Page 218 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

Mrs Bennet shrieked. "That cat! He is the devil in fur! He is trying to kill me! He knows my nerves cannot take the breakage!"

Charles blinked up at her, unimpressed, before snatching a piece of roasted chicken. He sauntered off to the centre of the table with the prize in his jaws.

Kitty was still gaping at Mary like she had just suggested they rob the Bank of England.

Mary turned to her sister. "Kitty, do not fret. It is only singing among family. Besides, you have a talent. Do not let it gather dust like Aunt Phillips' best china. You will do it, with conviction."

"But I am serious!" Kitty protested, forgetting to cough.

"You can sing seriously," Mary argued. "Tragic ballads are very dignified."

Mrs Bennet clutched her napkin to her chest, breathing heavily. "Mary, are you quite well? This does not seem like you, child. You never cared to include anyone else in your playing."

"I wish to fill the silence." Mary ignored the way her mother's eyebrows had climbed halfway up her forehead. "This house is too quiet, you are right, Mamma. We are still here. We can make our own noise."

Charles, having finished the chicken, was now perched on the tablecloth, licking his paw with the smugness of a king surveying a conquered province. Then, with a flick of his tail, he knocked over Mr Bennet's water glass.

The liquid pooled ominously near Mary's elbow.

"Charles," Mary said calmly, not moving her arm, "if you are going to be a menace, at least commit to it properly."

The cat responded by leaping onto the sideboard, where the massive yellow bouquet stood in its vase. He sniffed a rose, sneezed violently, and then proceeded to bat the petals.

Yellow confetti rained down onto the carpet.

Kitty dissolved into giggles, her serious mask shattering instantly. "He hates those flowers! Look, Mamma! He is attacking the suitor!"

Mary watched the scene unfold—the spilled water, the scattered food, the ruined petals, her mother's outraged spluttering—and felt something unfamiliar bubble up in her chest.

It took her a moment to recognise it: amusement.

She turned back to her soup. "Tomorrow, then. We shall entertain ourselves."

Mrs Bennet threw her hands up, nearly knocking over her wine. "This family is mad! My Son would never permit such anarchy!"

Mr Bennet chuckled into his napkin. "Your Son would have been the one to start it, my dear."

Mary hid a smile behind her spoon. She was not a spectator in her own home anymore. She was the one holding the match, ready to light the fire.

Charles leapt into her lap, sitting squarely on her napkin. He purred as if the evening had unfolded exactly according to his plan.

Chapter Six: The Gospel of Clay

July 1812

Mr Bingley's Journal

The carriage rattled through Meryton like a reluctant debutante at her first ball—hesitant, overdressed, and drawing ruthlessly assessing stares. I, Charles Bingley, sat inside, my new riding coat buttoned to perfection, my boots polished to a shine that mocked the dusty road outside. Tepper, my valet and occasional oracle of doom, perched opposite me, his face a mask of stoic suffering as he clutched a valise that contained, among other essentials, three spare cravats and a treatise on estate management I had impulsively purchased in London.

"Tepper," I spoke, peering out of the window at the familiar façades of the village, "behold Meryton! It has not changed a whit since last November. The bakery still looks as though it is judging one's choice of pastry, and the inn—ah, the Green Man—remains a bastion of ale and unspoken regrets."

Tepper adjusted his spectacles, which he wore not for vision but, I suspected, to lend an air of intellectual superiority to his judgments. "Indeed, sir. Though one might argue that Meryton has endured your absence with remarkable fortitude. The villagers appear to have continued breathing without interruption."

I laughed, a bright sound that echoed in the confined space. "You wound me, Tepper! But fear not—I return not as a fleeting visitor, but as a man of substance. Depth! I shall prove to all and sundry that I am an anchor. A very well-dressed anchor."

Tepper smiled. "An anchor, sir? One hopes it does not sink entirely."

"Have faith in me, Tepper!" I slapped my knee for emphasis, nearly dislodging my hat.