Page 51 of Resilience

“You must at least accept her congratulations and inform her that you have arrived safely,” Elizabeth wheedled. “I am surprised. I did not know you did not reply to her before we left Longbourn.”

“She already knows that we are here, she heard from Mary.” Kitty sewed a sleeve onto her husband's shirt as they spoke by the fire in her private parlour.

“Why do you refuse? I know she has not always been kind, but she was once your dearest friend and closest sibling.” Elizabeth could not understand Kitty.

“She was the playmate I had, as I have said before.” Kitty snipped a thread and rummaged in her sewing bag. “That does not make us lifelong confidantes.”

“Are you still angry that she did not tell you she was running away?” Elizabeth asked.

“No.” Kitty was infuriating Elizabeth with her refusal to be explicit.

“Kitty, she is a sixteen year old girl married far too early, away from her family in a regiment in the far north, with a scoundrel for a husband. I fear all is not as well as she suggests,” Elizabeth attempted.

“And I am an eighteen year old girl married and away from my family in the far north,” Kitty replied with an air of unconcern. “Lydia will be fine.”

“But you have two sisters with you. One in your home and one nearby. Your husband is reliable. You have a dependable brother nearby, who is a clergyman. And as Lydia points out in her letter, you have servants to take care of you. Are you not worried about how she is managing in rented rooms with no servants or linens?”

“No.” Kitty was firm. It was obvious that she would not be moved.

“Kitty, tell me why!” Elizabeth insisted. “Please help me understand.”

“I do not miss her, Lizzy!” Kitty snapped. When Elizabeth blanched at her outburst, she took a breath and continued more calmly. “It was not your fault that I was thrown in with her at Longbourn. You were more of an age with Jane and Mary. I was the closest in age to our youngest sister, therefore, I was her playmate. It was never particularly pleasant. Rather the same as being her pet. Perhaps you saw a great deal of giggling, but there was much you did not see, and one cannot squabble all the time. Lydia ruled my life from the moment she learnt to walk until the day she ran away. Everything she wanted to do, was what we did. She was Mama’s favourite. If she wanted my ribbons, my bonnets, my clothes, they were hers without question. She took half my wardrobe to Newcastle with her, and may she freeze in it. I do not regret marrying Matthew, but her actions caused me to be sent away in an arranged marriage, and she is not even sorry! It could have been so much worse! What if Papa had married me to someone old and disgusting like Colonel Forster? You have seen how that man leers at the very young ladies…Poor Harriet...I could have been married away to a brute or a bully, or an officer who lives in a tent because of Lydia. I do not miss her. Does that make me a terrible sister?”

“Of course not,” Elizabeth moved closer and embraced her sister as Kitty began to sob. “Of course that does not make you terrible. But do you really hate her?”

“I do not know, Lizzy.” Kitty wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and attempted to compose herself. “I truly do not know…but…I know that I have no wish to write to her. I have no desire to see her. Hawthorne Vale will be the one place that I can be certain that I do not have to put up with Lydia, for I will never invite her here. Matthew has assured me he has no great affection for Mr Wickham. I do not even know if I will continue to read her letters for very much longer. They do not interest me. We open them because you are interested. I do not care what Lydia and Wickham do in Newcastle. Maybe I will write to her one day. Maybe I will not.”

“But she does not even know why you are upset with her,” reasoned Elizabeth. “Perhaps if you told her how you feel–”

“I do not need to tell Lydia how I feel.” Kitty was firm. “If she does not know how she was wrong, then there is no possibility of me making her accept it. I do not need to tell her what she did. If she cannot see on her own how she erased the first eighteen years of me, then there is no point trying to educate her on the matter, for she is quite hopeless. No one knows this…knows Lydia…better than I, Lizzy. I do not object if you correspond with her. I am not Lydia, I have no desire to control the activities or friendships of others.”

Elizabeth hugged Kitty again, wondering if there was any way that she might mend the breach between her two sisters. Then she thought about her breach with Jane. With her father, and her mother…and decided that she would not meddle. It was not for her to tell Kitty how to mend what their relations had broken.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Saturday 18 April 1812

It was a rather full drawing room where Elizabeth sat with Kitty and her guests while the men attended the funeral of Mr Denny, who had died three days before.

Half a dozen of the wives of Hawthorne Vale’s closest neighbours were present, as well as Mrs Beaumont, as the wife of the curate, and a small contingent of kind ladies from Lambton. Miss Darcy and Priscilla had arrived with Mrs Annesley and Miss Poole. Mrs James was accompanied in her carriage by the Misses Jenks and Mrs Forest. Mary had accompanied her husband and Mr Bingley, who were at the funeral with Matthew and the men. Jane was not well enough that morning to attend.

“She is not lying about her illness, it is real enough,” Mary informed Kitty and Elizabeth in a quiet moment after she arrived. “She has met some of my callers, but she is not always well enough to leave her room. I must say, she knows precisely who to hide her new character from, she was positively angelic when Miss Jenks and Miss Matilda called. Though she is far better behaved in front of all of my guests than she was in front of Kitty’s. Somehow she never finds herself so concerned in my parlour.”

“It grieves me to be so cynical, but I fear that is because you are a parson’s wife, and you do not have a king’s ransom in silver that she must look at each time you pour tea.” Elizabeth could not prevent herself from replying.

“Well, I would be interested to see what Miss Jenks would have made of the way Jane behaved here last week,” Mary said. “In fact, I am not convinced that even Jane’s old behaviour fooled the lady. She was certainly more stern during that call than she ever was before. And Jane was so sweet, I thought nothing had ever changed for a moment, and that we had all gone mad.”

“I admire Miss Jenks’s discernment,” Elizabeth murmured. “She is an astute woman. You are lucky to have her as your neighbour and friend.”

Mrs Philpot came to the rescue again with the refreshments for the funeral. “We shall place an order with the bakery, Mrs Denny, you just let Mrs Hawes know what the budget is, and I will take care of it. Anything else we need, the estate will provide, as it always has. That is one blessing you can rely upon. Whatever the late Mr Denny’s faults were, he enjoyed a sumptuous table, and he did not like to spend money sending to London for things. You worry yourself about that young husband of yours, madam. That is what you must do now.”

Elizabeth had quietly for weeks been hemming and embroidering small black flowers onto the corners of handkerchiefs for both ladies and the gentlemen who would attend the funeral and the family. She had done the work as she sat with the old man, who spoke little and was unpleasant when he did. His pain was great, and he had barely eaten since Elizabeth and her sister arrived. He spent most of his time sleeping under the blanket of laudanum. Any time he might have had to reconcile with his son was wasted, for now when he was awake he suffered too much for conversation. He died without having spoken in days, and no one could even recall his last words, which was probably a blessing.

Elizabeth was glad now that she put forth the effort for the small mementos that were often expected as gifts for those who visited a family after a death. More than two dozen handkerchiefs were tied up with sprigs of rosemary and black ribbon, laid out upon a table near the door. Mrs Philpot had produced dozens of funeral biscuits, which Elizabeth and Mrs Hawes–who had been hired and took up her place as housekeeper the previous Monday–wrapped up in wax paper and black ribbon to be sent out by bidder,⁠1 and delivered to the local houses and neighbours to announce the loss of Mr Denny and the details of his funeral.

Kitty sat surrounded by her neighbours, as the low murmur of feminine voices carried about the room. Elizabeth was conversing with Mrs Forest and Miss Poole when James entered and spoke to Kitty quietly.

“Mrs Denny, there is a man named Mr Bennet in the hall. We thought he must be your father, but he arrived with his trunks and seems to intend to stay.” The footman’s voice was low.