Page 5 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“Lizzy, what a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in. You must see the wallpaper pattern book that Mrs. Hubbard has lent me. Perhaps you could help me choose—even Mr. Philips agrees that the walls in the parlour are faded and need redecorating.”

We sat to tea and began leafing through the book of patterns. “What do you prefer, Aunt?” I asked. There were so many different styles to choose from: block-prints emulating fancy textiles, embossed leathers and tapestries, moiré patterns mimicking the shimmer of silk, Gothic motifs with elaborate quatrefoils, and repeated floral and botanical motifs.

“Oh, Lizzy, I cannot say. But I prefer something light, for the room is a little dark, with only the window overlooking the street letting light in during the day.”

“Then I suggest you choose a floral pattern—pastels or something stronger?”

Oh, how I wished that Kitty were here, for she had such a wonderful sense of colour and design. I felt my cheeks flush—little Kitty, who had never even seen the world.

“Oh, Lizzy! Whatever is the matter?” cried my aunt. “You look so sorrowful.”

I took her hands in mine. “It’s just that Mama told Jane and me of her misfortune—of Mary stillborn, of Kitty’s heartbeat failing in the womb, and of the fever that took little Lydia away.”

“Oh, you poor dear. That was a terrible time. Did she tell you that I was there when tiny Kitty was delivered?”

“Yes, Mama spoke of your very great support. But I came here, Aunt, for you to advise me, if you can.”

“Of course, dear. Please, tell me.”

“Jane and I had a game, where we imagined our three sisters growing up with us. We would take tea with them, pretend that they would walk with us to Meryton. Oh, it distressed Mama so much to be reminded of what might have been. So we have agreed to give up our game. But Aunt Hattie, it is so hard to let them slip away. Why, just now, I imagined Kitty sitting with us, helping to choose a wallpaper for the room—I always imagined her loving to draw, to paint pictures with soft pastels.”

“And you feel that by doing so you break your promise to Fanny?”

I nodded my head; I was distraught, for I truly did not wish to hurt Mama any further. Aunt Hattie drew me into her warm embrace. Here I was, sixteen years old, having come out into society, but blubbering like a small child.

Aunt Hattie was quiet for a while, letting my emotions calm. “Elizabeth, you feel things very strongly, and you do not hide your feelings as successfully as Jane. Of course, it will take time; but, please, never let your memories of your sisters fade completely away. Indeed, your mother has overcome her grief—I had never seen her so proud as when you and Jane came out at the assembly. It is everything that she could have wished for.”

She refreshed our tea and turned to the samples. “If you know what Kitty would have liked, please share it with me. In truth, it is you who draw, and paint, and select lovely pastel shades which will bring joy to this room. Come, let us hold the samples up to the wall.”

We spent the next half hour holding samples up in the soft afternoon light, laughing over the most outlandish.

“I feel dizzy looking at it,” exclaimed Aunt Hattie, as she held up a riot of peonies and twisting vines. She grew more animated as we debated the merits of a cool blue damask versus a delicate primrose sprig. We were not merely redecorating a parlour, but quietly weaving her absent nieces into the fabric of the room. Was that all-too-loud laugh Lydia, playing at lottery tickets? Mary playing a highland reel so we could dance? And, of course, Kitty guiding our hand as we sorted through the designs.

“I think this one, Aunt—see how the little wildflowers brighten the whole pattern? It’s cheerful, but not too bold.”

She squinted, considering. “Yes, my dear, and I daresay Mr. Philips will not object—it is certainly not too colourful for an attorney’s parlour. The delicate shades are delightful—Kitty would have approved. Let us ask the shop to order a length, and you must come help me hang it when it arrives.”

* * *

Though my coming-out assembly was my public entry into adulthood, perhaps that afternoon with Aunt Hattie had more influence on my life. She was correct: it was not Kitty who drew, or Mary who played the piano-forte, or Lydia who entertained her friends with sparkling wit and playful teasing. I took to drawing with more seriousness than I had ever imagined possible; likewise, I practised the music of Dussek, Clementi, and Pleyel. Though not a virtuoso, I could claim my fair share of appreciative audiences at soirées and after-dinner entertainments.

As the seasons turned, Jane and I found our days marked by the subtle pressures of society. Jane, with her sweet temper and gentle countenance, certainly attracted admiration. Yet she felt no need to go further, to turn interest into courtship, and from there proceed to marriage. Nor did Mama encourage us.

“Once you reach your majority,” she said one afternoon, when taking tea in the parlour, “then you may look for a husband, if you must. I would certainly not wish the sorrows I endured thrust upon you at a young age. Once you marry, you will inevitably bear children—but as I have recounted, there is both joy and sorrow in carrying them. If I had possessed a little more wisdom—which likely comes with age—then I could have borne my loss more easily.”

“But surely, Mama,” said Jane, “we need to marry, for under the entail we have no inheritance, and Longbourn will pass to Papa’s cousin, Mr. Collins. How will we live? Your portion of five thousand pounds could not support yourself, Lizzy and me.”

“Perhaps, my dear,” replied Mrs. Bennet, “that may have been the case had Mr. Bennet not realised the folly of exceeding, or at the very least, spending all our income each year. These past ten years, after baby Lydia died of the fever, he recognised that my bearing another child and seeing it succumb in the womb or to another fever would break my spirit. Thus, we agreed that he would no longer come to my bed—though we both dearly wished for such comfort—and would put aside enough of our income to provide for me and you girls.”

“I have often wondered,” I mused aloud, “that while Longbourn is the largest estate in the neighbourhood, we do not seem as wealthy as, for example, the Longs, who often take the waters at Bath.”

“It is true, Lizzy, that Longbourn is the principal estate of the neighbourhood. Once, I would have frittered our income away on setting a fine table, entertaining our neighbours at least once a week, buying new gowns and ribbons to wear at the assemblies. Putting aside the fripperies of wealth was difficult at first. But now, when you reach your majority, you and Jane will each have a dowry of five thousand pounds, and my jointure will have grown to ten thousand—enough to live well and in considerable comfort—though I pray I never need it.”

Five thousand pounds! A veritable fortune. Yet we did not speak of our dowries, for both Jane and I enjoyed the freedom of enjoying company without being sought after for our fortunes alone. Perhaps to my benefit, my sharp tongue and preference for intelligent conversation over flattery set me somewhat apart from the other young ladies of the neighbourhood. Thus, I was spared, for the most part, the attention that Jane endured, and was free to make my walks to Oakham Mount and sketch the views as they changed in colour and aspect over the seasons.

Nevertheless, I grew accustomed, over the course of the next years, to the rounds of visits, card parties, and impromptu picnics that made up Meryton’s society. It was during this period that Jane’s character, always mild and obliging, acquired a steadiness that I admired and attempted to emulate. She would listen with unflagging patience to the confidences and complaints of our younger neighbours. Her advice, when given, was gentle and sound, and her sympathy drew people to her as surely as her beauty.

Our circle was not large, but it was varied. Occasionally, the militia were quartered in the town for a few weeks on their way south to Portsmouth or Brighton. The officers brought with them an air of excitement that set the hearts of many young ladies fluttering, though Jane and I soon discerned that liveliness of manner was not always joined with depth of character.