On the return journey, Elizabeth successfully gained Kitty’s side, leaving Georgiana to walk ahead with Mr Adams. When a little distance had opened up between the two couples, she spoke.
‘Kitty, I must talk to you. I am so sorry for judging you in the way that I have.’
Although she knew Elizabeth meant what she said, Kitty did not know quite how to react. This was unfamiliar ground and she felt a little tense.
Elizabeth misread her silence as indignance. ‘You are quite right to be angry with me,’ she continued.
Kitty opened her mouth to speak, but Elizabeth shook her head. She stopped walking and took her sister’s hand. ‘No, please let me go on. You were right to tell me that I did not question, I only condemned. A more rational being would have asked and wondered and come to a better conclusion, instead of lashing out and believing the worst.
‘When Darcy told me that you and Lydia had been fighting at the ball, he was so very angry and it was easier – easier for me! – to believe that you were once again following Lydia’s example. I should have remembered how much you had changed. I allowed myself to forget that you had been doing everything you could to help me contain her; how very sensible and selfless you had been in keeping her company. Darcy then revealed he had discovered you with Georgiana’s missing necklace in your hand! He said you looked exceedingly guilty and shamefaced. I could not believe it of you but we could think of no explanation. I am ashamed to tell you that I thought of your delight in my emeralds and other jewels when we were in London. I thought – we both thought – the worst!’
She stopped, perhaps expecting some reaction or interruption. Kitty said nothing, however; her head was slightly inclined as if to better hear everything her sister had to say, but her countenance did not betray her emotions.
‘In truth,’ resumed Elizabeth, ‘I was so alarmed when Lydia arrived at Pemberley, so very worried that she could make so much mischief – and perhaps make Fitzwilliam regret having married me! – that I could not wait for her to be gone. The scene at the ball, the fighting, was worse than anything I had anticipated. I lost my judgement completely. I did not discriminate; nor did Darcy. He saw only two young ladies behaving very badly and condemned you both. He, too, regrets that mistake.’
‘He does?’ asked Kitty, incredulous.
‘He does,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He is capable of making mistakes, you know! We all are.’ She allowed herself a wry smile. ‘As I was saying, I did not discriminate. I judged you without asking what had happened.’
Kitty nodded. ‘That is true,’ she agreed.
‘It was a terrible way to behave, especially to my own sister!’
‘You would certainly not have believed such a thing of Jane,’ said Kitty. ‘Nor Mary, I wager. I do wonder still that you thought me a thief! That was very hard to bear.’
‘Oh!’ cried Elizabeth, her voice choked with emotion. ‘I am so sorry!’
‘I know,’ said Kitty, gently. She had never seen Elizabeth cry before. ‘You cannot take all the blame, you know?’
‘Do not worry, Darcy knows he is at fault as well.’
‘That is not what I mean. You have not considered Lydia’s part in this fracas. None of this would have happened without her. I never want to speak to her again.’
Elizabeth saw Kitty’s expression harden. ‘What did she do?’ she asked. ‘Was she trying to take the cameo from you? What really happened?’
So, at last, Lizzy learned the truth of Wickham’s dealings with Freddie Fanshawe, and of unpaid debts and Lydia’s successful attempts at coercion. ‘He gave her Georgiana’s necklace to buy her silence until he could lay his hands on the fifty pounds she was demanding. He did not intend for her to keep it, but when she showed it to me, and I saw whose it was, I was horrified and asked her to relinquish it.’ Kitty suppressed a small shudder at the memory of that evening.
‘Of course, she refused?’
‘She refused most vehemently! As you can imagine! I tried to reason with her but she became very angry and pushed me away. If she had not lost her balance, I would never have been able to wrest the cameo from her. Naturally, she retaliated and that is when Darcy discovered us! Brawling, as he put it.’
‘You could not have explained this to Darcy then?’
‘Mr Darcy was in no mood for explanations!’ Kitty expostulated. ‘Besides it was neither the time nor place. You have no idea how hard I tried to find Colonel Fitzwilliam that evening! Lydia had told me Freddie Fanshawe was a gamester just before the ball commenced and I wanted desperately to discuss the matter with the colonel. I thought he would know what to do for the best. I could not speak with you because you were too busy with your guests, but I soon discovered a ball is not the best time to try to have a private conversation. With anyone!’
Elizabeth was silent, remembering.
‘The next morning, when I eventually found Lydia – just before she was sent to Lambton – she told me that Freddie Fanshawe had given her the fifty pounds on condition she say nothing about him having the necklace. She thought that was a fine bargain! She told me I could say I had found it! And then she left, leaving me to face the consequences. Freddie Fanshawe also left that morning, you may recall.’ Kitty heard the notes of bitterness that had crept into her voice. ‘It does not matter now,’ she said in a gentler tone.
‘I disagree,’ said Elizabeth, moving closer to her sister and looking into her face. ‘It matters a great deal and amends must be made, will be made. Darcy wishes to apologise to you in person. He wishes me to make that very clear.’
Kitty nodded. ‘I am glad we are friends again, Lizzy,’ she said, willing the tears behind her eyes to stay where they were. She could not properly express the emotions she was feeling.
‘As am I,’ said Elizabeth, giving Kitty a little hug. ‘So very glad,’ she whispered, as she took her arm and they walked on.
They could see Georgiana and Mr Adams a little way off. They were almost at Gracechurch Street but had stopped to wait for them at the Monument to the Great Fire of London. Kitty waved at them, and she and Elizabeth quickened their pace, once more aware of the chilly January air.
Having escorted the ladies back to the Gardiners’ house, Mr Adams took his leave and pledged to return on the morrow, skates in hand. Aunt Gardiner appeared, all smiles and impatient to welcome Elizabeth and Georgiana inside and to hear all their news. She would not hear the half of it, of course, but she remained happily unaware of that.
CHAPTER 73
The following morning Kitty took to the ice on skates for the first time in her life, and did not fall down. That this, in large part, was due to the unfailing support of the young man by her side is undeniable but neither did her courage fail her. Having been steered along by Mr Adams and thus able to enjoy the peculiar sensation of gliding rather than stepping, she then found she could actually move her feet on the ice and make progress in that way also. They spent an hour or so going around in circles and she was satisfied with that. Clever turns and – heaven forbid! – any attempts at spinning or going backwards she was content to leave to more daring skaters. Hurtling around them at higher speed and with greater noise were the two smallest Gardiners. Their mother had been correct in her predictions about her boys. More daring in nearly every way than their elder sisters, they were fearless in their exploits and falling down was no impediment to their enjoyment. No one lost any fingers to rogue blades and no bones were broken, so Mr Gardiner accounted the excursion a success and one from which he could return home without recrimination.
‘I do not think I have ever laughed so much in my life,’ Kitty, her cheeks flushed with exercise and exhilaration, told Aunt Gardiner. ‘Though I was not sorry to come off the skates and off the ice! It was such fun!’
Mrs Gardiner agreed that it was, then added, ‘Your father is in the drawing room, he specifically asked for you on your return. Would you like me to have some tea sent in? Are you still cold?’
Kitty was not cold, she replie
d, though tea would be appreciated. She went in search of Mr Bennet.
‘You are back early, Papa,’ she observed. ‘Are we expecting Elizabeth this afternoon?’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ said he. ‘But I cannot predict my daughters’ movements; I have long given up on such a futile exercise. However, you are the one to whom I wish to speak. Sit down, my dear. I have something to tell you that you may find interesting.’
Kitty sat, wondering why she had been summoned.
‘Have you heard of a magazine called La Belle Assemblée?’
‘I have. In fact, there may well be one or two copies in this very house. I am surprised to hear you speak of it, though!’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr Bennet, peering over his glasses. ‘I suppose that was to be expected. Well, here is another one for you.’ He fished along the side of his chair and produced a copy of the magazine.
‘I had not seen it until yesterday,’ he said, leafing through the pages of coloured fashion plates, ‘but I understand it to enjoy a fine readership, especially among those ladies who wish to hold a discussion on something other than bonnets. It actually contains reading material, I see.’
‘That is so, Papa. Again, I am a little surprised to see you with a copy, but there is always something worthwhile reading.’ She smiled at him; he really was so much better.
‘I am pleased to hear you say so, child. That will please one of the fusty fellows with whom I share the Reading Room. One of them is the publisher of this magazine. Fellow by the name of Bell. He helped set up the Morning Post too, though he doesn’t have that any more. He isn’t too popular with some of the other publishers in town, says they think he’s a mischievous spirit. He tends to innovation and they don’t like it. I do, of course.’
‘Is this the gentleman who recognised you?’ asked Kitty, somewhat bemused by her father’s unlikely foray into the world of ladies’ magazines.
‘No. This is a friend of his. As I say, his taste is not solely given to fashion plates although clearly he knows his market. He has been complaining to me that some of his contributors are entirely unreliable; that the quality of their work is not always of the highest standard.’
He paused, seeming to examine one of the pages of the magazine and, without looking up, said: ‘I showed him some of your chapters. He was impressed.’
This last sentence, delivered in Mr Bennet’s laconic style and given as much importance as if he had been commenting on the weather, coincided with the arrival of the tea service.
‘Ah, good!’ said he. ‘Let us have some tea, Kitty.’
‘Papa, you are joking! This cannot be!’
‘Joking, my dear? I am not known for my jocularity. I would like tea, I assure you.’
‘Papa! I am not talking about tea! What are you saying? You gave my stories to this man, this publisher? To read?’
‘Well, what else does one do with a story but read it? Do you disapprove? I know I said I would not share them with anyone else in this house but this man is a stranger to you.’
Mr Bennet took his tea and sat back in his chair, pleased with himself and the effect his revelations were having on Kitty.
‘The publisher of La Belle Assemblée likes my stories! I cannot believe it. Which ones did you give him? They weren’t ready!’
‘He did say something about that,’ said Mr Bennet, ‘but he realised you could tidy them up. Those were his words, not mine. I take no blame for them.’
‘Papa!’ said Kitty again
‘Yes, child?’
‘Papa, are you serious? Please do not joke.’
‘I am quite serious, Kitty. Look at me. Do I not look serious?’
Kitty got up from her chair and went over to her father. She looked at him very seriously. ‘Papa. Swear to me you are not joking.’
Mr Bennet looked up at his daughter. He appeared to give the matter a lot of consideration. He scratched his nose. He sighed. He appeared disconsolate. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said at last. ‘Miss Catherine Bennet, I swear that the proprietor of La Belle Assemblée not only likes your stories but wants to publish them. What do you say to that?’
CHAPTER 74
Kitty’s elation at this unexpected turn of events was almost beyond words. She was incredulous; she was disbelieving; she was ecstatic; she was thankful; she was sure there had been a mistake. When a letter from John Bell, received the next day, professional and to the point, confirmed everything her father had told her, she stared at it as if it had magical properties. She longed to share the news and so far none but she, Bell and her father knew of her success. The person she most wanted to tell was Henry Adams and she did not know when he might next visit.
She wished she had organised a music lesson. That at least would provide an excellent reason for him to be at Gracechurch Street.
Elizabeth, Darcy and Georgiana were to dine with them that evening. What could she do in the meantime? She could write, it had after all become a daily habit and Bell had told her which stories he wanted her to revise, but her manuscripts were in his possession still so that was difficult. She sought out her cousins in the nursery but their governess was in the midst of a lesson. She went to the pianoforte and made herself practise some difficult sonatas. This last proved to be her salvation: as if in response to her pleas, some hitherto unknown god of music summoned Henry Adams to Gracechurch Street and into the drawing room.
‘Good morning, Miss Bennet,’ said he, in his pleasantly rich but otherwise non-celestial tone and quite unaware of the supernatural forces that had brought him to Kitty’s side. ‘I am come to say that we timed our skating well. There are signs that the ice is cracking and on my way here I saw one of the printing presses being moved nearer to the bank.’
‘What will happen?’ asked Kitty. ‘Will the river flood?’
‘My father says it is possible, especially if it rains – and it has not rained for weeks! But whatever happens I fear our frost fair is nearly over. The thaw begins.’
‘The thaw begins,’ said Kitty. ‘That is quite poetic.’
‘In what way?’ asked Mr Adams, puzzled.
‘Oh, just a reference to some family matters,’ said Kitty airily, thinking of her conversations with Elizabeth and Georgiana, and her father’s intervention on her behalf with a publisher she had previously never heard of.
‘You are in very fine spirits today,’ observed Mr Adams. ‘If I may say so.’
‘You may say so!’ Unable to keep her news to herself a moment longer, Kitty told him that she had begun to write short stories, for her own amusement although she had secretly wished to be a novelist but did not dare hope that such a thing could happen, and then told him of the publisher’s letter she had received only that morning.
He was delighted for her, not in the least bit surprised at her talent, and pleased at her success. That he was not at all familiar with a magazine called La Belle Assemblée was easily forgiven, and a copy produced to validate its existence. He looked at it dutifully while Kitty danced around. ‘I so wanted to tell you,’ said she. ‘No one else knows, except of course father.’
‘Why are you keeping it secret?’ asked Mr Adams, not unreasonably.
‘I don’t know!’ said Kitty. ‘Perhaps it is news too good to share!’
‘You are perverse, Miss Bennet!’ said he, happy to find her so.
‘The Darcys are dining with us tonight. If you are not engaged, would you care to join us?’ This was daring behaviour for Miss Catherine Bennet; it was not her place to ask anyone to the Gardiners’ table without first consulting her aunt, but she hoped she would be forgiven on this occasion.
Mr Adams was delighted to accept, so delighted in fact he excused himself shortly thereafter in order to return at the appointed hour. Perhaps he feared the invitation might be rescinded had he lingered. As soon as he had gone, Kitty went to find Aunt Gardiner to admit her impetuosity. Mrs Gardiner eyed her niece charily for a moment or two, and then said Mr Adams was most welcome.
&
nbsp; As she was dressing for dinner, Kitty thought she would like to write a novel set in London; she could place her characters in the frost fair, she could imagine a fortune teller married to the manager of the printing press, there would be a child, a foundling left in the church of St Clement’s and a miserly uncle. She had no miserly uncles, but she could invent one, of that she was sure. By the time she arrived downstairs, the miserly uncle was married to a young woman who deserved better and would soon find she had a mysterious benefactor. That will do, Kitty, she told herself, and went into the drawing room to find her father already there.
‘Mr Adams is dining with us tonight, Papa. Did Aunt Gardiner tell you?’
‘You have told me, Kitty. That is sufficient,’ said Mr Bennet, without looking up from his book.
Kitty went to the pianoforte, played a few random notes, and turned back to her father. ‘Should I tell the Gardiners? Elizabeth and Mr Darcy?’
‘Tell them what, my dear?’ asked Mr Bennet.
‘About La Belle Assemblée, of course!’
‘You would like them to know?’
‘Of course!’
‘It is just that you said you preferred anonymity.’
‘Only outside our family, Papa!’
‘Ah, I see! But you have just told me that Mr Adams will be here.’
‘That does not matter. I mean…’ Kitty faltered.
‘What do you mean, my dear?’ asked Mr Bennet, taking off his spectacles and inspecting them as if this would aid his comprehension.
‘It does not matter, Papa! Only I would be pleased if you would tell them for me. I would like that.’
‘You would like me to make an announcement?’
‘Yes, Papa!’ said Kitty, resigned to playing Mr Bennet’s game. ‘If you would tell them, please. No need to say a loyal toast to the King, or anything like that, just let them know that I am to be published. I would like that very much.’
What Kitty Did Next Page 33