Kitty began to wail again, now even more upset that both her sisters were going.
Mary did not seem to have heard at all.
“Two daughters at Brighton.” Mrs Bennet calculated the mathematics of this new arrangement. Her eyes widened, her mind leaping directly to double weddings and matching carriages. “Two daughters among the militia! Why, it is a campaign! It is a siege! We shall need more ribbons and newparasols. You cannot lay siege to a regiment with last year’s parasols.”
“But, Mamma! What about me? I could go to chaperone Lydia and Lizzy!” Kitty shouted, and even the teaspoons rattled at the absurdity.
“Kitty, that is out of the question. You were not invited, and if Lizzy is to go as a companion, we cannot impose three of you on the Forsters’ household,” Mrs Bennet spoke reasonably for once.
Kitty huffed again, and Mary patted her hand, offering courage, inwardly planning to have her sister as an audience to her pianoforte practice the entire summer. Kitty’s eyes filled with tears of despair.
Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s hand, offering silent support.
Elizabeth took a deep breath, ignoring the fresh wave of noise her announcement had provoked. Brighton awaited. She was going to wrangle Lydia, thwart Mr Wickham, and attempt to preserve her family’s respectability.
No pressure at all.
Twelve hours inside a confined wooden box with Lydia Bennet was a test of endurance worthy of a saint. Twelve hours with Lydia Bennet and Winslow was a punishment reserved for the particularly wicked.
The journey from Hertfordshire to the Sussex coast was an exercise in systematic torture. The hired carriage aimed at every stone and rut between Meryton and London, and then over every rut and stone between London and Brighton. Theair inside the carriage was thick with the smell of road dust, lavender water, and impending regret.
Elizabeth stared out of the window, attempting to find solace in the rolling countryside.
Solace was unavailable.
“I shall require at least four new gowns.” Lydia adjusted her bonnet for the seventeenth time since they had passed Crawley. “The sea air is notoriously ruinous to silk, and one must have a new muslin for every assembly. Do you think a yellow ribbon would suit my complexion better than a blue one? I am firmly decided on blue, but yellow is so very cheerful.”
Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on a passing flock of sheep. “You have spoken of nothing but ribbons for three hours, Lydia. I believe the subject is thoroughly exhausted.”
“One can never exhaust the subject of ribbons.” Lydia patted her reticule with alarming zeal. “Harriet wrote that the officers are fond of blue. Oh, I can hardly wait! We shall walk on the Steine every morning, and visit the circulating library every afternoon, and dance every evening until our slippers fall apart.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and pressed two fingers to her temples in a futile attempt to ward off a headache.
In the corner opposite them sat the source of a different sort of torment.
Winslow was a woman of indeterminate age. She could have been fifty. She could have been one hundred and two. Mrs Bennet, in her infinite maternal wisdom, had decided that the girls could not possibly travel without a suitable attendant. However, she was unwilling to part with anyone truly useful from her household. Therefore, they were accompanied byWinslow. She had served as a scullery maid until her knees gave out, at which point Mr Bennet had charitably allowed her to remain in the kitchens to peel potatoes. She was deaf, had only half her vision, and retained exactly one tooth in her head.
She was eating an apple.
The process was an auditory nightmare. Because she had only a single tooth, Winslow could not bite the fruit. She was forced to scrape it.
Scrape.
Slurp.
Munch.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and glared at the elderly woman.
Winslow smiled back, oblivious to the world around her, and continued her slow, methodical destruction of the apple. She had been working on the same piece of fruit since they had left London. It was a display of perseverance.
“I do hope the officers are handsome.” Lydia leaned forward, unbothered by the scraping noises. “Captain Micks is very fine, but he has gone to the North. Do you think there will be colonels? I should very much like to dance with a colonel.”
“I should very much like to jump from this moving vehicle,” Elizabeth muttered.
“What was that, Lizzy?”
“I said I hope the sea air is restorative.” Elizabeth offered a strained smile.
