Pride and Prejudice and Kitties

by Jane Austen, Pamela Jane, Deborah Guyol

  THE NEXT MORNING, feeling unequal to indoor employment, Elizabeth resolved to indulge in air and exercise, and set off directly after breakfast. She had just paused to look into the park and nibble a tender blade of grass when she glimpsed Mr. Darcy himself coming towards her. Before she could flee, he called her name and placed a letter in her paw. Then he withdrew and was soon out of sight.

  It was a very fat letter, and Elizabeth took pleasure in rolling around and kicking it with her back paws, until she settled down to peruse its contents.

  In the letter, Mr. Darcy addressed at length the two things Elizabeth had charged him with: separating Mr. Bingley from her sister Jane and ruining at least six of Wickham’s nine lives, leaving him but three to limp by on.

  In alluding to his conduct with Mr. Bingley, Darcy professed that the mild-mannered Jane was so composed that no one who observed her closely could think her deeply attached to Bingley, though Bingley was obviously attached to her. His attachment was cause for alarm for both himself and the Bingley sisters, he went on to explain. Their anxieties were raised not only by Jane’s inferior cat connections, but by the improper and impudent behavior exhibited by the three youngest Bennet cats, their mother, and occasionally even Mr. Bennet. Darcy confessed he had colluded in concealing Jane’s presence in London to ensure that his friend remained safe from either pettings or purrs involving Miss Bennet.

  Mr. Darcy then went on to elucidate the whole of the painful history between Mr. Wickham and himself. Not only had Wickham deceived old Mr. Darcy as to the true nature of his character (including a vicious propensity to bite and certain indelicate behaviors involving female cats), he had even attempted to run away with Georgiana Darcy, a plan that Mr. Darcy had fortuitously frustrated before Wickham could carry it out. Since then, Wick-ham’s life had been one of idleness and dissipation, one lower and more depraved than that of the most indulged house cat.

  “This, madam,” ended Mr. Darcy, “is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham.”

  Wickham’s life had been one of idleness and dissipation.

  “You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night. But I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more as one of the executors of my father’s will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.

  “FITZWILLIAM DARCY”

  AFTER HER FIRST perusal of Mr. Darcy’s letter, Elizabeth derived an almost perverse pleasure in biting and clawing it. As she had suspected, it had no fresh intelligence to communicate that would clear Mr. Darcy of cruelty in separating her sister from Mr. Bingley, or of his unfeeling and infamous behavior towards Mr. Wickham. But when she paused and scanned the letter more closely (and she had a strong suspicion that he had sprinkled it with catnip to assure repeated readings), she realized that, in regard to Mr. Wickham, she had no actual knowledge of his history or character but what Wickham himself had related to her. Wickham was such a fine, handsome specimen that everyone in Meryton had been captivated by his grace and good looks and no one had doubted that he was one of the most upstanding cats in the country. Elizabeth recalled how he had said he could never attack Mr. Darcy (or his character) out of his respect for the late Mr. Darcy. Yet as soon as Darcy and the Bingleys removed from Netherfield, Wickham had done exactly that. How painful it was to think that she, Elizabeth, had been so partial, prejudiced, and willfully blind!

  In regard to her sister and Bingley, Elizabeth crouched in shame under a laurel hedge when she recalled the inappropriate behavior of her parents and younger sisters on the occasion of Mr. Bingley’s procuring that splendid ball. Lydia especially (who had been in heat) had chased the officers most recklessly and Mrs. Bennet had boasted to Lady Lucas of Jane’s imminent union with Mr. Bingley.

  Back at Hunsford, Elizabeth learned that both Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had called to take their leave during her absence. Elizabeth was not sorry to have missed them. She could now think only of her letter and trotted upstairs to her room with it in her mouth.

  Whether or not Mr. Darcy had, in fact, scented it with catnip was uncertain. But, catnip or not, the truth of what he had communicated was indisputable.

  The extravagance and general profligacy which [Darcy] scrupled not to lay to Mr. Wickham’s charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could bring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him before his entrance into the _______ shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the persuasion of the young man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life, nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to his real character, had information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of enquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner, had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for those casual errors, under which she would endeavour to class what Mr. Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of many years continuance. But no such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before her, in every charm of air and address; but she could remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess.

  LADY CAT WAS rendered so dull and dispirited by the departure of her nephews that she invited the Hunsford party to dine with her that night. Smiling to herself, Elizabeth reflected that had she accepted Mr. Darcy’s proposal, she—Elizabeth, descendant of a common cat on her mother’s side—might by now have been introduced to Lady Cat as her future niece!

  Lady Cat urged Elizabeth with more persistence than politeness to extend her stay in Hunsford, but when Elizabeth declined, her ladyship contented herself with reminding Lizzy of the advisability of traveling with a veterinarian (as she invariably did with Anne), dictating the manner in which she was to pad her cat carrier, and finally condescending to wish her and Maria a good journey and invite them to visit Hunsford again the following year.

  The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning; and Mr. Collins having been in waiting near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance, was able to bring home the pleasing intelligence, of their appearing in very good health, and in as tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the melancholy scene so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then hastened to console Lady Catherine and her daughter; and on his return, brought back, with great satisfaction, a message from her Ladyship, importing that she felt herself so dull as to make her very desirous of having them all to dine with her.

  Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that, had she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her, as her future niece; nor could she think, without a smile, of what her ladyship’s indignation would have been. “What would she have said?- how would she have behaved?” were questions with which she amused herself.

  Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. “I assure you, I feel it exceedingly,” said Lady Catherine; “I believe no body feels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly attached to these young men; and know them to be so much attached to me!—They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always are. The dear colonel rallied his s
pirits tolerably till just at last; but Darcy seemed to feel it most acutely, more I think than last year. His attachment to Rosings certainly increases.”

  I just want to see what happens at the end.

  ON THE MORNING Elizabeth and Maria were to leave Hunsford, Mr. Collins attacked Elizabeth over breakfast with protracted civilities and gratitude for her condescension in visiting them.

  “How dull it must have been for you here, my dear cousin,” said he, “with our small rooms, solitary hours, and few humans (though I flatter myself that may be an advantage). However,” he went on, “you have been so fortunate as to dine frequently at Rosings.”

  Words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings; and he was obliged to walk about the room. Elizabeth stifled a yawn and tried to look attentive.

  “No one who knows our intimacy with Lady Cat can think us unfortunate,” Mr. Collins went on after a moment. “My dear Charlotte and I trot over there nearly every day. You see what footing we’re on!” he cried, ostentatiously grooming himself. “How fortunate an alliance your friend has made.”

  Elizabeth assented to all he said. But to herself she thought: Poor Charlotte! It was melancholy indeed, to leave her to such society. But Charlotte appeared tolerably cheerful. Her home, her humans, her poultry, and her prey had not lost their charms.

  Maria and Elizabeth soon boarded the carriage and curled up under the seat. Elizabeth looked forward with pleasure to seeing her aunt and uncle in London, and especially her sister, Jane. How much she would have to tell her, she thought as the carriage wheels rumbled along. And how much she would have to conceal.

  If she could only determine which was which!

  “It gives me the greatest pleasure [said Mr. Collins] to hear that you have passed your time not disagreeably. We have certainly done our best; and most fortunately having it in our power to introduce you to very superior society, and from our connection with Rosings, the frequent means of varying the humble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that your Hunsford visit cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situation with regard to Lady Catherine’s family is indeed the sort of extraordinary advantage and blessing which few can boast. You see on what a footing we are. You see how continually we are engaged there. In truth I must acknowledge that, with all the disadvantages of this humble parsonage, I should not think anyone abiding in it an object of compassion, while they are sharers of our intimacy at Rosings.”

  Words were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings; and he was obliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility with truth in a few short sentences.

  “You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least that you will be able to do so. Lady Catherine’s great attentions to Mrs. Collins you have been a daily witness of, and altogether I trust it does not appear that your friend has drawn an unfortunate—but on this point it will be as well to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that I can from my heart most cordially wish you equal felicity in marriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind and one way of thinking. There is in every thing a most remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each other.”

  IN MAY, ELIZABETH, Jane, and Maria left London for Longbourn (without a veterinarian, in spite of Lady Cat’s advice and admonitions). When they changed carriages, they were surprised to find Lydia and Kitty waiting for them at the inn. They had been waiting for an hour, during which they occupied themselves arranging cold meats and crunchies and attacking a bonnet.

  “I intend to destroy it completely when we get home,” Lydia announced. “I dare say it will look better torn to pieces. Anyway,” she added, looking dejected, “it doesn’t signify whether our bonnets are in pieces or not, for the militia are leaving Meryton and going to Brighton.”

  Thank goodness! thought Elizabeth. Perhaps Kitty and Lydia will stop chasing all the cats in the militia and settle down!

  “The militia is to be encamped near Brighton,” continued Lydia, “and I do so want papa to take us all there for the summer!”

  Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of Lydia with an entire camp full of toms when one poor militia and a few balls had driven all sense (what little she had) out of her head.

  “Now I have got some news about a cat we all admire,” said Lydia, as they crouched down at the table.

  Elizabeth told the waiter he need not stay.

  “As if the waiter cares what I am going to communicate!” scoffed Lydia. “But he is a scrawny cat; I never saw such ridiculously long whiskers in my life.”

  Lydia went on to relate that Mary King, whom Wickham had lately been forming designs on, had left Meryton. Wickham was a free cat again.

  Jane looked concerned. “I hope there was no strong attachment between the two,” she ventured.

  “Oh,” said Lydia carelessly, “I will answer for it; he never cared three straws for her—who could about such an ugly spotted thing?”

  Soon afterward, the four Bennet sisters and Maria crammed themselves into the carriage with their cat carriers, ribbons, and remnants of Lydia’s new bonnet.

  “Dear me!” cried Lydia as they rattled along. “What a good piece of fun we had the other day at Colonel Forster’s. What do you think we did? We dressed up Chamberlayne to pass for a lady. Lord, how funny he looked and how we laughed!”

  Who could care about such an ugly spotted thing?

  Lord, how funny he looked and how we laughed!

  They came home to a warm welcome and a big family party at dinner. Lydia gaily described the fun and noise of being crowded together in the carriage.

  “I was ready to die of laughter!” she said.

  Mary just looked sour. “I should infinitely prefer a book,” she replied.

  In the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the rest of the girls to walk to Meryton and to see how every body went on; but Elizabeth steadily opposed the scheme. It should not be said, that the Miss Bennets could not be at home half a day before they were in pursuit of the officers. There was another reason too for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Wickham again, and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible. The comfort to her, of the regiment’s approaching removal, was indeed beyond expression. In a fortnight they were to go, and once gone, she hoped there could be nothing more to plague her on his account.

  ELIZABETH WAS IMPATIENT to relate to Jane all that had passed at Hunsford between herself and Mr. Darcy—excepting, of course, Mr. Darcy’s role in separating Bingley from Jane. That intelligence could only give her sister pain.

  Jane was at first astonished to hear of Mr. Darcy’s proposal, and grieved that he should be suffering any pain from Elizabeth’s refusal. But this was nothing compared to her sister’s dismay on learning that Wickham was as wanton and wicked as a wild dog. Jane would have liked to believe that no such wickedness existed in all the world as was here collected in one cat!

  “Poor Wickham!” cried Jane. “There is such an expression of goodness in his soft blinks! Such an openness and gentleness in his manner of purring.”

  “There certainly was some great mismanagement in the upbringing of those two cats,” Elizabeth replied. “One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it.”

  The two sisters discussed whether they should make their knowledge of Wickham’s true character public.

  Elizabeth thought it should not be attempted.

  “You are quite right,” said Jane. “He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and anxious to reestablish a character. We must not make him desperate. He might, perhaps, be driven into the sewers of London to live a life of decadence and debauchery.”

  One has got all the goodness and the other all the appearance of goodness.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Bennet continued to fuss and fret over Mr. Bingley’s leaving Netherfield, not realizing how much pain her incessant complaining gave Jane.

  “To think he
has escaped and now nothing will come of their attachment which seemed so promising only a few short months ago!” she wailed.

  “Well, Lizzy,” she continued soon afterwards, “and so the Collinses live very comfortably, do they? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I dare say, and catches plenty of rodents and makes them go a long way. And so I suppose they purr together at the thought of having Longbourn when your father is dead. How unfeeling of them! Well, if they can be easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. I should be ashamed of having one that was only end-tailed on me.”

  “Well, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet one day, “what is your opinion now of this sad business of Jane’s? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my sister Philips so the other day. But I cannot find out that Jane saw any thing of him in London. Well, he is a very undeserving young man-and I do not suppose there is the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have enquired of every body too, who is likely to know.”

  “I do not believe that he will ever live at Netherfield any more.”

  “Oh well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. Though I shall always say that he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart, and then he will be sorry for what he has done.”

  THE DEPARTURE OF the militia from Meryton was now almost at hand. Dejected and disappointed, Lydia and Kitty went completely off their wet food and prowled around the house day and night lamenting their misfortune in losing the society of so many handsome toms. Only Elizabeth and Jane continued to eat, sleep, and play with tolerable composure.