole plot in advance. I have no doubt that Mrs. Bessworth cheated at the card game from start to finish—that was why she managed to win so many hands.”
“But why … why would she do such a thing?”
“For the express purpose of winning your necklace, of course. You said yourself that Mrs. Hurst admired it. I am certain she bribed or bullied her friend into the scheme of winning it away from you. In fact, I doubt whether the necklace remained in Mrs. Bessworth’s possession more than the single night. You may be certain that it is Mrs. Hurst who has it now. She managed to gain possession of the necklace that she no doubt resented Charles’s giving to you. And—as I am sure she was very well aware—she succeeded in driving a wedge between you and Charles, as well. She never wanted him to marry you.”
Jane’s eyes were round with shock, and her face had gone pale. “Oh, no, Kitty. I am certain that you are mistaken. Louisa is my friend. She could not possibly—”
I will not bother to write out Jane’s defence of Louisa Hurst; it was bad enough listening to it once from Jane’s lips. But it was at that point that I began to regret my promise to Georgiana that I would not take Jane by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled.
Jane, in fact, is not actually stupid. It is only that she is so genuinely sweet and good-tempered herself than she cannot imagine anyone else having less than benevolent motives.
It was clearly a pointless effort to try to convince her of Louisa Hurst’s duplicity, so I said instead, “Well, I am going to help you get the necklace back, I promise you—whoever is presently in possession of it. Now try to rest—and try not to worry any more, for the baby’s sake, if nothing else.” I bent and kissed Jane’s cheek. “I have seen the way Charles looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. He would not trade you for fifty diamond necklaces worn by a hundred of his most august ancestors.”
Which is entirely true. Despite Jane’s fears, I am not at all worried about what Charles would say if he learned the truth. But it is intolerable to think that Mrs. Hurst and Mrs. Bessworth should be allowed to get away without punishment for the grief they have caused to Jane.
I almost ran back downstairs, intending to recount to Georgiana what I had learned—and then came to an abrupt halt outside her sitting room door when I heard voices coming from inside: Georgiana’s and Edward’s.
I raised my hand, intending to knock, but froze when I heard Edward—his voice sounding quite shaken—say, “Please, love, tell me what it is I have done to upset you so!”
“What have you done?” Georgiana’s voice sounded thick and clogged with tears. “To have accepted a diplomatic assignment in France—one that will keep you away for an entire year—”
“Georgiana!” There was the sound of rapid footsteps, and I imagined Edward’s crossing the room to her. “First of all, I did not accept the assignment. I said that of course I must talk it over with you before giving any answer. And second—”
“Oh, but what does that matter?” Georgiana interrupted him before he could finish, her voice still on the edge of crying. “Of course I will say you ought to accept the assignment. I have to. There is surely no one at the War Office who can carry it out so well as you. And what right have I to selfishly want to keep you here at home with me when you may influence the future politics of Europe?”
“Well, as to that”—there was the hint of a smile in Edward’s voice now—“I believe you flatter me over-much. But you did not let me finish. I was about to say that in the second place, it never occurred to me that if I were to accept the assignment in France, you would not accompany me.”
There was a moment’s silence, as though Georgiana could not entirely believe what she heard, and then she said, “You want me to go to France with you?”
There was another silence, longer this time, and then Edward’s voice, sounding husky said, “Can you honestly think that I would consent—for any reason—to be parted from you for an entire year?”
“But Edward, I thought—that is, most men would forbid their wives to travel long distances in my condition.”
“Have I that authority, to forbid you from doing things?” I could hear a smile in Edward’s voice again. “How strange. Nearly six months of marriage, and I had not realised. I shall have to—”
“Of course you have not!” Georgiana sounded as though she were smiling now, as well.
“In seriousness, though, love,” Edward said. “You must know that I would die sooner than risk anything happening to you—or the child. So if you think there is the slightest danger—”
“I am certain there is not. I feel quite well, as I keep telling you. And the journey across the Channel is not overly strenuous. Other increasing women than I have made the trip in perfect safety.”
“It is still a great deal I am asking of you, though.” Edward’s voice was sober. “To travel so far, away from Pemberley, away from friends and family—”
“I will not be away from family. The three of us together—you and me and our baby, whoever he or she turns out to be—that is my family. Wherever we can be together will always be home.”
Edward said something in reply, too low for me to make out the words. And I realised—very belatedly—that I ought not to have overheard any of the above exchange at all. It sounds the feeblest of excuses, I know—but I had been so riveted by the conversation that it honestly had not occurred to me until that moment that I was eavesdropping shamelessly.
I backed hastily away from the door and went to sit in the drawing room, which was where Georgiana found me some little time later.
“Is Edward gone back to the War Office?” I asked as she came into the room. “I overheard what you and he were saying in your sitting room,” I added. I may be a shameless if inadvertent eavesdropper, but at least I was determined not to be dishonest about it. “I did not mean to, but … please let me offer you congratulations. I am so very happy for you both. Though of course I am sorry if you did not mean to tell anyone about it yet.”
“Thank you.” Georgiana coloured slightly, but smiled. “And it does not matter. The news is nothing you would not have found out eventually. It is only that it is very early days yet, and I had thought to wait a little before telling everyone.” She placed a hand on her stomach.
“When is the baby due to arrive?”
“Early summer—late May or early June.”
“And when do you travel to France?”
“Not until March. Travel will be easier, come springtime.” Georgiana set that aside and asked, “But now, please, tell me. Were you able to learn anything from Jane?”
“Are you sure that you ought to be worrying over such matters? In your condition—”
“Oh, not you, as well!” Georgiana exclaimed. “I assure you that I have had the greatest difficulty in persuading Edward that just because I am increasing does not mean that I require to be treated like an invalid. Of course I want to hear about Jane. What did she tell you?”
I recounted to her the whole of what Jane had told me of Mrs. Hurst and Mrs. Bessworth—and she responded with an indignation almost equal to my own. For all she is so kind and good-tempered herself, Georgiana does not, I am thankful to say, have Jane’s perpetually sunshine-and-roses-laced view of human nature.
“Those harridans!” Georgiana burst out when I had done. “I knew Louisa was spiteful—she has always had a poisonous disposition. And of course she has never forgiven Charles for defying her wishes and marrying Jane. But I did not think she would have gone so far as this. Have you thought what is to be done?”
I shook my head. “No. That is the difficulty. I do not know what may be done to set matters right. We may suspect—so strongly that it is tantamount to knowing—that Louisa Hurst and her friend colluded on a scheme to win Jane’s necklace away. But we have nothing at all in the way of proof. There is no way of proving so long after the fact that Mrs. Bessworth cheated at that card game in order to win. And without that—well, Jane did accrue the debt, and she did willingly hand the necklace over as payment. Those facts will be difficult to get around. It is not as though we can simply march up to Mrs. Hurst and demand that she give the necklace back. We have no proof, either, that Mrs. Bessworth in fact handed over the necklace to her.”
“We will think of something,” Georgiana said. “We have to. And you must promise to let me be involved in any scheme you do come up with. Promise,” she added, frowning fiercely. “I am determined that I shall have a part in righting the wrong they have done to Jane.”
“I promise.” I held up my hands in a show of defeat. “Even if the best plan I can come up with involves donning black mask and breeches and playing the role of highway robber to steal the necklace back from Mrs. Hurst—I promise that I will allow you to assume the part of my partner in crime.”
Georgiana laughed at that. And then she squeezed my hand. “I have missed you, Kitty. I hope you will come and see me again soon.”
I had not fully realised it until now, but I have missed Georgiana very much as well.
Friday 19 January 1816
Aunt Gardiner came into my room today. Well, Mary’s and mine, of course. Though it does not feel that way at the moment. Despite our sharing the same bedchamber, I have scarcely seen Mary at all these last two days. She is gone all day and has come in late in the evening, too.
Aunt Gardiner was carrying baby Susanna when she entered the room. With the older children gone away on their visit, there is only Susanna left to care for, and the house feels unnaturally quiet. My aunt set Susanna down on the rug—where she immediately used her funny, lopsided crawl to make straight for one of Mary’s slippers that she had left lying half under her bed.
That is another change in Mary’s behaviour. Before this, she would sooner have appeared in her petticoat at a public dinner than be so untidy.
“No, Susanna!�
� My aunt deftly extricated the slipper from Susanna’s chubby fingers, substituted a wooden teething ring, and then said, “Kitty, I wish to talk with you about Mary. I am worried about her.”
I had been amusing myself—or trying to—with sketching when Aunt Gardiner knocked. Having the older boys and girls gone also leaves me with an uncomfortable amount of time on my hands.
I set my pencil down, feeling my stomach lurch. “Are you?”
Aunt Gardiner nodded. “Yes. I know you have been helping her—giving her dancing lessons and help with dressing and arranging her hair and all that sort of thing. For which I was delighted,” Aunt Gardiner hastily added. “Truly, Kitty, it is not that I think you have done anything wrong. Quite the reverse. But just this morning—”
Aunt Gardiner broke off momentarily to retrieve the teething ring for Susanna. Susanna had hurled it under the bed. And then commenced shrieking angrily when it was discourteous enough not to return to her at once.
“Just this morning,” Aunt Gardiner went on, “I received a letter by the first post from an old friend of mine. Felicity Chargroves. Felicity was at a masquerade ball last night. And she was astonished to see Mary there. Apparently in company with a group of young people all—nominally, at least—chaperoned by Mrs. Hurst. However”—a line of worry appeared between Aunt Gardiner’s brows—“what Felicity wrote to tell me was that she was surprised very much by Mary’s behaviour. Apparently, Mary danced no fewer than three dances—in a row—with the same young man. And one of them was a waltz.”
“Did she”—I had to swallow before I could make myself ask the question—“did she know this young man’s name?”
Kitty Bennet's Diary (Pride and Prejudice Chronicles) Page 9
