‘Stop!’ said Mr Bennet, in mock horror. ‘You have made your point. I shall tell you about the fusty fellows in the museum, and then we shall be equal.’
‘You are not suggesting that someone in the Reading Room actually spoke! Surely not?’
‘It was an unusual and unwarranted occasion, I grant you, but it was done without detection so there was no retribution. A fellow whom I had not seen these twenty years took it upon himself to recognise me and, in tribute to his sharp memory, I allowed it – only because I knew him to be a man of some sense.’ Mr Bennet looked at his daughter, daring contradiction.
‘Of course. There are not many on whom you bestow such praise.’
Mr Bennet caught the nuance. ‘Well, that is all,’ he said. ‘I suppose I may see him another time.’ He picked up his newspaper.
‘It is quite the day for unexpected meetings, then,’ said Kitty. ‘When Aunt Gardiner and I were at Gunter’s, I met Mr Adams, who was my music master last year when I stayed with Jane.’
‘Do I know this gentleman?’
‘No, but you may meet him if you would like. He and his father will be performing at a concert in the church just around the corner in a fortnight’s time.
‘Just two minutes away,’ Kitty added, by way of persuasion.
‘I am little inclined for concerts, Kitty. I do not suppose this one would change my mind.’
‘I think you will find Mr Adams to be an excellent musician. He plays the violin and the viola, as well as the pianoforte.’
‘Do you have an interest in this person, child?’ asked her father, his acuity taking her by surprise. ‘Am I to brave the elements in order to see a young man whom you favour? If this is the case, could he not come to the house?’
‘Oh, Papa! It is a concert! Perchance you would be entertained!’ Kitty remonstrated, but she was in too good a humour to take offence. If her father would not go, she would persuade her aunt or uncle, or both.
She fetched some paper and was about to start writing a letter to Jane when Mr Bennet spoke again.
‘I have today received a letter from your sister Elizabeth. It is dated but three days ago, so it seems the mail coaches are getting through once again. She writes to say that their journey has been delayed by the snow but they will be in London within the month. She thinks to call in on Jane and Bingley for a few days on their way to town. All of course is well in the grand estate that is Pemberley. I shall judge for myself later this year. Have you heard from Lizzy of late?’
‘Lizzy?’ asked Kitty. She shook head. ‘No, my letter is from Jane.’
Her father made no comment.
‘I forgot to tell you. Colonel Fitzwilliam called today when we were out. He says he will call again tomorrow.’
‘Do give him my regards,’ said Mr Bennet, unfolding his newspaper and retreating behind it. ‘I regret I will be at the museum.’
CHAPTER 65
W ith the punctuality befitting a military man, Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived the next day at the time he had stated and was shown into the drawing room. ‘Mrs Gardiner. My dear Miss Bennet,’ he said warmly, clearly pleased to find both ladies at home. ‘A delight to see you.’
The feeling was reciprocated and Kitty, especially, keen to hear his news.
‘Miss Fanshawe arrives in London late this month, she is travelling down with her parents,’ he told her in answer to her enquiry. ‘She was to have been here before but our plans were set back by the snow. The roads were quite impassable. My way here today took me alongside the river. There is ice forming where the tidal flow is sluggish. Such weather we have seen, have we not?’
Aunt Gardiner agreed, and the weather having been duly noted, went on: ‘Kitty tells me that you are to be congratulated on a certain happy event, Colonel Fitzwilliam.’
‘Indeed,’ said he, smiling. ‘Miss Fanshawe and I plan to be wed in March in London. Part of the reason for my present travel is to facilitate some arrangements.’
‘I am very happy for you both,’ said Kitty. ‘I am looking forward very much to seeing Felicia again. I have such fond memories of last summer.’
‘As she is looking forward to seeing you, Miss Bennet, be assured. We all missed your presence at Pemberley, especially myself and Miss Fanshawe. Georgiana, too, you can be sure. She was quite out of sorts when you departed.’
‘I was sad to go,’ said Kitty truthfully, masking her surprise at the reference to Georgiana. She dearly wanted to enquire if she was still in thrall to Freddie Fanshawe but was at a loss as to how to introduce such a subject.
‘How is Miss Darcy?’ asked Aunt Gardiner. ‘Is she out yet?’
‘She is well, I thank you. There are plans afoot for a coming-out ball in London. No doubt she will tell you all about it,’ he said, nodding to Kitty.
‘And will she be presented?’ continued Mrs Gardiner.
‘She hopes not!’ laughed Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘Court presentations have become rather sporadic since the King’s illness and Georgiana is glad of it. She wishes such ceremonies be forgotten and, in truth, there is no real need.’
‘Does Mr Darcy wish it, then?’
‘I cannot speak for him but I do not think he would insist upon it.’
‘No indeed.’ Further inquiry was halted by the arrival of a servant bearing a message for Mrs Gardiner. ‘Please excuse me,’ said she, getting up. ‘A minor matter. I will return shortly.’
The colonel resumed his seat. ‘How long will you stay in London, Miss Bennet? Are you here for the season.’
‘No, not at all!’ laughed Kitty. ‘We came at my aunt’s kind invitation because she felt, and rightly so, that my father and I would be melancholy left to ourselves at Longbourn. My mother’s sister and her husband, Mr and Mrs Phillips, were with us until yesterday. Their return to Meryton was much delayed by the weather.
‘We will trespass on my aunt and uncle’s hospitality for a few weeks more, I think. My father professes to hate London but he will be loath to leave until he has read everything the libraries in the British Museum have to offer! For myself, I would wish the next exhibition at the Pall Mall Picture Galleries was already open but, in truth, I am happy just to be in London.’
‘Well, I am pleased that you are not leaving precipitately again. I hope you and your father and Mr and Mrs Gardiner will dine with us in Mayfair soon? My brother and his wife would be most pleased to see you.’
‘Then we should be delighted, Colonel. I am sure I can speak for my father.’
A brief pause followed. Kitty realised Fitzwilliam was ignorant of the reasons for her expulsion – she could think of no better term – from Pemberley and of the rift between herself and Georgiana. She was wondering how to navigate the conversation when the colonel spoke.
‘Sir Edward asked me to pass on his regards to you and your family. I saw him recently at Danson Park. That gentleman thinks most highly of you. You have made a conquest there!’
Embarrassed, Kitty smiled. ‘I think highly of him also,’ she returned. ‘I trust he is well?’
‘He is indeed,’ said the colonel. ‘Although he has been most concerned about his nephew Frederick. I think you know Freddie had a bad fall from his horse?’
‘Felicia did mention it in one of her letters, but I did not know the injury was serious.’
‘He broke a bone but the physician was confident that it would heal well in time. Unfortunately, he contracted a fever shortly afterwards and there were grave concerns for a few days.’
‘He has recovered?’ asked Kitty, out of politeness rather than concern. The mere mention of Frederick Fanshawe’s name had disconcerted her.
‘Very nearly. He is hobbling about the house now, although it has been some time since he ventured abroad. He is not a happy invalid!’ Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed and then, noticing Kitty’s somewhat stony face, apologised. ‘Forgive me. I do not mean to be unkind, or speak out of turn.’
‘I did not misunderstand you,’ said Kitty stiffly, and, attemptin
g to cover her awkwardness, asked: ‘Does Georgiana still think well of Mr Fanshawe?’
‘She has not confided in you?’
‘There has been no correspondence between Georgiana and myself since I left Pemberley,’ said Kitty, trying to sound nonchalant.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was all surprise.
‘There was a misunderstanding,’ she explained. ‘More than one. Georgiana thinks I have wronged her. I cannot speak of that,’ said Kitty, simply.
‘However,’ she continued, seizing the moment, ‘there is something I feel it my duty to tell you because it concerns Georgiana. Unfortunately, it also concerns Mr Fanshawe and, given your alliance with that family, I fear I will cause offence. Mrs Wickham is also implicated.’ She looked to the door, expecting Aunt Gardiner to return at any moment.
Without further prevarication but with some apprehension, Kitty relayed the information Wickham had given Lydia about Freddie Fanshawe’s gaming and debts. She did not mention Sir Edward, but repeated Wickham’s surmise that those debts were covered by an elderly relation. ‘I was afraid for Georgiana,’ said Kitty. ‘This all happened on the night of the summer ball and I did not know who to tell but I sought you out, I thought you would know what to do – it was before your engagement was announced – but there was no opportunity.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked grave. ‘Thank you for your candour,’ he said eventually. ‘I will make my own investigations. You may rely upon my discretion.’
‘I would not lose your friendship, nor that of Miss Fanshawe over this,’ said Kitty, distressed at the thought of forfeiting yet more amity and regard over such a wretched incident.
‘Rest assured you will not,’ returned he. ‘You have my word. We need never speak of it again.’
Kitty was relieved. Colonel Fitzwilliam turned the conversation to lighter matters. When Mrs Gardiner came back into the room a few minutes later, they were discussing plays and a forthcoming performance of The Merchant of Venice at the Theatre Royal.
‘I shall undertake to organise a box!’ he declared. ‘The last time I went to that theatre it tended to the rambunctious but it was diverting nonetheless.’
‘I hope we can persuade you to sit down to dinner with us before then,’ said Mrs Gardiner, an invitation he graciously countermanded with his own, but a date was put forward and agreed.
Shortly thereafter, Colonel Fitzwilliam bid the ladies adieu, leaving both with the happy expectation of seeing him again soon, and Kitty relieved to have finally shared her knowledge of Freddie Fanshawe’s unfortunate predilection for gaming. Whatever happened now was in the colonel’s hands.
CHAPTER 66
Whether Henry Adams had reason to believe the postal service fickle or unreliable, or whether he was simply unwilling to lose any time or spare any effort in securing a favourable response to his invitation is a matter of conjecture. Suffice to say that within a very few days of the happy coincidence of meeting Mrs Gardiner and Miss Bennet in Gunter’s he found himself once more in the vicinity of Gracechurch Street – and with two of the concert programmes about his person. His card was sent up and he was spared no more than a few minutes’ agonised wait before he was informed that Miss Bennet would receive him.
‘My aunt is not home at present,’ said Kitty, uncomfortably uncertain as to the propriety of Mr Adams’ presence without the excuse of a music lesson. She had positioned herself near the pianoforte in order to reinforce his status as her music master; she hoped this would suffice. She had been alone with him before, she reasoned, and she could ring for tea. Besides, Aunt Gardiner was due to return at any moment.
Mr Adams presented Kitty with the concert bill as reason for his visit. She took the proffered programme and made to study it, catching at the names of those composers with whom she was familiar and hoping to be able to make erudite comments on others.
‘You like living in London, Miss Bennet?’ asked Mr Adams, breaking into her thoughts.
‘I find I do,’ replied she. ‘Although I can say with equal sincerity that I was very comfortable staying in Derbyshire. I do not think anyone would find Pemberley anything other than delightful! London and Derbyshire are so very different but I find much to like in both.’
‘And Hertfordshire?’
‘I have lived in Meryton all my life, so perhaps it is only familiarity that renders it unexciting. Although everything is so much changed now, since my sisters have all married and my mother is gone.’
‘Oh, forgive me! That was thoughtless of me,’ apologised Mr Adams.
‘There is nothing to forgive! Longbourn – my home – seems strangely empty now but it is still a fine house. I daresay that in the months to come my father and I will journey to stay with my sister Mrs Bingley, who has lately removed to Nottinghamshire. Mr and Mrs Bingley have a daughter now, called Elizabeth, after Mrs Darcy. I shall be the very picture of a doting aunt! And what of you, Mr Adams. You have always lived in London?’
‘I have indeed. Well, of course you know that I was born in France, but my mother and father returned here when I was but a babe. Since then my family has always lived near Holborn.’
‘And so you would never live anywhere other than London, of course!’
‘Ah! That is not certain. You bring me to some news that I have been wanting to divulge.’
Kitty was disconcerted. Was Mr Adams moving away? Was he perhaps betrothed? Her expression remained of course perfectly placid. She waited.
‘My father’s music and connections with the church have brought him patronage from some influential people from time to time. Indeed, it was through one such gentleman that I was able to go up to Oxford. You remember that I went to that university?’
‘I do.’
‘It served me well, even though I was but a “commoner”.’
‘A commoner?’
‘Yes, that is what I was called. The universities preserve rank, you know, and commoner was mine. Above me were gentleman-commoners, and above them the noblemen-students, a misnomer if ever I heard one as in general the sons of the nobility were not given much to study! I do not complain though; I am exceedingly grateful for the opportunity of such an education.’
‘Not even a gentleman-commoner!’ said Kitty, incensed on Mr Adams’ behalf. ‘I cannot think of you as a commoner!’ She began to blush at the declaration and, much to her chagrin, felt her colour rising steadily.
‘I thank you for your indignation,’ said Mr Adams, pretending not to notice the flushed embarrassment of the lady before him. He smiled at her, which did nothing at all to alleviate the rosiness of her complexion. ‘I was not offended, though, I assure you. Besides,’ he continued, more to excuse Kitty from speaking than to expound on class distinctions at the universities, ‘I could have been a servitor, in fact I think I was almost a servitor. Some of my friends certainly were. They enjoy an even lower rank, and must earn the privilege of education by serving those deemed their betters. Of all the scholars, the servitors study best, I think. Dr Johnson was a servitor. Some of us were fond of his quote, which was something like “the difference between us and the ‘gentlemen’ is that we are men of wit and no fortune and they are men of fortune and no wit”.’
‘Then I agree with Dr Johnson most wholeheartedly,’ said Kitty, her equilibrium somewhat restored and all anxieties about this private interview completely forgotten. ‘I have met others who have told me that there is more to do at the universities than study, and who have disparaged the notion of education. I am sure you are not one such.’
‘I am sure I was not a perfect scholar,’ laughed Mr Adams. ‘There would be tutors who would happily attest to that. My father had thought I would join the clergy when I completed my exams, take ordination, but I had no inclination to do so. I wanted to pursue my music and do so without encumbrance. A young man’s dreaming.’
‘Why do you call it a dream?’ asked Kitty. ‘Your teaching and mastery of music is much admired. I think you have no want of students.’
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p; ‘What you say is true, but I had not been giving much thought to the future and in time I began to see my father was right, that being of the clergy would be a good profession for me. Moreover, it is one that does not preclude in any way the teaching and practising of music.’
‘Goodness!’ was all that Kitty could find to say.
‘And then, about a year ago, my father told me that one of his patrons had the gift of a living in Clapham, a village just a few miles from here. He had reason to believe that were I to be ordained, that I may get the preference of that living when it became vacant.’
Mr Adams paused, looking at Kitty.
‘So I took the exams and began acting as deacon to the priest at the church where my father is organist. I will not deny that the thought of a valuable living in Clapham was absent from my deliberations. You are surprised! I can see.’
‘Surprised, yes. I had no idea you were thinking of such a path, but I think you are as eligible a clergyman as any other I have known. Better, I venture, than some.’ The egregious Mr Collins loomed into Kitty’s mind, fawning and prating and oblivious to his inanity, and she suppressed a shudder.
‘My role in that regard is yet to be tested,’ said Mr Adams. ‘Indeed, it may never be known for there is a corollary to my tale. Having taken all the necessary steps to secure myself a living and allowing myself to think of it as mine, my optimism and presumption were undone. A more suitable person was preferred.’
‘More suitable!’ cried Kitty. ‘How so? In what way?’
‘A young gentleman recently married was preferred. An excellent man, by all accounts, and with a fine wife the better to help him carry out his parish duties.’ He looked thoughtful, a touch sad. ‘I could not compete in that regard.’
‘Oh, I see!’ said Kitty, and indeed she did see. She saw Henry Adams looking at her ardently and she felt all the warmth of that gaze. Her own eyes locked onto his and she found herself unable to look away. This touching tableau lasted for a full minute, perhaps two or even three, with neither she nor he moving or saying anything but each understanding exactly what the other was thinking.
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