“Oh, I assure you, Mr Darcy…” Mr Collins began.
“Whatever you thought, it is never wise to give attention to gossip. Have a safe trip back to Lucas Lodge.” Mr Darcy ended the conversation curtly and bowed to Mr and Mrs Collins. “We shall see you in church on Christmas Eve, no doubt, Mrs Collins.”
“Yes, Mr Darcy, you shall.” Her smiled conveyed her appreciation and a heartfelt apology. Charlotte Collins was clearly embarrassed by her husband’s lack of discretion.
Mary wondered what she endured as that man’s wife and watched as Mrs Collins, Lizzy’s closest friend, embraced Lizzy and then bade farewell to Mr and Mrs Bennet with all politeness in such contrast to her husband.
“I see what you mean,” Reverend Summers grimaced at Kitty. “I shall take my leave also, Mrs Bennet, Mr Bennet.” He stepped forward and bowed. “Thankfully, the vicarage is merely along the lane and I can walk. I sincerely wish this evening had ended the way you planned it, Mrs Bennet, but nevertheless it was lovely, the food was an utter delight, the music and conversation just as agreeable. I am glad I came. It seems to me that everyone had a wonderful time, Mrs Bennet.”
His smile made Mrs Bennet blush. “Oh, Reverend Summers, you are very welcome here.” Mrs Bennet curtseyed and Mr Bennet bowed.
“Until Sunday, or…” he looked dolefully at the falling snow through the open door, “Christmas Eve if this continues,” he waved as he pulled up his scarf around the bottom of his face. “Good night to you all,” he called and headed out into the storm.
One by one, the remainder of the guests departed and Mrs Bennet retired to the drawing room repining the winter.
By eleven o’clock that evening, the Bennet house stood eerily quiet and empty as Mary and Kitty stood at the door and watched the procession of carriages slide their way in convoy back towards Meryton. Their father had long since returned to his book room for the remainder of the evening.
Mary and Kitty, along with Mr Darcy, Lizzy, Mr Bingley and Jane, returned to the drawing room where they found the servants setting the room to rights once again.
“Oh, such a pity!” Mrs Bennet lamented.
“Come now, Mrs Bennet. It was a wonderful party. I believe you won at the card table at least four times!” Mr Bingley grinned at her, and she giggled like a young girl.
“Indeed I did! It seemed I was the only one on whose side Lady Luck stayed.”
“Mrs Bennet, would you like tea?” Hill appeared at her elbow.
“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, Hill.”
Mary could see her mother was in a good mood in spite of the untimely ending to the soirée. She slipped back over to the pianoforte to tidy away her music and was joined by Kitty. “You looked like you had a good time after all,” she smiled at her younger sister. She was pleased for her.
“I confess, Mary, I did.” Kitty watched as Mary collected and organised her sheets of music. “However, that was mostly because Reverend Summers and I were hidden away in the summer sitting room for over an hour.”
Mary gasped and paused in her tidying. “Kitty, you were alone with a gentleman?”
“It’s all right, Mary; it’s only Reverend Summers.” She huffed at Mary’s tone with her. “And, anyway, it hardly matters. He’s only the vicar and he doesn’t count.”
“I assure you most certainly he does!” Mary was uncomfortable with her sister’s confession. “After everything this family has been through, you ought not be with a gentleman without a suitable chaperone, Kitty!” She tucked the music under her arm and marched out of the room and off to bed, shocked at her sister’s behaviour.
Chapter Fourteen
It seemed to Kitty that Mary was back to her old priggish self, and she didn’t like it one little bit. Kitty sighed and her shoulders slumped. She wanted more than anything to have a sister she could confide in. Perhaps she had been foolish to think it could have been Mary—the only other sister left at home. She always was the staid and serious one of the five sisters. Given Mary’s recent behaviour, Kitty honestly thought she had done her sister a disservice over the years by thinking her a prude and boring. But the berating she received over being in the summer sitting room with Reverend Summers was uncalled for and unfair. Hill was there all the time, although Mary had not allowed her to get a word in edgeways to explain they weren’t unchaperoned at all.
Kitty slipped out of the room unnoticed and made her way up to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed and slipped her pumps off her feet. She glanced over to the fireplace; the fire was nearly out. She resisted the urge to call for a maid, slipped out of the bed, stoked the fire back into life, and added some wood herself, then began to undress.
As Kitty slid under the sheets and numerous blankets, she began to cry. “What a happy Christmas I am going to have this year!” She turned over and wiped her tears on the corner of the pillow. “I wish the spring would come. Then the militia might come back and I would snatch up the first officer who took an interest in me.” She wept inconsolably.
When the tears finally abated, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but it evaded her. Kitty wept silently on and off as she heard bursts of laughter make their way up the stairs from the drawing room below. Soon, though, it was time for everyone to retire for the night, and she heard them all bidding each other a good night with a heavy heart. “I have to come up with a plan,” she whispered to herself in the darkness. “I cannot continue this way. Mama thinks I lost Sir Percival because I am not as pretty or as tempting as Lydia is. I am!” She rolled over and sobbed into the pillow again.
When the tears finally abated, Kitty turned over and faced the fire to get away from the side of the pillow which was now sopping wet. “I wonder if it is possible to travel to London in this snow,” she mused as sleep finally came and claimed her.
Kitty did not see or hear Jane and Lizzy enter her room on tiptoes, stand over her sleeping form, and kiss her cheek good night as they discussed how much they cared for and worried about her. She did not hear tell of how much they loved her.
After Jane and Lizzy had retired, Kitty also did not see or hear Mary slip into her room, kneel beside her bed, and remain watching her for some time before whispering softly, “I apologise, Kitty. I spoke harshly to you this evening. I was wrong to speak to you that way. Forgive me, dearest sister.”
The words went unheard, but in her sleep, Kitty smiled faintly.
Chapter Fifteen
The following morning the house was cold, colder than usual for December. Mary stretched languidly, reluctant to get out of the warm bed and set foot into the cold room. Her nose felt like ice. She calculated how quickly she could run to the bell pull and get back in bed before she froze to death.
Slipping one toe out of the bed, she groaned, “Good Lord, it’s freezing cold!” before pulling her foot quickly back under the blankets again. “Mary, get a hold of yourself. You need the fire lit and hot water to wash in.”
She took a few deep breaths to build her courage and then, throwing off the blankets, Mary darted from the bed, yelping at the coldness of the rug on her feet, pulled the bell pull and took a running jump back into bed, tossing the covers back over her head as she snuggled back down into the warm spot she left in the bedsheets.
She was just dozing off to sleep when Laura, the maid, came in armed with warm towels and a large jug of steaming hot water. Mary poked her head out from under the blankets and smiled sleepily at the young woman who flitted around her room with practiced ease.
“Good morning, Laura.”
“Mornin’, miss,” the maid replied as she opened the curtains.
“I shan’t be getting up until the fire is lit. It is so cold this morning!” Mary stretched under the sheets.
“With good reason an’ all.” Laura looked at Mary pointedly and then nodded sideways at the windows.
Reluctantly, Mary shifted to sit up in the bed, whilst holding the covers around her shoulders at the front. “What is it?” Mary stared wide-eyed. “
Well, I never!”
Now paying no attention to the temperature in the room, Mary slipped out of the bed dragging the blanket around her shoulders, past the crouched form of the maid who lit a fire in the grate and kept one eye on Mary as she tiptoed towards the window.
Outside, the world that Mary knew was blanketed in the thickest layer of snow. The garden looked so still, pristine, and beautiful in its white covering as Mary searched for any landmarks she might recognise. There were a few lumps and bumps in the snow, but Mary was not entirely certain whether they were the benches or the bushes. She had never seen snow so thick. “How deep is it? Has anyone dared to go out?” she asked, astonished as her breath instantly clouded the glass before her.
“Oh, John has been out to fetch in more wood and coal from the shed, miss, yes.” Laura stood and watched the fire catch the kindling.
“And? How deep is it?” Mary turned back into the room and hurried across the rug to warm herself by the fledgling fire.
Laura pursed her lips and placed both hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway. It came past his knees!”
Mary inhaled sharply. “No! Really?”
“Yes, miss. He was covered in it from here…” she bent down to indicate halfway down her thigh “…to his boots.”
“My word!” Mary twisted to stare out of the window again.
“Poor fella’s wet through to the skin an’ all!” She placed the tinderbox back on the mantelpiece. “If that’ll be all, Miss Mary, I’ll go and see to Mrs Darcy and Mrs Bingley now.”
“Very well,” Mary replied absently. She continued to stare out of the window. “How will Lizzy and Jane get back to Netherfield Park now?” She puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled. “I suppose this puts pay to us helping out poor Walter at the office today.”
When Mary arrived in the drawing room, coiffed and fully dressed with her thickest shawl tightly wrapped around her, she found everyone gathered around the large windows overlooking the garden.
“Good morning,” she chimed as she pulled the woollen shawl up higher around her shoulders.
“Morning, Mary,” came a whole chorus of replies from the assembled family before her.
Lizzy turned to her with a cup and saucer in her hand. “It seems we have been snowed in, Mary.”
“I guessed as much, Lizzy. The sleighs won’t go through the snow at all?” Her mouth formed a perfect O, as she gazed past Lizzy and out of the window in complete awe.
“No, not at all. John, it seems, tried to get the carriages out and they became stuck fast.” Lizzy shrugged and sipped her tea.
“John says it’s the wrong sort of snow!” Mrs Bennet scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. “To be sure, I do not know what the right sort of snow is!” She continued to shake her head until her curls bounced around her face.
“We’ve had this problem before at Pemberley, madam,” Mr Darcy explained. “The snow is too deep and soft to provide a decent enough surface for the sleigh tracks. If the snowfall had been slow and steady, then it might have been compacted down, making for a harder and more easily traversable surface.”
“Well, I never heard the likes of it, Mr Darcy!” Mrs Bennet shuffled over to her chair beside the fire. “The wrong sort of snow, indeed!”
Mary smiled apologetically at her brother-in-law. “How long before it is suitable to travel upon?”
“One can only guess in these circumstances, Mary. It depends if it freezes over tonight or if there is more snow to come.” He looked up at the sky, and Mary had to admit the clouds appeared to threaten more snow. “If it freezes, then it will be easier to drive the sleigh.”
“Well,” Jane sighed contentedly as she made her way to her accustomed place upon the settee, “we shall be a happy family once again here at Longbourn until we can return to Netherfield, shan’t we?” She smiled happily at her husband, Charles Bingley, who joined her.
“Indeed we shall,” he stared into her eyes.
“To be sure I do not know how you can make such a statement, Jane,” Mrs Bennet huffed. “We were all supposed to have Christmas dinner at Netherfield Park with you hosting your first family Christmas meal, remember?” She sniffed. “We can hardly do that now, can we?”
“Do not fret, Mama. Christmas is a good couple of weeks away yet, and if it should be so that we are snowed in, then we shall all make merry here,” Jane cooed.
“And what shall we eat, pray?” their mother snapped. “What shall we drink?” Mrs Bennet stared at Jane as though expecting her to come up with a miraculous answer.
“I cannot tell you, Mama, but I know we will manage.” Jane’s voice remained calm and steady.
“Yes, indeed,” Mr Bingley muscled in on the exchange. “Christmas isn’t about the food or drink, but about whom one spends it with. Isn’t that so, Darcy?”
Mary watched as Mr Darcy nodded his head and an expression of amusement played across his face. She had noticed that the two friends and brothers-in-law often ganged up against whatever negative track her mother was set upon. She snorted into her newly poured tea as she watched the conversation unfold before her.
“Absolutely right, Bingley!” Mr Darcy sang out loudly so that all could hear. “All we need is a goose, a few vegetables, and we can make very merry indeed!”
“Mr Bennet has an excellent wine cellar too!” Mr Bingley added with enthusiasm.
Mrs Bennet huffed loudly. Mary knew that she did not like it when her family, who were far more optimistic than she was, agreed against her. However, she also knew when she was defeated, and it seemed to Mary, as she watched on, that Mrs Bennet had given up the topic and searched for another.
“Where’s Kitty?” she turned her head in Mary’s direction and barked at her.
“I do not know, Mama,” Mary answered.
“Then go and fetch her at once. I have need of her.” Mrs Bennet rolled her eyes and groaned. “I swear these girls have nothing but sawdust between their ears.”
Mary took a deep breath, counted to ten, and placing her teacup back down carefully on the table, exited the room to go in search of her younger sister. The air was chilly outside of the warmth of the drawing room, and Mary ran up the stairs to keep her body warm. She scuttled along the landing until she came to Kitty’s door and knocked.
There was no answer. So, after a brief pause, she knocked again. Still no answer was forthcoming. Mary tentatively took hold of the doorknob and twisted it. As she opened the door, she called out, “Kitty, it’s me, Mary.”
Mary pushed the door wide open and stepped into the room. The bed was neatly made and the fire in the grate was low and almost out. Kitty’s things were strewn over the dressing table as though she had dressed in a hurry and not tidied after herself, but there was no sign whatsoever of Kitty herself.
“Kitty?” Mary walked over to the armoire. “Surely you aren’t hiding in there?” She looked inside all the same. Next, Mary looked under the bed and behind the screen curtain hiding the chamber pot. There was no sign of her sister.
Mary wondered if Kitty was in the nursery playing with their little nephews, but a quick dash up the stairs and a peek into the room revealed only the nursemaids and the infants.
Running back down the stairs, Mary tried the summer room where Kitty had been the night before, then the kitchens in the hope she was preparing dried flowers or some such other thing, but it was to no avail. Kitty was not there, neither was she in the dining room or with their father in his book room. As far as Mary could tell, Kitty was nowhere to be seen in the house at all.
Mr Bennet looked up over the rim of his spectacles at Mary’s intrusion as she burst into the book room. “What is it, child? What has you in such a fluster this morning?”
“Have you seen Kitty, Papa?”
“When are you referring to?” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I have seen Kitty on many occasions throughout the course of her life, yes.”
“Papa,” Mary sighed in no humour to jest
with him. “I cannot find her.”
“Well, she must be in the house. Only a simpleton would venture out for a walk in this inhospitable weather.”
Mary’s shoulders slumped. She could not very well go back to her mother and claim she could not find Kitty. Mrs Bennet would rebuke her and then most likely have one of her nervous fits.
“Have you tried the summer room? She often escapes there, does she not?” Her father continued to spy her over the rim of his spectacles as though she were an oddity.
Mary nodded. “Yes, I have. She is not there either.”
Mr Bennet turned back to his book with a sigh. “Then I cannot help you. Your sister seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
Mary was not amused. “That cannot happen, Papa, and I am concerned about Kitty. We quarrelled last night, well…” she shrugged “…I scolded her.”
“Scolded her, did you?” He observed his middle daughter with apparent deeper curiosity.
“Yes, Papa. I ought not to have done it. I fear I upset her greatly.”
“And now she is hiding from you, you think?” He replaced the bookmark into the book and closed it. “Come, then.” He put the book upon his desk and rose from his seat. “Let us search for your lost sister together.”
Mary smiled, breathed a sigh of relief, and was deeply grateful for his assistance.
Mr Bennet chuckled to himself as he accompanied Mary on her search of the house. “It has been many years since Longbourn was host to a good game of hide-and-seek.”
However, after almost an hour of searching every nook and cranny and enlisting the help of Lizzy and Mr Darcy, without Mrs Bennet’s knowledge, it was concluded that Kitty was nowhere within the house. Hill was discreetly dispatched up to Kitty’s room to seek out her bonnet, scarf, and coat.
Mary, her father, sister, and brother-in-law waited in uncomfortable silence in the entrance hall for Hill to return with news. Mary wrung her hands in despair. If Kitty had gone out in the snow it was all her fault, she surmised.
Christmas at Longbourn Page 6