What Kitty Did Next

by Carrie Kablean

  The house was quiet on this particular morning and as she practised the pieces Mr Adams had suggested, Kitty contemplated her future. Would she be like Caroline Bingley, living her life in the household of one of her siblings?

  Kitty could not easily envisage Caroline Bingley married. Petty and cold-hearted before she lost the Mr Darcy she had never had, Miss Bingley’s present disappointment in that regard had only honed her malicious tendencies, and because Elizabeth Darcy was impervious to her – and Caroline was very well aware that casting any aspersions, however slight, about Mr Darcy’s choice of wife would not be wise – Kitty had become a convenient target for her sustained antipathy. This was irksome rather than worrying, and Kitty had resolved that Miss Bingley’s thinly veiled insults would not unsettle her; in fact, it had become a matter of personal pride that she would not stoop to her level nor be affected by her asides. Instead, she concentrated on her vision of the Miss Bingley of the future, still unmarried, still disappointed and still stewing in spite and unhappiness. This, Kitty reflected, might be something of a trial for Jane, if Miss Bingley was living at Netherfield. Horrid thought! Playing the wrong notes on the pianoforte jarred her out of that particular reverie, and she turned back the pages in order to start again.

  I am not yet twenty, thought Kitty. My situation is far from desperate – but it will be but two or, at the most, four years before I will be regarded as leftover Christmas cake. I have no fortune but, thanks to Jane’s and Lizzy’s marriages, I have some connections now and London does offer promise. She thought about the two Mr Fanshawes. They had been attentive to her and she was sure they were of good character and eligible, but she had not spoken above a dozen sentences to either. Hardly enough to form a proper opinion. She had seen Sir Edward since the concert at a dinner given by the Hursts, but his nephews had not been there. She thought that William Fanshawe was preferable to his brother, but this was an impression rather than a considered judgement. Furthermore, who knew what attachments the brothers may already have?

  There was Henry Adams, of course, but it would not do to think of him, much as she liked to. She suspected that he was looking for a rich young lady, and he would probably find one for he was handsome enough and intelligent.

  As to Sir Edward, Kitty owned that she was really very fond of him. Chivalrous and somewhat old-fashioned, he treated her like a lady, and she never felt belittled by him. On the contrary, he deferred to her opinions, was interested in what she had to say and engaged her in discussions that she found fascinating. He was well travelled and she loved to hear of his adventures on his Grand Tour and descriptions of places in Italy and France (it had been some time since he had undertaken that tour but he spoke of it as if it were yesterday). These chimed with descriptions of the romantic (and sometimes forbidding) places she had read about in novels. In literature too he was a fine conversationalist; he appeared to have read everything she had or wanted to read, and he had introduced her to new works and parodies, which she was finding interesting and amusing by turn. Flattered as she was by his attentions, Kitty did not want to question Sir Edward’s particularity to her. He was of the same age as her father and she chose to think of him paternalistically. Nothing in his manner or words had ever suggested theirs was anything but a social friendship, but Kitty had seen that they had been observed with more than passing interest and it made her uneasy. Why did he seek out her company? Surely he could not be viewing her as a wife?

  She stopped playing. Lady Catherine Quincy! How very grand that sounded. That would make people see her differently. Mama would certainly approve. Miss Bingley would be mortified, which would be a fine thing. Papa, Jane and Lizzy would be amazed? Or appalled? And Sir Edward’s daughter, Amelia…? Lord, was she the same age as Jane? Kitty checked her imagination… this was ridiculous, she really should not be entertaining such wild thoughts, thoughts that would be better used for characters in a novel, a comedic one at that. After all, what would Sir Edward want with a poor creature like herself? She did like him though; was that enough? Charlotte Lucas had less to like about Mr Collins and she had accepted his proposal. Enough! Charlotte was twenty-seven and, Kitty told herself sternly, there has been no hint of intimacy, no declaration, still less a proposal – and if there were, she would be horrified! Really, Kitty! she chastised herself. How foolish you are to be even thinking such things. You are becoming like Lydia again.

  She resumed playing and made herself concentrate on the notes and the pace. Georgiana was expected at any moment and they had agreed to practise a duet together.

  CHAPTER 22

  The infectiously happy sounds of laughter reached Jane before she reached the drawing room door and she was smiling – although she did not know the reason – before she opened it and found Georgiana and Kitty beside themselves with mirth, barely able to stand.

  ‘Whatever is going on? What are you two doing?’ she enquired, watching their faces as she crossed the room to claim her usual place near the fire.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Kitty, and collapsed again into helpless giggles.

  ‘Georgiana?’

  ‘Really, Jane, it is nothing,’ began Georgiana, before she too was rendered speechless, falling onto Kitty’s shoulder and making every effort – with no success – to suppress her own laughter.

  ‘What is it?’ Jane repeated, her expression amused as she waited for the pair to regain their composure. ‘Clearly something most entertaining.’

  Her remarks merely set Kitty and Georgiana into fresh spasms of laughter and it was a few minutes before they were calm enough to speak.

  ‘We were just remembering something that happened at the dance last night,’ said Kitty, wiping her eyes with a fragment of lace. ‘It really isn’t that funny…’

  ‘So I perceive,’ observed Jane, much bemused. ‘Is there more to this tale?’

  ‘No, not really. It’s just that people can be so very ridiculous…’

  ‘And Kitty is so fine at impersonating their droll ways,’ added Georgiana. ‘We were playing at charades. In truth, she is too clever.’

  ‘Why, thank you my dear, dear Miss Darcy,’ said Kitty, in a very deep voice, affecting a haughty expression and closing one eye. ‘What a remarkably fine lady you have become.’

  At this, both young women teetered on the point of collapse once more, and with something of a supreme effort, collected themselves and sat on the sofa opposite Jane, who found the situation almost as funny as they did.

  ‘Kitty, I have not laughed so much for such a long time,’ declared Georgiana. ‘Indeed, I do not know when I have laughed so much. I cannot really say what is so very amusing, but my sides ache and it is all very fine!’

  Kitty fanned herself by way of reply, and a short silence ensued. Jane announced she would ring for tea, over which she would very much like an account of the evening that had caused so much mirth.

  That Catherine Bennet and Georgiana Darcy might, in the space of a very short time, become firm friends and confidantes had not been foreseen by either of their families, an appalling lack of foresight really, given their age, general diffidence and the fact that each had grown up in the shadow of a more forceful sibling, or two.

  Georgiana, who had had little female company of her own age – the friendships she had formed while at school had been mainly shallow affairs, hampered by her shyness, usually mistaken for arrogance – was more than ready to like Elizabeth’s sisters. Kitty likewise had been lonely and was delighted to find a friend to fill the empty space created by Lydia’s physical and emotional removal. Miss Bennet had soon become Catherine, then Kitty; Miss Darcy had become Georgiana; and, until very recently, no one had really noticed what should have been an expectation.

  Jane saw and felt the happiness of their bond. The three of them had settled into a more restrained discussion of the day’s events – and the unintended absurdities of social interaction – when Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy entered the drawing room, and the conversation took a different tur
n.

  Only that morning Darcy had been told of a property in Nottinghamshire, a substantial house with ample grounds, much prized by its original owner who had bequeathed it to an ungrateful relation, so ungrateful indeed that he now wished it sold. Although there were no immediate plans to vacate Netherfield, Bingley had every intention of fulfilling his late father’s wish for him to acquire an estate of his own one day. Where or what or when that should be had caused him little concern hitherto, much to the chagrin of his youngest sister, but his responsibilities as a married man had sharpened his focus of late. Whether it would have been thus honed without the aid and advice of his friend Darcy is a matter of speculation, but it would not be the first nor the last time Charles Bingley deferred to the former’s opinions.

  ‘It is called Dapplewick Hall, my dear,’ he informed Jane. ‘Quite a new place, not twenty-five years old, and classically proportioned. There is a cantilevered staircase and the drawing room ceiling is in the Adam style, according to Darcy here. The grounds are quite extensive and should offer good shooting. I think I must have passed close by the nearest village when I was in Nottinghamshire as a boy, though I cannot recollect ever seeing it. Darcy says it is only thirty miles, perhaps less, from Pemberley, which I am sure would speak in its favour?’

  ‘Indeed, you are quite right, Mr Bingley. That would suit me very well,’ said Jane, then teased, ‘but what of your plans to replicate Pemberley?’

  ‘Oh, you know I just said that to please Caroline and ruffle Darcy,’ returned he. ‘Besides there can be only one Pemberley and only one master of it! Is that not so, Darcy?’

  The master of Pemberley raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement.

  ‘How came you to know of the house, Fitzwilliam?’ asked Jane.

  ‘My steward is in town. He told me that he had heard the new owner wishes to dispose of it. I have long thought it a most well-positioned house, close to a very old church and not far from a pretty little village. I believe the present house stands on the site of a much older one, perhaps an old castle, but my information is uncertain on the latter point.’

  ‘Well, if you approve, I shall make further enquiries,’ said Mr Bingley addressing his wife, who was inclined to approve in principle. She resolved to speak privately about it with Elizabeth, who may have further intelligence. It would be a very pleasant thing to live within such close proximity to the Darcys.

  Kitty, meanwhile, was quietly alarmed. She hoped that this Dapplewick Hall, with all its apparent attractions, would be found entirely unsuitable. She preferred to think of the Bingleys remaining at Netherfield.

  CHAPTER 23

  Is Jane not coming down to breakfast?’ Kitty asked Mr Bingley the next day.

  ‘No, not this morning,’ said he, from behind his newspaper. ‘Something has been sent up to her.’

  ‘Is she unwell? Should I go and see her?’

  ‘She says she is just tired. There is no need for concern.’

  Jane had been tired a lot of late, and Kitty believed she knew the reason why. She kept her thoughts to herself during breakfast, not wishing to air them in front of Caroline, but as soon as the opportunity presented itself she found Jane.

  ‘You are tired?’ she said, looking at her intently.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Jane, unable to stop smiling. ‘I may be yet more tired in the months to come. But I am very pleased to be so very tired. You have guessed why, I think?’

  Kitty’s response was a cry of delight. She threw her arms around Jane and declared she was overjoyed at the prospect of becoming an aunt.

  ‘Who knows? Apart from you and Mr Bingley, of course!’

  ‘Just you and Lizzy at present. I must write to Mama and of course we shall have to tell Caroline.’

  ‘I am so very happy!’ added Jane, somewhat superfluously.

  The news of her impending motherhood was soon shared farther. Miss Bingley also declared her delight, although her effusions were a less reliable indicator of her joy. It had occurred to Kitty that Jane’s condition would prevent any move to Nottinghamshire in the near future and this only added to her happiness. Mr Bingley was all admiring concern for his wife and took every opportunity to see to her comfort, treating her as though she had suddenly become glass. It was through him that Kitty discovered that he and Jane were planning their return to Hertfordshire.

  ‘I shall miss the theatres and the concerts of course, but although the weather here has improved, the clean air of Netherfield will suit Jane much better,’ he declared at dinner. ‘We think to return within the week after next.’

  It was not at all what Kitty wanted to hear. She did not miss Longbourn, she felt quite at home in London. She had become accustomed to seeing Georgiana every day, Lizzy and Mr Darcy almost as often. To be returned to Longbourn, the pleasure of her parents’ and sister’s company and the monotony of country life in exchange for the society and interest of London was sobering.

  ‘I am sorry we shall have to cut short our stay,’ said Jane, reading Kitty’s thoughts. ‘I hope you are not so very disappointed. Let us think, shall we, about what we will do here in the days remaining?’

  Kitty gathered her resources and managed a convincing smile. ‘I cannot think of a better reason for your leaving, Jane. I would not want you detained in London on my account, not now. Besides, I shall make a complete nuisance of myself at Netherfield, fussing about you as much as I can.’

  ‘Ha! I think you will have sturdy competition on that count from our Mama once she hears the happy news but I will be glad of your company. In fact, I shall rely upon it.’

  Jane turned to Miss Bingley. ‘Will you return with us, Caroline?’

  ‘Sadly, I cannot,’ said she, bestowing a most sorrowful smile upon her dear sister. ‘I have engagements I must keep with Mr and Mrs Hurst and others of their set, although I should so much like to be of assistance to you.’ She shared her pained countenance with her brother and Kitty, before adding: ‘I shall call on Louisa this morning and make arrangements to stay with them. May I tell them the reason for my move?’

  ‘Please do,’ said a proud Mr Bingley, ‘and say we shall all dine together before we go.’

  Had she had time before preparing for that evening’s theatre engagement with Georgiana and the Darcys, Kitty would have tried to make sense of her thoughts by writing them down. As it was, they tumbled around in her head and she wondered as she waited for the carriage at how quickly circumstances changed. Elizabeth had spoken of returning to Derbyshire within a week or so, but Kitty had not imagined the Bingleys and she would be leaving London before them.

  As soon as she could speak privately with Georgiana, she informed her of the day’s events. As she had anticipated, her friend was equally loath to be separated so soon.

  ‘It is nearing the end of the season, though,’ Georgiana ventured, by way of compensation.

  ‘It is, but I wish we could stay longer nonetheless.’

  ‘And I too. You must promise to write. I trust you are a good correspondent?’

  ‘When I wish to be,’ replied Kitty, remembering letters unwritten. ‘To you, yes!’

  ‘That much is settled, then. And you will be an aunt!’

  ‘Yes, I shall, and I am happy at that thought at least. It will be something to divert me. I fear there will be little to write about otherwise.’

  ‘Well, we can tell each other all our little nothings,’ replied Georgiana, ‘and make plans for your coming to Derbyshire in the summer.’

  ‘Really!’ cried Kitty. ‘In the summer?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Georgiana, to whom it seemed the most obvious invitation in the world. ‘Look, my brother and Elizabeth are waving at us. It must be time to take our seats.’

  They followed the movement of people up the stairs and found their box.

  ‘At least we are seeing a comedy,’ said Georgiana. ‘A tragedy would be too hard to bear in these circumstances.’

  Kitty agreed, but the invitation to Pemberley had brought
her up from the brink of despair; it quite influenced her enjoyment of the play.

  When the performance had finished Mr and Mrs Darcy exchanged pleasantries with a few of the other theatregoers, satisfying the needs of convention, but no one was anxious for company outside their own party. At supper afterwards, Georgiana and Kitty spent some time devising plans for their remaining week together. High on their list of priorities were various fashionable shops and establishments in Mayfair and Oxford Street, purveyors of goods and haberdashery best purchased in the capital for display in the country; a long-anticipated visit to the Royal Academy; correspondence to such acquaintance as deserved same, though Kitty could think of no one who need be informed – she would see Henry Adams at Brook Street within a couple of days, the rest would be taken care of in morning calls.

  ‘Let us all go to the Academy together?’ said Elizabeth. ‘We have been meaning to visit since we first arrived. What think you, Fitzwilliam my dear?’

  ‘In that plan, I am most happy to comply. I hear it is a fine exhibition.’

  The hour being late and there being little else to discuss, the carriage was summoned and Kitty soon found herself ushered into Brook Street, with promises made by her sister and Georgiana that they would meet on the morrow. As she prepared for sleep, fragments of the day flitted across her mind. Now that the initial shock about leaving London had subsided, her thoughts had become more rational, more mature: Jane was to have a child; she was to return to Longbourn; the Darcys were returning to Derbyshire; she was invited to Pemberley in the summer. Yes, it would be hard to leave London but she was very happy for Jane and she knew she would see Georgiana and Lizzy again, and quite soon. This is the end of my music lessons, she thought, at the same time resolving to continue playing when she returned home. She felt confident enough now to withstand sarcasm and denigration from the rest of her family upon that score. She knew she had changed, become more resilient and confident. Her father may still think her silly but she would make him see that he was wrong. She had learned that other people valued her company.