What Kitty Did Next

by Carrie Kablean

  ‘Well, I shan’t keep you, Miss Bennet, much as I might like to! A young lady such as yourself will be much in demand this evening. I shall claim you later! Off you go, off you go! Find the young people.’

  Kitty thanked him and excused herself, looking again for Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lydia. Captain Morton, who was now grouped with Mr and Mrs Bridgwater, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, saw her glance and bade her good evening. Kitty had no choice but to join them.

  ‘We were just saying how little Mrs Wickham has changed since we last saw her,’ observed Caroline Bingley. ‘You must be so pleased to have your youngest sister here.’

  ‘It was a pleasant surprise,’ lied Kitty, calmly.

  ‘She was earlier telling us about the assemblies at Newcastle. Quite riotous, they would seem! Louisa and I are in awe of her fortitude.’ Mrs Hurst tittered and made an ineffectual attempt to hide a smirk behind her fan.

  Captain Morton, whose manners were above those of Miss Bingley and her sister, and who was sensible to the insinuations being made, remarked to Kitty about the musicians he had seen setting up their instruments that afternoon, giving her a chance to expound on her knowledge of the band. She obliged, knowing it would be imprudent to enquire of him as to Lydia’s whereabouts in the present company. Kitty had the uncomfortable sensation that she was the subject of some discussion between Miss Bingley and Mrs Bridgwater but was in no mood to find out what that might be about; she did not suppose it would be to her advantage to know. Her surreptitious glances around the room revealed neither Lydia nor Colonel Fitzwilliam, only that the three Fanshawe siblings had arrived and were in animated discussion with Georgiana. That caused her no surprise, just a dull sense of inevitability.

  She became aware of a general movement towards the ballroom and saw Colonel Fitzwilliam arrive just in time to find Felicia Fanshawe and escort her there. Captain Morton offered Kitty his arm, and together they went in.

  Unheard and unseen by those already enjoying the society and music in the glittering ballroom, a string of carriages clattered up to Pemberley’s portico, where ladies in silk and satin accompanied by their elegantly attired menfolk alighted. Inside, having been relieved of their shawls and cloaks and made sure of the correctness of their appearances, their journeys up the regal staircase were checked only by their wonder of the scene about them and the necessity of waiting for their names to be relayed and announced.

  Elizabeth, waiting near the ballroom entrance to welcome her guests, asked Kitty to stay at her side so that Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam could facilitate any introductions that might be helpful to those young people who wished to dance. Once again, Kitty marvelled at her sister, whose role as hostess and mistress of Pemberley seemed innate, and at the magnificence of the ballroom, now alive with expectation and the swirling movement and colours of myriad pretty gowns.

  Lydia had reappeared, giving no outward cause for alarm, but was soon lost to Kitty’s sight. Her attention was now claimed by William Fanshawe, who had returned in readiness for the first two dances.

  ‘You are looking very well, Miss Bennet,’ he said, bowing. ‘I am most honoured to be your first partner of the evening.’ He looked around. ‘I think I am just in time.’ Kitty followed his gaze. A sufficient number of guests had arrived and the signal was given for the dancing to begin. The band struck up afresh and Mr Darcy walked across the room to escort Elizabeth onto the dance floor and the chalked celestial bodies, and lead the first set. The summer ball was in progress.

  CHAPTER 51

  It was approaching midnight and Kitty had not been without a partner for a single dance. Flushed but still full of energy, the exertions had done much to quieten and relax her mind. Her desire to speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam had been addressed by the gentleman himself when he asked if she would oblige him by dancing the third set with him, and although it had not been the time or the place she had gone so far as to tell him that she had something important that she wished to discuss with him in private. He had looked curious rather than surprised but readily acquiesced. The promise of relieving herself of the unwelcome burden of knowledge was enough for this evening, she thought, although Freddie Fanshawe had since asked Georgiana for the supper dance, thus signalling to all his interest in her.

  That repast had been announced and nearly everyone was moving towards the supper room. Every source of nourishment needed to sustain and encourage further dancing was laid out upon the tables: mousses and pies, platters of meat and fish, artichokes in white sauce, small birds, large hams, the ubiquitous white soup. Kitty was content to be seated between Captain Morton and another young gentleman from a nearby estate to whom she had only just been introduced and who had proved himself a fine dancer. Not far off she could see Colonel Fitzwilliam and Felicia Fanshawe, both of whom looked very happy in each other’s company. The conversation around her was of the excellence of the food, the skill of the musicians, the magnificence of the ballroom, of who was dancing with whom. Those who knew that there had been a tradition of a summer ball welcomed its renaissance; those for whom it was a new event hoped it would be repeated. Kitty was quietly proud to be part of the family providing such lavish entertainment.

  Suddenly she became aware of Lydia. She was at a nearby table, seated next to Sir Edward, whose gallantry was conspicuous in the presence of attractive young women, and holding forth loudly about something or the other. Kitty could not hear what was being said but fervently hoped that Lydia would not humiliate herself, or more accurately, her host and hostess. Georgiana and Freddie Fanshawe were a small distance away, at one of the tables near the windows, as was William who had, not unexpectedly as far as Kitty was concerned, been an object of some admiration from quite a few of the young ladies present. She found she did not much mind.

  The business of refreshment was soon achieved and, suitably revived, the belles and beaux were eager to return to the pleasures and potential conquests of the ballroom. She saw Georgiana depart in that direction and was about to follow when she noticed Lydia approaching Freddie Fanshawe, who was talking to his brother. Bereft of any other idea, Kitty hurriedly excused herself from the table and went to join them, in time to hear Freddie Fanshawe say that he was going to look for his father, whom he suspected was at the card tables. His brother preferred to go back to the ballroom and offered to escort the ladies but Lydia demurred, citing the need for some fresh air. Kitty said she would stay with her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

  ‘I am going to talk to that Mr Fanshawe,’ declared Lydia, putting down a glass of wine, and setting off in pursuit.

  Feeling quite helpless, Kitty watched her sister follow Freddie Fanshawe, who appeared to be heading towards the gallery, which was not on the way to the card room. He stopped to light a cigar and had just begun to inhale when Lydia accosted him. His astonishment was equal to Kitty’s embarrassment and she could only imagine what Lydia was demanding of him. He did not walk away, however, and Kitty wondered if he was perhaps a little the worse for drink again. Lydia’s accusations were clearly having some effect on him; his expression changed from surprise to shock, and then something bordering on fear. He seemed to lose his balance slightly and had to steady himself. Lydia, her stance confident and her stare aggressive, stood before him waiting. She began to speak again, more loudly this time and Kitty saw Mr Fanshawe attempt to quieten her. She saw him reach into his pocket and hand her something. Was he going to give her money! Kitty looked behind her, thankful that no one else was witnessing this awful transaction. When she turned back again, it was to see Mr Fanshawe once again talking earnestly and quietly; he seemed to be imploring Lydia to secrecy. She stalked off, leaving him in quite a sorry state.

  Kitty could only be thankful that this dreadful encounter had ended. Lydia came back to her, looking triumphant.

  ‘Well, I hope you are satisfied,’ hissed Kitty, furious and indignant. ‘You are a guest in this house and you are behaving abominably! What is it you have there?
’

  ‘Quite a pretty little thing, a promissory note if you will.’ She opened her hand to show what she had.

  ‘No!’ cried Kitty, who had thought the situation could deteriorate no further but now saw that Lydia was holding Georgiana’s treasured cameo. ‘But how…?’ She looked across to where Freddie Fanshawe had been standing – her face expressing wonder and incredulity, her mind questioning his possession of the necklace – but he had gone.

  She turned back to Lydia who was holding the cameo to her neck and preening at her reflection in one of the tall gold-framed mirrors that flanked the gallery walls.

  ‘You cannot take this,’ she said, in what she hoped was a quiet and reasonable tone. ‘It does not belong to him.’

  Lydia took no notice, merely bent in closer to the mirror to examine her appearance.

  ‘It is not his to give,’ repeated Kitty. ‘Please, give it to me.’

  ‘Have you lost your senses?’ enquired Lydia, turning back to Kitty. ‘Why would I do that? He can have it back when he pays his debt.’ She looked at the cameo again. ‘Unless I decide to keep it, after all.’

  ‘Lydia, please,’ remonstrated Kitty.

  ‘No!’ said Lydia, turning on her heel and flouncing back towards the ballroom.

  Kitty ran after her, calling for her to stop. ‘Please,’ said she, catching her sister by the arm. Lydia shrugged her off with a violence that caused Kitty to stumble and in trying to regain her footing she caught at her sister’s skirt, tearing it. Lydia rounded on her. She pushed Kitty, then slapped her. ‘Go away!’ she shouted. ‘It is none of your business! You are so annoying!’

  This, Kitty remembered with a sick feeling in her stomach, is just what she was like when we were young: always slapping and kicking when no one was watching. She stood stock still for a moment as the memory flooded over her.

  ‘You and your silly tiara,’ said Lydia nastily, pulling at it and dislodging it. Kitty watched it tumble to the floor. Incensed, she spun around and lunged at Lydia, catching her off guard. She dropped the cameo and Kitty swooped down to retrieve it. She stood back, her arm behind her, her fist clenched tightly around the necklace. She glared at Lydia.

  ‘What is the meaning of this disturbance!’ demanded a voice that was at once commanding and glacial.

  Kitty turned to see Mr Darcy glowering at both of them. Behind him, at the entrance to the ballroom, a few of the guests were staring in amazement.

  ‘I will not tolerate such vulgar behaviour under my roof.’ Anger seared through the words. ‘Kitty, what is that you are withholding?’

  Crimson with shame, Kitty meekly handed him the cameo. He recognised it instantly, of course, looking afresh at both young women, surprise mixing with incomprehension and suspicion. ‘How came you by this?’ he demanded.

  Kitty looked to Lydia, who was affecting nonchalance in the face of Mr Darcy’s imperious authority, willing her to answer and explain. ‘Ask Kitty,’ she said, still angry and defiant. ‘She seems to have acquired a penchant for pretty things.’

  Kitty gasped, horror-struck.

  ‘Very well,’ said Mr Darcy, his expression exuding fury and contempt. ‘We will discuss this tomorrow. For now, you will conduct yourselves with decorum or you will leave.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Mrs Wickham,’ he said, by way of dismissal. Then to Kitty, ‘I had expected better of you.’

  He bent down to pick up Georgiana’s tiara. He looked at it and then at Kitty. After a moment’s hesitation, he handed it back to her.

  Kitty’s mortification was complete. She hung her head and heard, rather than saw, both Mr Darcy and Lydia depart. Explanation would be both impossible and futile without Freddie Fanshawe’s testimony. She stayed where she was for several minutes until gradually the gaiety and music spilling from the adjoining rooms filtered through to her. Forcing down her fears and foreboding, Kitty decided it would be better to return to the ball than retreat to her room; she could at least show herself in a polite and proper manner for the rest of the evening. She did not want to let Elizabeth down and, besides, the need to speak with Freddie Fanshawe had become paramount.

  She walked farther down the gallery, found another mirror and spent some time adjusting her hair and the tiara – which continued to sparkle brightly as if in mockery of Kitty’s devastation – and eventually made her way back into the ballroom.

  A country dance was in full swing and Kitty watched in miserable isolation as the couples went down the room. Lydia, she noted with dissatisfaction, was among their number, laughing and unperturbed. With a start, she realised someone was saying her name and turned to find Lady Fanshawe.

  ‘You are sitting this one out, Miss Bennet?’ she enquired, fanning herself vigorously.

  ‘Not intentionally, Lady Fanshawe,’ answered Kitty, truthfully enough. ‘I needed to get some air.’

  ‘It is excessively warm,’ returned her ladyship. ‘Despite the hour! I wonder at my sons, neglecting you so. I am sure you will not be without a partner for very long.’

  Kitty smiled at her kindness and, as if on cue, Sir Edward appeared before her. ‘Miss Bennet, I thought I had quite lost you. May I claim the honour?’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ said Kitty, apologising for her absence at the beginning of the set. He chatted and commented throughout the dance, forcing her to become animated and sociable once more, although his compliments and obvious delight in her company nearly undid her composure. Here was her chivalrous Sir Edward, worried that she looked a little tired and hoping that she was not overexerting herself, oblivious to her confusion and distress and to his nephew’s misdeeds. He is not ignorant of Freddie’s gaming habits, she reminded herself, and looked up into Sir Edward’s face. He beamed back at her, causing Kitty to blush and look away. It was all impossible, she thought, and nothing was more impossible than discussing or understanding the events of the evening whilst a ball was in progress and everyone but she was happy and carefree. At the conclusion of the set, Sir Edward bowed and made a show of reluctantly returning her to a group of young ladies containing Georgiana and Felicia.

  ‘There you are!’ cried Miss Fanshawe. ‘We had been wondering where you had got to. I declare I have danced every dance and my shoes are in grave danger of wearing out! That shall not stop me though!’

  Her companions concurred, each vying for the honour of the most threadbare pumps.

  ‘Have you seen my brothers? William was here after supper but Freddie has quite disappeared. I have a notion that he has gone to find my father! It is remiss of him!’

  ‘It most certainly is,’ Georgiana agreed, ‘but I am promised elsewhere for every dance so we shall do without him.’ She is so secure of his affections, thought Kitty morosely, while the other ladies laughed benignly and looked around the room for their partners for the next set. The merriment was infectious but Kitty had quite lost her joie de vivre. She danced with vigour but not enthusiasm, and did her best to smile and look happy. Elizabeth caught her eye at one point and she could tell by the radiant expression on her sister’s face that Darcy had yet to tell her what had transpired.

  She did not see Freddie Fanshawe again until the close of the ball, when she and other lively souls who were determined to dance the night away were giving their all to the Boulanger. He was standing, his back to the wall, at the far side of the room and she was dismayed to see Lydia was with him again. Given the nature of the dance, it was difficult for Kitty to keep them in view. What was apparent, however, as she and the other dancers circled, was that Mr Fanshawe and Lydia were not merely exchanging a few pleasantries; their conversation, even to the most casual observer, would have appeared intense. She hoped Georgiana would not notice, but it was too late: at that moment, turning around her partner, she saw the pair and her expression changed from shock to alarm and bewilderment.

  If only I could speak privately with Freddie Fanshawe and Colonel Fitzwilliam, Kitty thought wretchedly, knowing that the evening would present no such opportunity. As soon
as the dancing concluded, she slipped away. She was upset and exhausted and could not explain Lydia’s conduct to anyone, especially Georgiana.

  CHAPTER 52

  After a few hours of fretful sleep, Kitty awoke with a start. Her dreams had been littered with images of the ball and the dancing, which had somehow taken place around Conisbrough Castle and in full sunlight. Diamonds glittered on the ground in place of stones and Kitty had been watching everything unfold from atop the keep. No one had known she was there.

  She deemed it too early to find either Freddie Fanshawe or Colonel Fitzwilliam but not too soon to disturb Lydia. She dressed quickly and without care, and went up to her room. To her surprise, Lydia was not there. Kitty sat down on the bed and wondered where she could be. She was anxious to discover what else she and Mr Fanshawe had been discussing. If Wickham’s allegations were true, then Freddie would surely be feeling most uncomfortable; she had no doubt that Lydia would press home her advantage. How would he react to her demands? From what Kitty knew of him, he was a gentleman who expected people to do his bidding, not the reverse, but she was also sure he would not wish to risk losing Georgiana’s esteem, or his reputation. As to the cameo, she knew not what to think but hoped he would provide a rational and reasonable explanation as to its mysterious reappearance. Georgiana would be very happy to have it once again in her possession.

  Kitty waited for some time in the vain hope that Lydia would come back. Eventually she could sit still no longer and returned to her own room to prepare for the day ahead. It was past midday when, with some trepidation, she ventured downstairs. The house, still festooned with flowers, retained its festive air, and those in residence – those who had quit their rooms, that is – were scattered about the sofas and chairs in the drawing room and library, drinking tea and discussing the previous evening or, in some cases, gently dozing.