A Private Performance

by Helen Halstead

  Mr. Hurst was, on occasion, prevailed upon to accompany the ladies on their promenades. He snuffed up the air as he strolled along the sea front, his wife on his arm. Mrs. Hurst looked as elegant as ever, despite a certain plumpness that lingered after her confinement. She planned to deal with this setback by long walks and sea-bathing. At times, they called to mind their tiny off-spring, safely fostered in a village.

  “We could look in on the dear little fellow on our way to London in November, Mr. Hurst,” said Louisa.

  “I see no call for that until he is walking and able to say something for himself. Then, perhaps, we might bring him home with us.”

  “Certainly, there is no call to bring him home for a year or so. However, I should like to see how he goes on in a month or so.”

  “You won’t need to do that, Louisa. Mrs. Thingum, that curate’s wife, visits him, don’t she?”

  “Indeed she does, my dear. I would not have her say she takes more interest in my child than does its mother.”

  “For what purpose am I paying the foster fee, Louisa?”

  “I know Lady Reerdon does not approve of children being left unvisited for long periods.”

  “Oh, Lady Reerdon, you say. Well, well, we had best take a look at ’im, though I must say it is out of our way.”

  Mrs. Hurst smiled and turned to look over her shoulder to where Caroline was walking arm in arm with Kitty.

  “Caroline, dearest, is that not Miss Whittaker?”

  “I declare it is. Look, Kitty, over yonder, did you ever see a bonnet more cunning?”

  “Is that Miss Arabella Whittaker, the niece of the marchioness? How beautiful she is!” cried Kitty.

  “That is she,” said Caroline. “Her looks are fashionable certainly, and her features tolerable, but I cannot see her celebrated beauty.”

  “Lizzy says she is like a Greek goddess.”

  “I will own her brother to be very handsome. Will you speak to her, Louisa, or shall I?”

  Before Louisa could reply, Miss Whittaker saw them and bowed most cordially. Kitty was deeply impressed by every detail of Miss Whittaker’s brother: his looks, his air, his dress. She was delighted when the reunion was followed by an invitation to take tea with the pair.

  Mr. Whittaker did not improve upon acquaintance. She knew not what to make of manners such as the Whittakers’. They were elegant, they were indolent, they were witty, but she did not understand above one word in five of their conversation. She felt that they were teasing her, though so subtly she did not know what to think. She wrote to Elizabeth that she had never met such stupid people, though they were so handsome and so rich. Both had particularly asked to be remembered to the ‘bewitching’ Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Whittaker, indeed, referred to Elizabeth’s especial qualities, with an insinuating air that almost frightened Kitty. She was very glad when they said they were not to stay long in Scarborough, as they were ‘persecuted by so many invitations’.

  Otherwise Kitty passed her time pleasantly enough, finding time for only one letter to her sister Lydia.

  Scarborough

  Dearest Lydia,

  We have been at Scarborough these two weeks and I like it very well.

  We attended the assembly on Tuesday evening and I wore my white silk. We were a very grand party. I danced every dance, but imagine my disappointment! That horrible Mrs. Hurst would not permit the M.C. to introduce a single officer to me! This is Lizzy’s doing!

  Just imagine, a terribly old, dreadfully repulsive man asked to be introduced to Miss Bingley. His name is Mr. Houlter. Can you picture my amazement when she stood up with him? It seems he is a widower with a great fortune. Mrs. Hurst said he is not at all old, but in the prime of life, which seems to mean much the same thing. If I am an old maid at twenty-four, I hope I shall not be so desperate as Miss Bingley.

  I danced one dance with Mr. Houlter and he makes the most horrid snorting noise when he laughs.

  Jane has consulted a physician who orders the most terrible regime for me. I must go sea-bathing every day, regardless of the weather. I walk constantly, accompanied by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. Mr. Houlter is always to be found dawdling about in hopes of seeing Caroline. He bows low over her hand and looks at her adoringly over his big red nose. How can she bear it? Everyone supposes he will soon make her an offer of marriage.

  I cannot understand him being so cold-hearted in marrying for the second time. I should expect my husband to mourn me forever!

  I quite forgot to tell you that Miss Robson is to marry my admirer, Lieutenant Foxwell. Lizzy said that he is a man who will be unlikely to stop flirting after the honeymoon. Can you imagine what it would be like to be married to a man who pursues other women? I should hate it, should not you?

  It was very droll listening to Mr. Turner preach after dancing with him on the terrace at the ball. He is the vicar of Kympton, a sweet village, but with not so many shops as Lambton. Perhaps Wickham knows of it.

  The vicarage is not so big as Longbourn, but is a very comfortable house. Mr. Turner showed us everything, while the bishop slept in his chair. Mr. Darcy asked a score of questions, even what is his income from the glebe! I know not what makes him so inquisitive.

  He showed me some chicks. Mr. Turner, I mean.

  I should like to return to Pemberley when our party here breaks up, but Jane has said I am to come with them to Hertfordshire. They are to supervise the packing up of the house, for Bingley has purchased an estate in Yorkshire called Rushly Manor. Such a sweet house with mullioned windows and two little towers, each with a conical roof! Much work is needed, for the roof leaks dreadfully and the attics are ruined. The work is starting at once, as Bingley does not wish Mr. Darcy to see the place as it is. When all is made new, it will be the charmingest place in the world. See if I do not have adventures there!

  Give my best to Wickham. Take very good care of yourself, now you are so near your time. Soon I shall be ‘Aunt Catherine’. How fearsome that sounds!

  Your affectionate sister,

  Kitty.

  CHAPTER 22

  AT LONGBOURN, some weeks later, Mr. Bennet quite failed to appreciate the drollery of his new title of grandpapa. He tossed the letter on the breakfast table.

  “Our daughter has excelled herself, Mrs. Bennet.”

  “Of which of the girls do you speak, Mr. Bennet? Is it my darling Lydia?”

  “Certainly. This letter is from Mr. Wickham, and very pleased with himself he sounds.”

  “What news, Mr. Bennet? Is it a boy then?”

  “Two boys, Mrs. Bennet, and Wickham has not even the sense to be alarmed by the excess.”

  “My darling Lydia. Twins! What a clever little thing she is.”

  “If this is a variety of genius, Mrs. Bennet, perhaps it is as well she is so productive. Her husband may not be able to provide for these sons, but they are proof at last of her talent. Their names are George and John.”

  “George for their father and, I am sure, John to honour their grandfather.”

  “If they have twenty sons and name them all for me, I will give them no money.”

  “O, Mr. Bennet!”

  “I am determined. Would you have Kitty or Mary think she may marry as foolishly and then call upon her father for assistance?”

  “I believe,” put in Mary, “that favouring a wayward child is not regarded with approval by the church.”

  “Hold your tongue, girl! Find Kitty and prepare yourselves for a visit to Netherfield. We must pass on the news!”

  The Bingleys had arrived home with Kitty two weeks before and had found the courage, after several days, to announce their plans to remove to Yorkshire. The depth of Mrs. Bennet’s grief was demonstrated by a fit of hysterics, and hard words were spoken to Jane, the sweetest-natured of her children.

  The following morning, all was forgotten.

  “My, Jane, how well you look! This is the best time for a woman’s appearance, four months or so before her confinement. I have come with news
about Lydia. Your father had a letter from dear Wickham this morning. Can you guess his news?”

  “It can only be a boy or a girl, I suppose?”

  “There you are wrong, Jane. She has two boys—twins! She has a start upon her sisters!”

  “I am very happy for her.”

  “I shall send her a little extra money. I promised to pay for the child to be put out to nurse this next twelve-month. It will cost more now.”

  “Why does she not care for them herself?” asked Mary.

  “Lord, no! What an idea! Lydia was not brought up to play the nursemaid.”

  “She may as well hire a nurse to care for them,” said Kitty.

  “How can you be so foolish, child?” said Mrs. Bennet. “What did you think? That Wickham’s as rich as Croesus?”

  “I knew not that they were so poor as this.”

  “How will she manage without my help when I die? Her father will give her nothing, I know. He has a heart of stone!” said Mrs. Bennet. “There will be no officer for you, my girl—unless he has a private income.”

  “You seemed to like the officers very well, Mama, when they were encamped in Meryton. You said you loved a red coat when you were a girl.”

  “Yes, I liked them well enough but when it came to marriage, I took your father, a man with a good fortune.”

  Mrs. Bennet became happily immersed in talk of small clothes.

  Kitty sighed. The time was passing, not too slowly, for she made a certain impression in Hertfordshire nowadays. She blushed to recall how she and Lydia used to shout across the street to a group of officers; and how Aunt Phillips would call out from her drawing room window to young gentlemen of her acquaintance to come in and take refreshments with her nieces. Such behaviour had been good enough for the drawing rooms and assemblies of Meryton, but time spent in Elizabeth’s house had given her polish. She had an air that had not been there a year before. There was a modesty in her demeanour, attractively spiced with naive-sounding remarks and large-eyed gazes. In short, she had learnt more ladylike ways to play.

  She had a fondness still for a scarlet coat, but she remembered also a time when she had stood quite close to someone in a black coat, and their fingers had touched fleetingly as he put a little chick in her hands. Her nose had flinched a little at the smell of the poultry. She could still hear the clucking of the hens, and the squeaking of the chick. She felt again its fluttering warmth in her hands, and the sensation of his fingers brushing her own. She started as the door opened to admit Miss Bingley. This young lady greeted Mrs. Bennet and her daughters with all her customary warmth, and said to Kitty:

  “You were a great success at the assembly, Miss Kitty. I recall you always did have a way with the gentlemen of Hertfordshire.” There was something in the way she pronounced ‘gentlemen’ that may have needled Kitty’s mama, were she not in such an excellent mood.

  “Kitty is in great demand since she came home from Derbyshire,” cried the proud mother.

  “Of course Kitty meant to be kind, but it is not absolutely needful to stand up with a physician.”

  “Mr. Walsh never forgets his place!” snapped Mrs. Bennet. “When there is a shortage of gentlemen for the assembly, we are happy to include him.”

  Caroline sniggered quietly and turned to her sister.

  “Dearest Jane!” she said. “Allow me to assist you. You will tire yourself excessively over that sweet little dress.”

  Caroline made herself very useful in this phase of Jane’s life by having an opinion on everything and being ready to scold any servant whose performance was not up to her standards. She missed the position of mistress of the house and sometimes thought wistfully of Mr. Houlter’s wealth.

  ‘Did I do right in refusing his marriage proposal?’ she wondered. She recalled their meetings, in the streets and drawing rooms of Scarborough. All along, she had intended accepting him but when he seized her hand she had been so filled with revulsion that she had changed her mind at once. She recalled the gracious terms in which she couched her refusal: her ‘deep respect’, her ‘high esteem’ and the devotion of which he was ‘so deserving’. In a matter of weeks she would again be in London, where she would waste no opportunity to secure an eligible establishment of her own.

  While she embroidered small garments, Mrs. Bennet talked of the grandchildren she now had and the little Bingley to come. She thought of Lizzy, who had proved she could do her duty in producing an heir for Mr. Darcy. If only she would get on with it! She knotted her thread with a jerk and snipped it off sharply.

  She desired the young women to tell her all about Scarborough and was startled when informed it was to the east of Derbyshire. Gracious, she had quite thought it to be westerly.

  Was it near Newcastle then, where dwelt her darling Lydia? Not so very near? How far off Newcastle must be!

  “I suppose Mr. Darcy was not inclined to allow Lizzy to join you in Scarborough,” she said. “How dull poor Lizzy will be feeling. I shall write her a nice long letter to cheer her up.”

  CHAPTER 23

  AT PEMBERLEY, the last days of summer had passed very pleasantly, with the solitude interrupted only by visits from the Gardiners and from Mr. Bennet, who delighted Elizabeth by arriving unannounced, just as he had in London. Apart from exploring the park with his daughter and touring the farms with his son-in-law, Mr. Bennet spent many blissful hours in Darcy’s library. He had asked Bingley for details of the collection and the young man had told his father-in-law everything he knew, which was that Darcy had a fearful number of books. He had returned to Longbourn with a supply to last him until he next saw them.

  Every season that Elizabeth spent at Pemberley became her new favourite. She loved to walk in the groves with scarlet and gold leaves swirling about her. She kicked up the debris; she ran along the paths with the wind blowing in her face.

  She had never spent so long a time with so little society. They entertained only the local clergy, for the immediate district offered no families of their standing. They did not miss society. They had each other. Of course, they had Georgiana, too. Elizabeth asked her if it were too dull for her, but, no, she did not want society.

  There was but one cloud on Elizabeth’s happiness. She had never read Lady Catherine’s reply to Darcy’s announcement of their engagement; but, be it ever so offensive, she did not like to be a cause of his quarrelling with his relations. Lady Catherine had had some cause for anger with her nephew, in feeling that her daughter had been thrown over—and for a girl whom all society must see as beneath him.

  Elizabeth wished him to heal the breach.

  “Fitzwilliam, shall you write to Miss de Bourgh on the occasion of her marriage?”

  “Certainly, I shall write this week. Have you any message to add?”

  “Tell her I look forward to seeing them both at Pemberley.”

  “I will be most surprised if we ever receive her here. We may not even receive a reply, Elizabeth. You will take no offence, I hope.”

  “I would not fly into a huff. However, Lord Reerdon will surely wish her to reply, as his mother is a particular friend of yours. If she does, we will find our capacity for forgiveness untested.”

  “Anne is her mother’s creature.”

  “Fitzwilliam, this might be an appropriate occasion to write also to Lady Catherine. What say you?”

  “I think not, Elizabeth. Her behaviour was unpardonable and I shall not pardon it. Until she apologises, I shall never communicate with her.” She rose and came across to where he sat. She stood beside him and bent her head to touch his.

  “‘Never’ is so long a word. Her ladyship grows old and will be soon alone.”

  He took her hand, held it to his lips, then said: “This is something you must leave to me, dearest.”

  Lord Maddersfield wrote to his nephew from Rosings, where he was staying with his sister, Lady Catherine. He wrote of the excellence of the match and continued:

  That fool Reerdon has signed the marriage articl
es without any reference to what becomes of her ladyship’s fortune should Anne die before her mother. She will keep him dancing at her pleasure these twenty years, if he wants to be sure of Rosings Park.

  I have told Lady C. that, from all I hear of Mrs. Darcy’s sauciness, she is a prize and just the type of girl I fancy for myself. “Yes, indeed,” I said, “Had I met Darcy’s lady first, he’d have been calling her Aunt, not Wife.”(Now that would have stuck in your throat, my boy!) There followed a tremendous row, as you can imagine. Lady C. impersonated Medusa and Reerdon came nigh to fainting. Henry soothed them all, in his way. It was all tremendous fun.

  Two more days of this entertainment and they will be wed. They are to be married by a clownish parson called Collins. I never met with such an ass. Anne whispered to me that he is Mrs. D.’s cousin, but that will be just her spite.