Page 22 of Most Truly the Gentleman

“I have done no such thing. You have observed us constantly; I have been nothing but civil,” Elizabeth replied imperturbably. “I do not know how it has happened, but it seems to me that he has at last realised that we are not suited, and turned his attention to the one amongst us who might accept him if he proposes.”

“You would have accepted him!”

“I most certainly would not,” Elizabeth firmly replied. “And if Papa had tried to insist, I should have run away to Uncle Gardiner and hoped he would support me in refusing to make myself miserable forever.”

“Oh, you are a most disobliging and unnatural child!” her mother wailed.

“But, Mama, is this not for the best?” Jane suggested. “I think Mary truly appreciates him. Will they not both be happier where there is real esteem?”

“I suppose you are right,” Mrs Bennet grumbled ungraciously. “Though how I am ever to get rid of such a wild, headstrong daughter, I do not know.”

“Perhaps you shall not,” Elizabeth answered pertly. “It may be that when you are old, I will be your only companion.”

Mrs Bennet then felt a sudden need to retreat upstairs to lie down and rest her nerves.

Kitty pulled Elizabeth aside shortly after her return from Meryton. “Lizzy,” she whispered, almost trembling with anxiety, “will you come with me to Papa? I must tell him something, but I am afraid he will shout at me.”

“Of course I shall,” she reassured her young sister. “Do you want to tell me about it first?”

“I think I shall lose my courage entirely if I do not go now,” Kitty replied miserably.

“Then go now is exactly what we shall do.” Elizabeth linked her arm through Kitty’s, smiled reassuringly, and led her to the door of Mr Bennet’s study. She was afire with curiosity—Mary and Mr Collins had been perfectly complacent when they all returned, so it seemed unlikely that Kitty or Lydia had done anything truly shocking. She hoped poor, nervous Kitty was merely overwrought about a trifle.

“Enter,” he called when she knocked.

“Papa, I have Kitty with me,” she said, drawing her sister in after her. “She has something to impart to you.”

He gazed at his fourth daughter suspiciously over his spectacles, eyebrows lifting as she cringed. He marked his place, shut his book, and set it aside, then said, “Very well. Shut the door, please, Lizzy.” Privacy thus secured, he addressed Kitty more gently than was his wont. “Well, child, what is it?”

“Sir, when we were in Meryton today, we passed Mr Wickham and… and he greeted us.” She wrung her hands and seemed to struggle to continue. Elizabeth put an arm about her sister’s waist and gave her an encouraging smile.

Mr Bennet’s brow contracted in a mild frown, but he replied, “If you bade him good day out of a habit of politeness, I shall not be angry.”

“No… No, none of us said a word to him. But, as he moved past us, I saw… I believe I saw him slip something into Lydia’s hand. I think it was a note,” she concluded in a rush.

“What!” Mr Bennet exclaimed. “Are you certain?”

“N-no, not certain,” Kitty stammered. “Though that is what it looked like, a bit of paper folded up small. I asked Lydia about it when Mary and Mr Collins were occupied in browsing the wares at a shop, but she called me stupid and said he had not given her so much as a nod. I… I can usually tell when she is lying, and I think that she was.”

“I see,” said Mr Bennet, a grim line etched between his contracted brows. “And I thank you, Kitty, for coming to me with this. You have done exactly as you ought. Where is Lydia now, pray tell?”

“She went up to our room and told me I must stay away, for she wants to lay her ballgowns out across both beds and choose one for the ball at Netherfield.”

“Why does my fifteen-year-old daughter have multiple ballgowns?” he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Very well, girls,” he said briskly. “Leave it with me.”

They departed his study and, as they reached the door to the parlour, saw him mount the stairs to the family apartments. In the parlour, they found Jane and Mary attending to their sewing while Mr Collins read to them from Fordyce’s Sermons. Kitty’s dismay was evident. Elizabeth was not at all delighted, either, but she thought it best they remain together until her father’s business was concluded.

“Kitty,” she said in a low voice. “I have some ribbon I mean to make into shoe roses, and you fold them so much better than I. Will you help me?”

Kitty brightened somewhat, and agreed. They were bent industriously over Elizabeth’s sewing basket some minutes later, while Mr Collins droned on about female modesty, when such a commotion arose above-stairs as to be audible in the parlour. The words being shrieked could not be discerned, even when Mr Collins ceased to read and joined his cousins in wide-eyed silence, but the inflexion of utter rage carried even through stone, wood, and plaster. A second high-pitched voice soon joined the first, crying out in tones of distress. Then, distantly, came Mr Bennet’s bellow of a single word, “Silence!”, and no more was heard.

The inmates of the parlour looked to each other in discomfort and wonderment, until Mary suggested, “Mr Collins, perhaps you might continue? I am sure we are all in need of the sort of rational atmosphere the Reverend Fordyce’s words provide.”

The clergyman took up his reading once more, and the ladies returned to their tasks. Kitty whispered to Elizabeth, “Do you think Lydia was shouting because Papa found the note?”

“I think he must have found something for which to censure her,” she replied. “You were very right to tell what you saw, Kitty. I am proud of you.”

Kitty seemed uncomfortable. “I do not know that Mr Wickham is as bad as all that,” she admitted, “but I do know that I do not want Papa angry with me.”