‘It would be madness for anyone to go outside,’ Mr Gardiner had declared at the onset of the fog. He had perforce to test his sanity on a couple of occasions in the ensuing fortnight, called forth on matters of business to his warehouses, but luckily for the Gardiners and their guests, their house was warm and well provisioned and the only real inconvenience lay in not being able to venture abroad. Those accustomed to playing loo and vingt-et-un improved their skills considerably during this period and there was plenty of opportunity for reading and, in Kitty’s case, keeping up her writing and practice on the pianoforte. As before, when it came to her writing she was secretive in her task. She disguised her work as correspondence and her prolific letter-writing was noted but not a source of extraordinary comment.
There were actual letters, of course – both sent and received, although the postal service was severely hampered by the weather and it took much longer than usual for mail to arrive. Both Jane and Elizabeth wrote, enquiring as to their father’s health and sharing their grief and, in Jane’s case, providing news on Little Elizabeth. There was a letter from Felicia, apologising for her tardy reply to Kitty and hoping to see her in London very soon. She also made mention of Frederick, saying that he had suffered a bad fall from his horse and had taken some time to recover. Kitty was unmoved by this report but laughed at Felicia’s way of telling it. ‘He has been a terrible invalid,’ she wrote, ‘and we will all be glad of his being able to venture abroad once more!’ She looked forward to seeing Miss Fanshawe again.
When the fog finally lifted, there was no respite. It started to snow heavily and to general astonishment did not stop for two whole days. ‘Although,’ as Kitty remarked, once again stationed by the window, ‘it does make all the streets and buildings look very clean and pretty!’
Wrapped in her warmest cloak, Kitty, Uncle Gardiner and the two eldest children, all clad in greatcoats and scarves, braved the cold briefly and went outside to see icicles a yard and a half long formed on the roofs of the nearby buildings. The streets, normally chaotic with pedestrians and carriages, hawkers and coal merchants, were eerily quiet, what sound there was deadened by the blanket of snow. A baker appeared, weighed down by the heavy baskets on his shoulders, making his way carefully across the icy ground. He stopped when he saw them, volunteering the information that, ‘The canal and ponds is all froze over. I reckon as we’ll have a frost fair before the month is out.’
Mr Gardiner agreed he might be right, and wished him well as he continued his precarious journey down the street.
‘What’s a frost fair?’ asked Kitty and her little cousins in unison.
‘If the Thames freezes over, as it has only a few times in the past couple of hundred years, there will in all likelihood be a fair on the ice,’ said Mr Gardiner.
Kitty found this idea quite enthralling but it was left to her cousins to vocalise their thoughts. ‘May we go? May we go, Papa?’ they asked. ‘Please, Papa?’
‘We will see,’ said their father, chuckling. ‘The river is not frozen yet and may not be so. The last frost fair was twenty years ago; they do not happen often. It was quite a sight, though. Enough now, we should go home before we freeze. Your mother will blame me if you take cold.’
CHAPTER 63
London, January 1814
The snow finally stopped but the temperatures fell even further. Everyone agreed it was the coldest winter in living memory. Mr Phillips, anxious now to return to Meryton and his work, made enquiries as to the state of the roads but was advised to wait for a day or two longer as huge drifts of snow, made even more solid by the frosts, were still a hazard.
Local journeys became possible though and Kitty and Mr Bennet took a carriage and covered the two miles from Cheapside to Bloomsbury without incident. Like so many other places in London, the British Museum was a wonder to Kitty. She duly accompanied her father to the Library Section, where they lingered for a couple of hours, he perusing old Anglo-Saxon manuscripts and she delighting in finding the museum housed a diary written by the young Tudor king, Edward VI. As was to be expected, this was undertaken in near silence: the other inhabitants of the Montagu House Reading Room – nearly all of whom were of a similar age to Mr Bennet – did not look to be the sort of gentlemen who would appreciate their concentration being broken by the smallest whisper.
By mutual consent, father and daughter eventually made their way to another part of the museum to look at the antiquities, more specifically to find the recently acquired Rosetta Stone. On their way to Bloomsbury, Mr Bennet had told Kitty what he knew of the stone’s discovery in Egypt and of its potential importance as a tool to translate the ancient hieroglyphics. They both peered at the inscriptions wondering what they might mean, but had to content themselves with its mystery.
On the return journey, at Kitty’s request, they took the road that passed alongside the Thames. She loved to see the river in all its busyness, its watermen, the barges and wherries weaving alongside the ships she imagined laden with goods and spices from the Indies, the constant water traffic around and under the arches of London Bridge.
A couple of days later, they bade farewell to Mr and Mrs Phillips, who were determined to brave the frosty roads and make their way back to Meryton. Their route was westerly, so Mr Bennet left with them and shared the carriage as far as Bloomsbury. He had made it plain that he intended to spend most of his mornings at the Reading Room in Montagu House. Kitty had fussed around him, exhorting him not to take cold and remember his scarf. ‘Yes, child. I have it and I am confident of returning here none the worse for the experience. If I cannot retreat to my library in Longbourn, then the paltry offerings of the British Museum will have to suffice.’ Kitty was pleased; this was more like the father she knew.
Although there were attractions enough in the museum – worthy and no doubt enlightening, and of which she had seen but a fraction – Kitty did not anticipate daily visits. For her, London held other charms – just being in the city interested her, and she was prepared to forgive it its terrible fog, smoke and noise in exchange for the grand buildings and the parks, and the sight of so many different people going about their different days. Besides, the days were clear now, if bitterly cold. Her aunt had some errands that would take her to Mayfair and Leicester Square and Kitty was pleased to have been asked to accompany her.
They set off, bundled up in cloaks and with a fur blanket covering their knees. ‘I was minded to bring the foot-warmer,’ laughed Aunt Gardiner, still stylish despite the extra layers, ‘but I thought that might be thought excessive.’
‘Time will tell,’ answered Kitty. ‘We are being very brave to go out at all, are we not?’
‘We are not alone,’ said her aunt, peering outside. ‘The city is come back to life again. I am sure everyone is pleased to be out and about once more. I was worried for you Kitty, with all that fog. You were so susceptible to coughs when you were a child; I feared you may become ill.’
‘I am stronger now,’ she replied, feeling a little wave of emotion at her aunt’s concern. ‘The weather has done us no harm! On the contrary, your invitation to London has been such a comfort to me and to Papa. His spirits are lifting, I think.’
‘I am glad of it and do not be in any hurry to leave. You will want to stay until your sister and Mr Darcy arrive, will you not? I imagine they will be down for the season, or part of it.’ Kitty agreed that was likely, but how that reunion would be was a test even for her imagination. Georgiana would be with them, she supposed, and of course she would be received at Berkeley Square, but how different it would be, given all that had happened. Where once she had felt part of the Darcy household, she now anticipated being almost a stranger. She pulled herself back to the present, and once more thanked Aunt Gardiner for inviting them to stay. With or without her sisters, Kitty loved being in London.
Their first stop was at Leicester Square and a fashionable draper’s called Newton’s. ‘I have not told your uncle we are coming here,’ said Mrs Gardiner, co
nspiratorially. ‘He would have me think he knows where all the best fabrics and trimmings are to be found, and at what cost, but I like to see for myself and, besides, the milliner’s two doors down is a delight. You will see.’
Kitty, not at all averse to such an expedition, declared it was an age since she had been into a shop and both ladies soon found much to exclaim over. Purchases were inevitable and Kitty looked forward to trimming her bonnets with her new lace and ribbons. Although still wearing blacks, she could move into half-mourning soon and did not suppose anyone in her family would censure her for that. Her aunt certainly approved her purchases and they hurried off, arm in arm, to the milliner’s.
‘One more stop,’ said she, as they returned to the carriage, and gave instruction to the driver to take them to Conduit Street, ‘and then we will take some tea. You have been to Gunter’s, I am sure?’
Kitty remembered the fashionable tea shop well. Not only had she and Jane been there, and partaken of delicious rose- and pineapple-flavoured sorbets on a day much warmer than this one, but it was within minutes of the Darcys’ town house.
‘That is an excellent plan. The only difficulty will be in deciding which of all those delicious pastries to try.’
‘Well, if it all becomes too difficult, we will have to purchase some to take home. My children will be all the happier for your indecision, and I daresay your uncle and father will thank you as well.’
By the time they had visited two more milliners and looked into even more shop windows, both were quite ready to be seated at Gunter’s, sipping hot tea from delicate gold-rimmed cups and savouring sugary pastries with Italian names.
They were getting ready to leave and had just stood up when Kitty’s attention was drawn to the elegant attire of a woman just then coming in to the tea shop, on the arm of a tall gentleman. Her hand flew to her mouth as she recognised him as Henry Adams. Aunt Gardiner, seeing Kitty’s reaction, turned to look in the same direction and so saw the pleased expression on the young man’s face as he beheld her niece. He murmured something to his companion and the pair approached.
‘Miss Bennet. How do you do? What an agreeable surprise. Allow me to present my mother, Mrs Adams.’ Kitty saw a lady of middling stature but undeniable style, whose small, bright eyes conveyed both intelligence and curiosity and whose smile of greeting appeared genuine.
The ladies curtsied and the relevant introduction of Mrs Gardiner followed.
‘I had no idea you were in London, Miss Bennet,’ said Mr Adams, at the same time noting her mourning clothes. ‘But I see you have had sad news. May I offer my condolences to you and Mrs Gardiner.’
Kitty thanked him and let him know that it was for her mother she was in blacks. Her mind then refused to supply witty, clever sentences or even coherent ones, so surprised was she to see him before her. She made a bland and inconsequential comment about the weather and then remembered that her aunt would not know how she and Mr Adams came to be acquainted.
‘Mr Adams and I met last March,’ she explained. ‘At a musical soirée at Brook Street; Mr Bingley introduced us. It was such a lovely evening. Mr Adams is a very talented musician and also a fine teacher. It is thanks to him that my performance on the pianoforte has improved.’ She smiled at the reminiscence. ‘His patience is exceptional.’ She smiled again.
‘Is that so, Henri?’ observed his mother, wryly. ‘I did not know you were known for your patience.’
‘Miss Bennet is too kind,’ returned he, shrugging off both ladies’ remarks with easy charm. ‘You reside with Mr and Mrs Darcy, I suppose?’
‘No, the family is in Derbyshire still. My father and I are staying with my aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street.’
‘Is that so? What a strange coincidence! Only yesterday was I in that street. There is to be a concert at St Clement’s at Eastcheap on Friday fortnight and our little ensemble has been rehearsing.’
‘St Clement’s is but five minutes away!’ cried Kitty, delighted. It was where the Gardiners heard Sunday Service and where they had all attended at Christmas. How clever to think of holding a concert there! How clever to think of locating a church there! She was enchanted, and questions and answers flowed about the music, his part in the concert, for whom was it intended. The two older ladies meanwhile, both of whom were as aware as they were elegant, were independently fascinated by the animated conversation taking place in front of them. In turn, they exchanged a few pleasantries, each learning where the other lived and finding they shared a preference for a particular milliner in Conduit Street, and it was left to Aunt Gardiner to gently suggest that she and Kitty should be thinking of returning home and allowing Mrs and Mr Adams to partake of their tea.
‘Perhaps you and your family would care to come to the concert, Miss Bennet,’ suggested Mr Adams, who, having at last seated his mother, saw them to the door.
Kitty looked to her aunt for approval. Mrs Gardiner did not dismiss the idea but was uncertain as to their engagements for the forthcoming week.
‘Of course. Excellent,’ declared Mr Adams. ‘I will make sure you receive the programme in advance.’ Then, in distress, ‘Oh, but where shall I send it?’
Mrs Gardiner smiled and gave him the information, then she and Kitty took their leave. The afternoon air had turned even colder, presaging yet another frosty night, but the flush in Kitty’s cheeks was not entirely attributable to the biting chill.
‘An interesting young gentleman,’ said her aunt, once they were ensconced in the carriage and on their way. ‘You have not mentioned him previously.’ Her eyes invited further comment from Kitty, who was looking a little bashful.
‘It was not a deliberate omission, I assure you. I suppose I did not think to see him again.’ She fiddled with her glove, fastening and unfastening the button.
‘He was a tutor to Miss Darcy, you know?’ she resumed, as if this would help her aunt’s comprehension. ‘He has a fine reputation as a music master.’
‘I have no reason to doubt it, my dear. However, I think I detect a partiality that goes beyond music?’
Kitty coloured. ‘It is true that I like him very well. More than I should perhaps, but he has not said or done aught to make me think there is a preference on his side.’
Mrs Gardiner allowed herself a small smile. ‘His mother is French?’
‘Yes, she is. I was a little surprised to hear her accent but that is foolish of me for Mr Adams had told me she is from Normandy and lived there until just after her marriage. He says they came to London because her parents did not approve of his father; it was a mésalliance as far as they were concerned.’
‘It would not be the first time parents have disapproved of a match.’
‘No, indeed,’ agreed Kitty, warming to the subject. ‘Her family was a noble one but Mr Adams says she does not like to speak of them much. They did not escape the Revolution.’
‘Poor lady. That would be a hard cross to bear. But fortunate for her in that she was unharmed. What of Mr Adams senior?’
‘He is a musician and composer of some note, I understand, although I confess I do not know any of his works. He will be the organist at the concert.’
Aunt Gardiner nodded. ‘And Mr Adams? What do you know of his circumstances? He lives with his parents, I assume. He has no property of his own?’
‘I think not. Mama would not have approved!’ said Kitty, in what she hoped was a light voice.
Aunt Gardiner said nothing but patted Kitty’s hand in reply. Unlike the late Mrs Bennet she would not take her to task about fortunes and prospects; but she had seen and heard enough to convince her of a keen mutual regard between Kitty and Mr Adams. She would discuss this young gentleman with Mr Gardiner.
CHAPTER 64
On their return to Gracechurch Street, Kitty and Mrs Gardiner found they had had a visitor. Colonel Thomas Fitzwilliam’s card lay in the silver tray in the vestibule and, on further enquiry, they were told the gentleman had said he would call again tomorrow. ‘Colonel Fitzw
illiam!’ Kitty exclaimed in delight, turning over the card to find the address. ‘How did he know where to find me?’
‘You forget we met the colonel last Christmas at Pemberley,’ Aunt Gardiner reminded her, ‘and your whereabouts are hardly a secret. Such a pleasant gentleman. I am sorry we missed him.’
‘I wonder if Miss Fanshawe is in town,’ said Kitty, and seeing her aunt’s enquiring look told her of Fitzwilliam’s engagement and a short history of her own friendship with the Fanshawe family. ‘I like her very well,’ she concluded, referring to Felicia Fanshawe. ‘She is lively, witty and intelligent. I think theirs will be an excellent union.’
Aunt Gardiner could hardly disagree in the face of such enthusiasm and looked forward to meeting the lady. The housekeeper bustled up to claim her attention and Kitty went in search of her father. She found him in the drawing room by the fire. ‘Here I am you see,’ he greeted her, peering over his glasses, and putting down his newspaper. ‘I have returned. Safe and apparently sound.’
‘I am pleased to see it, sir. Aunt Gardiner and I have had an excellent day but one which you would no doubt deem frivolous in comparison to your own.’
‘Ah! Am I to infer from that statement you would like me to enquire as to your day? Be aware, if you please, that my understanding of bonnets and tippets and suchlike will fall far short of your expectations.’
‘Then I shall make no such demand upon you, Papa,’ Kitty assured him. ‘I will skip over the first part of our excursions and tell you naught of the fine brocades and Indian silks in Newton’s, and the excellent displays and the new colours for the season, and the lace I have bought…’
Her father rolled his eyes.
‘No, instead I will tell you about the milliner’s in Conduit Street. Such an enchanting establishment. Such fine feathers. The lady who owns it has such an aristocratic bearing. You must come with me next time and—’
What Kitty Did Next Page 28