What Kitty Did Next

by Carrie Kablean

  ‘I am, you see, Miss Bennet,’ he said eventually, shifting in his seat, his rich dark voice quiet and full of regret, ‘in no position to marry at present. I would that it were not so.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Kitty softly, as if speaking above a whisper would erase this moment. They lapsed into silence again, aware of every small creak and movement of the house and of sounds from the street that in other circumstances would have been but a little background noise.

  At last Kitty could bear it no longer. She wanted to express her joy, to imagine herself as the wife of Henry Adams – musician, vicar, gentleman – and resident in a pleasant home in a village near London, but regretfully this could not be. That part was a dream. To break its spell, she stood and picked up the concert programme.

  Mr Adams jumped to his feet. ‘Miss Bennet, I hope I have said nothing to offend.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ she smiled.

  ‘Then, I will see you and your family at our concert, I trust?’

  ‘We are looking forward to it,’ said Kitty. He bowed, gave her one last engaging smile and left the room.

  Kitty fell back into her chair, cupped her face with her hands and did not know whether to laugh or cry. She found she could do neither. Her head was full of wonder. She marvelled at how much could be felt when so few words had been spoken; at how sure she was of both herself and of Henry Adams. The situation was quite hopeless, of course, just as hopeless as it had always been, but it had at least been acknowledged by them, and she was glad of that.

  CHAPTER 67

  By the third week of January, London had fully regained its bustling, noisy, chaotic and royally magnificent self, despite the persistent cold and frost. Those of the ton who had been at their country estates for Christmas had drifted back to the capital for the season, myriad lesser lights had arrived to revolve around them. Invitations to balls, salons and soirées were criss-crossing the streets of the wealthy and the fog, though never entirely absent for very long, was mainly confined to the cigar-smoke-filled rooms of gentlemen’s clubs.

  None of this affected those resident in the Gardiner household, where the social activity, neither dependent nor envious of goings-on in the fashionable part of town, was lively in its own way. ‘We go out very little, you know,’ Aunt Gardiner had said once. However, hardly a day passed without someone calling or those calls being returned; the little Gardiners were happy and cheerful children whose occasional remonstrances with each other were as noisy and short-lived as to make them almost perfect – even Mr Bennet had been seen on the rug with two of them taking a great deal of interest in a newly acquired spinning top; and the family dinners and the evenings that followed them were a mix of intelligent conversation, occasional card-playing and musical interludes. Kitty had not neglected her music and practised on the Gardiner’s instrument most days, although she had been a little more assiduous since the chance meeting with her erstwhile music master.

  That her thoughts dwelt on Henry Adams and his mute proposal was to be expected. Kitty had considered confiding in Mrs Gardiner, who was of course aware that Mr Adams had paid a visit to the house. However, when she imagined recounting their meeting to her aunt she could see that there would be little to divulge, other than the interesting news that the gentleman had become ordained and that she had shared. Of matters more intimate, nothing had actually been said – so she hugged the information to herself and if some of her emotions spilled onto the pages and into the hearts, minds and mouths of the fictional characters peopling Town and Country, then only someone who could read Kitty’s thoughts would be any the wiser.

  It was on one such routine day – Mr Bennet at the museum; Mrs Gardiner engaged in a morning call; Kitty alternating between writing or revising her prose and indulging in reverie – that two letters addressed to Miss Catherine Bennet were delivered to Gracechurch Street and brought up to the drawing room.

  Kitty started when she saw them, seeing instantly they were from Pemberley, and recognising both her sister’s and Georgiana’s hand. She felt a frisson of anxiety, wondering what this portended. The Darcys would be in London soon, so she had not expected any correspondence; were they writing to say they would not receive her at Berkeley Square? Or perhaps to announce an engagement between Miss Georgiana Darcy and Mr Frederick Fanshawe? She hoped not! Though what business is that of mine, she asked herself. Agitated, she put down her pen and walked across the room, taking the letters with her and determining to read Elizabeth’s first. She sat down on the sofa and opened it.

  My dearest Kitty, it began – the affectionate salutation taking its reader by surprise.

  Words cannot express the shame and contrition I feel in having so maligned you in regards to Georgiana’s cameo necklace. I know now that I was woefully mistaken and wrong to accuse you of so heinous a deed.

  Kitty’s heart jumped and her hand flew to her mouth. What had happened? She read on avidly.

  Yesterday, we had an unexpected visit from Sir Edward Quincy. It was not a social call but a painful duty for that gentleman for what he revealed to us was indeed shocking. In short, he came to divulge that his nephew Frederick Fanshawe was a gambler and a thief, and that his crimes – and that is the word he used – included the theft of the cameo. It was an astonishing revelation, not least because Georgiana has the necklace, and so at first Darcy was perplexed and thought there must be some mistake. Sir Edward, however, was unaware of its return, still less the circumstances. He had, he said, discovered in his nephew’s papers, pledges to a pawnbroker in Doncaster and had managed to retrieve two valuable items of jewellery – one, his own watch! – but not a third piece, described as a pearl and diamond necklace, which he supposed must belong to Lady Fanshawe or to his niece. His sister soon disabused him of that notion and it did not take them long to conclude that it must be the cameo lost at Conisbrough. He confronted his nephew, who at first denied, and then confessed that he had pawned it, but also insisted it had been returned to Georgiana. Sir Edward quite simply did not believe him. He came here yesterday to offer what reparation he could and to offer to have a copy of the necklace made.

  This is a brief summary of what took place. There are more details and, indeed, more questions, some of which I think only you can answer. That is not important now. What is important is that you know how sorry we are. I speak here for Darcy as well as myself. We are both full of self-reproach and remorse for treating you so harshly, and for doubting your integrity.

  How well I now remember you crying, ‘I was trying to get it back!’ and my disbelieving and dismissive reply. Kitty, I could not be more distraught and penitent! I hope with all my heart you can find it in yourself to forgive me.

  We leave Pemberley today to go to Dapplewick Hall for a few days and, much as I would like to come direct to London and make my apologies in person, I can think of no excuse that would satisfy Jane for such a late alteration to our plans. For this, too, I ask your forgiveness and indulgence.

  Your chastened sister

  Elizabeth

  Kitty sat completely still for several moments, staring at the letter. She had been exonerated! It was a shock, albeit a welcome one. Then, quietly, she began to cry. Tears of relief, of vindication, of elation mingled and fell and, were it not that one or two of these dropped onto Elizabeth’s letter, threatening to blot and blur her liberating words, might have continued for some time. Kitty, however, saw that danger, and managing a small, triumphant laugh, wiped her eyes with one hand and held the letter away from her with the other.

  Anticipating Aunt Gardiner’s imminent return, and knowing that her tearful countenance would require explanations she was loath to give, Kitty picked up her correspondence and hurried upstairs to her room. Once there, she sat down on her bed and opened Georgiana’s letter, written on the same date and evidently, given the untidiness of the writing, in some haste.

  Pemberley

  19 January

  My dearest Kitty,

  Can you ever forgi
ve me? I should understand if you could not – you have good reason to wish never to see me again! – but I rely on your kindness and compassion and hope fervently that you will read this letter and know how ashamed I am. Never has there been a less deserving friend than me! I can never be sorry enough, of that at least you can be certain.

  I do not know where to begin, and have torn up three sheets of paper in trying to explain – in truth, in trying to find ways to excuse myself, but that will not do. So I write again, perhaps without sense, but from my heart.

  When I look back, I cannot think how I arrived at my silly conclusions except to say I was jealous and afraid, and I thought you had played false with me – which I now know to be quite the opposite, and I am hot with shame. Mrs Wickham’s arrival so soon after my admissions to you at the folly was what began it. I feared you would not keep my confidence and it made me uneasy. I cannot excuse my stupidity.

  My preference for Mr Fanshawe blinded me and I became jealous when Mrs Wickham paid him so much attention, so often reciprocated. Then, when my brother returned my cameo to me and said that you had had it in your possession all the time! It was too much to understand, but I did not try to understand. We none of us did! It pains me to recollect my behaviour towards you, but the pain I have caused you is so much worse.

  I hope you know that is true, thought Kitty. That pain was still fresh in so many ways. However, the relief of having it acknowledged was a balm. She read on.

  I know Elizabeth is writing to you as I write this, and you will know what has happened and how distraught we all are. As for Mr Fanshawe! I can hardly bear to write of him! It is so hard to comprehend that he – who is from such a good family and who gives every appearance of being such a fine gentleman – is a gamester and a thief! Oh, I did not want to believe it when my brother revealed these truths to me, and at first I refused to do so, but as you know, Fitzwilliam would never deceive and neither does he act without evidence.

  ‘That is not entirely accurate!’ said Kitty, aloud this time. ‘Darcy had no evidence against me but still I was accused.’ She resumed reading.

  I thought I was as wretched as I could be, but then my brother reminded me that Mr Fanshawe’s deceit and cowardice had caused much more injury to you!

  I have neglected to tell you how these events unfolded. You will wonder how Mr Fanshawe was exposed. I will write as plain as I can. His uncle was the means! Sir Edward called on Fitzwilliam yesterday and they were closeted in the library for some time. I saw him go in and thought he looked drawn and worried, which alarmed me a little as I thought it may have something to do with Frederick, but then I reasoned that was unlikely.

  Eventually Sir Edward left, looking no less unhappy than when he arrived, and without stopping to take tea or bring me any news from Danson Park, which, as you would surmise, struck me as most odd and out of character. My brother returned to the library and soon afterwards I saw Elizabeth go in. By now I was in an agony of suspense, which was made worse when I saw your sister leave and run upstairs. I could see she had been crying.

  Then my brother sent for me. He said he had grave and distressing news. At this my fears increased greatly, but what he then told me was more horrible than my imagination could have fancied.

  Fitzwilliam says Sir Edward blames himself, that he believes himself culpable for having indulged his nephew for so long, lending him money to cover his gambling debts and pretending it was just a young man’s folly. It all came out because Freddie’s injured leg kept him abed at Danson Park and unable to meet with one of his debtors! Sir Edward undertook to act for him but in looking through his papers found that he had pawned jewellery and other valuables. He was aghast, as you would surmise, the more so because his own watch had gone missing and he realised Freddie had taken it. I am not sure what happened next but Sir Edward was at Danson Park when my cameo was lost at Conisbrough Castle and he must have recognised its description from the pawnbroker’s pledge. Poor Sir Edward! I began to feel quite sorry for him.

  Kitty felt the same. Sir Edward, undoubtedly an honourable man, who doted on his nephews, would hold himself responsible for Frederick’s misdeeds. He would be mortified. She wondered how Sir Frederick and Lady Fanshawe had reacted to this terrible news and hoped some retribution would fall on their wayward son. She was not at all certain he would suffer the consequences of his actions. She turned back to Georgiana’s letter.

  He came not only to confess his nephew’s wickedness but also to offer to have a copy of the cameo made, as he knew how much it meant to me. And here is mystery still to be solved! Frederick told Sir Edward he had retrieved it from the pawnbroker and planned to return it to me at the summer ball, having concocted a story about seeing it for sale in Doncaster. Sir Edward dismissed this as yet another falsehood, but perhaps part of it is true for how else did my cameo come to be at Pemberley? I do not know what to believe any more, except that I have done you a great wrong. My hand is shaking as I write this, I am so ashamed! I am most heartily sorry.

  I will call on you when we arrive in London and if you will receive me it will be more than I deserve.

  Your foolish, unworthy friend

  Georgiana

  Such unexpected news and such swift turnarounds of emotion, although gratifying in the extreme, raised mixed feelings. They evoked many memories, sweet as well as bitter, although to Kitty’s mild surprise she did not feel aggrieved, only grateful that the truth had at last surfaced. She read the letters again, more slowly this time, noting Georgiana’s misplaced concerns and jealousies with regard to Lydia. Poor Georgiana, she thought. so easily deceived yet again by a man of poor character. Both Elizabeth and Darcy were full of remorse and self-reproach! She tried to imagine Mr Darcy looking contrite. How strange that Sir Edward should be her unwitting saviour in restoring her reputation!

  She paced about her room for a while, assimilating this new information and unable to sit still. As her shameful secret had been contained within Pemberley, there was no one with whom she could share her exhilaration and relief. She was so lost in her own thoughts that the knock at her door quite startled her. Opening it, she found her two small cousins looking up at her, slightly affronted. ‘Kitty!’ declared the eldest girl, sternly. ‘You promised you would play with us this afternoon!’ Her sister nodded vigorously.

  ‘I can think of nothing that would please me more,’ said Kitty, laughing and taking their hands. ‘You shall choose the games!’

  CHAPTER 68

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was expected to dine with the Gardiners that evening. Kitty surmised it was too soon for him to have been informed of Sir Edward’s revelations to Darcy at Pemberley and resolved to say nothing to him about the contents of her letters. He and Darcy would have opportunity to discuss the matter, and her conversation with the colonel about Mr Fanshawe, soon enough.

  When she came downstairs she could hear her father laughing, which was unusual but pleasing, and so she assumed that Mr Gardiner was home or that Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived early. However, when she entered the room it was to discover Mr Bennet alone, sitting in the chair he favoured, and that the source of his mirth was his reading material. To her horror, Kitty saw that he had her unfinished novel in his hands. In her agitation at receiving the letters from Pemberley, she had completely forgotten her writing and left all the papers in plain view on the table. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, watching him and wondering what to do.

  Mr Bennet turned a page, scratched his temple and let out another small chirrup of laughter. Then, sensing another presence in the room he looked up and saw his daughter. ‘Kitty!’ he called, motioning her over to him. ‘Did you really write all this?’

  What could Kitty do but admit that she had? Her father knew her handwriting well enough; it could not be passed off as anyone else’s. She stood, mortified, as Mr Bennet shuffled through the pages to find a particular passage. He began to read aloud:

  Sir Reginald was as handsome as he was stupid, and
he was a very handsome man. Nature had given him all the features so often pleasing to the fairer sex, but had counterbalanced this excess with a very meagre intelligence. The wonder was that Sir Reginald was unaware of his defects. He wore clothes well, but chose them badly; his opinions were ill-formed, but loudly spoken; his acquaintance was either well-born and as silly as he, or in need of his money and happy to do whatever was necessary to part some of it from him. Poor Sir Reginald could not distinguish between deserved praise and fawning flattery, and chief among those who fawned upon him was the egregious Mr Crawford.

  Mr Bennet paused, looked up at Kitty. ‘Well, we know who that is, do we not?’ Wishing herself invisible, Kitty stood beside her father’s chair, her hands clenched together and her eyes shut. She said nothing. Undaunted, Mr Bennet continued:

  Mr Crawford was tall and heavy-looking, with a grave yet pompous manner, and he had been called to God, something he would tell anyone who asked or anyone who did not. He affected very formal manners and seldom used two words when ten could be found. He thought of Sir Reginald as his own personal benefactor and hardly an hour passed when he was not congratulating himself or Sir Reginald on the felicity of that arrangement. ‘Sir Reginald is the epitome of good grace and manners,’ he opined to the lady sitting to his right. ‘His manners and breeding are second to none.’

  ‘I have not got very far with this,’ said Mr Bennet to the penitent author at his side, ‘but I hope I will not find all our family so well described. Or indeed, if they are, that they are better disguised! Luckily, Mr Collins would not recognise himself even if he were to get permission from his patroness or his God to read anything other than a sermon.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ mumbled Kitty.