Dreaming Pemberley

//DREAMING PEMBERLEY

LOOSE ENDS

Longbourn

“Mama, please – I have told you I do not in the least care to visit Lydia and George Wickham. After what has happened…”
“But Kitty,” her mother, a plump flustered figure sitting by the fire with her needle work, cried, “how will you ever find a husband if you do not circulate with others in society? I am sure they have many young officer friends who are single and longing for a wife.”
“Well, Mr. Wickham was not desirous of a wife at first, was he?” Kitty said grimly.
“My dear, do not hark back to unpleasantness; it all worked out perfectly well, did not it?”
“Mama, I have no wish to be in the company of officers ever again. I would rather live a life of solitude,” Kitty raised her eyes in resignation. "I know I envied Lydia at first and thought she was so smart to secure Wickham for herself, but the shock and disgrace that my sister and her husband put us through by running off together while still unmarried now gives me night mares and makes me most distrustful of redcoats. If it were not for Mr. Darcy’s kindness, think of the indignities we would be suffering now! Why we could not even venture into the village without whispered comments behind our backs.”
Mr. Bennet seated across from his wife, looked up from his book over the rims of his glasses, “I do think our Kitty has finally acquired a modicum of good sense, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Oh Mr. Bennet, you are too critical,” his wife chided, – “why I have known some very pleasant officers; when I was fifteen…”
Mr. Bennet mentally closed his ears to the rest of her recollections and continued to consider his daughter’s alteration in judgment. The father had deciphered his daughter astutely; at first, when her heedless younger sister, Lydia, left her to partake of the delights of Brighton society, and subsequently to embark on an ill conceived course of absconding with George Wickham and then marrying him, Kitty was overcome by feelings of desertion and deprivation; she was not permitted to visit Mrs. Forster – she was forced to remain in the bosom of her family and forego the certain pleasures that Lydia must be experiencing. Indeed, she thought their elopement was rather clever – and certainly romantic. However, further consideration brought her to a realization that she was fortunate indeed, to have escaped the tribulations of poor, poor Lydia; as a result, she became wary of where precipitous action may lead, and resolved to delve more deeply into moral character – or lack thereof – that underlies mere appearances.
Mary, sharing the sofa with her mother, continued to hunch her shoulders over the volume she was perusing and murmured, “Yes, experience is the best teacher. Kitty has learned that it is folly to be frivolous.”
“Oh Mary, you are such a bookish child – must you pester us continually with your tiresome aphorisms?” The turn of the conversation was not pleasing to Mrs. Bennet, whose urgent desire was to get her fourth daughter settled as quickly and advantageously as possible; she was a good hearted girl and comely of features; her delicate pearly complexion denoted a susceptibility to illness: but the bouts of pertussis had abated and it was assured they were but a childhood tendency. Her auburn curls were a crowning glory, and Mrs. Bennet considered her as certainly marriageable. The only thing she lacked was a substantial dowry, and Mrs. Bennet looked petulantly at her unsuspecting husband; a thousand pounds a year were not sufficient to attract the most propitious beaus – only beggars, looking to further their own fortunes.
Mrs. Bennet then patted Mary’s hand; she had no hopes for this daughter, for what man would ever want so solemn and pedantic a creature?
A commotion was heard at the front entrance. An imperious voice – one that the Bennets recognized instantly – spoke to an agitated Martha, the maid, who summarily opened the parlor door and announced in awe, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Miss Anne de Bourgh!”
The lady that swept into the room was long of face, disapproving of mien and was clad in exceptional finery. She gave no opportunity for welcoming niceties as she glanced around in distain and uttered in hauteur, “I do hope you have a blacksmith on your premises. Our carriage requires instant attention as we must be back at Rosings by night fall.”
Mrs. Bennet sat with open mouth, too stunned to respond, but her husband rose and bowed to the apparition of grandeur in the middle of their parlor. Then he turned to her companion and bowed before her. Small and slight of figure - her pale pinched little face reddened at this attention, after a quick bobbing of the head, Miss de Bourgh moved behind her mother to take refuge.
“There is a smithy in Meryton, milady,” Mr. Bennet informed their impatient visitor. “Our Bert can accompany your footman thence to see what can be arranged.”
Mrs. Bennet ventured, “While you wait, milady, do have a seat and partake of some of these cherry cakes and a sandwich.”
Lady Catherine brushed off the cushion before taking a seat and accepted a steaming cup of tea. After sipping the hot liquid she sniffed and remarked, “black tea is so much more healthful than green, you know – you should ask your grocer for Assam. The cakes are tolerable, but your cucumbers are not fresh.”
Mrs. Bennet huffed, and to change the subject, asked: “Have you seen dear Lizzy and her Mr. Darcy lately? Such a lovely couple, do not you agree? And springtime must be beautiful at Pemberley. I am so fortunate to have three daughters married so well. Surely your daughter, Anne, must be engaged by now – such a sweet natured creature and of course with such a rich dowry to accompany her---.”
Lady Catherine’s brows fiercely lowered and she spat out, “her previous engagement, which she and Fitzwilliam had cherished since infancy, was rent assunder by Miss Elizabeth. How you could allow such heartless and brazen behavior I will never understand. But yes, Anne is to be wed very soon. The prospective bridegroom awaits us now at Rosings – it is why we must get back without further delay.”
The young woman in question, close to tears, hid her face in her handkerchief. Being the center of such a dispute obviously overcame her.
Mary, taking pity on the poor creature, jumped up and crossing the room, took her hand. “Come and take a stroll in the garden with me, Miss de Bourgh – there is some wilderness near by and if we are lucky, we might espy some baby owls in the oak tree.”
Anne, wiping her eyes, rose to join Mary but her mother reached out to prevent her. Kitty, with great alacrity, placed a fresh cup of tea in the dame’s outstretched hand and aided her sister by propelling the little visitor out of the door.
“Come back, Anne”, called her ladyship, “you know you will catch a rheum in the cold damp air!”
“But the weather is not inclement.” countered Mr. Bennet. “It is sunny and warm without a breath of wind.”
“Poor Anne, she is so prone to indisposition,” the Lady sighed and sank back in her chair with her fan in motion to relieve her anxieties. “Travel is most vexing and inconvenient,” she stated and added, “when will those servants return? I demand they come back at once!”
Out in the garden, Mary took Anne’s arm and guided her along the path to the small tangle of woodland adjacent to the greensward. She noticed that her companion seemed ill at ease and walked stiffly beside her, looking shyly down at her feet. I do believe she cares not for close contact, Mary thought, and dropped Anne’s arm. A forthright young person, Mary could not resist asking her companion, “did you really want to marry Mr. Darcy?”